~Chapter Forty~

My Angel

Baby,
Don't Understand,
Why We Can't Just Hold On
To Each Other's Hands.

This Time Might Be The Last, I Fear.
Unless I Make It All Too Clear:
I Need You So…

Take These Broken Wings,
And Learn To Fly Again…

And Learn To Live So Free.

~Broken Wings, by Mr. Mister

Disclaimer: Me No Own; You No Sue.

If You're Reading This Story, Please Know It Contains Excerpts from My Lord of the Rings Story, Sacrifice.

As usual, Gandalf did not disappoint and started the discussion. He released his breath, blowing smoke from his between his lips, and cleared his throat to speak. "We all have much to do, and little time to prepare or move," The Wizard quietly said to us and then glanced at his hands. "I fear that there is not enough time, in truth, to do what must be done…"

Silently, Boromir glanced to Merry and Pippin, who remained curled against my stomach, and then stared solemnly back at the Wizard. "We have little time, as you mentioned, but not all is lost, Gandalf," Boromir returned with confidence that wavered only at the last part, letting his uncertainty show.

"We all know what must be done," Gimli chipped in with his usual bluntness, hunching forward to place his palm to his knee and to stare straight at them. He shifted restlessly, though, uneasy with the suggestion, and grunted, "We must attack the problem from all sides, and…"

"…We need to split up…" I softly whispered.

"Aragorn…"

You might have defeated Death for the moment, Child, but the Witch King stalks the battlefield. And Death will return. Be cautious. Be wary. He will shatter shields and strike fear into the heart of the Sun.

Waking from slumber, I chased off the remnants of another nightmare and searched for him, for the warmth of his body burrowed into the sheets and pressed firmly against mine, but I could not find him. My left hand automatically sought his right and shot to the opposite side of the bed – Aragorn always slept beside me. Fingers touched nothing but sheets and blankets, and I lifted myself with elbows and forearms to scan my eyes over our empty bedroom. My stomach churned with sudden fear.

Where the fuck is Aragorn? I subconsciously responded to that fear – and also the draft coming in through the open window – by pulling emerald sheets higher to cover my naked breasts and bare stomach, hiding the soft swell of child. I calmed; the sheets were warm, and the scent of tobacco smoke still lingered in the air. Aragorn could not be far away…

"Where are you?" I softly murmured, hearing the quiet rasp and smiling faintly in satisfaction, knowing the hoarseness was a result of being really vocal during lovemaking. My lover was especially affectionate last night following the party to honor the fallen Rohirrim, probably fearing that this would be the last time, and I had trouble keeping up. We'd shed clothing everywhere in his haste to get to the bed.

Thus, I had lots of trouble locating all of the discarded clothing now, and I resorted to wearing my panties, his extra tunic, and the sheet that I had dragged from the bed to cover myself while I searched through the chaotic mess. I draped it over my arms and neck and back. Huddled into its embrace, I sniffed at the lingering scents of smoke, sweat, and the musk of sex. My belly burned with sudden interest, the smell and the thoughts of how the musk had been created arousing me.

Groaning, I scrubbed at my eyes and cheeks, heading for the closed door.

Damn hormones…!

A staff, recently finished by Gandalf, leaned against the framework. I retrieved it, feeling kind of silly for carrying it everywhere until I grimly thought of all the trouble within neighboring lands, and made my way outside; it looked less conspicuous than the bow, too. Some of the Rohirrim Riders thought it to be a walking stick until I brandished it in front of them – or accidentally set their pants ablaze.

Which I had done.

Twice…

Following the scent of tobacco and smoke, I clutched the staff – small, white, and with a small blue crystal in its cradle – tightly to my chest and hurried down the empty halls. Ice cold, stone floors beneath bare feet urge me onwards, to Aragorn. I quietly scampered out and into the open, weaving in and out of the columns lining the courtyard of exotic flowers, tended to and prized above all by Eowyn. My friend, I suddenly recalled, would need to be told of the upcoming battles, and also her part in one. Death had been frightening enough, but the Witch King?

My conscience ached with uncertainty. I would not – could not – tell her everything. I could, however, tell her enough to keep her safe and…

War is coming.

…Alive.

A large hand suddenly clamped its way over my arm, and I yelped, fearful of the sudden touch, and balked to rid myself of the unwanted attention. I whirled around to hit the Man with my new staff, but his hands brushed it aside, his long fingers curling around the handle. Soft lips touched mine, tasting of salt and smoke. I calmed instantly, letting the familiar taste and smell wash over me as an arm curled, gently pulling until I relaxed in his hold. A tongue licked at my swollen lips, and I let them slowly fall apart, coaxed into submission by the fire in his kisses.

"Why are you up?" My lover demanded between kisses, his hands slowly wandering from arms, to hips, to the hem of his borrowed tunic. "You need sleep, Little One, and the babe does, too." Blinked in shock, and then frowned down at me. "On another note, I have to wonder why I feel the skin of bare legs…" Glare. "…Where are your pants?!"

Sighs of pleasure escaped, quietly lost to his lips, and made it hard to concentrate. It didn't help much that Aragorn expected explanations now, and yet continued to kiss me. I struggled to clear the fog of lust from my mind, thinking back to our room, and waking to find him gone – and of deciding to leave the room and search for him in nothing but his tunic. Not the smartest idea, I could admit. I hummed in thought, pondering his question and how best to respond, and ultimately deemed it pointless to respond. He wouldn't really like the answer, so…

I kissed him again.

"Samantha!"

At his insistence, however, I gave in and reluctantly mumbled, "Okay, okay! You were gone, and I worried about it until I realized the sheets were warm. I smelled tobacco smoke, and I followed it here, hoping to convince you to sleep again."

"Cannot sleep," The Ranger grumbled around the pipe that quickly returned to his lips. Aragorn fiddled with it but did not light the dry leaves again and buried his fingers in hair that tumbled down over my shoulders, calming himself.

Sadly, I hugged both arms over my stomach; I let him play with the hair, but I tried not to touch him because I could tell that Aragorn did not want to be comforted right then. "…You need to take better care of yourself, Aragorn…" I pleaded with him.

"Samantha, I have others to worry over, and it is difficult to sleep when I have the weight of this destiny on my shoulders. …I did not ask to become King," Aragorn explained, the weariness in his voice loud and clear. Fingers lifted his hand to touch his sword, checking to make certain it was near, and Aragorn glanced at the mountains dividing Rohan from Gondor – and Mordor.

Honestly, I could not tell which of those places scared him more…

You shine like the stars, Samantha May Steel.

So does Aragorn.

"What about me, and Faith?" I quietly asked him. While knowing that I really shouldn't add to his nearly endless list of worries, I needed to play that card, if only to get him to return to bed and get another few hours of sleep! He needed it. Badly.

In the following silence, I gazed at him in concern. Purple bags pulled at the skin under his weary gray eyes and made him look like the Walking Dead. My lover was normally quite tan because of all the time spent in the sunshine, but his skin appeared paler, almost sallow, and his cheeks had hollowed in the weeks since Helm's Deep. Aragorn washed his hair when possible, and I sometimes did it for him to give him the chance to sit in peace and quiet, without people asking him questions and telling him the latest bit of news. More silver streaked through the black now.

Damn, Aragorn looks exhausted, I sadly thought, before giving in and holding him closer to hug him with all the might I could muster. The Man probably thought me scared and worried, and Aragorn would be right; however, I was not scared for myself.

For him, though…

"…Faith?" The Ranger stared down at me, confused at the mention of this unfamiliar name, and then slowly blinked in recognition; the meaning dawned for him. A strange expression crossed his face, a mixture of embarrassment and manly pride, and Aragorn breathed, "You named her…"

Blushing, I lifted both hands and played with the thick strings hanging from the collar of his favorite (and thus nearly threadbare) red tunic. He silently let me open up the shirt, baring the upper portion of his chest. I kissed the bit of skin above his strongly beating heart and nervously mumbled, "Estella Faith is what I picked. I, uh, thought it kinda appropriate, since her father is called Hope 'n all…"

Warm fingers clasped around mine, strong thumbs brushed circles into their skin, and gentle lips kissed their knuckles. "Estella Faith, daughter of Estel and Esseruloth…" Aragorn nuzzled the pinked flesh with tender affection, smiled softly, and whispered, "I like it."

"…Y-You do? Really?" I asked, in shock, and smiled hopefully at him, while also completely missing the fact that Aragorn had actually slipped and referred to me in Elvish. He and I had discussed it briefly, whether I would keep my name. I liked being Sammy. His Samantha.

"Quite," Aragorn said in response. He smiled down at me and cupped his long fingers over my swollen belly, letting his thumbs brush against the belly button, which had started to stick out more. My lover smiled crookedly while staring down at his hands. "Inside here is Estella Faith."

"Our daughter," I happily proclaimed, placing both hands atop his and staring at the evidence of the family I had created for myself here in Middle Earth – me, my soon-to-be husband, and the child Aragorn and I had created together. Our daughter, Faith…

"Aragorn, Samantha," A voice called out to us as our own voices carried throughout the serenity of the quiet night. We listened for another moment and then followed the next words – "My friends" – to the far edge of the elevated courtyard, finding Legolas. "Come see."

Shock curdled the happiness inside, and I stared at him, horrified to find that stress had made its mark upon our (nearly) immortal and timeless friend, too. He was wearing the cloak from Lady Galadriel, finding the bite of the night cold for once – and also in the attempt to hide the sickly, grayish tint to his beautiful skin. Ancient blue eyes were weary.

I sucked in a small breath, feeling sick: What is happening to us?

"A terrible menace awakens," The Elf Prince murmured to us, a nervous gleam in his ancient eyes, "and while I sense a presence, a presence of another I thought long lost, I fear that her arrival will be far too late to prevent its rising."

Snarling, Oromë paced restlessly inside the Hall of Mandos. The Witch King is here, waiting in the shadows, stalking the battlefield, claiming the lost souls of the fallen. We do not have time to wait for the Green Angel. He will hunt you, and shatter her shield, and strike fear into the heart of the Sun. Your world is separating from ours. But it is not yet done. Be cautious. Be wary.

THE EYE OF SAURON IS NEAR.

Be wary…

The Ranger didn't notice the loss of color on my cheeks, and moved closer to his companion, his oldest friend. Aragorn stared off into the distance, blinking in thought and in worry. Hesitantly stated, "You speak of the Half-Elf, of the Green Angel…"

"Aye," Legolas softly returned, before placing his fingers over my own, which slowly moved to hold his hand. The Elf smiled down at me, and yet his thoughts remained far away – mine, too. "She, like this one, is gifted with animals and in Magic, though it is another of her abilities that the enemy covets."

Ears perked. "What is it, Legolas?" I asked him the question because Aragorn already appeared to know and understand the answer. Like Legolas, however, Aragorn had lived with the Elves, and with his time there came a rather extensive knowledge of their traditions, customs, and abilities. My lover had met several important and powerful Elves.

Lord Elrond, Lady Arwen, Lady Galadriel, Prince Legolas…

"Soon I will be there, with you."

And Mom.

"She has the Sight," Legolas kindly explained, though his shortened explanation hinted at his odd impatience and his desire for us to simply understand the reasoning behind his worries, which I could not fault him for, "and walks between worlds, thus her title – the Walker."

Slowly, I mulled this bit of information over, a sense of foreboding filling me. The Valar have talked about that title before. My Mother, Manwë and Oromë claimed, is the Walker. Now Legolas claims his sister, the Half-Elf, is the Walker. Could it be…?

"Apologies; I speak in riddles best left for the morning hours," The Elf lightly said. Mistaking my unease and fear for confusion, Legolas laughed softly, his tired face shining again with his amusement. He faced Aragorn. "Why not return to bed, Aragorn? We may speak in the morning…"

Following his pointed glance, Aragorn glanced down to me, a warm smile flickering to life at the sight of the bout of yawning I tried to stifle. The Man warmly chuckled, "Agreed, Legolas. We shall meet again in the morning, when we are well rested – and when a certain Woman does not follow me."

"A certain Woman would not have to follow a certain Man if the certain Man stayed in bed to cuddle with his Woman, who is tired, and hormonal, and carrying his child," I retorted in a grumble and halfheartedly glared at him through narrowed blue eyes. Aragorn paled.

"Good luck, Aragorn, in begging yourself back into her graces!" The Elf bit back laughter at his resulting expression terror and clasped his shoulder in comradery. Smirked at the dark glower I tossed his way as well. "You will need it, I see."

Grimacing, Aragorn glared after his supposed friend and then glanced back down to me. A wary look clouded his silver irises, turning them nearly black, though it darkened in the next moment for yet another reason. I tried to hide the laughter that threatened to bubble to the surface, but I could not hold it in, and I burst into snickers at the sight of his thoroughly chastised expression. Almost ninety, and sometimes afraid of little ol' me! Ha!

My lover gaped, and then slowly grinned at me, my snorts of laughter letting him know that I had been playing around the whole time and merely teasing him. "Two shall play this game," Aragorn teased, before crouching down – and leaping straight at me!

Stifling a squeal, I scurried backwards like a startled crab and then bolted for the relative safety of the bedroom Aragorn and I shared. I hurried down the same path that I had followed earlier, taking this turn and that one, my eyes on our closed bedroom door. When I reached it, I threw the door open, ran inside, and slammed it shut. I fiddled with the handle, locking it tightly to keep him out. Shoved the nearest chair in front of it, too! My staff leaned against the chair.

"Check and mate, Aragorn!"I crowed loudly in triumph, standing back with hands to hips and smirk to lips to observe the quick bit of handiwork. My barricade would definitely hold should the crafty Man attempt to pick the lock. Yeah, Ranger! Try getting in here now!

"Clever, Little One, but not clever enough…" Aragorn returned with dark amusement, the sound of his purring words sending shivers down my spine, "…because I believe it will simply be mate in this instance." Smirk. "I win."

In shock, I slowly turned to gape at the window, which had been left open. Aragorn was perched there, atop the ledge, with the glass shutters hanging behind his tall, lanky form. He already had his right leg in the room, and the other followed quickly, dropping to the floor with a soft thud. The Man was so very quick in climbing through the window that I could not even reopen the locked door, like I had planned the moment I noticed him crouched there like a predator.

"Lemme go," I whined the protest when his strong forearms were on my curvy waist, lifting up, up, up. I stopped whining as my wicked lover cupped his hands atop soft breasts, which had since filled with the milk needed to feed his growing child and become increasingly tender. Aragorn lightly squeezed them with his calloused fingers. A soft moan was my response.

"Oh? You truly desire that I cease?" Aragorn playfully asked, the question light, and retracted his hands, letting them fall to his sides. He smirked at the frustrated whine that I let out at the sudden loss of contact. "Shall I show you what I promised, instead?"

My heart hammered inside, but I stared at him with interest, my eyes warming, darkening with excitement. I remembered it so very clearly: "If I asked nicely," Aragorn had purred in my ear, a warm palm cupping my rear and kneading the soft flesh with strong fingers, "would I be able to convince you to try something with me?"

Slowly, I moved closer to Aragorn, taking his open palm and following him to the large bed that waited in the middle of the bedroom. He climbed into it first – which I absently noted with some confusion, since I usually went in first, followed by Aragorn – and then pulled at the two clasped hands connecting us. I complied without words, climbing into the bed and letting him, trusting him, to lead. My lover pulled lightly at my arm until I crawled into his lap, seated there and waiting for his command. Big blue eyes were eager. Trusting.

Groaning, Aragorn leaned into me and kissed the neck I bared for him, the lips I offered to him in submission. Fire burned in the wake of his warm, open mouth. I cried out as a particularly sharp nip bit into my neck. My lover soothed it with his tongue and murmured, "May I be beneath you?"

My heart stopped momentarily; it stuttered in shock beneath the weight of this question and all that it meant. Aragorn was always dominant, always in control in the bedroom, but wanted to give in, to be at my mercy. "Y-You want me t-to…" Barely breathing, I gaped at him in cold disbelief and squeaked out, "…ride you?"

The Ranger slowly, almost shyly, inclined his head in agreement, his dark hair falling down into his face and into beautiful silver eyes. He licked his lips and groaned again when I squirmed in his lap, the uncertainty of what to do – of how to ride him – making me nervous. Ride him? Ride the Ranger? Where's the punch line?!

Through the pain of being hard and erect and ready, Aragorn bucked his hips against mine and rasped out, "Yes. Yes. Sweet Eru, I want you…"

Although uncertain, I wanted to do this for him, and for us. I was comfortable being independent and taking charge, and I usually made certain that my opinions and thoughts met the light of day, but I had become rather accustomed to letting Aragorn lead and make the decisions, especially in the bedroom. After all, Middle Earth Men preferred to be the dominant partner in relationships, particularly those sexual in nature; however, I would be happy to take the lead for once and let him fall back to rest, to savor our pleasures while I did most – if not all – of the work. He refused before, balking at the thought of not leading and pleasuring me. It confused him.

Honestly, I did not really mind the difference in rearing or years, my affection and love for him overriding everything else, even our ages. Some might think it strange, maybe disgusting, that Aragorn had become my protector, lover, and teacher. He was so damn stubborn sometimes, though! Aragorn refused help, instead stretching himself too thin in attempting to please everyone, even me. My turn now…

"Teach me," I breathed.

My Man slowly reclined back to rest against the pillows and grasped the slender fingers that I offered him. Aragorn guided them to his weeping manhood, and I circled it with index finger and thumb, pressing gently against the pink tip. It pulsed beneath the pressure, a strum of his heartbeat whispering inside. A surprised grunt escaped from between his parting lips when I increased the pressure, wanting to hear him to fall apart, at my mercy.

"Harder," Aragorn begged, his hips bucking in time to the pressure my small fingers applied, and moved his hand to mine, guiding it further down the shaft. "Right here, Samantha." He grunted, liking that I applied plenty of pressure while increasing the speed. My lover groaned throatily. "Valar help me…"

Beneath the touches, I could feel it growing, if possible, more erect. Veins, blue and purple, seemed to pulse quicker up and down his shaft, speeding up with each quick swipe of the hand. With that in mind, I leaned down to kiss his tip, and then engulfed his manhood with my mouth. Hearing the startled shout of the Man above but not paying much attention to his rush of words, I continued to suck lightly, circling the flesh with my pink tongue. I moved back and forth, sliding his manhood in and out, lips popping obscenely. It wasn't something I had done often, but in the months I had spent with Aragorn, I had occasionally convinced him to let me. So I had become somewhat good at it, knowing how to make him last – or make him cum.

Elvish rained down from his lips, and Aragorn cried out, frantically speaking words that I had learned, and others that I had yet to figure out. I pulled back, licking his warm seed from parted lips while waiting for him to return to me. Blinking sleepily, Aragorn turned to stare at me, and, the moment silver met blue, smirked happily. I smiled proudly back, falling against his chest to let him kiss me again – and again, and again, and again.

Kisses, first soft, became increasingly heated again. I could feel Aragorn become excited again, the evidence thick and heavy against my tummy. My sex, which ached pleasantly, become wet again, and I pushed insistently against his slender hips with my much curvier ones. Grunting, Aragorn reached down to cup my rear and then used his knee to part my own. His erection jumped forward to brush against my entrance, almost slipping inside, but not quite.

Growling softly, I pushed him backwards, taking him by surprise and staring down at him, delighted, when Aragorn submitted without words, his pupils blown wide with lust. I stretched him out, pushing his limbs out to the sides, and straddled his waist. I slowly, carefully, lowered myself down. One hand reached down to guide his thick manhood into my sex, and the other curled around the breasts that began to bounce with each motion I made. Up and down I bounced, slowly sliding him in and out, in and out, in and out. Aragorn groaned.

A hand lifted, but I smacked it back down, refusing to let him touch me. I leaned forward instead, dropping both arms and brushing soft breasts and swollen stomach against his chest, loving the feeling of being pressed close together, flesh to flesh. I snapped aching hips forward, slapping them against his and tossing long hair over my shoulder. Aragorn, knowing I could not counter him with both hands braced against his sides, reached forward to bury his hands within it. He tugged, hard, kissing and biting the pale skin of the neck I bared to him. Hands lowered to cup my naked breasts, and I mewled in pleasure.

"Thrust faster, Little Lover," Aragorn coaxed, dropping his hands to my waist and leaving them there. One finger jumped to the side and rubbed against the little button throbbing inside of me. I nearly faltered, but instead, I gently moved his hand aside and touched it myself. Something inside roared to life. Bravery. Lust. Love.

"Watch me," I purred, left hand palming my nipples and right hand repeatedly circling the little button, all the while thrusting faster against him. My lover stared with wide eyes as my pleasures reached greater heights. Aragorn, in turn, came completely undone.

"Samantha," My lover moaned and tossed his head back, letting it fall to the pillows bracing his shoulders and back. A shiver crawled down his rigid form, trickling down his taut muscles like rainwater. Suddenly, Aragorn arched his back, and released his seed deep inside of me.

"Fucking Hell, Aragorn…" I gasped, slipped down to his side, and just stayed there, riding the aftershocks of his orgasm and mine like a wave. I could feel him still pulsing inside while my own walls clenched tightly around his softening length, milking him. "Damn, damn, damn!"

Unexpectedly, Aragorn kissed the tip of my nose and chuckled, "You may wear a mask, change, or mature, Samantha, but I will always, always know it is you." Warm eyes were on me, a softness in them that brought tears to my own.

"You love me," I teasingly whispered to him through the tears, holding his right hand tightly and bracing my arms and chin atop his chest to stare into his handsome face, observing his laugh lines and smile. Humming in satisfaction.

"I do," Aragorn softly returned without hesitance and with affection, falling to sleep beneath me, an arm over my side and stomach. My lover snored softly in my ear, and I simply rested there, hugging him, wishing that I could protect him from all of the stress and pain, and watched the slow ascent of the golden morning sun.

***Author's Note***

Hello! I have decided to pull the lemons from Sacrifice and put them here, in the companion novella, Sacrificial Lamb.

Sacrifice has been completely edited and is in the process of being uploaded and finished! Epilogue is done, too! Look for it later today. :)

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!

:)