Éowyn, Book 2: The Key
Chapter 24: Wife

Copyright© 2018 by Barahir

Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 24: Wife - Pursued by erotic curiosity into darkness and ruin, defiled in the aftermath of an unfathomable trial, will Éowyn’s uncontrollable desires encage her forever? Is mastering those desires the key to unlocking her future, or is love her true path to freedom? 4th place, 2018 Clitorides, Best BDSM Story.

Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Fa/Fa   Mult   Coercion   Consensual   Magic   Reluctant   Romantic   Heterosexual   Fiction   Fan Fiction   High Fantasy   Sharing   BDSM   Light Bond   Rough   Spanking   Group Sex   Anal Sex   Analingus   Cream Pie   Double Penetration   Exhibitionism   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Sex Toys   Squirting   Voyeurism   Public Sex   Royalty  

30 July 3019 (Third Age), Edoras

Éowyn tucked a stray lock of hair under her hat, glancing nervously to each side. She doubted anyone would recognize her in this outfit, but if they did — with her gloved hand tentatively encircling his doorknob, looking for all the world like she was doing something she shouldn’t — it would be the worst of all possible times. Short of donning the attention-grabbing dress she’d used to disguise her toy-acquiring and Rider-groping exploits ... very much the wrong attire for this task ... she was dismayed to realize she possessed no good way to sneak out of Meduseld and blend into the crowd. Her usual white-on-white was too recognizable, of course, and almost everything else she owned was intended for riding or fighting. The latter was clearly out of place, while all that she owned of the former was custom-designed for her, highlighting rather than masking her sinewy femininity in a way that would draw its own kind of interest. What she’d finally managed to cobble together was an ill-matched combination of snug training pants and a baggy, shawl-like tunic designed for warmth rather than strolling, plus a low-brimmed hat borrowed from a gardener into which she’d stuffed her long blonde mane.

Despite my ludicrous promise to Faramir, have I ever actually gardened? She couldn’t remember ever having done so. Well, I guess I should learn. At least I already know what I look like in the hat. She was sweating a bit, for she was overdressed for such a warm summer day.

Though she had no objective reason to believe so, she was sure that she looked ridiculous. I certainly feel ridiculous. Strictly speaking, stealth wasn’t absolutely necessary for her current errand, yet her lingering remorse over their history compelled her to avoid even the slightest possibility of inquisition. And so here she was, furtively skulking through the bustling streets of Edoras, desperately hoping to avoid notice. For she didn’t wish to answer anyone who might ask why she, of all people, would be here. Now. At the end.


29 July 3019 (Third Age), Edoras

The events of the previous week drove her to a furious burst of writing, pushing her memoirs through to the tale of her first encounter with Elfi and Théo ... memories that excited her into many lengthy sessions of self-pleasure. That they’d been the companions for her first uncompelled, uncontrolled sexual experiences was central to her personal narrative of decadence, awakening, and renewal. And with them she’d shared so much that was new: making love with a woman, willingly taking a cock into her mouth, eagerly swallowing his seed (thereby discovering what had become an all-consuming thirst), and especially intercourse. Even their orgiastic reunion, in which she’d expressed both her gratitude and the full bloom of her untrammeled sexuality, could never surpass the unexpected purity of those stolen moments at Dunharrow, and she wrote so lovingly of the experience that her heart swelled as much as her sex.

She’d managed one more blissful rendezvous with each sibling before they departed for home, though each singly rather than as a threesome. Elfi had been the impatient recipient of a vastly less invasive half-hour of anal exploration — she was insistent on saving absolutely anything involving penetration for Théo — before flipping Éowyn onto her stomach and almost violently demonstrating just how much she’d learned until her “instructor” was howling with pleasure and begging for respite ... after which they licked, sucked, and fingered their way to several more orgasms for Elfi (who required more refractory time than Éowyn) alongside the dozens managed by Éowyn. Whereas Théo seemed almost embarrassed by the excess in which he’d participated, and took a little more coaxing — much of it passing with Éowyn making a most convincing argument on her knees — before relaxing enough to fill each of her holes with his cream one more time. But that had been that.

When she was finished with their tale, she resealed the magical box with her orgasmic fluids and secured it behind the secret panel in her closet. She was dressed and nearly done cleaning the slippery residue of her pleasure from her chair when she heard a rhythmic thud on her door; it was her guards, signaling the arrival of someone other than the King (whose presence was announced with a different pattern).

She opened the door, momentarily startled before admitting the long-time family nurse she’d sent to Gréor’s aid. Her features were masked by a resigned, weary sadness, and even before she spoke there was little doubt what news she bore.

“Would it be okay if I saw him?” Éowyn asked once she’d learned the fullness of his woe.

“It’s hard to say, my Lady. His physical condition is rapidly deteriorating, and he’s in pain beyond my ability to assuage. But these last few days his mind has slipped as well. Sometimes he’s fully present, and other times he isn’t; though in truth the latter is a blessing, for he doesn’t appear to feel his pain in that state. He often seems to be talking to people who aren’t there, or to mistake me for unknown others, and he slides in and out of reality without warning. He’s also ... well, I don’t mean to shock you, my Lady, but he sometimes offers blatantly sexual propositions to these mysterious phantoms, and if you converse with him you may have to suffer those with rectitude. It would be a kindness and an undoubted honor should you pay him a call, yet I can’t promise he’ll acknowledge or even recognize you, for I’ve been at his side for almost two months and he doesn’t always remember my name. Even less so of late. I think it will also be quite hard on you to see him thus, if you remember him as he was. I can accompany you if...”

“No thank you. That’s most considerate, but no. I’m all too familiar with sadness and death, and unfortunately I doubt the sight of him is beyond my ability to accept. But I do feel a debt as yet unpaid for his help at Dunharrow. And there’s also this: I greatly regret being unable to comfort King Théoden or his son Théodred in their final moments, and feel that this may, in some small sense, serve as recompense and personal atonement. Bring me an update on his condition first thing tomorrow morning, and unless there’s a compelling reason to change my mind I’ll go to him then and thereafter, as often as possible, before the end comes. I cannot abandon him at this juncture.”

“Very well, my Lady. As for his end...”

“Alas, you’ve perceived my thought. He had a wife, but she passed recently. I don’t know about children or other living relatives, though I’ll ask the King to find them if they exist. There were two trainees with us at Dunharrow, but...”

“Yes, my Lady. They’ve visited as well. But while they’ve done their best to distract him with what I can only assume is feigned incompetence, I’m not sure they’ve offered much in the way of comfort, save by allowing him to pretend to assert a measure of authority he can no longer achieve with his own flesh. The young have many qualities, but true empathy is something one only learns with time and sorrow.”

“I’ll have them informed regarding my plans and his condition. Should offspring or family not be found — or not be found in time — I’ll assume personal responsibility for his affairs. And I thank you once more for your service, beloved healer, which is as much to me and my family as it is to him.”

The nurse shrugged. “I’ve not done much, my Lady. But your family — and indeed most in this house — are in excellent health at the moment, and I’ve little else to do. I would much rather this than bind missing limbs and tend broken souls, as I’ve done so often through our long wars. Watching old warriors fade away is a familiar grief, but also one inextricably intertwined with our fate as mortals, and in this it matters little whether there’s peace or war.”


30 July 3019 (Third Age), Edoras

Gréor’s breathing was labored but steady beneath his thin blankets. He stared at the ceiling with deadened eyes, his narrow pupils failing to hide his inner hopelessness.

“Brave friend, how fare you?”

He coughed as his glance flickered downward. “You can see that well enough for yourself, my Lady. I thank you for your kindness, but you should not have come. There’s nothing left of myself to offer you, in hospitality or otherwise.”

She attempted as much lightness as she could manage. “So it’s now you who rules both Rohan and my steps, mighty warrior? Were the situation otherwise, what did you intend to offer me?”

Where once he might have given voice to a sarcastic snort followed by outrageous in-kind flirtation, he could now only exhale in frustration. “I can’t even rule my own body, so I wouldn’t advise that you leave the realm or anyone within it under my care. Yet I would spare you this sight, my Lady ... since, despite my desperate wishes and my once-boundless pride, I cannot spare it for myself.”

Éowyn laid a comforting hand over his. He was unnaturally cool to the touch, and she could feel him trembling. Tenderly, she replied, “your pride you shall always retain. It is not diminished to bear it silently, nor even to temporarily relinquish its grip in the presence of a caring friend.” There was the faintest hint of a smile, and she felt one of his fingers briefly grip hers before his hand slipped back to the bed, clutching the sheets as he winced in pain.

“I never truly wished to die on the field of battle, though I came close enough. There was ... well, it’s a story with which I will not darken this already dark time, my Lady.” He surely means the warg attack, she mused, though of course he couldn’t guess that I already know of it, nor how. “Yet now, in this condition, I wonder if it might not have been better. Ah, but no; it would have been a tremendous grief to my wife, and surely such selfishness only speaks with the voice of pain. I would...” He stopped, suddenly, as that pain gripped him with tremors.

“What can I do?”

Through gritted teeth, he hissed, “you can call the nurse.”

“But you’re in pain right now, and I’m already at your side.”

“I cannot ask...”

“Is it the same as before? We needn’t call the nurse for that. I’ve not forgotten what to do, nor am I unwilling.”

“But my Lady, I’m...”

“If your pride insists on modesty, I must tell you that I doubt there’s anything I haven’t seen before.” If he only knew the truth.

Eyes clenched shut, he finally nodded, acquiescing, for he was helpless against his body’s endless betrayals, and his pain was indeed excruciating. Éowyn lowered the blankets, revealing his sweat-slicked body. Except for a heavy wrap swaddling his loins, he was naked. His legs flexed and shook with the extremity of his affliction.

“Let me help you,” she soothed, working her fingers into his muscles, wincing a bit as she studied the ugly network of welts and scars across his upper thighs. He was indeed lucky to survive the warg, intact or otherwise. How horrible that agony must have been. I wonder if this is worse?

He gasped as she pressed against the pain. “My Lady, you shouldn’t be touching a broken and unclothed old man thus. It’s shameful.”

“It’s not shameful for me, and I’m inclined to dismiss any other’s interpretation. May I not help who I wish, how I wish? And,” she teased, attempting to distract him with flirtatiousness, “have you always been so quick to reject the willing touch of an attractive young woman?” She was rewarded with the faintest hint of a smile amidst his tooth-grinding grimaces. “Now: be silent and let me ease your struggle.”

At last he gave in, moaning as she massaged both blood and warmth back into his legs. She could feel the tension slowly seep out of him, and his breathing grew deeper and more regular. His eyes, however, remained closed. Their silence had gone on for long when he abruptly spoke again.

“I’ve been waiting for you to return.”

With a start Éowyn glanced up at him, for his speech had changed; it was casual and more intimate. His eyes were still shut, yet there was a small smile of satisfaction on his face.

“They keep telling me you’re gone. I even dreamed it was true. But I’ve never believed it. You’ve always been here for me, and you always will.” She was baffled until, stifling a gasp of revelation, she realized what was happening. His hallucinations ... he thinks I’m his wife! She resumed working on his legs, her breath momentarily stilled by anxiety. How should I answer? Surely I cannot pretend that his wife lives. Yet he unquestionably speaks of that which he most desires. What would be the kindest thing to do?

“Your hands seem even stronger then they used to. Pretty impressive for an old broad.”

Instinct demanded she play along. I have to answer him. I have to be her. She paused, unsure how to begin. What kind of woman was she, I wonder? The answer came quickly. Confident. Assured. Able to receive and offer humor, for he could bear a lifetime with no other. And ... sexual. There, too, she would give as much as she received. She would not be demure. My tongue (she winced at the double meaning) will have to be bold.

“I’ve always been here for you, dearest. I always will be. And as for the strength of my hands, in your company they’ve always gotten quite the workout.” I can’t believe I just said that.

“Your hands and all the rest of you!” He chuckled. “But you have once again relieved my hurt, my love. Alas, I regret that we have so very little time left. If you were perhaps moved to comfort any other part of me, I would not object.”

 
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