He Is Mine!
1. He Is Mine!
"Get your hands off of my husband!" The woman strode forward, hatred in her grey eyes.
"I beg your pardon?" The other saw the hate and returned it tenfold.
"You heard me, you golden-haired slut. Get your hands off my husband!" She was closer now, could see the barbarian leaning over his cot, and her blood boiled.
"My dear lady, I am trying to help." Exasperated at the stupidity, she shook her head in disdain.
"I know what you are trying to do, you harlot, and it is not to help him, but you!" She was gaining ground; she should be next to her in a moment.
"Master Dwarf. Would you please tell this woman who I am?" A little concerned by the fire in her adversary's eyes, she looked to the formidable dwarf, hoping for some backing.
Gimli's axe covered his mouth. She knew the dwarf was laughing at her. How she hated these fops that the Ranger brought with him - elves and dwarves and men from the north! She rose from her knees; the man on the cot moaned piteously. She turned her back on him, a blush of anger rising from her neck to the tips of her hair.
Legolas tried to step in, to stop the brawl before it began, but the aggrieved woman was too quick for him The other woman screamed and lunged at her, nails piercing her arms. In only a moment, the two were rolling on the Pelennor, raven and blond hair being tugged at, screams piercing the air, teeth biting, and hands punching.
"Stop this!" he cried ineffectually. 'Harder to separate than a dragon from its egg.' He stepped back to avoid a kick and fell over a body. Immediately, he remembered where he was: on the graveyard of Gondor and Rohan's finest. He picked himself up.
"Stop this now!" His voice had risen only a little, but the command in it brought the women's battle to an end.
"Do you not know where we are? Do you not understand what has befallen your people here on this field of blood? You desecrate it with your antics. Both men of Rohan and men of Gondor have fallen and died here. You shame yourselves."
"She started it, whore of Rohan!" She knelt next to her husband, holding his hand, and wiping his fevered brow.
"Yes! You foolish whimpering daughter of a warg. He is injured; I was helping him." She hissed her derision. "What fools all you women of Gondor are!"
"Fool! Fool you call me! Do you think I cannot see with my own eyes what you were doing? You were putting your hand inside his tunic, running your fingers over his chest. If I had not stopped you, the Valar only know what foul things you would have done to him. I have heard of you women of Rohan, ready with your wiles to entrap any man who happens your way."
"You, sköka of Gondor! We know the tales of the brothels of your city. We hear our men speak of your filthy ways. They come back from your land and spread the news of the ease of bedding a woman of Mundberg. You think you are better than we are? Well, I will leave your husband to bleed his life away here on the field. I care not!" She turned and walked away, furious.
"She speaks the truth," Legolas said quietly. "Your husband is bleeding to death. See you not the wound in his chest, the blood seeping from it? She is a leech, a healer that Théoden King brought with him. She was trying to help him."
She sat back on her heels, stricken. Turning her head towards her husband, she recoiled at the blood staining his tunic. "Stop!" she cried loudly, stood and ran to catch up as the other walked away, and threw herself at the feet of her foe, begging, "Please, please. Kill me if you must to appease your anger, my foolishness knows no bounds, but please help my husband."
"It seems that you are needed," Gimli said to the Rohir. "Lost will this woman's husband be if you do not help him. Put aside your ill will. It becomes you not. From the little I have seen of the women of the Mark, you are better than that."
She saw the Elf nod in silent agreement.
She turned around.
The other bowed.
She stared in surprise.
The other kissed her hand.
Slata - slut
Sköka - whore (but a little worse!)
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.