Chapter 21: Surrender

[ Setting the scene: the events of this chapter take place as the Rohirrim ride to Gondor. Éowyn has defied King Théoden’s orders twice: first by disguising herself as a man named Dernhelm in order to join the ride, and second by inviting Meriadoc to come with her. Only Marshal Elfhelm is aware of both Dernhelm’s true identity and the order to leave Merry behind. Holbytla is the Rohirric word for Hobbit.]

12 March 3019 (Third Age), Anórien

Éowyn pressed her forehead against the frigid rock outcropping. Her fever flowed into the cold stone, but it wasn’t enough to stem her heat.

She’d staggered away from camp, semi-coherently mumbling something about sudden illness to a startled Meriadoc, fleeing aimlessly into the steep defiles and crags of the nearby mountains’ roots. Their faint shadows enveloped everything, further blackening the already impossible gloom, and she knew that finding her way back without injury would take time. Still, she needed to be alone. Truly alone.

Her feet sank into a patch of moss carpeting the otherwise rocky ground, and by the time she lowered herself to its welcoming softness she was already half unclad, skin tingling at the contrast between her inner fire and the brittle mountain air. Legs spread wide, she paused, listening.

No one.

She eagerly pressed two fingers deep into her throbbing sex, hips bucking forcefully in response. But this wouldn’t be her first orgasm of the day; the persistent oscillation of the Halfling between her thighs had, at last, become more than she could endure. Hiding her shudders while maintaining both equanimity and control of her horse had been a mighty struggle, and staving off an encore had required every bit of her focus; events which made her even more determined to drive herself to another ... and one that she didn’t have to mask or restrain.

Her other hand tugged her tunic open, twisting and teasing her nipples to firmness, then sliding down and around to clutch her undulating ass as it flexed toward the aggressive plunge of her fingers. Whether by accident or in response to a subconscious yearning, one fingertip stealthily approached her rear opening, and at the first brief contact with the tight ring her body shuddered in orgasm. She rode through it with fierce determination, maintaining her relentless pounding of her cunt, for she immediately realized that she wouldn’t be satisfied with just one climax.

Varying the angle and speed of her penetrations, eventually introducing a third finger, she toyed more aggressively with her anus as she began to lose control again. Soft cries fled her lips despite her attempts to be silent.

Oh, what does it matter? There’s no one to hear, and no sound will pass these rocks.

The nervous cough that shattered her rhythm was, she later concluded, absolutely inevitable. She stilled all motion, but didn’t bother to open her eyes.

“Why must you be here?” she demanded. “Again?”

“I ask again, Elfhelm: why are you here? Why do you follow me into the shadows, night after night? Are you so desperate for unwilling company?”

The word “unwilling” hit its target even harder than she’d intended, and Elfhelm winced in response. Before he could utter a word in defense she’d angrily bade him extinguish his small light, and while he could see no more than the faintest outline of her form, he noted that she’d again done little to cover herself.

Éowyn was indeed still on the ground, staring upward at thick clouds that obscured both stars and moonlight, frustrated that her self-pleasure had been arrested for a third straight night. Modesty seemed pointless; there was, in this murk, little to be seen anyway. And what there is he’s already seen.

“My Lady, if you’ll forgive my ‘desperation,’ I came to warn you that this evening’s escape was noted by more than just my own eyes.”

“Well? What of it? Only you know who I am. Are your own nocturnal wanderings of equal interest?”

A shift in the breeze carried the now-familiar scent of her arousal to his nose, and he struggled to free his mind from the intoxicating memory. “By now they might be. The palpably frenzied manner of your departure didn’t seem to others like someone in good health taking their usual relief, and your offhand declaration of infirmity carried to more ears than just the Holbytla’s. Concerns were expressed ... to me ... and I had to dissuade several who wished to investigate for themselves. A task made more difficult by the fact that the identity of ‘Dernhelm’ is now a matter of growing uncertainty and whispered debate. I’m entirely unsure I was able to quell that uncertainty, but in any case I was obligated to come lest someone else take that initiative.”

“So you’ve come. Now you can go. Report that Dernhelm sought a few moments of privacy for reasons of his own, and that all is well.”

The ice in her tone shredded the air, even as the heat of her arousal still glowed. He did his best to ignore both. “It’s more complicated than you realize. I fear report of the discontent of mysterious Dernhelm may already be making its way to Éomer. And if that happens, it will soon be known to King Théoden as well.”

Her retort was as sharp as a blade. “How could my biological necessities possibly be of any concern to either?”

He finally allowed irritation to enter his voice. “Because we travel from war to war through lands themselves beset by danger, and your extended nightly departure from an otherwise secure camp inevitably leads to curiosity, if not outright suspicion, about someone that no one other than me appears to recall with any certainty. No matter what I do or say, if others repeatedly observe your nocturnal perambulations they will be reported. And doubts regarding your identity already grow in proportion. I can gainsay and I can delay to a point, but I cannot forever stay the tongues of others just because you angrily wish it.”

Éowyn’s protest died in her throat, defeated. He’s right. In an instant her frustration and anger dissipated, replaced by remorse and apology. “I thank you for reminding me, and for doing what you can to preserve my secret. I was especially careless this evening, and put both of us at risk.”

Elfhelm decided to take a chance with his response. “My Lady, I might better preserve your illusion if I understood it myself. Why do you ride? I know better than most that you’re an extremely formidable warrior, but you must know that our likely fate is...”

“I know the grim destiny to which we ride, Elfhelm.”

“But then why? You’re...” He paused, judging a too-personal argument unwise, and guided his words along a safer path. “You might be the last remaining hope for our people, should we perish in this battle. The King has no living heir, and your brother’s fate is tied to his. From you alone might a new royal line spring should all others fall into darkness. Would you so easily end the house of Eorl forevermore?”

To this Éowyn had no easy answer. She guessed that what he originally intended to say was based on his own feelings, and part of her wanted to respond with kindness to the unexpressed emotion in his words. On the other hand, he couldn’t learn that her true purpose was to expend what remained of her life in battle. Nor could the declaration of affection of which he’d been on the verge be encouraged, for it would be unfair to offer him hope when she retained none.

Still, it’s equally imperative that he keep my secret. There are more desires at work here than those in his heart. Mine and his. I must find a way to ensure his fidelity. As the obvious method presented itself she allowed herself a mental shrug. Well, why not? My reticence the other night was foolish. He unquestionably deserves something for all he’s done, and it’s not like I’m unwilling. Nor need I worry about my reputation or future complications, as I’ll soon have neither.