A/N: This fic is M-rated for a reason. If you're uncomfortable with sexuality, than this is not the story for you. That being said, the story this drabble is a companion to is based almost solely on Peter Jackson's Film version of LotR, though I have drawn some inspiration and information (as I saw fit) from Tolkien's books. I am not aiming for canon.

I only own my tweaks and my characters. If it wasn't in the movies (or in some cases the books) I made it or them up.

This a short companion to my other fanfic Daughter of Rohan. If you haven't read it up to Chapter 10 (or read it at all), it may not make as much sense as it features my O/C Hilde. It takes place during the break of Chapter 10 and is basically a reworked deleted scene that I felt I had to cut in order to keep my fic rated T. It's now a (somewhat) stand alone little bit of smut :P

I hope you enjoy! I'm not terribly experienced in writing smut, so I hope it's all right. Please feel free to R&R

Daughter of Rohan: The Shieldmaiden and the Horselord

The Hall was still almost deafeningly loud, songs and carousing echoing through the hazy air. Everywhere in Meduseld, through all of Edoras, the people of Rohan celebrated their victory and memorialized their dead.

In one dim, shadowed corner, Hilde sat with her horselord, his stolen mug of ale in her hands as she drank, watching him watching her, his eyes growing dark with something deeper than amusement. At her waist his hands were tightening, and she couldn't help but gasp as he began pulling her closer.

In an instant the mug had fallen forgotten to the floor as he pulled her down to him, his lips needy and insistent against hers, begging entrance as his hands caressed up her sides and back into her hair, tangling in the red-gold tresses as he crushed her against him. Without hesitation she complied, grabbing her own fistfuls of his tunic, digging her fingers in to his own long hair as she pulled him against her just as persistently. She knew what he wanted; she was no innocent young maid. She was a shieldmaiden, her mettle tested and true in battle, who knew her own mind…and her own heart.

She wanted him. With every bone in her body, every fibre of her being, in that moment Hilde wanted him.

More than that, in the depths of her soul she was beginning to realize that she would never stop wanting him.

And she could tell from the urgent way his lips claimed her, the possessive way his hands roamed her body and the fervent gleam in his eyes, that he wanted her just as badly as she wanted him.

She needed to be closer. She could feel the heat of him even through the layers of fabric between them, but she wanted to be closer still. While one hand was still tangled in his hair, pulling him against her, her other hand slid down the back of his tunic, pressing flat against his skin. She gasped as the heat growing between them intensified with the contact of her skin on his.

Suddenly he was on his feet, pulling her along with him. His arms tight around her waist, half-carrying her even, he ducked down the shadowed corridor that led from the hall to the private quarters of Meduseld. Éomer paused only once, pressing her back against the rough wall as he captured her lips again. She could taste the ale she had stolen from him as the entire length of his body pressed against hers. She couldn't help but writhe against him in anxious anticipation as his hands explored their way down her body, tugging impatiently at her skirts. She smiled into his mouth as he groaned at the way she was moving against him.

Under his hands her battle-battered body ached, but somehow it only intensified the sensations he was drawing from her. Any lingering pain she felt as his fingers pressed against her bruises and abrasions was soon completely subsumed by the pleasure those same touches were evoking within her.

One of his hands was flat against the wall, supporting him as his mouth trailed a line of fire across her jaw and down her neck, nipping and sucking at her hypersensitive skin. Her arms wound around his neck, one of her legs inching up about his hip as he pressed closer still.

In another instant they were moving down the hallway again, only this time they didn't stop until they had reached the privacy of his chambers. As soon as he closed the door behind her, she was pushing him back against it, just as eager, just as desperate for his touch as he was hers. With a sound remarkably like a growl rising from his chest, he spun them around so fiercely that she was once again pressed up against the wall, nearly knocking over the table that stood next to the door. The sound delighted her, and she could help but laugh breathlessly at the way his eagerness matched hers.

As he lifted her up against him, he wasn't anxiously tugging at her dress, he was grabbing it in great handfuls, bunching it up about her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh. She took full advantage, her legs wrapping themselves around his hips, locking him in place against her with a wicked grin as he kissed and nipped further at the sensitive skin of her throat. Just as his hands tugged insistently at her, working their way back to the lacings of her dress, hers were busy too, dropping to his sword-belt. The buckle came undone easily beneath her anxious fingers, Guthwine landing on the floor with a dull thud.

He groaned, his lips pausing where they were burning a trail along her collarbone and newly exposed shoulder as her fingers skimmed lower undoing the clasps of his tunic. As the last one came undone, her hands were at his shoulders, pushing the green velvet back and down his arms. Obeying her silent command, Éomer took a half step back as he shrugged off the tunic, letting it fall to the floor. The move forced Hilde's legs to drop from his waist as she slid back toward the ground, drawing a disappointed and involuntary whimper from her at the loss of contact. But no sooner was he free of it than her hand were at his waist, tugging at his shirt just as he had been grasping at her skirts mere moments before. It was a hint he took with pleasure, the light shirt quickly joining his tunic on the floor.

Hilde paused then, her breath coming heavy as she drank in the sight of him. He watched her looking at him with dark, smoldering eyes. There wasn't a scrap of unnecessary flesh on him, his body a masterpiece of hard, toned muscle that she longed to explore every inch of. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than her hands were on him, her fingers trailing over every scar, every contour of him from his broad shoulders, down over his heaving chest, taut muscled belly and narrow hips until she reached the laces of his breeches, her fervent lips close behind. Under her lips and fingers he quivered with anticipation, visibly struggling to hold himself still with his fists clenching at his sides, his eyes nearly black with desire as he watched her exploring him. But as soon as she began undoing those laces he lost what control he had left, his hands closing about her wrists and pulling her back up against him, draping her arms over his shoulders as he claimed her sweet mouth again, his tongue dueling fiercely with hers as his hands returned to finish their work on the laces of her dress. Her nails scraped against his scalp and the bare skin of his shoulders and back as he tugged free the last bit of fabric holding her dress to her body, his hands disappearing beneath the fabric.

It was now his turn to explore her.

Without ending the kiss that consumed them in that moment, Hilde disentangled her hands from where they had been buried in his golden hair, eagerly shrugging from her dress with his help as he had from his tunic. As the blue fabric pooled at her feet Éomer was the one to draw back, his eyes roaming her body, drinking her in just as she had him. Only, unlike him, she hesitated to let him look at first, a part of her wondering at how he would perceive the way her pale skin was still marred by mottled bruises and partially healed cuts. She was proud of each and every mark and scar from her hard-fought battle and she knew he loved the side of her that had driven her to the Wall of the Hornburg but, in that moment, a little part of her couldn't help but wonder if the marks of battle upon her body would deter him even a little.

Then his hands were on her again, caressing her hips and breasts and behind as his lips paid tender homage to each and every wound and bruise. It was exquisite, and Hilde's knees were soon weakening beneath her. Slowly her fingers once again began twining in his hair, hanging on for dear life.

But soon he too began moving ever lower and her own waning self-control snapped just as his had. Her nails digging into his biceps she crushed herself against him, her lips crashing against his, her urgency causing him to stagger back.

He recovered quickly, though, his arms wrapping around her and bearing her to the bed. In moments his breeches and boots had joined the rest of their garments, both their hands urgently working the laces, their fingers tangling before Hilde was able to push the material from his hips, transfixed when she saw all of him before her—ready for her.

The heat that had been pooling in her belly since she had landed on his lap in the Great Hall blazed into an inferno that was soon consuming her, leaving her panting as Éomer hurriedly divested himself of the last of his garments. Her body was aching, screaming for him as he positioned himself over her, his long, lean body covering hers as she pulled him into her waiting arms, his hair falling like a golden curtain around them as he leaned down to brush his lips over hers. Every curve and contour of their bodies fit together like they had been made for each other, and when he finally entered her a feeling of completeness flooded through her even as a pleasure more intense than any she had known before surged through every inch of her body, her head falling back as his name came gasping from her lips.

She arched against him, moving as he moved, their bodies in perfect harmony as she pressed closer, her legs and hands gripping tighter as his fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh, her hip, anywhere he could hold on. One muscled arm propped him over her as his hips moved in time with hers.

Every few moments his lips would dip to meet hers or she would pull him down to her mouth in searing, breathless meetings before he drew back, his eyes always latching onto hers as she moaned and writhed beneath him. Her fingers were digging into his shoulders and back as she held on amid the white-hot, almost excruciating pressure building within her. Faintly she heard herself pleading, constantly pulling him closer, faster, deeper.

Even as a blistering, earth-shattering ecstasy crashed over her in waves that made her vision waver and starbursts explode before her eyes, she couldn't tear her gaze from his, lost as she was within the intensity of his fathomless green eyes. Above her he cried out her name, and his body seized and jerked as hers did.

And then she was floating in those eyes, her body boneless and heavy, content and fulfilled as she had never experienced before. As utterly spent as she was, he nearly collapsed on top of her, though she found his body comfortingly heavy against hers. Her mind was completely and wholly blank save for him and the way he was looking at her; like she was the only thing that existed—or mattered.

She felt as one with him in that one blissful moment that seemed to hold eternity within it.

Slowly, control of her body returned to her and her fingers trailed up and over his shoulders, tracing his strong jaw before cupping his face in her hand. The only sound between them was the sound of their labored breaths, their chests heaving in time as she almost thought their hearts beat.

With a satisfied groan he eased off her, careful not to crush her, before pulling her into his arms. Without hesitation, her limbs still slow and pleasantly languorous in the aftermath of their joining, she nestled against him, her fingers entwining with his where then rested over his steadily beating heart, its rhythm beginning to slow. Her head tucked perfectly in the hollow of his throat.

A pleased sigh escaped her as the fingers of his other hand traced gently along her spine.

"Are you happy?" His voice was low and husky, sending a pleased shiver through her. She drew back, looking up at him through her lashes. Even as the driving heat of their passion cooled, it still lingered in his eyes…as did the intensity of the love she had glimpsed as they finished together. Lifting herself up so that she looked down on him, her hair falling to enclose them in a red-gold curtain, she placed a gentle, tender kiss on his lips.

"Happier than I had ever imagined I could be," she murmured into his mouth before kissing him again.

Thanks for reading!

I'd love to hear your thoughts, lovely readers!