Title: Flight From Gondor
Author: RavenWolf
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn
Summary: Minas Tirith is under attack. Frodo flees the burning city, heavy with child.
Warnings: Slash, rape, Mpreg
By Frodo’s reckoning, it had to have been three in the morning when the hand shook him roughly awake. “What?” he mumbled sleepily.
“Hurry, Master Frodo! We must get you out of here!”
“Kaleb?” Frodo asked. Kaleb was one of the guards assigned to guard his and Aragorn’s chambers. But what could he possibly want at this hour? “What’s going on?”
“We’re under attack. I must get you to safety. Come on!” Kaleb helped the ruffled Frodo get up from the bed. His huge, distended stomach provided quite a burden to him as he waddled out the door.
Kaleb followed soon after, his sword drawn. Loud yells and the sound of clashing steel rang out through the hall. The torches on the wall flickered eerily.
Frodo was beginning to get scared. One of his hands came protectively up to cradle his belly. Where was the king? Where was Aragorn?
He voiced his concern to Kaleb, but the guard ignored the question. He grabbed Frodo’s hand and began dragging him down the nearest corridor. A scream echoed somewhere behind them.
They came to a downward spiraling staircase. When it became too much for Frodo to keep walking, Kaleb picked him up and threw him over his shoulder, not unlike a sack of potatoes. As uncomfortable as he was, Frodo was not about to complain. He would much rather Kaleb still have his sword handy.
When they reached the door to the outer corridor, Kaleb put him down. He was breathing hard, and his eyes darted around nervously. “Now, Frodo. You must go to the stable and take the fastest horse you can find. Ride north all night. When dawn comes, stop and wait there for Aragorn. And don’t stop until then, lest they catch you! Now go, and hurry!”
Kaleb turned to return to the battle, but Frodo stopped him. “Wait! I left my sword in the room. What shall I do if I encounter...”
“No time to go back. Here, take my knife.” Kaleb gave Frodo a dagger from his belt, scabbard and all. Frodo managed a weak smile, but Kaleb had already turned and was rushing back into the castle. Down the hallway, Frodo heard swords clash, and he caught sight of a wicked looking man with a beard and a scar over one eye.
Forgetting the discomfort caused by his pregnancy, Frodo ran as fast as he could to the stables. Though it wasn’t very fast, he was out of breath and panting by the time he got there.
There were many horses in the stable, but most of them were too tall for Frodo to imagine mounting, especially in his condition. At the end of the row, there was a small dun pony that he had affectionately named Sam. Not by any definition the fastest in the stable, he was nonetheless the only one Frodo could even picture himself getting onto.
Quickly and as quietly as he could, Frodo tacked up Sam. The pony snuffled and lipped at his hand, making Frodo smile. His back ached fiercely, and he felt somewhat nauseous. Thinking ahead, he grabbed a sack of apples to munch on, and then struggled up onto Sam.
He took the back roads through the city as much as possible. He’d been living in Minas Tirith for a long time now, but he was still worried that he would get lost and then they, whoever ‘they’ were, would find him and kill him.
All over the city, beacons of light could be seen from the burning houses. Frodo wondered where Aragorn was, and if he was alright. He knew that Aragorn was the finest swordsman in all of Gondor, but still he feared for his safety.
Finally, Frodo reached one of the side gates of the city. He dismounted, and with a little bit of effort, pulled it open. It was old and hadn’t been used in years, and the hinges screamed loudly in protest. Sam looked a bit nervous.
Frodo looked once more at the burning city, longing for his lover and his home, and then remounted Sam and slipped away into the night.