The Diary
Ravished
DF 01
Rider of the Mark – Two years after the birth of Léoma
A/N – don't ask how or why, but in recent weeks, a certain muse has been in a dark mood. This installment is not for the pink and fluffy set. You've been warned.
***It never gets easier, when He is gone. I spend the entire time looking towards the horizon, praying he returns home safe. Apparently, my worrying works, as he does. I miss him so and the bed is so cold…***
There had been a time when he looked forward to campaigns, looked forward to rushing into battle, looked forward to feeling his blood sing. His sword begged for it, Dréogan would get impatient, stamping, and ready for the scent of the hunt, the iron tang of slaughter.
Something had happened between then and now. Things he looked forward to in the past, he no longer cherished.
He had grown soft.
Dréogan nickered angrily and shook his head. With almost an apologetic grimace, Gamling loosened his grip on the reins.
Damn.
He was soft, his bed was soft, his gut was soft, damn, his horse had grown…
Soft.
He and his men rode through the gates of home, lanterns and lamps lit in every window, every nook. In the midst of his angry musings, some things that had been soft suddenly were not.
He headed straight to the stable, dismounting before his horse came to a complete stop. Dréogan was unsaddled in no time, the stable boy tossing a currycomb, while taking the saddle from the Master of the House. Dréogan was rubbed down, brushed down, another young stable boy filling the water trough and oats.
The warhorse was well acquainted with his Rider's moods and even the randy stallion had other things on his mind. He accepted the scratch on the nose, heard the whispered 'Well done, boy' and moved to the back of his stall, where a pretty dappled mare awaited him.
Gamling took one look at his stallion, noting that the feared battle horse turned into a well-behaved suitor when facing his lady.
He had no intentions of being well-behaved. And His Lady knew her place and where she had better be.
He strode across the common area, acknowledging the bows and curtsies from the workers and Riders. It still made him uncomfortable, but they insisted.
The front doors were double, not as grand as Edoras, but still grand for the Wold. He threw them open, the conquering hero, the noise jarring and echoing through the Hall. He searched the nearest Rohirrim.
"Where?"
The cook was striding through and looked confused for a moment before responding. "That child of yours just went to sleep on a stack of potatoes. Your wife is upstairs, I believe."
Gamling nodded thanks and headed towards the stairs, grim determination evident on his visage. Servants, arms piled with linens, stood back –
"M'Lord…"
- whispering coming to a halt.
He heard her voice from around the corner.
"I don't know when Gamling will return, but I want a fine feast laid out for him and the-"
"AEFRE!" He could roar, he knew he could and he scowled when he saw his wife's head peer around the corner.
"Béma!"
"YOU KNOW WHERE I WANT YOU!"
He heard her scurry off, three girls immediately stood in his way, as if to slow him.
"M'lord, would you like chicken or a smoked calf-"
He pushed them to the side, effectively moving through them as if they were a trickle of water. "I don't care as long as it doesn't move when I stick my knife in it!"
He heard a door slam as he rounded the corner. With a very determined stride, he strode to his bedroom door. Without warning he looked up and down the hallway, snarling at the women staring at him as if he had lost his head.
"Care to join us?" he asked a grey-haired woman standing closest.
"I think you'd best be satisfying your Lady first before you look my way, you Orc!" She turned with a huff and rounded the corner. The others darted after her.
Finally the hallway was empty.
Gamling smiled. He started to knock on the door, but thought better. He leaned in, heard nothing. He slung the door open.
She was where he told her when he had left he wanted her…
***Naked in my bed. ***
He did not see the newest grey hairs or tiredness. He didn't see clothes slung across the room, so hurried was she to unclothe. He saw his Aefre-
***HIS Aefre sweetsweetmagicfingersthankyouBemaIloveyouAefre***
sitting naked on the bed, legs tucked under.
He wanted her now. He couldn't wait… He threw the door closed and dropped the privacy bar. Toeing his boots off, he began to wrestle with his greaves.
"Let me help." She scrambled off the bed, on her knees in front of him, her hands moving to the laces behind his legs. The armor fell off, his braces following. In short time, he was wearing nothing but his tunic, her mouth wrapped around him.
He allowed her to tend to him, coax him, if he thought he couldn't get any harder, he was wrong. There was something wonderfully submissive about the naked woman, on her knees, servicing him. His hands went into the long silken strands of hair, tightening his grip, moving her to a rhythm he desired.
As much as he enjoyed her ministrations, he was too close to spending himself and he wanted that sweet hollow that was his and no other's. He pulled her up by the hair of the head, heard her gasp, saw her wince…
"On the bed." He gestured towards the large four poster with his leonine head. She obediently acquiesced, using the step. She began to turn and face him.
"On your hands and knees."
If she was insulted by the order, she didn't show it. No sooner than she was in position, he was on the bed behind her. With one swift motion, he pressed in to the hilt, his hands back to her hair. He tugged, reining her in a harsh, granite rhythm.
***don'twanttocomedon'twanttospend-***
He pulled out, turned her hair loose and flipped her to her back. Too quickly, he spread her and dove back in, throwing one well-muscled leg over his shoulder. Now her hands were in his hair, threading to the roots as she pulled him to her shoulder. Somewhere in the internal roar, he heard her encouraging him -
***come on baby it's yours I'm yours take it take all of me…***
Moments later, he did. He came in a crashing, noisy cataclysm, roaring in her ear.
It took a moment to realize he was probably crushing her. He rolled over and pulled her close. He slung his leg around hers and slid his fingers between her legs.
"Did I hurt you?"
Aefre tugged playfully at his beard. "No, you big lummox. Had you, I would have smacked you."
Gamling dipped his head, finding her nipple. Gently, he began to suckle, his fingers teasing her. He listened to her, waited to hear her breath quicken and catch. In the past few years, he had learned her body, memorized each crevice and curve until he knew it as well as his own. He intensified his touch, nibbling until her back arched from the bed, her own breath caught in a vortex. The moment she peaked, he lessened the pressure, perceptive to the immediately sensitivity of her erogenous zones. He waited for her to float back to the earth, before removing his fingers and licking them. The Rider tucked her under his arm. He started to drift off to sleep.
He heard her mumble.
"What?
"I said I missed you, Grunt the Mountain Man."
