NC-17, please, and be warned that there is both slash and het content in these ficlets. Claudia posted a challenge asking for an AU where Frodo is at the battle of Helm's Deep, and this is my rather odd response.

At Helm's Deep
by Laura Mason


"No questions." I agreed, seeking forgetfulness on the eve of battle; sure to find it with this strange beauty.

He gave himself wantonly, meeting lust with need. Despite duties awaiting us, we exhausted ourselves in passion. The third time I entered him roughly, pushing in with one thrust, riding him while savagely biting at his neck.

"Frodo," I gasped, no more than a whisper.

"Aragorn!" he cried as his pale body convulsed.

I buckled on my armor as he slept. Rejoined the Eored to die with my kin.

One question: Is it not strange we both wanted the same man?



"Pledged to draw swords together" -- thus defending me, though he'd rather throw me over the wall, now. Cohorts in the imbecilic troop: elf, warrior, sister and hobbit all desperately in love. I resent those who will fight (perhaps die) beside him. I've lured ten thousand into battle, yet am instructed to cower in safety with the women.

I touch myself, imagining him covered in sweat and blood, all muscles straining to keep his sword moving, hewing the enemy, eyes intense.

This time I bite my arm instead of screaming Aragorn's name. As I could easily have done earlier, with Eomer.


Sharing the Cold

Do you know we've shared before?

From age twelve I understood I must remain pure, or lose my only position: mother of kings. I am virginal, but untouched? Hardly.

Unsatisfied, yes. Unlike you. The future king would not deny himself; he'd leave me aching, and turn to the cousin who wouldn't turn him away. I saw the passion between you; I heard the two of you rutting like beasts as I lay, pure, cold and so very angry.

Theodred is dead and cold, but we still yearn for the same man. This time both are denied, left cold while seething.



She'd been awake for nearly two days and nights, most recently nursing the wounded, and she was numbly weary. But sleep would not come, so she wandered the halls of the Keep.

Shouldn't the men who'd been fighting for hours without rest be exhausted, too? But they'd come back, battered yet victorious, to be met by the gratefully weeping women of Rohan. And now it seemed most of those men and women were rutting in every corner. Eowyn had chosen to pace in this one well-lit hallway because she'd nearly stumbled over oblivious lovers in all the darker corridors. How could anyone find rest in such an atmosphere?

She most certainly had not been hoping that Lord Aragorn would come this way, headed back to his own room, his blood stirred by the battle.

The sight of her brother leaving Frodo's room with a satisfied smile twisted her face into horrified curiosity. "You were with the hobbit?" He loved Aragorn as she did -- yet he'd gone to Frodo with his victory lust? Eomer answered neither her words nor the look, walking briskly past her, still covered in the gore of the night's long slaughter.

She stared after his retreating form, unbelieving, until a noise from behind her made her spin, startled. Frodo stood leaning in the doorway, carelessly half-dressed, a knowing smile on his face. Had he heard her? She flushed guiltily. His response was to beckon her closer, then take her hand and pull her inside the chamber with him. She was tired -- that must have been the reason she didn't resist.

"My lady, you seem curious. Can I answer your questions?" The hobbit closed the door and stood calmly looking up at her, as if he were not in a thin, unbuttoned shirt and half-buttoned breeches, in a room that reeked of sex, the bed linens soiled with dirt and blood.

"Eomer." It was all she could say.

"Yes, Eomer. He's a beautiful man. Nearly as beautiful as you, Lady Eowyn. And passionate -- are all people of Rohan so full of life? So skillful at lovemaking?" She didn't answer, didn't move -- but he stepped closer. "I believe they are. The air is full of their joy and relief. They are busy making new warriors as we speak."

He'd kept coming closer, until he was right beside her. She trembled, though it was ridiculous for her to be afraid. Frodo was half her size and unarmed. She was a shield maiden of Rohan, skilled with a blade -- she'd faced orcs during this endless night of misery. What could be disturbing about one small, pale hobbit with freakish eyes?

"Come rest yourself, my lady." He touched her hand again, and again she followed him to the chaise beneath the room's high, narrow window. "Lean back. Close your eyes and be at ease. I won't harm you."

"I should-- I wanted to sleep," she answered, even while obeying his instructions.

"Did you? You may sleep here, if you truly wish that. But I think you want to hear about Eomer."

"What?" The tone was sharp, but she didn't sit up or open her eyes.

"You wish to know about Eomer and me, and what we did here tonight," he patiently repeated.

"Why would--" But she knew why. "You don't need to do this." She still didn't move, letting him continue in his low, clear voice.

"I want to, my lady, if you wish it. If you do not -- if I'm wrong, you need only tell me to stop." He was standing so close she could feel the warmth of his body. He paused, waiting, but she didn't speak, only opened her eyes at last and stared into his, wondering what he saw that made his eyes burn with such dark heat.

"He came to me straight from the battlefield, just as soon as his squire removed his armor. He only knocked once before pushing the door open and coming to me, already hard and ready.

"I was naked, asleep, and barely knew who'd entered the room when I smelled him, and he was over me. He held me down and pushed his tongue in my mouth, claiming me. It went on and on, and I could barely breathe, feeling him on every inch of me as his lips explored.

"Have you ever been kissed like that, my lady? Taken. Overpowered."

She could only shake her head in reply, and small hands closed over her wrists firmly. A warm, sweet mouth touched her lips, coaxed them into relaxing and parting, and then plundered her mouth for an eternity. Sharp teeth nipped at her lips and a clever tongue circled her mouth, dancing with her own hesitant one before slipping out again. It went on and she grew dizzy. Theodred's kisses weren't like this...

"He kissed me, Eowyn," Frodo hissed into her ear when he finally broke away from her mouth. "My senses were full of him, and my body was on fire. When he broke away, gasping for breath, I begged him to kiss me again."

"Kiss me -- again." And he did, once more holding her down but now moving from her mouth to her ear, then her neck, nipping and licking and caressing with that clever tongue until she squirmed and moaned beneath him.

"Yes, I moaned too. Were you listening? If you were, you heard me beg for more."

"More," she pleaded.

"But I was naked, so he could kiss my nipples and rub his beard against them." He was poised over her, his eyes intent. "It made me scream."


Deft fingers loosened the laces of her bodice, and she raised herself, helping him pull off the simple dress. When she lay back the fabric of the chaise caressed bare flesh, and she sighed with pleasure. Then a hot mouth merely kissed her breast, and she burst into flame, undulating as he played her body.

He licked the nipple lightly, just across the tip as it raised in response to the kiss and the chill of the room. Then his tongue circled wetly around it, slow and lazy, as if he would spend the night worshiping this one bit of her. Next teeth gently scraped it, making her cry out, and his mouth descended and he sucked, hard, like a starving child. Her shoulder twitched upwards, pressing into the burning mouth. But a surprisingly strong hand, smaller and finer than her own, pressed her down again, while the other clever hand grasped the neglected left breast and his nails raked lightly over that nipple. She stopped breathing for a moment, overcome.

His head lifted away with a final swipe of wet tongue, and he whispered, "You taste clean. Untouched." He kissed between her breasts, where sweat was pooling, then licked the hollow of her throat. "That tastes more like Eomer. Sweat, fear and triumph. But his is darker, mysterious."

He moved to the other breast, tormenting her with hands and mouth -- and his voice, low and intimate and breathy. "Of course, you have secrets, too. You hide your love for Lord Aragorn. Deny your lust." She only moaned in response, all her years of cold chastity meaningless under his erotic assault. Instead of speaking words, her body pressed up against his, her mouth reaching for him as her legs opened wider and her hips pushed up.

"But the King's niece has another secret." He moved up to take her mouth again, a long, sloppy kiss. Then he panted, "Is it worse that you're slaking your lust with a hobbit, or a commoner?" Frodo stopped and his hands moved off her aching flesh.

"No!" she cried.

"Yes, I was ready for him, too." Frodo scooted backwards, away from her clutching hands, and ran his hands down her body. Then his hand moved between the wantonly open legs, and his fingers parted her curls. Again, her body tried to press into his touch. "You're so wet, my lady." He wiped his fingers on her belly, showing her what he felt. "You're as much of a slut for me as I was for him."

"Yes-- I want you." The hand moved and two fingers pressed at her, and Eowyn screamed with pleasure, her body buckling.

"You do want me, just as I wanted Eomer." Frodo kept touching her as he spoke, watching her carefully. "He didn't even remove his clothing, just pulled out that long, hot cock and pushed it into me. Hard." The digits pressed again, and again Eowyn sobbed and pushed back, futilely seeking a rhythm. "He rode me endlessly, Eowyn, breaking me in half with pain and pleasure. His sweat and filth dripped down on me, so hot. It burned me. He marks me still."

His hand was moving faster now, and Eowyn felt her heartbeat racing to match Frodo's dancing fingers. Then he ducked down, and the hand fell away. Instead his mouth began to suck at her, his tongue pressing into the center of her heat and need.

Eowyn fell into pleasure deeper than she'd ever dreamt existed. She felt caught out of time, unaware of what she was doing or saying. When she came back to herself, black spots swarmed before her eyes and her limbs shook.

And Frodo Baggins, demon lover, sat beside her, his trousers now completely unbuttoned, stroking his engorged member casually, watching her face.

"He did this once he'd spent himself," he explained, and she reached a shaking hand toward him.

His eyes closed as he moved over her and she squeezed and stroked his -- his cock. The word suited the flesh, hard and smooth to her touch, fascinating. She'd never dreamed of seeing a hobbit's naked body, or of seeing any man save her husband. But she was enjoying this, enjoying how Frodo's face changed once it was her hand on him and not his own.

"Eomer held me harder," came the demanding voice. "Yes! Like that." Panting breaths then, as moisture seeped from the tip of the reddened flesh as her hand moved up and down. "He went faster."

When she did what he asked, what her brother had done for him, Frodo's face changed, eyes closing in pleasure that looked like the agony of the wounded. His body shook, his chest growing ruddy, sweat running down his face. When she pushed herself forward to kiss his breast and taste him there, he cried aloud and his essence fountained out, covering her hand. Fiery warmth landed on her belly as he shook, all his limbs taut with exertion.

"Did he kiss you?" she asked. "Did he tell you you're the most beautiful creature he's ever seen?" Frodo took a sobbing breath at her words, but didn't answer. She pulled him down to her and they kissed gently, lazily, for many minutes. Frodo's hands moved over her, sending thrills of aftershock through her heavy limbs. Even now, the sensations made her breasts peak again, reminding her she was nude though Frodo still wore his clothing. She was shamelessly comfortable nonetheless, and touched him in return, wrapping his dark curls around her fingers, smoothing the back of her hand down his warm, smooth chest, and sliding a finger along the cold chain at his neck.

Frodo stirred and moved off her quickly then, with what seemed a sad smile. He wouldn't look at her as he refastened his breeches. When he did turn, at last, it was to say in a perfect imitation of her earlier voice: "You were with the hobbit?"

Eowyn giggled in response, as she hadn't done in far too many years. The day's tragedies and losses receded for a time, and she knew she would finally be able to sleep without the weight of tomorrow's challenges.

"You've given me a great gift, Frodo Baggins."

"My lady," he smiled, bowing with his hand on his heart

"I hope you've found some peace tonight." No reply, and ignoring his wishes and her own intuition, Eowyn reached gently to turn his head and meet his eyes. There was no peace, no respite, for the hobbit. His torment hurt to see, even for the few seconds he held her gaze. Then he moved away, chattering easily.

"Will you sleep here, my lady? I'll fetch clean linens for you if you wish it. I can stay with my cousins tonight."

"No, no." She rose and bent for her discarded dress, her body still delightfully satisfied though she now felt sadder than she'd been when she first entered the room.

She drew on her gown quickly and, with a final kiss to his forehead, she left Frodo. He was sitting on the chaise, staring up at the narrow window. The walls were very thick in Helm's Deep, and she doubted he could see anything. But perhaps a familiar star shone in the north sky, for he did not look away.

It wasn't until they reached Edoras, three days after Frodo and his servant headed east alone, that Eowyn recalled him speaking of her love for Aragorn.

She lay in her familiar bed, touching herself while picturing the hobbit's unearthly eyes, and wondered how he knew.



I swore: If I survive, my cowardice ends.

Duty discharged, I carefully washed and redressed myself, not wanting to bring any reminder of battle to my dearest. He'd eloquently argued his right to fight, only to be denied because of what he carries. His brave heart chafes under the responsibility.

Before I reached the lit torches outside his room, I saw. Eomer leaving; Frodo - beautifully disheveled -- beckoning; Eowyn eagerly following. Pressed against the wall, I couldn't look away.

They love him -- and are free to do so. I am not.

I remained in the shadows, listening to my vows shatter.



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