Chapter 3: Solace

[ Setting the scene: Aragorn, accompanied by King Éomer and many of the Rohirrim, is about to lead an army to the gates of Mordor. While Éowyn convalesces, Marshal Elfhelm remains behind to command the rest of their force.]

16 March 3019 (Third Age), Minas Tirith

Éowyn shuddered into a silent but desperately needed orgasm, her fingers slowing their long and active work between her thighs.

My fingers are starting to ache. I’m out of practice, I suppose, but until I’m healed I can’t find relief by switching to the other hand. The ache was well-earned, for she’d been pursing self-pleasure all day ... quietly bringing herself off whenever allowed a few moments’ respite between healers’ (and others’) visits. More than once she’d had to arrest her activities right at the precipice and speak patiently with a visitor or allow her wounded arm to be prodded. The delays only added to her apparently insatiable ardor.

I’ve been without a partner — a real partner — for too long, she sighed, and then immediately corrected herself. But no ... I haven’t, have I? I was with Elfhelm and the Drúedain only two days ago, even though it seems like another life.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she fought to quell her ongoing arousal — can’t I go even five minutes without thinking about sex? — and instead tried to convince herself ... again ... that her memories of trial and torment weren’t real. It was a vain attempt. My orgiastic dream in Dunharrow I remember with equally stark clarity, yet I’ve no trouble recognizing it as an illusion. Why can’t I shed this nightmare? It’s like I’m unwilling to forget.

Sexual encounters both real and imagined dominated her thoughts, building again and again to an erotic fire that only climax could quench ... though never for long. Worse, the specifics of her memories troubled her pleasure in disturbing ways, for she was as likely to come while recalling a brutal lashing as she was a passionate embrace.

Surely I can’t go through life in a permanent state of arousal!

Though she was still bedridden, her urges were even affecting her converse with others. Earlier, during the Halfling’s visit, they’d sought a measure of mutual comfort by talking through their terrible triumph on the Pelennor. Yet at various points she found herself entertaining lurid fantasies about grabbing his shock of curly hair and pulling his head between her legs, begging him to put his wagging tongue to better use by bringing her off. Worse, she knew that the very depravity of the thought was no small part of its appeal. It took an immense force of will to retain equanimity until he left, but the furious pounding she gave her sex the moment he did allowed her to imagine the encounter in explicit detail.

Though she was horrified at herself in the aftermath, even now one fingertip idly circled her clit, spreading a fresh coating of her juices around the sensitive bud.

I’m very, very far from healed.

The savage bite of a whip slicing into her breasts shocked her awake.

It’s only a dream ... it’s only a dream ... it’s only a dream...

Gingerly, she released the nipple she’d clamped between thumb and forefinger, wincing as blood flowed back into the abused nubbin. It reminded her of the many times that...

... that didn’t actually happen.

Her sex was a swamp of arousal, and of their own volition her fingers were again probing within. A dark shadow loomed on the edge of sight, threatening but overwhelmingly virile, and her legs reflexively opened in invitation.

Khamûl! Please ... please ... please...

Though she was unsure whether she was rejecting or begging her phantom abuser, the desperate urge to bring herself to a violent climax pushed aside such considerations. With great effort she drove his image from her mind, yet a presence still lingered, its sexual intent no less palpable.

Something isn’t right.

Her eyes snapped open. Elfhelm — mail-clad, and by his flushed and windswept look fresh from the field — stood in her doorway.

Of course he would be here right now.

While her bedding concealed her flesh from view, she knew that there would be no hiding her arousal from his knowing eyes.

Well ... perhaps I don’t wish to.

They stared at each other for a time. Waiting.

... silence...

... long silence...

... uncomfortable silence...

“Marshal Elfhelm.”

“Lady Éowyn.”

“ ... but why so small a force?”

“I don’t rightly know, my Lady, though I have faith in the valor of our men. I only know that the majority of our healthiest Riders are to accompany the Lord Aragorn, though to what destination I cannot imagine, while the rest remain here.”

Éowyn stared at him, wondering, for the answer was painfully obvious. “Do you really not guess?”

“I can conceive of only one possibility, yet it seems the very definition of madness, and so I doubt myself.”

She reached out in support, hoping he wouldn’t notice that two fingers glistened with her juices, and grasped his forearm. “Do not doubt, for your guess is right. Moreover, it is just. We cannot hide behind walls or within self-imposed cages any longer. We must go forth to challenge our fate ... and if death be our only reward, at least it will be a noble one.” Just who am I trying to convince, here?

Elfhelm’s face remained troubled. “It’s not death that I fear. I may die just as easily in one battle as another, and of enemies we’ve no lack ... in any direction. But surely it’s suicide to challenge the Dark Lord when already trapped within the jaws of His terror.”

Éowyn found herself struggling to express her objection in words. Some sort of lingering memory or feeling from her recent experience with Aragorn lent her a measure of insight into his thoughts, and she was convinced of both his surety and the rightness of his cause. But insight fell short of full understanding, and she also knew that there was a key piece of information driving his decision over which he’d kept the tightest possible control. Lacking a way to verbally gainsay Elfhelm’s doubts, she instead gentled her response.

“I once thought the same, but was myself misled by fears. I promise you this, Marshal: the Lord Aragorn does not act rashly. Be not afraid for his sake. Instead, take full mind for yourself and those of our people still under your charge. Alas that I’m in no condition to assume leadership, even as a figurehead, and so they must place their trust in you. As I will, and as I do.”