FIC: Horse Lord
It seems time to lighten the tone over here at Sanctuary in honor of spring, and this seems just the fic...
Title: Horse Lord
Pairing : Éomer/Legolas
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Interspecies (human/elf-as though that might offend any of you)
Summary: Just before following Aragorn to the Paths of the Dead, Legolas begins to understand more about the culture of Rohan.
Disclaimer: This is a work of impure fiction.
Story Notes: This storyline is independent of my other tales. In book canon, the three companions leave the Hornberg with Elladan, Elrohir, and the rangers. They travel to Edoras and then to the Paths of the Dead while Théoden and Éomer take a longer path from the Hornberg to Edoras to gather more men. I have, for the limited purposes of this story, followed film canon as to location.
Acknowledgments: Thanks always to Libitina for her advice and research. Thanks to Capella and Elfscribe for their support and for helping me think through this piece way back in 2004.
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Legolas stood in the twilight, grooming Arod and listening to the sounds of the Rohirrim camp. He could hear the distant battle-eve song of the mess tents and it weighed upon him how far he and Gimli were from any kin themselves. Unlike the ordinary folk of Rohan, the Rohirrim grimly welcomed the coming fight.
He could appreciate the spirit of living fully before going into war. He shared the concept that one must willingly place one's life in jeopardy to protect the beloved, whether a person, a way of life, or a principle. But the celebratory aspect remained a mystery to him: this worship of dying in agony with the enemy's blood on one's weapons, the passion that burned beyond duty and into the rapture of a particular kind of death. These elite fighters had learned to survive and also to welcome death in ways that neither the elves nor the dwarves shared. Legolas almost smiled to think that he and Gimli were more alike than either was similar to the riders.
The muster of men and horses grew by the hour, but not quickly enough to satisfy Aragorn, King Théoden, or the need of Minas Tirith. Even the arrival of the rangers had done little to ease Aragorn's mood. The camp bristled with impatience and preparation. Legolas knew that the rangers soon would be taking a different path than the riders. This would not be welcome news on the side of Rohan and few had been given it yet.
Legolas was quartered next to Gimli and near Aragorn, a full arrow's flight away from where he now stood. The three had been honored as battle-brothers to the riders with tents not far from the King's pavilion. Soon, all such comforts would be left behind for speed, and they would all take again to the open air.
He had heard a few discouraged men of Edoras -- none a Rohir -- whisper that the gear would be left because those marked for death need carry no tents. He urged Éomer to see that these few stayed behind, for death was already certain to them, and others around them, if they went to battle. Better use could be found for them at home. Legolas had stopped short at pressing Éowyn's case, not wishing to tread on cultural differences; but for that concern, he would not have bit his tongue on the thought that her worth with a sword was greater than at least three known men of Rohan.
In a moment of humor in the collective grimness, Legolas had remarked to Gimli that for whatever time they had here it was a relief to have at least two tent walls between himself and the dwarf's snore. Gimli roared with good-natured laughter, then retorted more confidentially, "You might come to miss my company, I've been keeping unwanted visitors at bay." He winked.
Gimli had a point. People had ceased openly staring at Legolas but still tended to go out of their way to speak with him. His stout comrade had a charming way of interrupting a conversation just as it became tiresome.
"On the other hand," his friend considered with a grin, "it might give you an opportunity to entertain... welcome visitors."
Legolas shook his head. "I think not."
"If not, it is your choice as there is no lack of interest. I've found Rohan a diverting place if you follow my meaning." Again, he winked.
Grinning back, Legolas hid his surprise well. As he considered the matter further, it made perfect sense that Gimli's qualities would appeal to these humans. A month or so ago, his friend had begun to comment with appreciation upon the qualities of tall, willowy women having long, wavy hair and grave demeanor.
Tonight, as the riders continued to gather, Legolas had brought Arod to a more remote section of camp to find respite from polite conversation. After wandering for a time, he found himself not far from the tents of Éomer and Éowyn, both lit from within. Legolas smiled. Éomer had quietly located his sister in a warrior's place of honor rather than as an ordinary member of his uncle's household.
The Marshal's small tent stood a little apart from the others, near a grove of sparse trees in which Legolas heard a tiny echo of the woods. The sweeping plains and mountains of Rohan could not ease his longing for the deep forest. To enhance the quiet voice of the trees, he hummed to them, Arod, and himself as he went to work on the horse's sweat-encrusted coat.
Legolas looked up when a stately young woman approached Éomer's tent. Even in half-shadow he could see that she had a compelling face: not beautiful, but strong and sad with a bold nose and smooth skin. She wore her coppery hair braided behind her ears and it fell free down her back. As his eyes traveled, Legolas noted that she was early with child. She hesitated at the tent flap and reached for the bridle hanging there. After what seemed like much consideration, she grabbed and shook it. It jangled pleasantly.
In a moment, Éomer's arm threw back the tent flap and he emerged half-clad in only leggings. The young woman took a step back. The Marshal too appeared surprised. As the two regarded one another in silence, Legolas observed the young man with interest.
Éomer's skin glowed clean from the earlier gathering at the sweat lodge. The elf, having a sensitive nose, had demurred. No amount of explanation as to the value of this collective preparation for battle could persuade him to partake. At the time, he could think of few things more distasteful. Now, he realized that there might have been hidden rewards.
The Rohir's burnished hair was loose and tumbled over his shoulders, partially obscuring intricate blue tattoos of horses and riders and kells. Legolas' eyes followed the lines of flat and wiry muscles down the long torso before he checked himself and returned his eyes to the grooming task.
"My lady? Your pardon, but I expected one of the men to bring the report. Else I would have come forth in proper form."
She smiled without guile, and her voice sounded pleasant and clear. "I asked to bring the news to you, Marshal. The muster stands at two thousand, four hundred and twelve, to the rider."
Éomer nodded, his disappointment apparent. "Why did you ask to convey this number, my lady? Though I do not wonder why the men would shrink from the task."
"Gamling agreed after I drew him aside and explained my situation." Her voice trembled. "With respect, my lord, I came tonight to request the giving of Rohirrim strength for my child."
Legolas could hear Éomer's surprised intake of breath, and again, the elf raised his eyes, drawn to watch. The man composed himself and looked more carefully into her face. "You are Gendwyn. Your husband was Thendor, one of the riders I commanded to remain in Edoras while I was banished. I was told that he fell with two others engaging Saruman's scouts. His life shielded many others."
"You honor us with memory, Marshal." She waited.
Legolas noted Éomer's unobtrusive perusal of the woman's body. "Your child is five moons yet from birth?"
"Aye. And there has been no husband for half its time within me. Boy or girl, it is a rider's child and needs a rider's strength."
The elf's curiosity simmered. The request and reply were made with solemnity, yet he detected something else altogether in the exchange.
Éomer extended his arm in invitation to enter the tent. "Being fit and finished with the day's business, I may not refuse." His voice, though lowered for discretion, was bold and grim of habit.
Gendwyn hesitated for a moment, as if her courage had faltered. She spoke again. "I chose you for your hands. They remind me of his."
Éomer softened his voice. "I accept as any man of honor must, Gendwyn, but I find within myself this time a sense of anticipation in meeting my duty." He smiled at her kindly and she stepped within. Éomer followed and the flap fell behind them.
Legolas considered the meaning of the conversation as he moved to curry Arod's chest. The horse snorted and nipped him in affection and Legolas resumed humming his woodland tune. By the time he had reached Arod's opposite shoulder, the answer to his question presented itself and he fell silent. His sensitive ears overheard without intention at first, but he did not move away.
"I hope that my hands do not disappoint." Éomer's voice was low and warm, and the hair prickled on the back of Legolas' neck.
"No, my lord," came the soft reply, "they do not."
"Éomer. It is Éomer, tonight."
Legolas' breath quickened at the subtle vibration in the man's voice. He was intrigued to hear the change, all the gruffness gone.
"I am glad of your skill... Éomer. It is not only the child who has missed the rider."
"Gendwyn, you must be the rider now. You are the source of your child's strength with a village gathered behind you to help. Ah, do not cry. Your tears are no shame, but you have shed enough already." Legolas closed his eyes and imagined the touch to her cheek that must accompany the words, shivering at the effect on his own skin. "The way of our people is not only for the child, but for the woman and the Rohir she chooses, for pleasure renews life in the face of death and grief. Come astride, I am waiting."
At those words Legolas gasped as his body flooded with pleasure. It was as though Éomer had spoken directly to him. The soft sounds from the tent, from both partners, ended the conversation in words.
Legolas felt suddenly stricken as he felt the emotional tremor in their voices. How long had it been since the maidens and youths of Lothlórien shared sorrow and ease with him? Though the road was relentless, sleep and food scarce, his deeply ingrained passion had not lessened. He merely held it in check.
It was the deeper voice of the pair that called to him now, that hardened him with need. This human, fiery and restive, was wholly attractive and bound to no one. There would be no reason to resist him other than the unfamiliar rules of cultural propriety. From their first confrontation, they had felt and respected one another's power. For Legolas this recognition had included arousal. He did not presume that the feeling could be mutual.
The man and woman were not loud, but were intent upon each other and the elf could hear without strain. Through the sounds of lovemaking, Legolas flushed with his own response and through force of will restrained his hands from moving where they wished. He thought on where to go to be safely alone; given the steady stream of callers, his tent would not suffice until much later in the evening.
The frustrating lack of privacy forced him to recall an afternoon on the trail of Merry, Pippin, and their Uruk captors. Though Legolas closed his eyes against the uncomfortable memory, it flooded back nonetheless amid the sounds of Éomer's pleasure.
***
The three companions had paused longer than usual. Gimli called in desperation for a short nap and Aragorn attended to a gash in his leggings. Legolas slipped away into the trees on pretext of gathering herbs.
He chose a silver sapling to hold to for support, first kissing her smooth bark with thanks and tasting her sap with reverence. To rush things offended his lover's sensibility, but time was ever of the essence now. With pounding pulse and speeding breath, he had pleasured himself, one arm wrapped around the tree, his cheek and hip leaning into her strength.
The spark of life moved from the earth up through her slow veins into his faster blood, expanding his heart and finally pouring from him back to the earth. He opened his eyes as his breathing slowed, feeling that for one blissful moment, time had ceased to spin out of his grasp. Then, with a horrified start, he saw the shadowy colors of Aragorn moving away through the trees, and realized that the man had come to find him at a most inopportune time.
Had the ranger not fled, things might have been different. He tried not to wish it so. Among elves, dignified but thrumming with life, there would have been conventions of privacy, understandings, a light jest upon interruption, even provisions for mutual relief.
Despite being raised with elves, Aragorn had adopted human ways. For both their sakes, when Legolas returned with the herbs, he feigned innocence of Aragorn's presence in the wood. Aragorn pretended not to have seen and Legolas pretended not to notice that Aragorn could not look him in the eye for two days thereafter.
***
After that, there had only been his own furtive hands in the dark on the rare occasion when he was absolutely certain that both Gimli and Aragorn slept soundly. Now, many weeks later, the intensifying sounds of coupling tortured him, but he stayed for it when he could have moved away. The strength of life facing death kept him rooted to the spot.
Gendwyn reached her pleasure with a series of delighted gasps as she drove herself hard against Éomer. He steadied her through the peak, only his soft groans telling of the difficulty of his task. As her voice quieted, his own grew stronger.
Legolas could almost see the man grip her thighs as taut hips arched up to spend him within her. Engulfed in the sound of Éomer's passion, for a fleeting moment he could envision himself in the man's arms.
He stood trembling with need, not realizing that his aching groin was pressed hard against Arod's shoulder. Absentmindedly, he had gone on currying the steed while lost in Éomer's voice. Arod's nostrils flared and blew out breath in short bursts, the sound bringing Legolas back to present. He laid a soothing hand on his friend's arched neck, thinking something had frightened him, but Arod stamped and nickered in an unfamiliar way. With an embarrassed flush, Legolas realized that Arod, ever attuned to the moods of his rider, had absorbed his flaring heat. He stepped away, releasing the quivering animal and Arod immediately bolted toward a group of other horses at the edge of camp.
"Sorry, my friend," whispered Legolas, "may you not incur the wrath of the other stallions on my account." Tears flickered on his lashes. He was not given to feeling sorry for himself--this was sadness for the waste of joy. He stood transfixed by his own pent-up heat until he heard the couple stirring. Their words followed him as he gathered the grooming tools and prepared to leave.
"With the gift of your strength, my husband's child will long honor his forebears, and should you fall in battle, we will remember you as our family."
"I go to battle with the bond to my people stronger forged," replied Éomer, "I thank you, Shieldmother."
The formal words ended both their obligations, and with a smile, Gendwyn slipped on her gown and left the tent. She still did not see the elf whose wistful eyes followed her. When she was gone, Legolas turned to take the borrowed gear back to its lender. He had walked but a few steps when he heard a noise behind him and spun.
"Ah, Legolas, I thought that was you humming earlier." Éomer stood there naked, and Legolas took care not to look where he most wanted. "Hold a moment, I would like a word with you." The horse lord stepped away behind a tree to relieve himself.
Legolas took the opportunity to reach under his tunic to adjust himself within overtight leggings, then waited, arms folded, until Éomer strode back to him.
"If you could spare the time, come to my tent for a cup. I've a fire going and I could use your advice."
"Give me a few minutes? I must return these to the rider who lent them."
Éomer nodded. "You need not announce yourself. I will expect you."
The few minutes to the lender's tent and back seemed to take forever. While there, he sent word to Gimli not to wait up or fuss over his absence. Legolas knew not why he was so eager to spend time in the unrequited agony of Éomer's close company. He shook his head at himself. Perhaps to look on him would be pleasure enough.
When he entered Éomer's tent, the man was sitting on folded skins by the fire, perusing a detailed map. At a glance, the sleeping area looked not at all tumbled and Legolas smiled that Éomer would take such care for neatness; it seemed out of character.
At Legolas' approach, Éomer stood and welcomed him with a wrist clasp, and then offered a cup of wine. He now wore a shirt of blue homespun against the chill. It hung to mid-thigh and Legolas wondered whether the man was still naked underneath. The rules of the tent clearly differed from the rules of the hall. He settled himself nearby with studied calm that hid his discomfort. "You wished my counsel?" He heard his own voice issue cool and even.
The warm hazel eyes focused on him intently. "I do. I intended to seek you myself earlier when I heard your voice, but I was detained."
Legolas realized that the man smelled of horse and soap and leather, oddly not of woman. "I saw a lovely woman come and go before as I was grooming Arod. Forgive me, but I overheard part of... the conversation." There was nothing to be gained by pretending. "It is an interesting concept."
Éomer did not flinch or look away. "Perhaps our customs seem strange to you, but we live in a harsh world." He smiled less grimly than usual. "For the moment, you are a member of the Rohirrim and you have already proven you know how to behave: placing your horse's needs before yours, returning borrowed gear promptly. Perhaps we should spread the word so that you see your share of other duties as well."
Legolas laughed at that. "I would not decline. I find I have been in want of such company for too long."
Éomer nodded and his face was unreadable. He handed Legolas the map and rested his arm on a knee. "This is what I wanted to discuss. Are the forest boundaries accurate to your recent passage?"
Legolas' brow wrinkled. He very nearly asked why Aragorn could not have answered the same question. "They are, but for this area here," he pointed, "the forest has been burned back, so there is less cover."
"I had wondered. Thank you." Éomer took the map and set it aside. He stared into the fire and drank deeply from his cup. Legolas followed suit for a comfortable length of silence. In time, Éomer spoke again. "I also wondered about something else which did not seem suitable for public jesting given your reserved nature. You have answered that question as well."
"I have?"
Éomer smiled but continued gazing into the fire. "Whether the ethereal elves lust."
Again, Legolas laughed. "I cannot speak for the ethereal elves, but for my part, yes. I am flesh and blood. Is there anything else I can answer?"
"Yes." The man was suddenly close by his shoulder. "Whether you would allow my touch."
Legolas turned his head to meet the eyes hovering a span away. He shifted, then, in one fluid motion, setting the cup aside, his hands finding Éomer's shoulders, his legs sliding to overlap the man's, his lips connecting with the bearded mouth. Éomer responded exactly as Legolas might have hoped, with ferocious passion. Legolas equally met him and Éomer was first to moan at their matching.
At length, Legolas pulled back to answer the question posed. "No, I would not allow your touch, I would welcome it. But I would wish for its full measure." He felt strangely off balance to find an invitation extended and accepted not one hour since he despaired at the prospect of more time alone.
"I am in the mood to grant wishes," replied Éomer, a barely-detectable tremor in his voice. He rose and went to tie the tent flap: a necessary action, all things considered and intensely arousing even so. Legolas watched the man move, appreciation of muscular form flowing through him.
As Éomer slowly tied, he spoke to Legolas again. "Aragorn tells me you are rather... ancient."
"Indeed, by human standards." Legolas saw no need to quantify the fact.
"And experienced, with both women and men."
Legolas raised an eyebrow. Aragorn had gathered more information than the elf had realized. "Is this a problem?"
"I fear that it will make impressing you most difficult."
Legolas allowed amusement to enter his voice. "Is that your aim? To impress me? What expectations do you believe I have that would require you to impress me?"
Éomer shrugged. "Forgive me. I am considered over-young for my position. I have had to earn every moment of respect given me and it is a hard habit to break." He kept his back turned and spoke over his shoulder. "I would want you to feel that giddiness in my embrace that I feel to see you riding at speed or simply dishing a bowl of soup."
Legolas smiled, and it was not a gesture of amusement, but one of relieved delight. "I was held rapt by that first hostile glare of your eyes when we met. I sit here enflamed by your kiss. I have been without a lover for too long but even were I freshly sated I would still hunger for you."
"You already have such proof from me." Éomer's voice was almost shy.
"Then, come and partake of my proofs." Legolas rose to his feet and extended a hand.
With a swift moment, Éomer gathered and lifted the shirt as he turned, stripping it overhead and tossing it aside. Legolas' eyes raked where the hem of the garment lifted, and he took in the deep channels of muscle, the scars, the sheen of lush skin. When Éomer faced him at last, Legolas found himself in full view of what he had avoided seeing earlier. He did not avoid looking now and his nostrils flared in appreciation. Then, his eyes swept Éomer's whole body; it was unusually lean for a human. His torso showed time spent naked in the sun, tapering to fresh, pale skin below the waist. The blue lines traced lower still on Éomer's abdomen, and Legolas imagined the brush of skin against his own fingers in following them.
Éomer seemed unable to move and Legolas crossed the steps between them. The grim face and veiled expression Éomer usually wore were gone. He appeared astonished.
"Are you well?" murmured Legolas, standing close enough to be slightly taller. He did not yet touch the young man though he vibrated with the need to do so.
Éomer swallowed. "I have not seen you look this way before."
"Ah, we elves guard it carefully."
"I can see why." Roughened fingers reached to touch a brow and made their way along Legolas' hairline. They hesitated at an ear.
Legolas tilted his head into the touch. "Go ahead." As Éomer did, touching not in fascination but in hope of further arousing, Legolas' hands moved aside his own tunic and unfastened his leggings. "That's it," he urged. His lips moved closer to those parted before him but he stopped short of meeting them.
Éomer gasped as instead of lips he felt the brush below of tightened skin against his own. He lifted his eyes to meet the elf's intense gaze and made a conscious effort not to flinch.
"Perhaps I should soften my approach," whispered Legolas, pulling back slightly. A steely grip on his shoulder stopped him.
"Nay," rasped Éomer, "your power is more than I imagined, that is all. Understand that as a warrior in my society, a Rohir and Marshal at that, I must ever be in charge. I am only to defer to the King. Even in bed it is expected that I will lead, that I will do the taking whomever the partner might be. That is not my desire tonight."
Legolas smiled. "I care not who does the taking in such terms, Marshal, and I do not speak later of my encounters." He reached to grasp Éomer's shoulders with firm hands.
Éomer closed his eyes in relief. "I knew you would be like this. I only erred in the measure of it." When his lashes lifted, he was better prepared. His hands went to Legolas' belt and unhitched the leather strap but he was careful not to disturb the contact between their bared flesh. Éomer dropped the belt and slid the leather coat off, leaving only the tunic of raw silk. He regarded this last barrier remaining between his hands and the skin that sparked his passion so high, and he paused to breathe.
Legolas' hands found their way to Éomer's hair and neck, his eyes tracing nose, cheek, brow, and ear as he studied him up close. "You are perhaps the most handsome human I have ever seen," he said, "though I am most drawn to less tangible qualities."
Éomer fought for breath as he unfastened the silk, separating it by slow inches from the form beneath. Finally, he opened the tunic and caressed with his fingertips. "Nothing has ever felt so soft," he whispered.
At last, Legolas allowed their lips to drift together. He began lightly, feeling his way with patience. He did not tease, he sampled: the inside of the bottom of Éomer's lip, the feel of sharp teeth, the upper and lower surfaces of his tongue. The man groaned, his fingertips pressing deeper into the elf's skin. Still, the two did not move closer.
When Éomer deepened the kiss, Legolas followed, his hands clasping behind Éomer's neck. The tunic soon slid to the floor.
Éomer's hands traced down the white chest and around to the corded back. He pulled away to brush his lips over a cheek. "Gods of my fathers, I may lose myself just touching your skin." He shifted his hips forward, sucking in his breath at the greater contact between their erections.
"Do not doubt your stamina, horse lord," murmured Legolas, "I for one have great faith in it." He reached behind for one of Éomer's hands and brought it around, guiding it to his own cock.
"Have a care for yourself, archer; that is my javelin hand."
"I know," Legolas replied with a sound in his voice that brought Éomer's eyes back to his in an instant, begging.
The slowness between them broke like a wave upon the shore and Éomer felt himself lifted hard against Legolas. The elf strode to the sleeping furs as though the man's weight was nothing and tossed him there. Éomer thought for a moment that the blazing creature might devour him like a starving beast would take still-living food, and he lay docile and willing.
"Nay," breathed Legolas as he tasted shallow bites of flesh, "for if I did that, there would be nothing left for another day."
Éomer rose on his elbows. "I did not speak."
Legolas paused and shut his eyes. "Forgive me, I must have lowered my guard."
"You are able to hear my thoughts?" Éomer slipped his hand again between Legolas' thighs.
"Not precisely. All of my senses are aroused," he replied with a smile. "Through all of them together, I feel the nature of your emotion, but I will take more care."
"There is no need. I was only surprised. I trust you." Éomer lay back again, and with his free hand grasped Legolas behind the head, pulling him back down with noises that made the cock held in his other hand pulse. "Go ahead, feel what I am thinking." He looked steadily into the eyes above him and let the rawness of his lust show there.
The kiss that followed locked them together, and they rolled on the pallet, trading places, studying the tactile maps of one another's skin. Their hands fumbled together to strip away the last garment between them, and the elf's leggings were soon flung away. Then, Legolas slowed, running his nose along Éomer's collarbones to bring in the complex scent of arousal, anticipation, and apprehension. He stroked his fingertips over pulse points, touching and hearing the speeding rush of blood. He growled, baring his teeth against Éomer's skin.
"I do not understand those who see you as, as...," Éomer panted, trying to verbally formulate the thought.
"Feminine?" Legolas supplied the word, his smooth legs tangling with Éomer's lightly furred ones. He dipped to bite Éomer's shoulder. "It is no insult among my people."
"But you are not. Your scent, the way you move, your hands." Éomer squeezed, caressing the hot flesh that his hand could not begin to contain. "When I want a man, I do not want a boy and I do not want a mock woman. You have driven me to distraction from the first."
Legolas nuzzled him. "It is the singing, the lack of beard or body hair that confuses the unobservant."
"And the beauty, I think. You could shame our loveliest maiden."
"Your sister is your loveliest maiden and she has more beauty than I," Legolas replied.
"I am not supposed to see it," Éomer's eyes glittered with amusement.
"But you do. And were I to shave that beard of yours, I might find underneath a similar look."
"Nay, I am more of our father's side, rough and tumble."
"I see well the tumble, the rough might be a bit lacking tonight."
With a growl, Éomer reversed their positions and sat astride, pinning Legolas' arms in feigned ferocity.
The silver eyes glowed at him from below. "It suits me just as well to have you there as beneath me, Rider."
Éomer bent to kiss the moist lips that murmured such things as made him quiver. Legolas stroked over and down his back, pressing into the muscles and finally grasping his rear and pulling him down hard, crushing their cocks together. Almost involuntarily, Éomer rocked against the elf in response, setting off an excruciating sliding between them. Legolas thrust back, beginning to pant through his nose as Éomer occupied his mouth.
"Umm," said Éomer moving away to taste underneath Legolas' jaw, "you sound just like a horse."
"You do this with horses?"
The young man laughed with delight at the elf's jest. "Nay, but I find them beautiful. Arousing at times. The wildness and strength, their passion and loyalty."
"I do believe you are growing harder...."
"It is the touch of your cock. And the thought of more to come."
Legolas rolled Éomer beneath him and kneed aside the man's thighs. He paused to dig his fingers deep in those curling muscles. "It is wonderful what riding like we elves do--when we do not carry a dwarf behind--does to the human body." The look of anticipation on the bronzed face as Legolas knelt between those thighs was enough to take his breath for a moment. "Patience, Éomer," he whispered, "not yet." His mouth claimed the prize first. A strangled cry issued from the man that he took for strong encouragement. "Mmm," he hummed, appreciating the new flavor amongst familiar herbs, then raised his head and an eyebrow. "You washed while I returned the gear."
Éomer actually blushed, his skin turning hot. "I trusted to hope," he replied.
"And shall be rewarded for your renewal of faith, though I would not have minded tasting of your strange custom as well." Legolas nibbled lightly. With a firm grip, he unsheathed the gleaming head, understanding in a flash that these riders would not cut their sons and thus sever another bond of similarity with the sacred animal. Éomer's gasp gave him gooseflesh. For some minutes, he let the sweet salt of arousal slowly leak into his mouth, rubbing his mouth and tongue with the bursting flesh. Then, holding one hand flat to Éomer's abdomen to keep him still, he licked lengthwise and downward. Legolas teased the delicate and loose skin below into tightening snug against Éomer's body, giving him greater access to move beyond.
"I have never had such pleasure from anyone's lips." Éomer's trembling voice seemed to come from far away.
"I am glad to give such a gift," Legolas replied between nips, feeling powerful hands slide into his hair.
"Would it be greedy to plead for more?"
"Ah, I am far from finished."
"I fear I cannot say the same. You must be careful."
Legolas chuckled. "But you are young and, by all accounts overheard, virile."
"And spent once already tonight. A man has his limits." Éomer sounded uncertain.
"I am but jesting with you. Trust the pace to me. Relax and do not be so on your guard."
"What of your pleasure?"
"I am having it," Legolas murmured, "and I shall have more yet." He sucked on his fingers and then slid them into Éomer's cleft, smoothing over new territory.
"Oh." Éomer breathed the syllable, his lower back curling upward, driving his cock through Legolas' grip. He bit his lip and frowned.
"What?" Legolas did not still his fingers.
"Pain I can stifle. Stab wounds, wrenchings, broken bones. This?" He shook his head.
"Need you stifle?" A slow smile grew on the elf's face, sparking an even brighter light in Éomer's eyes. "If I begin to understand your ways, like the open-air culture of my heritage, your screen of privacy is woven of where to look and when not to raise your eyes, finding the appropriateness of time and place, not the ignorance of what goes on."
"True," gasped Éomer.
"I broke those boundaries earlier tonight, and I apologize for it. Your people know better."
"You are forgiven in a heartbeat for it brought you faster to my tent. I have wanted you like no other before, and I am known to have lusted for many." The heat was beginning to loosen Éomer's tongue.
A wrinkle of worry crossed Legolas' brow.
"Your turn to tell me what troubles you." Éomer's hand lifted to finger a thin braid even as his hips moved to Legolas' rhythm.
"Is it that I am elfkind, the unknown?" Legolas was slow to lift his eyes but needed to see the answer as well as hear it.
"I have laid eyes on elves before, my friend, even naked ones. Those of your kind are beautiful, 'tis true. But none sent blood rushing to my groin before. None made me imagine how it would feel to be pushed to the ground and fucked by him." The words were said fiercely, like a challenge of the field.
Legolas drew a sharp breath. "That is what you wish?" The throbbing against his hand answered well but he desired words.
"I would wish to have your cock how you would want to give it but do not tarry."
Legolas dipped again and his sweeping tongue elicited another choked noise. He smiled to himself and wondered what it would take to make Éomer let go his voice. He made his way lower and continued to caress with his fingers until Éomer was gasping. Suddenly, Legolas rolled the man to his side, tucking his top leg out of the way, and with both hands, parted him to accept his dancing tongue.
"Ah!" the exclamation was short and sharp and loud. Éomer lay absolutely still, and Legolas had to trust that he had permission to continue. Softly at first, and then hungrily, he stroked, pausing occasionally to nip at the muscular buttocks. One hand slid up to the small of Éomer's back, feeling the tiny rhythm of rocking contained within the spine. He felt the tension increase in the curve as Éomer slowly arched to open as far as he could.
Legolas reached for himself then, spreading the tiny bit of moisture that all the play had brought forth. He knew that Éomer could see when the shoulders above shuddered with containment. "You are familiar with what you are asking of me, and able?"
"Yes," rasped Éomer. Then a pause. "I practice."
Legolas absorbed this news with some surprise, which fortunately, the Rohir could not see. Legolas returned his mouth to sensuous licking while he considered.
This made it more difficult for Éomer to continue speaking but he battled on. "I am not permitted, by station, as I tried to explain. We emulate the dominance patterns of our herds. But on occasion, I might encounter someone attractive from another place. Without frequency, as much as I might want it...."
"It would be painful." Legolas slid smoothly up the hard body until his chin tucked behind Éomer's ear. He nuzzled in, his chest pressed to Éomer's back, and wrapped an arm around the taut waist.
Éomer clasped it with both hands. "You need not spare me." The voice lowered to a whisper. "I do not spare myself."
That confession shot molten heat through Legolas, every nerve tingled, he could feel his breath burning in and out. He allowed his mind again to intrude on the man's feelings and the images of self-pleasure that came to him caused him to cry aloud. He guided himself in with a forceful thrust and they both exclaimed in rapture.
"Spare you? You have not shown me any mercy!" Legolas grunted. "Standing naked in the grove. Did you seek to tempt me with your body?" He thrust again, closing his eyes against the pleasure.
"No!" Éomer panted, "I... yes, perhaps, though I did not know it."
"Wiping away the spill of pleasure with woodland herbs but leaving just enough to taste, wearing blue cloth that shows your skin gilt in the firelight?" A long leg hooked over Éomer's pulling their hips tighter together, and strong fingers reached to settle around the man's cock.
There was a muffled sobbing noise as teeth gritted. "I was frank. I told you what I wanted."
"So you did," whispered Legolas into his ear. "It was I who did not play fair. I eavesdropped on your lovemaking. I listened to your kindness, your voice in pleasure. I listened so intently that I caused Arod to run wild in search of relief himself."
"Oh," Éomer's voice reached a dangerous note and Legolas stilled, breathing hard. He began speaking elvish into the soft, vulnerable place behind Éomer's ear, words meant to soothe even though the man would not understand them. "Oh." The dark eyes opened again. "That is so beautiful." Éomer listened and calmed, feeling the near-peak gradually change to a plateau with further mountain above. "I am ready," he said at last.
"Good," Legolas replied, "for I would have you moving with me, not lying still."
"Then you should take me harder."
Legolas' head swam with intoxication. "Yes." He did, grinding his hips against curved muscles, his hands slipping over Éomer's torso slick with the man's sweat.
"Harder," hissed the rider.
"Louder," retorted the elf, his fingers rough on Éomer's nipples. He was rewarded with a guttural noise and in response flattened Éomer to his stomach, rolling above him, his own thighs to the outside of Éomer's. With both hands pressed to the top of the man's hips, bracing himself, he rode him fast and strong. Éomer cried out into the furs, flexing back against Legolas to urge him onward.
Legolas felt himself glowing with heat as if every bit of stealthy, shortchanged pleasure of the past months had returned to take revenge on him by slow immolation. Then, Éomer rose on his elbows, his fists full of fur, his shoulders bunching. He gave full voice to his climax, the thick mane tossing bright and dark in the firelight.
The wave started from far away. Countless years of knowing his own body allowed Legolas to stay with the crest for a long time, until halfway through Éomer's convulsions, until it seemed right to let go. His upper body thrashed and twisted though his hips moved only the slightest bit in time with the spill of burning fluid. A last long and almost painful groan vibrated through them both, neither knowing who made it, and Legolas slid down, boneless, along Éomer's back. When he felt he could breathe normally again, he eased their bodies apart and fell to his side again, tucking Éomer close against his chest, their legs entwined.
In the blissful warmth of sleepiness, Éomer nudged his shoulders harder against the cushion of Legolas' muscles. "What did you say to me at the end? Besides my name. I do not speak your language."
Legolas thought a moment and chuckled to think he had lost command of the common tongue without knowing it. "I said, 'Your men will think I am killing you and I do not care. Cry to me louder, Éomer, I will pour myself into you before I die at their hands.'"
"By the sacred horse you have such a mouth on you." Éomer turned his head enough for a kiss, and their tongues swept together. "Such a wicked mouth with so many talents."
"I am afraid I neglected you in some ways in order to answer your demand." Legolas caressed a steel-hard shoulder.
"Now that you mention it, there is one problem." Éomer groped about for a sodden fur and tossed it away. "There. You were pressing me into that softness. What a torture. I think I injured myself coming."
"Mmm." Legolas could say little else as he contemplated the afterimage of pleasure. At length, he spoke, though he wondered if Éomer slept. "Shall I stay for a little? I will wake and leave before the light."
"Stay. I am certain anyone near is already well aware that you have had me this night."
"I think your voice tonight, if heard, will not have troubled anyone. It will have ensured that more families are renewed on this the eve of march. You are such a sensual creature that your arousal is contagious." Legolas resisted the urge to hold him tighter. "I would like to repeat this night. Though I would vary our pleasures with your leave." His earlier vision of Éomer within and beneath him still haunted him.
"I shall look forward to it. Another reason to survive this war." Éomer shifted to his back, keeping skin to skin. "Though it may be my duty to die for my people."
"It may. But we must not succumb to the mere prospect of doom. It is what the Enemy wishes, to cow us into submission."
Éomer's teeth gleamed sharp and white. "He does not know my people."
Legolas bent to nip where the beard gave way to skin. "He does not know you."
"We have but one day longer to complete the muster before we ride. More must answer."
"They will continue to arrive through the night."
Éomer studied the face above him. "You spark my courage with your faith." A mischievous smile began to form. "With the gift of your rider's strength, Legolas, I will rally my people to greater valor."
Legolas lay his head on the furs next to Éomer's. "I go to battle with the bond between our peoples stronger forged. I thank you, Marshal."
The formal words ending any obligation between them, they were free to sleep as they truly wished, hands over one another's hearts.
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For once more lust of battle was on him; and he was still unscathed, and he was young, and he was king: the lord of a fell people. And lo! even as he laughed at despair he looked out again on the black ships, and he lifted up his sword to defy them.
-The Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Return of the King
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Title: Horse Lord
Pairing : Éomer/Legolas
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Interspecies (human/elf-as though that might offend any of you)
Summary: Just before following Aragorn to the Paths of the Dead, Legolas begins to understand more about the culture of Rohan.
Disclaimer: This is a work of impure fiction.
Story Notes: This storyline is independent of my other tales. In book canon, the three companions leave the Hornberg with Elladan, Elrohir, and the rangers. They travel to Edoras and then to the Paths of the Dead while Théoden and Éomer take a longer path from the Hornberg to Edoras to gather more men. I have, for the limited purposes of this story, followed film canon as to location.
Acknowledgments: Thanks always to Libitina for her advice and research. Thanks to Capella and Elfscribe for their support and for helping me think through this piece way back in 2004.
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Legolas stood in the twilight, grooming Arod and listening to the sounds of the Rohirrim camp. He could hear the distant battle-eve song of the mess tents and it weighed upon him how far he and Gimli were from any kin themselves. Unlike the ordinary folk of Rohan, the Rohirrim grimly welcomed the coming fight.
He could appreciate the spirit of living fully before going into war. He shared the concept that one must willingly place one's life in jeopardy to protect the beloved, whether a person, a way of life, or a principle. But the celebratory aspect remained a mystery to him: this worship of dying in agony with the enemy's blood on one's weapons, the passion that burned beyond duty and into the rapture of a particular kind of death. These elite fighters had learned to survive and also to welcome death in ways that neither the elves nor the dwarves shared. Legolas almost smiled to think that he and Gimli were more alike than either was similar to the riders.
The muster of men and horses grew by the hour, but not quickly enough to satisfy Aragorn, King Théoden, or the need of Minas Tirith. Even the arrival of the rangers had done little to ease Aragorn's mood. The camp bristled with impatience and preparation. Legolas knew that the rangers soon would be taking a different path than the riders. This would not be welcome news on the side of Rohan and few had been given it yet.
Legolas was quartered next to Gimli and near Aragorn, a full arrow's flight away from where he now stood. The three had been honored as battle-brothers to the riders with tents not far from the King's pavilion. Soon, all such comforts would be left behind for speed, and they would all take again to the open air.
He had heard a few discouraged men of Edoras -- none a Rohir -- whisper that the gear would be left because those marked for death need carry no tents. He urged Éomer to see that these few stayed behind, for death was already certain to them, and others around them, if they went to battle. Better use could be found for them at home. Legolas had stopped short at pressing Éowyn's case, not wishing to tread on cultural differences; but for that concern, he would not have bit his tongue on the thought that her worth with a sword was greater than at least three known men of Rohan.
In a moment of humor in the collective grimness, Legolas had remarked to Gimli that for whatever time they had here it was a relief to have at least two tent walls between himself and the dwarf's snore. Gimli roared with good-natured laughter, then retorted more confidentially, "You might come to miss my company, I've been keeping unwanted visitors at bay." He winked.
Gimli had a point. People had ceased openly staring at Legolas but still tended to go out of their way to speak with him. His stout comrade had a charming way of interrupting a conversation just as it became tiresome.
"On the other hand," his friend considered with a grin, "it might give you an opportunity to entertain... welcome visitors."
Legolas shook his head. "I think not."
"If not, it is your choice as there is no lack of interest. I've found Rohan a diverting place if you follow my meaning." Again, he winked.
Grinning back, Legolas hid his surprise well. As he considered the matter further, it made perfect sense that Gimli's qualities would appeal to these humans. A month or so ago, his friend had begun to comment with appreciation upon the qualities of tall, willowy women having long, wavy hair and grave demeanor.
Tonight, as the riders continued to gather, Legolas had brought Arod to a more remote section of camp to find respite from polite conversation. After wandering for a time, he found himself not far from the tents of Éomer and Éowyn, both lit from within. Legolas smiled. Éomer had quietly located his sister in a warrior's place of honor rather than as an ordinary member of his uncle's household.
The Marshal's small tent stood a little apart from the others, near a grove of sparse trees in which Legolas heard a tiny echo of the woods. The sweeping plains and mountains of Rohan could not ease his longing for the deep forest. To enhance the quiet voice of the trees, he hummed to them, Arod, and himself as he went to work on the horse's sweat-encrusted coat.
Legolas looked up when a stately young woman approached Éomer's tent. Even in half-shadow he could see that she had a compelling face: not beautiful, but strong and sad with a bold nose and smooth skin. She wore her coppery hair braided behind her ears and it fell free down her back. As his eyes traveled, Legolas noted that she was early with child. She hesitated at the tent flap and reached for the bridle hanging there. After what seemed like much consideration, she grabbed and shook it. It jangled pleasantly.
In a moment, Éomer's arm threw back the tent flap and he emerged half-clad in only leggings. The young woman took a step back. The Marshal too appeared surprised. As the two regarded one another in silence, Legolas observed the young man with interest.
Éomer's skin glowed clean from the earlier gathering at the sweat lodge. The elf, having a sensitive nose, had demurred. No amount of explanation as to the value of this collective preparation for battle could persuade him to partake. At the time, he could think of few things more distasteful. Now, he realized that there might have been hidden rewards.
The Rohir's burnished hair was loose and tumbled over his shoulders, partially obscuring intricate blue tattoos of horses and riders and kells. Legolas' eyes followed the lines of flat and wiry muscles down the long torso before he checked himself and returned his eyes to the grooming task.
"My lady? Your pardon, but I expected one of the men to bring the report. Else I would have come forth in proper form."
She smiled without guile, and her voice sounded pleasant and clear. "I asked to bring the news to you, Marshal. The muster stands at two thousand, four hundred and twelve, to the rider."
Éomer nodded, his disappointment apparent. "Why did you ask to convey this number, my lady? Though I do not wonder why the men would shrink from the task."
"Gamling agreed after I drew him aside and explained my situation." Her voice trembled. "With respect, my lord, I came tonight to request the giving of Rohirrim strength for my child."
Legolas could hear Éomer's surprised intake of breath, and again, the elf raised his eyes, drawn to watch. The man composed himself and looked more carefully into her face. "You are Gendwyn. Your husband was Thendor, one of the riders I commanded to remain in Edoras while I was banished. I was told that he fell with two others engaging Saruman's scouts. His life shielded many others."
"You honor us with memory, Marshal." She waited.
Legolas noted Éomer's unobtrusive perusal of the woman's body. "Your child is five moons yet from birth?"
"Aye. And there has been no husband for half its time within me. Boy or girl, it is a rider's child and needs a rider's strength."
The elf's curiosity simmered. The request and reply were made with solemnity, yet he detected something else altogether in the exchange.
Éomer extended his arm in invitation to enter the tent. "Being fit and finished with the day's business, I may not refuse." His voice, though lowered for discretion, was bold and grim of habit.
Gendwyn hesitated for a moment, as if her courage had faltered. She spoke again. "I chose you for your hands. They remind me of his."
Éomer softened his voice. "I accept as any man of honor must, Gendwyn, but I find within myself this time a sense of anticipation in meeting my duty." He smiled at her kindly and she stepped within. Éomer followed and the flap fell behind them.
Legolas considered the meaning of the conversation as he moved to curry Arod's chest. The horse snorted and nipped him in affection and Legolas resumed humming his woodland tune. By the time he had reached Arod's opposite shoulder, the answer to his question presented itself and he fell silent. His sensitive ears overheard without intention at first, but he did not move away.
"I hope that my hands do not disappoint." Éomer's voice was low and warm, and the hair prickled on the back of Legolas' neck.
"No, my lord," came the soft reply, "they do not."
"Éomer. It is Éomer, tonight."
Legolas' breath quickened at the subtle vibration in the man's voice. He was intrigued to hear the change, all the gruffness gone.
"I am glad of your skill... Éomer. It is not only the child who has missed the rider."
"Gendwyn, you must be the rider now. You are the source of your child's strength with a village gathered behind you to help. Ah, do not cry. Your tears are no shame, but you have shed enough already." Legolas closed his eyes and imagined the touch to her cheek that must accompany the words, shivering at the effect on his own skin. "The way of our people is not only for the child, but for the woman and the Rohir she chooses, for pleasure renews life in the face of death and grief. Come astride, I am waiting."
At those words Legolas gasped as his body flooded with pleasure. It was as though Éomer had spoken directly to him. The soft sounds from the tent, from both partners, ended the conversation in words.
Legolas felt suddenly stricken as he felt the emotional tremor in their voices. How long had it been since the maidens and youths of Lothlórien shared sorrow and ease with him? Though the road was relentless, sleep and food scarce, his deeply ingrained passion had not lessened. He merely held it in check.
It was the deeper voice of the pair that called to him now, that hardened him with need. This human, fiery and restive, was wholly attractive and bound to no one. There would be no reason to resist him other than the unfamiliar rules of cultural propriety. From their first confrontation, they had felt and respected one another's power. For Legolas this recognition had included arousal. He did not presume that the feeling could be mutual.
The man and woman were not loud, but were intent upon each other and the elf could hear without strain. Through the sounds of lovemaking, Legolas flushed with his own response and through force of will restrained his hands from moving where they wished. He thought on where to go to be safely alone; given the steady stream of callers, his tent would not suffice until much later in the evening.
The frustrating lack of privacy forced him to recall an afternoon on the trail of Merry, Pippin, and their Uruk captors. Though Legolas closed his eyes against the uncomfortable memory, it flooded back nonetheless amid the sounds of Éomer's pleasure.
***
The three companions had paused longer than usual. Gimli called in desperation for a short nap and Aragorn attended to a gash in his leggings. Legolas slipped away into the trees on pretext of gathering herbs.
He chose a silver sapling to hold to for support, first kissing her smooth bark with thanks and tasting her sap with reverence. To rush things offended his lover's sensibility, but time was ever of the essence now. With pounding pulse and speeding breath, he had pleasured himself, one arm wrapped around the tree, his cheek and hip leaning into her strength.
The spark of life moved from the earth up through her slow veins into his faster blood, expanding his heart and finally pouring from him back to the earth. He opened his eyes as his breathing slowed, feeling that for one blissful moment, time had ceased to spin out of his grasp. Then, with a horrified start, he saw the shadowy colors of Aragorn moving away through the trees, and realized that the man had come to find him at a most inopportune time.
Had the ranger not fled, things might have been different. He tried not to wish it so. Among elves, dignified but thrumming with life, there would have been conventions of privacy, understandings, a light jest upon interruption, even provisions for mutual relief.
Despite being raised with elves, Aragorn had adopted human ways. For both their sakes, when Legolas returned with the herbs, he feigned innocence of Aragorn's presence in the wood. Aragorn pretended not to have seen and Legolas pretended not to notice that Aragorn could not look him in the eye for two days thereafter.
***
After that, there had only been his own furtive hands in the dark on the rare occasion when he was absolutely certain that both Gimli and Aragorn slept soundly. Now, many weeks later, the intensifying sounds of coupling tortured him, but he stayed for it when he could have moved away. The strength of life facing death kept him rooted to the spot.
Gendwyn reached her pleasure with a series of delighted gasps as she drove herself hard against Éomer. He steadied her through the peak, only his soft groans telling of the difficulty of his task. As her voice quieted, his own grew stronger.
Legolas could almost see the man grip her thighs as taut hips arched up to spend him within her. Engulfed in the sound of Éomer's passion, for a fleeting moment he could envision himself in the man's arms.
He stood trembling with need, not realizing that his aching groin was pressed hard against Arod's shoulder. Absentmindedly, he had gone on currying the steed while lost in Éomer's voice. Arod's nostrils flared and blew out breath in short bursts, the sound bringing Legolas back to present. He laid a soothing hand on his friend's arched neck, thinking something had frightened him, but Arod stamped and nickered in an unfamiliar way. With an embarrassed flush, Legolas realized that Arod, ever attuned to the moods of his rider, had absorbed his flaring heat. He stepped away, releasing the quivering animal and Arod immediately bolted toward a group of other horses at the edge of camp.
"Sorry, my friend," whispered Legolas, "may you not incur the wrath of the other stallions on my account." Tears flickered on his lashes. He was not given to feeling sorry for himself--this was sadness for the waste of joy. He stood transfixed by his own pent-up heat until he heard the couple stirring. Their words followed him as he gathered the grooming tools and prepared to leave.
"With the gift of your strength, my husband's child will long honor his forebears, and should you fall in battle, we will remember you as our family."
"I go to battle with the bond to my people stronger forged," replied Éomer, "I thank you, Shieldmother."
The formal words ended both their obligations, and with a smile, Gendwyn slipped on her gown and left the tent. She still did not see the elf whose wistful eyes followed her. When she was gone, Legolas turned to take the borrowed gear back to its lender. He had walked but a few steps when he heard a noise behind him and spun.
"Ah, Legolas, I thought that was you humming earlier." Éomer stood there naked, and Legolas took care not to look where he most wanted. "Hold a moment, I would like a word with you." The horse lord stepped away behind a tree to relieve himself.
Legolas took the opportunity to reach under his tunic to adjust himself within overtight leggings, then waited, arms folded, until Éomer strode back to him.
"If you could spare the time, come to my tent for a cup. I've a fire going and I could use your advice."
"Give me a few minutes? I must return these to the rider who lent them."
Éomer nodded. "You need not announce yourself. I will expect you."
The few minutes to the lender's tent and back seemed to take forever. While there, he sent word to Gimli not to wait up or fuss over his absence. Legolas knew not why he was so eager to spend time in the unrequited agony of Éomer's close company. He shook his head at himself. Perhaps to look on him would be pleasure enough.
When he entered Éomer's tent, the man was sitting on folded skins by the fire, perusing a detailed map. At a glance, the sleeping area looked not at all tumbled and Legolas smiled that Éomer would take such care for neatness; it seemed out of character.
At Legolas' approach, Éomer stood and welcomed him with a wrist clasp, and then offered a cup of wine. He now wore a shirt of blue homespun against the chill. It hung to mid-thigh and Legolas wondered whether the man was still naked underneath. The rules of the tent clearly differed from the rules of the hall. He settled himself nearby with studied calm that hid his discomfort. "You wished my counsel?" He heard his own voice issue cool and even.
The warm hazel eyes focused on him intently. "I do. I intended to seek you myself earlier when I heard your voice, but I was detained."
Legolas realized that the man smelled of horse and soap and leather, oddly not of woman. "I saw a lovely woman come and go before as I was grooming Arod. Forgive me, but I overheard part of... the conversation." There was nothing to be gained by pretending. "It is an interesting concept."
Éomer did not flinch or look away. "Perhaps our customs seem strange to you, but we live in a harsh world." He smiled less grimly than usual. "For the moment, you are a member of the Rohirrim and you have already proven you know how to behave: placing your horse's needs before yours, returning borrowed gear promptly. Perhaps we should spread the word so that you see your share of other duties as well."
Legolas laughed at that. "I would not decline. I find I have been in want of such company for too long."
Éomer nodded and his face was unreadable. He handed Legolas the map and rested his arm on a knee. "This is what I wanted to discuss. Are the forest boundaries accurate to your recent passage?"
Legolas' brow wrinkled. He very nearly asked why Aragorn could not have answered the same question. "They are, but for this area here," he pointed, "the forest has been burned back, so there is less cover."
"I had wondered. Thank you." Éomer took the map and set it aside. He stared into the fire and drank deeply from his cup. Legolas followed suit for a comfortable length of silence. In time, Éomer spoke again. "I also wondered about something else which did not seem suitable for public jesting given your reserved nature. You have answered that question as well."
"I have?"
Éomer smiled but continued gazing into the fire. "Whether the ethereal elves lust."
Again, Legolas laughed. "I cannot speak for the ethereal elves, but for my part, yes. I am flesh and blood. Is there anything else I can answer?"
"Yes." The man was suddenly close by his shoulder. "Whether you would allow my touch."
Legolas turned his head to meet the eyes hovering a span away. He shifted, then, in one fluid motion, setting the cup aside, his hands finding Éomer's shoulders, his legs sliding to overlap the man's, his lips connecting with the bearded mouth. Éomer responded exactly as Legolas might have hoped, with ferocious passion. Legolas equally met him and Éomer was first to moan at their matching.
At length, Legolas pulled back to answer the question posed. "No, I would not allow your touch, I would welcome it. But I would wish for its full measure." He felt strangely off balance to find an invitation extended and accepted not one hour since he despaired at the prospect of more time alone.
"I am in the mood to grant wishes," replied Éomer, a barely-detectable tremor in his voice. He rose and went to tie the tent flap: a necessary action, all things considered and intensely arousing even so. Legolas watched the man move, appreciation of muscular form flowing through him.
As Éomer slowly tied, he spoke to Legolas again. "Aragorn tells me you are rather... ancient."
"Indeed, by human standards." Legolas saw no need to quantify the fact.
"And experienced, with both women and men."
Legolas raised an eyebrow. Aragorn had gathered more information than the elf had realized. "Is this a problem?"
"I fear that it will make impressing you most difficult."
Legolas allowed amusement to enter his voice. "Is that your aim? To impress me? What expectations do you believe I have that would require you to impress me?"
Éomer shrugged. "Forgive me. I am considered over-young for my position. I have had to earn every moment of respect given me and it is a hard habit to break." He kept his back turned and spoke over his shoulder. "I would want you to feel that giddiness in my embrace that I feel to see you riding at speed or simply dishing a bowl of soup."
Legolas smiled, and it was not a gesture of amusement, but one of relieved delight. "I was held rapt by that first hostile glare of your eyes when we met. I sit here enflamed by your kiss. I have been without a lover for too long but even were I freshly sated I would still hunger for you."
"You already have such proof from me." Éomer's voice was almost shy.
"Then, come and partake of my proofs." Legolas rose to his feet and extended a hand.
With a swift moment, Éomer gathered and lifted the shirt as he turned, stripping it overhead and tossing it aside. Legolas' eyes raked where the hem of the garment lifted, and he took in the deep channels of muscle, the scars, the sheen of lush skin. When Éomer faced him at last, Legolas found himself in full view of what he had avoided seeing earlier. He did not avoid looking now and his nostrils flared in appreciation. Then, his eyes swept Éomer's whole body; it was unusually lean for a human. His torso showed time spent naked in the sun, tapering to fresh, pale skin below the waist. The blue lines traced lower still on Éomer's abdomen, and Legolas imagined the brush of skin against his own fingers in following them.
Éomer seemed unable to move and Legolas crossed the steps between them. The grim face and veiled expression Éomer usually wore were gone. He appeared astonished.
"Are you well?" murmured Legolas, standing close enough to be slightly taller. He did not yet touch the young man though he vibrated with the need to do so.
Éomer swallowed. "I have not seen you look this way before."
"Ah, we elves guard it carefully."
"I can see why." Roughened fingers reached to touch a brow and made their way along Legolas' hairline. They hesitated at an ear.
Legolas tilted his head into the touch. "Go ahead." As Éomer did, touching not in fascination but in hope of further arousing, Legolas' hands moved aside his own tunic and unfastened his leggings. "That's it," he urged. His lips moved closer to those parted before him but he stopped short of meeting them.
Éomer gasped as instead of lips he felt the brush below of tightened skin against his own. He lifted his eyes to meet the elf's intense gaze and made a conscious effort not to flinch.
"Perhaps I should soften my approach," whispered Legolas, pulling back slightly. A steely grip on his shoulder stopped him.
"Nay," rasped Éomer, "your power is more than I imagined, that is all. Understand that as a warrior in my society, a Rohir and Marshal at that, I must ever be in charge. I am only to defer to the King. Even in bed it is expected that I will lead, that I will do the taking whomever the partner might be. That is not my desire tonight."
Legolas smiled. "I care not who does the taking in such terms, Marshal, and I do not speak later of my encounters." He reached to grasp Éomer's shoulders with firm hands.
Éomer closed his eyes in relief. "I knew you would be like this. I only erred in the measure of it." When his lashes lifted, he was better prepared. His hands went to Legolas' belt and unhitched the leather strap but he was careful not to disturb the contact between their bared flesh. Éomer dropped the belt and slid the leather coat off, leaving only the tunic of raw silk. He regarded this last barrier remaining between his hands and the skin that sparked his passion so high, and he paused to breathe.
Legolas' hands found their way to Éomer's hair and neck, his eyes tracing nose, cheek, brow, and ear as he studied him up close. "You are perhaps the most handsome human I have ever seen," he said, "though I am most drawn to less tangible qualities."
Éomer fought for breath as he unfastened the silk, separating it by slow inches from the form beneath. Finally, he opened the tunic and caressed with his fingertips. "Nothing has ever felt so soft," he whispered.
At last, Legolas allowed their lips to drift together. He began lightly, feeling his way with patience. He did not tease, he sampled: the inside of the bottom of Éomer's lip, the feel of sharp teeth, the upper and lower surfaces of his tongue. The man groaned, his fingertips pressing deeper into the elf's skin. Still, the two did not move closer.
When Éomer deepened the kiss, Legolas followed, his hands clasping behind Éomer's neck. The tunic soon slid to the floor.
Éomer's hands traced down the white chest and around to the corded back. He pulled away to brush his lips over a cheek. "Gods of my fathers, I may lose myself just touching your skin." He shifted his hips forward, sucking in his breath at the greater contact between their erections.
"Do not doubt your stamina, horse lord," murmured Legolas, "I for one have great faith in it." He reached behind for one of Éomer's hands and brought it around, guiding it to his own cock.
"Have a care for yourself, archer; that is my javelin hand."
"I know," Legolas replied with a sound in his voice that brought Éomer's eyes back to his in an instant, begging.
The slowness between them broke like a wave upon the shore and Éomer felt himself lifted hard against Legolas. The elf strode to the sleeping furs as though the man's weight was nothing and tossed him there. Éomer thought for a moment that the blazing creature might devour him like a starving beast would take still-living food, and he lay docile and willing.
"Nay," breathed Legolas as he tasted shallow bites of flesh, "for if I did that, there would be nothing left for another day."
Éomer rose on his elbows. "I did not speak."
Legolas paused and shut his eyes. "Forgive me, I must have lowered my guard."
"You are able to hear my thoughts?" Éomer slipped his hand again between Legolas' thighs.
"Not precisely. All of my senses are aroused," he replied with a smile. "Through all of them together, I feel the nature of your emotion, but I will take more care."
"There is no need. I was only surprised. I trust you." Éomer lay back again, and with his free hand grasped Legolas behind the head, pulling him back down with noises that made the cock held in his other hand pulse. "Go ahead, feel what I am thinking." He looked steadily into the eyes above him and let the rawness of his lust show there.
The kiss that followed locked them together, and they rolled on the pallet, trading places, studying the tactile maps of one another's skin. Their hands fumbled together to strip away the last garment between them, and the elf's leggings were soon flung away. Then, Legolas slowed, running his nose along Éomer's collarbones to bring in the complex scent of arousal, anticipation, and apprehension. He stroked his fingertips over pulse points, touching and hearing the speeding rush of blood. He growled, baring his teeth against Éomer's skin.
"I do not understand those who see you as, as...," Éomer panted, trying to verbally formulate the thought.
"Feminine?" Legolas supplied the word, his smooth legs tangling with Éomer's lightly furred ones. He dipped to bite Éomer's shoulder. "It is no insult among my people."
"But you are not. Your scent, the way you move, your hands." Éomer squeezed, caressing the hot flesh that his hand could not begin to contain. "When I want a man, I do not want a boy and I do not want a mock woman. You have driven me to distraction from the first."
Legolas nuzzled him. "It is the singing, the lack of beard or body hair that confuses the unobservant."
"And the beauty, I think. You could shame our loveliest maiden."
"Your sister is your loveliest maiden and she has more beauty than I," Legolas replied.
"I am not supposed to see it," Éomer's eyes glittered with amusement.
"But you do. And were I to shave that beard of yours, I might find underneath a similar look."
"Nay, I am more of our father's side, rough and tumble."
"I see well the tumble, the rough might be a bit lacking tonight."
With a growl, Éomer reversed their positions and sat astride, pinning Legolas' arms in feigned ferocity.
The silver eyes glowed at him from below. "It suits me just as well to have you there as beneath me, Rider."
Éomer bent to kiss the moist lips that murmured such things as made him quiver. Legolas stroked over and down his back, pressing into the muscles and finally grasping his rear and pulling him down hard, crushing their cocks together. Almost involuntarily, Éomer rocked against the elf in response, setting off an excruciating sliding between them. Legolas thrust back, beginning to pant through his nose as Éomer occupied his mouth.
"Umm," said Éomer moving away to taste underneath Legolas' jaw, "you sound just like a horse."
"You do this with horses?"
The young man laughed with delight at the elf's jest. "Nay, but I find them beautiful. Arousing at times. The wildness and strength, their passion and loyalty."
"I do believe you are growing harder...."
"It is the touch of your cock. And the thought of more to come."
Legolas rolled Éomer beneath him and kneed aside the man's thighs. He paused to dig his fingers deep in those curling muscles. "It is wonderful what riding like we elves do--when we do not carry a dwarf behind--does to the human body." The look of anticipation on the bronzed face as Legolas knelt between those thighs was enough to take his breath for a moment. "Patience, Éomer," he whispered, "not yet." His mouth claimed the prize first. A strangled cry issued from the man that he took for strong encouragement. "Mmm," he hummed, appreciating the new flavor amongst familiar herbs, then raised his head and an eyebrow. "You washed while I returned the gear."
Éomer actually blushed, his skin turning hot. "I trusted to hope," he replied.
"And shall be rewarded for your renewal of faith, though I would not have minded tasting of your strange custom as well." Legolas nibbled lightly. With a firm grip, he unsheathed the gleaming head, understanding in a flash that these riders would not cut their sons and thus sever another bond of similarity with the sacred animal. Éomer's gasp gave him gooseflesh. For some minutes, he let the sweet salt of arousal slowly leak into his mouth, rubbing his mouth and tongue with the bursting flesh. Then, holding one hand flat to Éomer's abdomen to keep him still, he licked lengthwise and downward. Legolas teased the delicate and loose skin below into tightening snug against Éomer's body, giving him greater access to move beyond.
"I have never had such pleasure from anyone's lips." Éomer's trembling voice seemed to come from far away.
"I am glad to give such a gift," Legolas replied between nips, feeling powerful hands slide into his hair.
"Would it be greedy to plead for more?"
"Ah, I am far from finished."
"I fear I cannot say the same. You must be careful."
Legolas chuckled. "But you are young and, by all accounts overheard, virile."
"And spent once already tonight. A man has his limits." Éomer sounded uncertain.
"I am but jesting with you. Trust the pace to me. Relax and do not be so on your guard."
"What of your pleasure?"
"I am having it," Legolas murmured, "and I shall have more yet." He sucked on his fingers and then slid them into Éomer's cleft, smoothing over new territory.
"Oh." Éomer breathed the syllable, his lower back curling upward, driving his cock through Legolas' grip. He bit his lip and frowned.
"What?" Legolas did not still his fingers.
"Pain I can stifle. Stab wounds, wrenchings, broken bones. This?" He shook his head.
"Need you stifle?" A slow smile grew on the elf's face, sparking an even brighter light in Éomer's eyes. "If I begin to understand your ways, like the open-air culture of my heritage, your screen of privacy is woven of where to look and when not to raise your eyes, finding the appropriateness of time and place, not the ignorance of what goes on."
"True," gasped Éomer.
"I broke those boundaries earlier tonight, and I apologize for it. Your people know better."
"You are forgiven in a heartbeat for it brought you faster to my tent. I have wanted you like no other before, and I am known to have lusted for many." The heat was beginning to loosen Éomer's tongue.
A wrinkle of worry crossed Legolas' brow.
"Your turn to tell me what troubles you." Éomer's hand lifted to finger a thin braid even as his hips moved to Legolas' rhythm.
"Is it that I am elfkind, the unknown?" Legolas was slow to lift his eyes but needed to see the answer as well as hear it.
"I have laid eyes on elves before, my friend, even naked ones. Those of your kind are beautiful, 'tis true. But none sent blood rushing to my groin before. None made me imagine how it would feel to be pushed to the ground and fucked by him." The words were said fiercely, like a challenge of the field.
Legolas drew a sharp breath. "That is what you wish?" The throbbing against his hand answered well but he desired words.
"I would wish to have your cock how you would want to give it but do not tarry."
Legolas dipped again and his sweeping tongue elicited another choked noise. He smiled to himself and wondered what it would take to make Éomer let go his voice. He made his way lower and continued to caress with his fingers until Éomer was gasping. Suddenly, Legolas rolled the man to his side, tucking his top leg out of the way, and with both hands, parted him to accept his dancing tongue.
"Ah!" the exclamation was short and sharp and loud. Éomer lay absolutely still, and Legolas had to trust that he had permission to continue. Softly at first, and then hungrily, he stroked, pausing occasionally to nip at the muscular buttocks. One hand slid up to the small of Éomer's back, feeling the tiny rhythm of rocking contained within the spine. He felt the tension increase in the curve as Éomer slowly arched to open as far as he could.
Legolas reached for himself then, spreading the tiny bit of moisture that all the play had brought forth. He knew that Éomer could see when the shoulders above shuddered with containment. "You are familiar with what you are asking of me, and able?"
"Yes," rasped Éomer. Then a pause. "I practice."
Legolas absorbed this news with some surprise, which fortunately, the Rohir could not see. Legolas returned his mouth to sensuous licking while he considered.
This made it more difficult for Éomer to continue speaking but he battled on. "I am not permitted, by station, as I tried to explain. We emulate the dominance patterns of our herds. But on occasion, I might encounter someone attractive from another place. Without frequency, as much as I might want it...."
"It would be painful." Legolas slid smoothly up the hard body until his chin tucked behind Éomer's ear. He nuzzled in, his chest pressed to Éomer's back, and wrapped an arm around the taut waist.
Éomer clasped it with both hands. "You need not spare me." The voice lowered to a whisper. "I do not spare myself."
That confession shot molten heat through Legolas, every nerve tingled, he could feel his breath burning in and out. He allowed his mind again to intrude on the man's feelings and the images of self-pleasure that came to him caused him to cry aloud. He guided himself in with a forceful thrust and they both exclaimed in rapture.
"Spare you? You have not shown me any mercy!" Legolas grunted. "Standing naked in the grove. Did you seek to tempt me with your body?" He thrust again, closing his eyes against the pleasure.
"No!" Éomer panted, "I... yes, perhaps, though I did not know it."
"Wiping away the spill of pleasure with woodland herbs but leaving just enough to taste, wearing blue cloth that shows your skin gilt in the firelight?" A long leg hooked over Éomer's pulling their hips tighter together, and strong fingers reached to settle around the man's cock.
There was a muffled sobbing noise as teeth gritted. "I was frank. I told you what I wanted."
"So you did," whispered Legolas into his ear. "It was I who did not play fair. I eavesdropped on your lovemaking. I listened to your kindness, your voice in pleasure. I listened so intently that I caused Arod to run wild in search of relief himself."
"Oh," Éomer's voice reached a dangerous note and Legolas stilled, breathing hard. He began speaking elvish into the soft, vulnerable place behind Éomer's ear, words meant to soothe even though the man would not understand them. "Oh." The dark eyes opened again. "That is so beautiful." Éomer listened and calmed, feeling the near-peak gradually change to a plateau with further mountain above. "I am ready," he said at last.
"Good," Legolas replied, "for I would have you moving with me, not lying still."
"Then you should take me harder."
Legolas' head swam with intoxication. "Yes." He did, grinding his hips against curved muscles, his hands slipping over Éomer's torso slick with the man's sweat.
"Harder," hissed the rider.
"Louder," retorted the elf, his fingers rough on Éomer's nipples. He was rewarded with a guttural noise and in response flattened Éomer to his stomach, rolling above him, his own thighs to the outside of Éomer's. With both hands pressed to the top of the man's hips, bracing himself, he rode him fast and strong. Éomer cried out into the furs, flexing back against Legolas to urge him onward.
Legolas felt himself glowing with heat as if every bit of stealthy, shortchanged pleasure of the past months had returned to take revenge on him by slow immolation. Then, Éomer rose on his elbows, his fists full of fur, his shoulders bunching. He gave full voice to his climax, the thick mane tossing bright and dark in the firelight.
The wave started from far away. Countless years of knowing his own body allowed Legolas to stay with the crest for a long time, until halfway through Éomer's convulsions, until it seemed right to let go. His upper body thrashed and twisted though his hips moved only the slightest bit in time with the spill of burning fluid. A last long and almost painful groan vibrated through them both, neither knowing who made it, and Legolas slid down, boneless, along Éomer's back. When he felt he could breathe normally again, he eased their bodies apart and fell to his side again, tucking Éomer close against his chest, their legs entwined.
In the blissful warmth of sleepiness, Éomer nudged his shoulders harder against the cushion of Legolas' muscles. "What did you say to me at the end? Besides my name. I do not speak your language."
Legolas thought a moment and chuckled to think he had lost command of the common tongue without knowing it. "I said, 'Your men will think I am killing you and I do not care. Cry to me louder, Éomer, I will pour myself into you before I die at their hands.'"
"By the sacred horse you have such a mouth on you." Éomer turned his head enough for a kiss, and their tongues swept together. "Such a wicked mouth with so many talents."
"I am afraid I neglected you in some ways in order to answer your demand." Legolas caressed a steel-hard shoulder.
"Now that you mention it, there is one problem." Éomer groped about for a sodden fur and tossed it away. "There. You were pressing me into that softness. What a torture. I think I injured myself coming."
"Mmm." Legolas could say little else as he contemplated the afterimage of pleasure. At length, he spoke, though he wondered if Éomer slept. "Shall I stay for a little? I will wake and leave before the light."
"Stay. I am certain anyone near is already well aware that you have had me this night."
"I think your voice tonight, if heard, will not have troubled anyone. It will have ensured that more families are renewed on this the eve of march. You are such a sensual creature that your arousal is contagious." Legolas resisted the urge to hold him tighter. "I would like to repeat this night. Though I would vary our pleasures with your leave." His earlier vision of Éomer within and beneath him still haunted him.
"I shall look forward to it. Another reason to survive this war." Éomer shifted to his back, keeping skin to skin. "Though it may be my duty to die for my people."
"It may. But we must not succumb to the mere prospect of doom. It is what the Enemy wishes, to cow us into submission."
Éomer's teeth gleamed sharp and white. "He does not know my people."
Legolas bent to nip where the beard gave way to skin. "He does not know you."
"We have but one day longer to complete the muster before we ride. More must answer."
"They will continue to arrive through the night."
Éomer studied the face above him. "You spark my courage with your faith." A mischievous smile began to form. "With the gift of your rider's strength, Legolas, I will rally my people to greater valor."
Legolas lay his head on the furs next to Éomer's. "I go to battle with the bond between our peoples stronger forged. I thank you, Marshal."
The formal words ending any obligation between them, they were free to sleep as they truly wished, hands over one another's hearts.
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For once more lust of battle was on him; and he was still unscathed, and he was young, and he was king: the lord of a fell people. And lo! even as he laughed at despair he looked out again on the black ships, and he lifted up his sword to defy them.
-The Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Return of the King
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