Eowyn: The Cage - Ch. 16

[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.

"While I respect your desire to ensure the existence of my descendants, understand that I am not your or anyone else's broodmare. That choice — which is mine alone — rests in a future no less uncertain for being on the other side of this war. As for the rest: I won't deny the authenticity of your concern, but neither am I willing to explain myself in full. Trust, if you can, that I must see this task through to its end. My reasons are my own, but this is something I have to do." Having made her declaration, she softened her tone. "So is there anything else that I can say or do to ease your burden, Marshal Elfhelm?"

Elfhelm started at her sudden warmth and unexpected use of his title. Was that some sort of invitation? No, he reasoned, I mustn't delude myself.

He cleared his throat. "My Lady, I've spent considerable time thinking through my options, and I fear you won't like my conclusion. Should your conduct become a matter for consideration for your brother — or even worse, the King — I'd find myself in an impossible position, as both duty and logic would demand that I preemptively reveal your identity. If all possible outcomes still result in your unmasking, at least my punishment would be less harsh than otherwise. Though I've no doubt the consequences would remain severe."

There was proud desperation in his voice, and though she greatly desired to view matters otherwise she couldn't deny the rightness of his analysis. She would be revealed, she would be sent away, and he would pay a terrible price for his complicity. While she would not be deterred from her path, neither could she blithely dismiss the risk she was asking him to take. In fortune she could no longer trust. Neither could she rely on the fates that had already stolen her future. Unfortunately, in our current straits there are few avenues of influence remaining to me. As for the one that does....

In a moment her decision was made.

"Elfhelm, let me repeat my question in a different form: is there anything I can do to convince you to preserve my anonymity? Anything at all?"

Elfhelm's head jerked upward in shock, for her words hadn't drifted across the empty space between them, but had instead been whispered directly into his ear. How did she move to my side with such stealth? So much for my alleged woodcraft! The knowledge that she was still partially unclothed funneled a furious arousal directly into his loins. He attempted to fight it off, but it was a hopeless battle. "Th...there's nothing, Lady Éowyn," he stammered. "I...I...." Words failed him, and rational thought fled as he felt her hand at his waist. Two hands. Unbuckling his belt. Undoing the stays of his breeches. Reaching inside.

Éowyn carefully extracted his manhood, measuring its shape and length in her palms, and a shudder ran through him as she explored. There was an intriguing rippled texture to his phallus, discontinuities — perhaps swollen blood vessels, perhaps something else; surety was impossible in such darkness — circling up and down its length, and her questing fingers quickly memorized their pattern. His groans shattered the silence, but she was beyond caring about discovery; her attention was entirely upon his firm pillar of masculinity and her rapidly mounting desire.

I should have done this earlier.

His hips began to oscillate back and forth, thrusting and releasing though her encircling grip, and as her strokes took up the rhythm her own need grew.

"Elfhelm, touch me. Please."

Tentatively, breath held, he traced the exposed curve of her breast...calloused fingertips probing beneath, over, and around, circling her soft peaks and brushing across her swollen nipple. His other hand came into to play as he palmed her flesh, thumbs and forefingers gently pinching her hard buds, tugging them away from her body as she sighed with pleasure.

Encountering the first drops of his cream at the apex of an enthusiastic stroke, she was suddenly consumed by hunger and fell to her knees, laving the tip of his cock while continuing to pump his shaft. His moan was again overly loud, but all she could hear were the obscene noises her tongue and lips made as she greedily consumed his essence. Kisses became licks, licks became envelopment, and finally she pulled his throbbing rod deep into the furnace of her mouth. As she eagerly inhaled his length his hips convulsed in response, driving his spear to the threshold of her clutching throat.

One hand slipped to his balls, rolling and squeezing while the other tugged at the base of his pole. All around his throbbing glans her tongue swirled, lapping at his salty essence. Taking a deep breath she impaled herself to his root, rippling her internal throat muscles against his crown and pulling back to taste what she'd drawn forth.

Overwhelmed by circumstance, scarcely able to believe that it was her tongue caressing his cock, but above all driven into a frenzy by her skilled fellatio, Elfhelm could hold back no longer. Gripping her by the back of the skull in an entirely uncharacteristic show of force he thrust forward, and as she grunted a protest from deep within her gullet, lighting and fire leapt from his tip.

Acting on instinct and desperate thirst she enthusiastically swallowed his semen, letting her tongue swim through his creamy essence before drawing it down her throat. Each lancing ejaculation seared her mouth, and her own lust built towards a climax as she took every drop he offered and, sucking as hard as she could, demanded more.

The moment he was fully spent she violently toppled him backward, clambering up his body until she sat astride his chest, clamping his hands against her heaving breasts. Biting back shrieks at the urgency of her need, she plunged three fingers into her overheated pussy, spattering his face with her juices.

Elfhelm tried to abandon the supple curve of her left breast and join in the plundering of her sex. "No!" she hissed, immobilizing his wrist and accelerating her frantic penetrations. Writhing, gasping, and then wildly thrusting forward until her thighs squeezed against the sides of his head and her drenched hole smothered his gaping mouth, she exploded in climax. If he hadn't already consumed a flood of her orgasmic fluids the previous night he might have been stunned at the prodigious river of female ejaculate that flowed across his tongue.

Éowyn shuddered as her aftershocks rolled on. When they finally stilled she caught her breath and rose up on her knees. Drawing her fingers from her sodden cunt, she fed them into his gaping mouth and he greedily tasted the sultry heat of her passion. Once again her expression — as best as he could tell in the near blackness — was mysterious and inscrutable, and he continued to wonder at the emotions that lurked behind her eyes.

She offered no answer. Instead she stood, silently restoring order to her clothing. He was slower to rise, and the difficulty of stuffing his sensitive and still-erect tumescence back into his breeches further slowed his progress. As he struggled with the stays she turned and walked away without another word.

For a moment he wavered, wondering if there was something he should chase after her to say. Concluding that if she desired speech she would have initiated it, he finished reassembling himself and stumbled back to camp in a daze of satisfaction, arousal, and confusion.

Whatever she really wants, he mused as the flickering embers of sentry fires came into view, I fear I have little to do with it.