Ficlet - Poisonous Hunt
And I'm back to LJ! I'm sorry about that but I needed some time to sort things out. I wanna thank everyone who showed concern and support through these difficult times (which are sdly not over yet, but I'm better).
Here is a gift for you. A short, dark LotR fic. Enjoy!
Poisonous Hunt
Main characters: Eowyn, Grima
Rating: light R
Pairings: Grima/Eowyn
Genre: Angst, Drama
Length: Short story
Warning: Dark!Fic, NonCon
Summary: Eowyn is running. From what? Or from whom?
Run! Run!
It was the only coherent thought her mind could scream. And her legs were obeying that short but overpowering order, only rope to survival. She knew she shouldn’t have run, she knew she was skilled enough to confront him. But truth was she was scared by this snake-face man, who wanted to caress her skin with his cold hands and mingled his foul breath with hers.
And right now, she was alone in the darkness of the Golden Hall, with no Eomer or Théoden King to save her. And no women to whom she could tell the awful truth about her uncle’s malicious counsellor. She was feeling so weak, and the poor weapon skills she had tried to learn from soldiers were not sharp enough to inspire fear. So here she was, a sixteen-year-old girl cloaked in white, trying to escape her worst nightmare.
The young lady stopped, trying to ease the beats of her heart. Was he still chasing her? Hoping for a prize she was not willing to give? Stalking her like a prey? She felt like a wild animal in a cage, walls closing in about her, doors trapping her a little more. It was a poisonous game, in which she had nothing to win.
Hands suddenly gripped her from behind and her heart stopped, feeling the dreaded touch on her shoulders. With strength she did not know he possessed, Grima, whom so many called Wormtongue, forced her to face him.
He did not even have the decency to be handsome, she thought, her mouth dry, as he began to firmly caress her.
She loathed everything about him. He was the person she associated with the word “Hate” and yet here he was, in a dark alley, trying to make her surrender. She shivered violently when she felt his moist mouth against her own. Something broke inside her at that precise moment, and she began to struggle against him, desperate for freedom. He was becoming more forceful, rubbing his body against her soft one and her mouth curled up in disgust when she felt the evidence of his desire against her tigh. She pushed as strongly as she could and saw him lost his balance. She did not think, just acted the most viciously she could think of, hitting his manhood with her right knee.
She witnessed his fall and strangled cry with indifference, and then she took one of the swords decorating the place.
- If you ever try to insult my virtue again, I swear on everything I cherish to cut your head off, is that understood?
Eowyn, daughter of Théodwyn, stood proudly, a sword pointed at her aggressor’s face. Her soul cried for his blood, but she knew she was worth more than just that. And when she looked again at the man in front of her, unmoving on the floor, she smiled. A cold, heartless smile. She slowly replaced the sword and left. Without running, her white dress floated lightly behind her, like a ghost.
THE END.
Here is a gift for you. A short, dark LotR fic. Enjoy!
Poisonous Hunt
Main characters: Eowyn, Grima
Rating: light R
Pairings: Grima/Eowyn
Genre: Angst, Drama
Length: Short story
Warning: Dark!Fic, NonCon
Summary: Eowyn is running. From what? Or from whom?
Run! Run!
It was the only coherent thought her mind could scream. And her legs were obeying that short but overpowering order, only rope to survival. She knew she shouldn’t have run, she knew she was skilled enough to confront him. But truth was she was scared by this snake-face man, who wanted to caress her skin with his cold hands and mingled his foul breath with hers.
And right now, she was alone in the darkness of the Golden Hall, with no Eomer or Théoden King to save her. And no women to whom she could tell the awful truth about her uncle’s malicious counsellor. She was feeling so weak, and the poor weapon skills she had tried to learn from soldiers were not sharp enough to inspire fear. So here she was, a sixteen-year-old girl cloaked in white, trying to escape her worst nightmare.
The young lady stopped, trying to ease the beats of her heart. Was he still chasing her? Hoping for a prize she was not willing to give? Stalking her like a prey? She felt like a wild animal in a cage, walls closing in about her, doors trapping her a little more. It was a poisonous game, in which she had nothing to win.
Hands suddenly gripped her from behind and her heart stopped, feeling the dreaded touch on her shoulders. With strength she did not know he possessed, Grima, whom so many called Wormtongue, forced her to face him.
He did not even have the decency to be handsome, she thought, her mouth dry, as he began to firmly caress her.
She loathed everything about him. He was the person she associated with the word “Hate” and yet here he was, in a dark alley, trying to make her surrender. She shivered violently when she felt his moist mouth against her own. Something broke inside her at that precise moment, and she began to struggle against him, desperate for freedom. He was becoming more forceful, rubbing his body against her soft one and her mouth curled up in disgust when she felt the evidence of his desire against her tigh. She pushed as strongly as she could and saw him lost his balance. She did not think, just acted the most viciously she could think of, hitting his manhood with her right knee.
She witnessed his fall and strangled cry with indifference, and then she took one of the swords decorating the place.
- If you ever try to insult my virtue again, I swear on everything I cherish to cut your head off, is that understood?
Eowyn, daughter of Théodwyn, stood proudly, a sword pointed at her aggressor’s face. Her soul cried for his blood, but she knew she was worth more than just that. And when she looked again at the man in front of her, unmoving on the floor, she smiled. A cold, heartless smile. She slowly replaced the sword and left. Without running, her white dress floated lightly behind her, like a ghost.
THE END.