My First, My Last, My Only

My First, My Last, My Only

Posted: November 7, 2008
Title: My First, My Last, My Only
Sequel to: Third Time's The Charm
Author: Elohir Mornedhel
Type: FCS
Characters: Éomer/Legolas
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warning: Slash, angst, pissed off dwarf, tissue

Summary: Will Éomer accept a love to last a lifetime and beyond… before it is too late?

*****

“Almost as loudly as I hear the call of my heart to one who will not answer.” Legolas responded.

Turning on his heel, he walked away from Lord Elrond. He did not wish to embarrass himself further with the tears that stung his eyes. It was bad enough to have lost his heart to one who was repulsed by him. He would not compound it by shedding pointless tears in front of one such as Elrond.

Mindless of where he was going, Legolas soon found himself in the courtyard of the White Tree. Moving gracefully across the grass and walkways, he stopped at the very precipice. The vastness of Middle Earth spread before him, reducing him to insignificance. Slowly he turned his gaze towards Rohan and felt his gut clench. In his mind’s eye, he could see Éomer so clearly. The honey gold shades of his hair, flying in the wind as his powerful thighs easily controlled Firefoot. The snapping blue of his eyes made Legolas tremble when the Horse lord’s gaze rested on him.

“Éomer,” the prince whispered. “I am yours Rohir nin until the end of my existence.”

The new king of Rohan brought his mount to a stop, a shiver ran down his spine and his blue eyes stared into the distance. He felt a familiar pulsing in his body, one he immediately stamped down with gritted teeth. Slowly he closed his eyes.

Pale blonde hair flowed over alabaster skin. Sweet moans vibrated against his mouth as slender hands divested him of his leathers. Éomer’s mind filled with erotic thoughts. A certain woodland Elf lay sprawled across the king’s massive bed, arching, writhing, offering his body freely, willingly, to anything Éomer wished to do to him. Tanned hands traced down the sleek smooth skin. Éomer shook his head violently before it could reach its goal.

Growling, he urged Firefoot to a faster pace. Whatever spell Legolas had placed upon him, he would see its end when he reached Minas Tirith or he would see the prince’s end. Neither Man nor elf would manipulate Éomer King.

Legolas fought hard to keep his face an impassive mask as Éomer strode into the hall. His heart pounded wildly in his chest and butterflies took wing in his stomach. When he forced his eyes to Elessar, he found the king of Gondor looking a bit guilty. So, this was not an unexpected visit. His friend just had not warned him.

“Greetings to you as well Prince Legolas,” Éomer said though the welcome did not reach his eyes.

“It is good to see you Éomer King.” Legolas answered with a slight bow, meaning every word despite the pang of his longing.

With formalities out of the way, Éomer and his escort were shown to their rooms. As soon as the door closed behind them, Legolas turned on Aragorn.

“Why did you not tell me he was coming?” The elf demanded.

“So many times I tried,” the man answered. “But I could not bear the sadness that fills you at the mere mention of his name.”

“Do you think this is any easier for me to bear?” The prince cried. “To have him so close and know there is no hope?”

“I am sorry Legolas,” Aragorn said softly.

“I am nothing but sorrow,” Legolas whispered before turning on his heel and fleeing the room.

After washing the dust of travel from his body, Éomer went in search of his sister. He was relieved to see her curled up in a chair by the window, reading. This was the Éowyn he longed to see again, not the one haunted by shadows and stricken by poison. He had feared losing her to the Witch King’s evil even as he mourned his beloved uncle. Thankfully, Aragorn had brought her back to him. Now the White Lady of Rohan looked beyond healthy although Éomer felt she needed more time outdoors.

“You need to feel the wind on your face Sister,” he chuckled when she jumped.

“And you need not to sneak up on me like that,” Éowyn laughed as she threw a pillow at him before launching herself into his arms for a hug,

“How fare you Éowyn?” he asked in all seriousness.

“Both King and Master Elven healer have pronounced me hale as a horse,” She laughed. “Legolas believes I will be riding across the Mark in no time at all.”

“Legolas has been to see you?” Éomer asked his whole body tense.

“Yes,” Éowyn smiled. “He visits after he and Queen Arwen tend the gardens. We often talk for hours.”

“What do you converse about?” her brother asked.

“We speak of many things, Politics, hobbies, our homeland and people, our families. He is really quite intelligent and has seen so much.” She said as she led him over to the chairs.

“He has asked you about me?” the horse lord said with surprise.

“Well, not really. He actually becomes very quiet whenever I mention you,” Éowyn answered, frowning slightly. “Perhaps he thinks of a brother he has lost. I try not to bring you up as our talks usually end shortly thereafter. He mostly enjoys hearing about how we raise and train horses. The elves have a very different approach.”

“He has never approached you in an inappropriate manner?” Éomer suddenly demanded.

“What?” Éowyn gasped before bursting into laughter. “Brother Mine, Legolas does not find women, in truth ANY female, sexually attractive. He much prefers males and was most willing to answer my questions on his preferences. Among the elves such things are perfectly normal. To them, love is a great gift to be cherished whether both parties are the same gender or not. It was quite enlightening. I had often wondered on the topic when I would see warriors sneaking off together.”

“You do not think it… shameful or… unnatural?” Éomer asked.

“I think it more unnatural and shameful to hide who you are inside just to please others,” Éowyn snorted. “Of course, it is a bit depressing to think one as beautiful as Prince Legolas unattainable. He really is quite breathtaking. If he were so inclined, I would be more than willing to ride the Mirkwood stallion.”

“Éowyn!” her brother gasped in shock.

“Oh do not be such a prude Éomer. At least you have a chance with the comely elf. I bet he would thoroughly enjoy playing sheath to your sword. And I have seen YOU sneaking off more than once so do not act as if you are chaste. I know better.” Éowyn laughed as her brother blushed furiously.

“You are a brat.” He growled.

“And you love me anyway,” she smiled sweetly.

“Aye,” He said kissing her forehead. “I do.”

Legolas did his best to avoid King Éomer but it seemed the Valar were against him. Everywhere he turned, the man was there, watching him with angry eyes. Even his evening visits with Aragorn, Arwen and Elrond were taken from him since Éomer’s arrival. Finally, after the third time of finding the Horse lord there unexpectedly, he gave them up entirely.

It was becoming clear to Legolas that his only option was to leave the White City. Now all he had to do was convince Gimli without revealing the cause. It was too painful to see his beloved every day and know that the man found him abhorrent.

Éomer paused outside the study doors. Bracing himself against the possibility of Legolas’ presence, he took a deep breath. It was becoming harder and harder to resist the elf’s spell. Whenever they were in the same room, all he wanted to do was pull Legolas into his arms and make him scream in pleasure. He often had to force his mind back to the conversation while trying to cool the ardor in his body.

Reaching for the doors, he stopped once more as he heard the prince’s name.

“We must do something about Legolas or he will be lost.”

“It is indeed a complicated situation,” Elrond said.

“I should never have encouraged him,” the Gondorian King sighed. “But the love he feels for Éomer shined so brightly in his eyes.”

The horse lord missed the next words as a roaring sound muffled his ears. Love? Him? That was not possible. Was it? This was all some kind of trick. Shaking his head he took his hand from the door.

“Éomer knows nothing of Legolas’ feelings,” Arwen said. “He is killing him without even realizing it.”

The king of Rohan turned on his heel and strode away. The words he had just overheard swirled around inside his head. He had done nothing to the prince. If anything, the elf had case some spell upon him to bring such fantasies to his mind.

Ever since Legolas had kissed him at Helm’s Deep, Éomer had received no respite from the thoughts whirling around in his head. Indeed he had experienced pleasurable encounters with other warriors during war. They had consisted mostly of rough touches of hand and mouth. There were the rare instances when his partner had desired the feel of his shaft inside them. But these fantasies were of something more… intimate.

Éomer preferred women. He knew he did. Yet, every encounter since that kiss, and there had been many both male and female, had left him spent but restless and unsatisfied. He could not explain it. No this was Legolas’ doing and he would make the elven prince release him.

Legolas had just risen from the tub when the pounding on his door began. Grabbing his dressing gown, he hastily wrapped it around his lithe body; heedless of the way the thin fabric clung to his damp skin. The prince rushed to the door and pulled it open only to freeze in shock.

“Éomer,” he breathed.

Whatever he was expecting in that moment, it was not to feel the Horse lord’s arm snake around his waist and yank him flush against the king’s strong body. Nor was it to feel those lips, lips he had never forgotten and had often dreamed of, crushed against his in a searing bruising kiss.

Yet, to be in the arms of the man he loved triggered certain reactions in the prince. Immediately his body relaxed into Éomer’s. Soft whimpers escaped as he opened his lips to the king. Immediately his mouth was invaded, claimed, by a thrusting tongue.

He was hauled off his feet as Éomer stepped into the room, kicking the door closed behind him. Legolas shivered as the king’s heat seeped into his body through their clothing; He felt the strength of bulging muscles as Éomer easily held him.

Suddenly Legolas found himself sprawled across the bed, his dressing gown falling open to reveal flushed elven skin. He propped himself up on his elbows as he watched Éomer’s eyes darken to the color of sapphires. His shaft twitched and hardened as the Horse lord licked his lips.

“Éomer,” the prince breathed.

“Do not speak,” the man commanded as he reached for his belt.

Every rational part of Éomer’s personality seemed to have shut down. Now all he could think of was taking the beautiful elf laid out before him. Legolas was a feast for his senses. He let his gaze rake over the elf’s body hungrily. Reaching forward he ran tanned hands down the smooth alabaster skin until he reached the elf’s heavy erection lying thick and hard against the ridged muscles of his body. A soft moan escaped Legolas’ lips as the prince arched into Éomer’s touch as if he craved it more than breath.

On a groaned protest, Éomer removed his hands and stripped off the rest of his clothing, heedless of popping threads and tearing seams. He watched Legolas’ eyes rove over his body, widening when they paused at his sizeable shaft.

“Do you now fear to have me inside you?” Éomer demanded.

“Nay,” the prince breathed as he sat up. “I cannot wait to feel you inside me. In truth I wish to taste you upon my tongue. May I?”

In response, Éomer stepped closer to the bed. He braced one hand on the bedpost and the other buried in Legolas’ pale golden hair as the elf immediately took his cock into his mouth. His shaft was enveloped in hot wetness. Éomer let his head drop back on a low growl of pleasure. The prince’s tongue swirled around the head of his shaft and then he gently suckled, his head sliding up and down the thick length. Soft mewls of pleasure caressed his ears. It seemed the prince truly enjoyed his task.

Soon it was too much for the horse lord to bear. With a hiss of reluctance, he pulled from Legolas’ wicked mouth. Cerulean eyes, full of concern and the heat of desire, lifted to his.

“Did you not enjoy that gúren?” the prince whispered.

“Remove the robe,” Éomer demanded by way of answer.

Legolas drew the material off his shoulders. Shifting to his knees upon the bed, he pulled the robe out from beneath him and tossed it to the side. He knew not why the king was here this night but he tried not to care. A part of him knew there was nothing more than lust present in Éomer’s touch. Legolas knew the horse lord was using him. Yet his heart didn’t care. Éomer was touching him. It was clear the man intended to take him. It was enough… wasn’t it?

“Face the pillows,” the king ordered gruffly as he slowly stroked himself. Such beauty and strength at his command, it was intoxicating for he knew that Legolas could overpower him should the elf wish to. He had seen the prince in battle. Yet, it gave Éomer an unusually intense thrill to know that Legolas chose to yield to him. “Grasp the headboard and spread your legs. Do not let go for any reason. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered softly though he regretted the position. He wanted to touch Éomer, to feel the strength beneath his tanned skin. He wanted to look in the King’s eyes as he was taken. Yet, to have this chance, he would willingly give up that pleasure.

Looking around, he spotted a small vial on the nightstand. Opening it, Éomer gently sniffed its contents. Looking to the prince he raised a questioning eyebrow.

“It is specifically designed for your intended purpose,” Legolas said with a blush as he gripped the headboard tighter. Tears stung his eyes but he ignored them.

Without a word, Éomer climbed onto the bed and positioned himself behind the prince. He did not wish to look into those blue eyes. Setting the vial to one side, he ran his hands over the smooth skin of the elf’s back. Immediately the sinda arched into his touch. He continued until he could cover Legolas’ hands with his own. Pressed together from shoulder to knee, Éomer inhaled the unique scent of the wood elf. Something shivered and unfurled deep inside him.

He pushed Legolas’ hair to one side, exposing the long slender line of his throat. The pale skin begged to be marked, to be claimed. Éomer didn’t stop to think about it. He simply clamped his teeth on that perfect flesh and bit, sucking hard. The cry he tore from the prince’s throat was a mix of pleasure and pain.

“Your mouth was exquisite Legolas,” Éomer purred into one perfectly pointed ear, brushing the tip and making the prince tremble harder. “Is this pert ass of yours as hot? Will you wrap around my cock like a glove?”

Even as he taunted the elf with his words, Éomer was quivering with anticipation. He had fantasized and dreamed of this moment to the point of insanity. Reaching for the vial once more, he opened it and liberally coated his fingers. Leaning back slightly, he parted the pale globes trembling beneath his hands and eagerly pushed a finger inside.

Legolas hissed in pain, as he was breeched for the first time. Closing his eyes against the burning sensation, he tried to relax his muscles. But Éomer gave him no time to breathe before pushing a second finger in to join the first.

In all the times he had taken previous lovers, he had always taken great care with them. He had cared for each and every one and would never have willingly and knowingly caused them pain. If Legolas needed clearer indication that Éomer cared nothing for him, it was driven home with the third finger violating his body. Still, he said nothing though the wood beneath his hands splintered and cracked.

Éomer couldn’t wait any longer. Smearing his aching flesh with oil and his own juices, he placed the head of his cock at the quivering opening. Gripping Legolas’ hips hard enough to leave marks, he thrust forward, and a roar of pleasure drowned out the prince’s pain filled cry. The sound of snapping wood echoed through the room.

Tears streamed down his face as Éomer continued to move. Legolas bit his lip to keep from crying out further. The coppery taste filled his mouth. He dropped the piece of wood in his hands and gripped the ruined remains of the headboard as the Horse lord pounded into him, oblivious of his pain.

Éomer was not a heartless man, simply a passionate one. The niggling feeling that something wasn’t right finally sank into his desire-fogged brain. Taking in the tension in Legolas’ body, he frowned before reaching down and around the prince’s body only to find the elf completely flaccid. In that moment, a rock settled in his stomach and he froze.

Swearing profusely, he gripped Legolas’ chin and turned the elf’s face toward him. Those haunting eyes were closed and his finely arched cheeks glistened with tears. Growling fiercely Éomer let go and shifted position slightly, trying to ignore Legolas’ painful whimper and failing miserably.

Taking a deep breath, he sat back on his haunches, holding the prince to him. Though it was killing him, he held perfectly still. When Éomer felt Legolas relax slightly, he ran his hands over the smooth skin of the elf’s chest. Éomer used every skill he knew to arouse the elf once more until the prince was moaning and arching against him.

The first tentative thrust, angled just right, had Legolas crying out in exquisite pleasure. The King of Rohan smiled and slowly picked up the pace. In all of his fantasies, the elf had been wild and untamed, like a Rohan stallion. That was the Legolas he wanted, the one he needed.

Ignoring the direction of his thoughts, Éomer focused instead on the wonderful sensation of his elf wrapped tight and hot around his shaft. Each brush of his cock over Legolas sweet spot sent them higher and higher until the prince arched like a finely crafted bow, screaming Éomer’s name as he spilled his seed over the man’s hand.

The clenching of Legolas’ passage around him was too much for Éomer. The Rohir came undone, shooting his essence deep within the prince. He clutched the elf to his broad chest as his body jerked and spasmed. Never had sex been this intense.

With a low guttural groan, he fell to one side, slipping out of Legolas’ body and taking the elf down with him. He lay there, panting for air. Slowly he let his eyes drift closed and fell softly into sleep, never once releasing his hold of Legolas.

When the sun rose the next morning, it was to find Legolas and Éomer still lying side by side. The prince dared not move for fear of waking Éomer. He did not know what morning’s light would bring and dared not hope for good things. His body tensed as he heard the change in the King’s breathing. The Horse lord was awake. Legolas said nothing as Éomer withdrew from the bed and donned his clothing.

“I leave with my sister this day,” the king of Rohan said coldly. “Do not set foot in Rohan. You are not welcome there.”

“I could waltz straight into your private chambers, Éomer king, and not a single Rohirrim would know it.” Legolas said simply, not moving or letting any emotion show in his voice.

“I would know the minute you set foot in Rohan,” Éomer growled. “Elves are not the only ones tied to their land. Now that I have serviced you, remove the spell you cast upon me.”

“I have cast no spell. It is not within my power.” Legolas answered. Then he slowly closed his eyes. So that had been the man’s reasoning.

Éomer snarled in frustration and stormed out of the room. The first tear fell when the door slammed behind the king. Legolas waited a few moments, listening intently to the retreating footsteps. Then he very carefully climbed off the bed. Pain lanced through his lower body. He snatched his robe from where it lay crumpled on the floor and wrapped it tightly around his body. Opening the door, the prince called to a passing servant. After a few moments, he looked the young woman in the eye and spoke.

“Please find Lord Elrond. I have need of his skills,” the prince requested softly.

Legolas kept his face buried in the pillows as Elrond examined him. Shame and embarrassment turned every inch of flesh a rosy red and he cursed his fair skin. Finally a clean sheet was pulled up over the prince’s nakedness. Soothing hands gently rubbed his back.

“You are indeed torn,” Elrond said softly. “I will have a salve prepared. You will need to apply it twice a day. It will also help with the soreness of your muscles. Legolas who did this to you?”

“I was not forced,” the blond replied as he lifted his head. “I was merely ill-prepared for his… size and enthusiasm.”

“It was not a matter of you being ill prepared,” Elrond said dryly,” It was a matter of your partner not taking the time to prepare you for your first time.”

“This was most definitely not… “

“With the same gender no.” Elrond interrupted. “However it was your first time being breeched. I know the signs too well for you to convince me otherwise Legolas.”

“Very well,” the prince sighed. “It was the first time I played the sheath.”

“When did Éomer come to your rooms?” Elrond asked as he retrieved something from the floor.

Before Legolas could protest, he held out the simple horse head broach that had decorated the neck of King Éomer’s tunic since his arrival. Slowly the prince took it from the elven lord, clenching it tightly in his grasp despite the pain from the many splinter wounds.

“I know he does not love me,” Legolas whispered. “He does not care for me in the slightest. He only came here because he believes I cast a spell upon him and he wished it removed. I would never do such a thing even it if were within my power. I would not dishonor the one I love in such a manner.”

“Oh Legolas,” Elrond sighed as he stroked the younger ellon’s hair. “Wounds of the heart are the only ones I cannot heal. Perhaps across the sea...”

“Nay,” the prince answered. “I am not ready to leave Middle Earth. I have made a promise to Gimli and I will keep it.”

“Very well. Is there anything I can get for you?” the lord asked.

“Please give my apologies to Elessar and Arwen. Also my best wishes to Lady Éowyn. She leaves today and I shall miss our daily conversations.“ The prince gave a hesitant smile.

“I will,” Elrond said as he rose and left the room.

Éomer looked up as Lord Elrond entered the hall.

“My apologies,” the elf lord said as he took his seat next to King Elessar.

“We were beginning to worry Adar,” Arwen said. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, Legolas will not be joining us this day,“ Elrond said as his stormy gaze caught Éomer’s. “I have prescribed bed rest.”

“He is ill?” Aragorn questioned, concern clearly written on his face.

“Surely not,” Éowyn piped up. “Only yesterday he seemed hale and sound if a bit melancholy.”

“Do not fret Éowyn,” Éomer said laying a hand on his sister’s. “Prince Legolas is a strong warrior. I am sure he will be fine.”

“Even the strongest of hearts can be broken beyond repair, Éomer King. And the greatest warriors brought low by love lost,” Arwen said coolly as she narrowed her eyes at the horse lord.

Wisely, Aragorn and Elrond refrained from comment. Éomer had just succeeded in annoying the Evenstar and she was every bit Galadriel’s granddaughter.

“Such things do not happen in Rohan Queen Arwen,” Éomer said. “When in battle, we are trained to put our feelings aside until it is won or lost. Afterwards is the time to grieve. We carry this control over into our daily lives.”

“Indeed?” The elven lady smiled sweetly making her father and husband twitch. “Then perhaps the warriors of Rohan know less of feelings and spirit than they do of elves. Are they so lacking in them that it is easy for them to be pushed aside? Surely such passion for battle cannot be contained so easily?”

Éomer set his fork aside as he turned to face the Queen more fully. His warrior’s instincts were telling him he had just entered a battle. The look in the lady’s eye convinced him his feelings were right.

“The people,” Éomer began, stressing the word. “Of Rohan are passionate about many things; our freedom, our lives, our land and our horses. Indeed some may even become passionate about battle, especially in defense of the others. We stood on the ridge above the Pelennor fields. We fought for our king, the very heart of Rohan’s people, indeed the heart of Rohan itself, to defend that which we love. Never doubt your majesty that my people feel as strongly as any other.”

“Then perhaps. … “

“Arwen gúren, dharo saes.” Aragorn said softly.

The Queen looked from her husband to Éomer and then back.

“As you wish hervennin,” she said as she slowly rose. “If you will excuse me, I would like to make sure Prince Legolas has a tray for his breakfast.”

With that said, she regally swept out of the room, her dark head held high. For a few moments after her departure, silence reigned.

“What just happened?” Éowyn demanded glaring at her brother in specific and the others in general.

“If you will pardon me,” Elrond said. “I must make the salve for the prince and check in on Faramir.”

Once the elven lord had left the room all remaining eyes turned to King Elessar. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair.

“The Firstborn believe very strongly in the connection between mind, body and spirit,” He began. “The stories of elves dying from grief are true. If an elf has lost his soul mate, they will soon follow. Basically they will themselves to die because they cannot live without the other half of their soul.”

“There is no way to save them?” Éowyn asked.

“The mate left behind may choose to sail west,” Aragorn said. “It is said elves that enter the Halls of Awaiting are reborn after a time. They are sent to the Blessed Land. I have only known one reborn elf so I do not have more than a general idea. Glorfindel does not like to discuss his past.”

“What would happen if the one they love does not love them? Or simply rejects them for some other reason?” Éowyn asked enraptured by the subject.

“Then said elf would die a slow painful death… unless he sailed, in which case, he might be healed. Although I do not believe the Valar would be as cruel as to pair souls where one does not love the other,” Aragorn said. “Many of the elven beliefs concerning love and intimacy are different from Men’s.”

“Have you ever seen it Aragorn?” Éowyn asked.

Éomer sat quietly, trying to listen intently without appearing to. Perhaps then the words he overheard last night would make sense to him. He doubted it, but it was worth the effort… wasn’t it?

“Aye once a long time ago,” the brunette admitted. “It was horrible to watch. The spirit just seemed to fade out of him. His hair became lank and brittle. His muscles seemed to melt away until he was nothing but skin and bone. Though I think the worst was watching the light dim in his eyes. Lord Elrond made him sail before he died. I can only hope he was able to make the journey. It is worse when their soul mate rejects them. I am told the pain is nigh unbearable.”

“That is so incredibly sad,” Éowyn said softly.

“Yes but when an elf finds his mate and they bind their souls, it is the most wondrous thing to see. They glow with the light of their love.” Aragorn said with a soft smile. “To them love is the greatest of Ilúvatar’s gifts. It goes where it will and the Eldar accept that feely. To have an elf’s love is to be cherished above all things including their own lives.”

“But do you have their loyalty? Their fidelity?“ Éomer questioned. “It seems to me they are very free with their… affections.”

“I am going to be very honest with you Éomer and to hell with politics and diplomacy.” Aragorn answered with a low growl and narrowed eyes. “Legolas and I were lovers for many years. I know him intimately enough to know that, although he loved me with a passion that would scorch a Balrog, it was not the soul deep love he is capable of. I always knew his heart was not mine. Being his lover gave me an advantage as I could read the nuances surrounding him. The moment he laid eyes on you, his heart was lost. He has not touched another in that time. His fea would not allow it though he tried to deny it. He despaired, thinking his heart torn between the two of us. The minute he kissed you, there was no question in his mind. You have much to think on Éomer. You feel something for him, I can see it in your eyes and it makes you angry, maybe even a little scared. But do not take your anger out on Legolas. He does not deserve it and he suffers enough as it is. There will never be another for him. That is a gift of Man alone. I suggest you think hard and choose wisely.”

The king of Gondor rose as regally from his chair as his wife and father. With a polite bow to Éowyn, he left the hall. Two pairs of eyes watched him, one angry and one quite surprised.

“Éomer…“ His sister began.

“Not one word Éowyn,” Éomer growled before storming away from the table, leaving his sister gaping after him.

King Éomer and his sister left the White City within the hour. The horse lord was still brooding angrily. He wasn’t quite sure how to react neither to Elessar’s words nor to his insights into Éomer’s own feelings concerning the elf. Though he had not the eyes to see such a great distance, he knew Prince Legolas watched him as he rode away.

6 Months Later

Éomer son of Éomund, sister-son of Théoden King, stood before the assembled people of Rohan in naught but his breeches. Turning his back to the crowd, he slowly dropped to his knees. His honey blonde hair was plaited and pinned to keep it out of the way. Taking a deep breath, Éomer prepared himself for the ancient ceremony. It would take several hours and he needed to remain strong and silent. When it was finished, he would truly be the King of Rohan as his uncle before him.

The many hours passed. His flesh burned with the thousand of tiny punctures being placed upon it. Slowly the design took shape, the arching neck and proud form of a Rohan stallion, stylized to be sure, and wrapped with intricate knot work. It spanned his entire back, twined over his shoulders and down both arms. Part of it wrapped around his neck like a torque.

In that time, Éomer allowed his mind to wander, to leave the pain behind. His gaze went blank and the world around him faded. He floated as if in a dream, nothing but clouds surrounding him. Suddenly the world tilted and he hit the ground running. Through the open plains of Rohan, he charged, his hooves thundering against the earth and the wind tearing at his mane. He threw back his head and trumpeted loudly, the sound echoing across the land into its very core.

On he ran, reveling in the sense of freedom it gave him. Soon others joined him. It seemed they ran for hours until, looking ahead, he saw a stallion, pale white and glowing with an inner light. Instantly Éomer knew he looked upon one of the maeras. As he slowed his pace, the others veered away, leaving him alone with one of the true Horse Lords. He came to a stop next to the stallion, his nostrils flaring to catch the scent of the other horse.

No words passed between them. Instead there was a sense of acceptance and an understanding of each other’s very nature. Then the Maera turned and trotted down the hill. He paused at the bottom to look back at Éomer and then moved a bit more. Again he looked at the new king of Rohan.

Comprehending the white stallion’s wish, Éomer followed him. They continued at a ground eating pace until they reached the edge of Fangorn Forest. Pausing, the King simply stared at the trees, remembering how they had moved to exact their revenge upon the Uruk Hai.

As he and the Maera stood at the edge of the forest, a figure stepped out from among the trees. The light coming from the new arrival was near blinding. It took off, racing by him with a distinct and familiar laugh.

Acting on instinct, Éomer pursued the being. Already he knew he chased Legolas. Once the name crossed his mind, the light faded and he could see the elf clearly, more clearly than he expected for Legolas was naked. The king felt the stirring of his loins and the intensity of his pursuit increased. The four legs of his horse form brought him within touching distance. An extra burst of speed from his quarry lengthened the space once more.

Then the elf stopped, just stopped. His entire body went still. The only movement was the wind pulling at the pale blonde strands of his hair. Just as suddenly, Éomer stood before him, once again in human form and similarly clothed. He stared hard into those haunting eyes.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

“It is your vision Éomer King,” Legolas answered. “Why do you think I am here?”

“I do not know,” Éomer whispered, reaching out to caress one pale cheek.

“Perhaps I am here to tempt you into shameful acts of passion and lust?” Legolas lifted his head slightly and gave a teasing half smile.

“It could be to show me what I truly desire,” Éomer murmured as his hand curled around the back of the elf’s neck.

Instead of answering, Legolas stepped closer to the Horse Lord. His eyes darkened with arousal and his pale skin flushed a tempting shade of pink. It was clear from the erection jutting proudly from between his legs that the Prince liked the path of Éomer’s thoughts. Slowly the king pulled Legolas closer. His mouth captured those tempting lips, his tongue sweeping deep into the sweet cavern. In the vision, Éomer experienced none of the doubts he had displayed before. He knew what, or rather who, he wanted.

In the way of dreams, the horse lord stared up into Legolas’ eyes as the archer slowly took him deep into his hot sheath. Pale locks brushed against his thighs as the elf tossed back his head, moaning wantonly. Gripping his lover’s hips, Éomer took control, thrusting upwards even as he pulled Legolas closer. Shifting, he changed the angle of his thrusts.

The keening wail that issued from his elf’s sweet lips was music to his ears. This was how he had often pictured his taking of the prince. He had wanted the raw passion he’d sensed just beneath the surface of Legolas’ cool veneer. He had seen it in the elf’s eyes along the shaft of an arrow.

Now that fire burned for him and only him. He savored the sight of the elf above him, writhing in pleasure as they moved higher and higher. He reveled in the feel of silken skin over steel beneath his fingers as he stroked Legolas’ shaft in time to his thrusts. Éomer fought to keep his eyes open even as his body shattered and spilled deep into Legolas’ passage.

The elf collapsed against his chest and Éomer immediately wrapped his arms around the slender trembling form. It felt… right to have the prince in his embrace.

“A king must not only lead with his mind but also his heart.” Théoden’s voice surrounded him. “If a king’s heart is stifled, his decisions will reflect the lack of emotion, of balance between logic and compassion. Do not let your heart become trapped in what might happen. Be honest with yourself always. Love freely, passionately and without fear. Our people are more than what you think.”

When Éomer opened his eyes, it was not to see Legolas’ head pillowed on his shoulder nor the archer’s body draped across his. It was to the wizened face of Eorl, the eldest of their elders. He gave Éomer a near toothless grin and helped the younger man to his feet. Then they both turned to the crown behind them.

“HAIL ÉOMER KING!”

The call was taken up until it rippled down the hillside. Éomer smiled for the first time in awhile. He turned to look at Éowyn. His sister was smiling just as broadly. Then she walked over to stand by his side.

“So when will you go claim your elven prince?” she whispered through her smile.

“He is already in Rohan,” Éomer answered. “On the borders of Fangorn Forest.”

After a long argument with Gamling, Éomer agreed to wait until first light. He chafed at the idea, feeling a sense of urgency, but he understood the rationale behind it. Though he had tried, the King could not get to sleep that night.

He had known the prince was in Rohan. Éomer had sensed his arrival, knew the moment Legolas had set foot on the ground inside the borders. He would have ridden out immediately to find the elf. Part of him still insisted it was to enforce his edict. Another part of him knew better.

His dreams had been haunted by visions of that night. His encounters with other lovers were colored by his memories. The women did not smell as sweet. The men, and there were only a few, too coarse and guttural. In short, nothing compared to his experience with Legolas. While his partners left his bed pleased, Éomer was unsatisfied, his hunger growing inside him, a hunger that he knew deep in his heart, could only be sated by one being, one elf.

In the morning, the king rode out from Edoras with only a handful of guards. He didn’t need more than that. However, he would have preferred to travel alone. This was not a matter he wanted addressed in front of his men, at least not yet. He didn’t know how they would react to their King’s preferences. There was also the issue of heirs to consider. Yet, to Éomer, the most important issue at present was Legolas. After what had happened in Minas Tirith, would the prince even want him?

“Riders approaching,” Legolas said softly as Gimli poked at the fire.

“It’s Rohan laddie. There are riders everywhere.” Gimli chuckled.

“It is Éomer and a small guard,” the elf answered as he turned his head towards the approaching men. “A very small guard.”

“You look ready to bolt Elf,” the dwarf said carefully as he narrowed his eyes. “Certainly you have not lost your courage. Tis only a small handful of men not even enough to break a sweat over. Unless it isn’t so much the men as it is one in particular?”

Legolas’ head snapped around to stare at his companion. From the glint in the dwarf’s eyes, the prince could tell he knew. With a sigh, he dropped his gaze to the ground. Some day he might learn not to underestimate Gimli’s observation skills.

“Do you know what it is like,” he whispered softly. “To have lost your heart and know there is no hope of it ever being returned? To know the one who holds it cares nothing for you? Of knowing you will be alone for eternity? Call me a coward if you will, but I cannot face him. Not now.”

With those last words, Legolas was up and gone, fleeing to the solace of the trees on swift silent feet.

Gimli sighed as he watched his friend disappear into the forest. He knew it was pointless to follow. Even if he knew his way around the woods, which he didn’t, he knew Legolas would be found only if he wished to be found. He cursed his wagging tongue for bringing to mind Legolas’ pain. He didn’t quite understand because elven ways were not Dwarven ways, but he could see how much his companion was hurting. If he thought it wouldn’t cause annoying problems between their people, Gimli would bash Éomer upside the head with the broadside of his axe. The Man had no idea what a treasure he held in his hands.

When the King rode into their camp, he found a glaring dwarf and no elven prince. For a moment, he panicked. Had he been mistaken? Had Gimli traveled alone? Then a shiver raced up his spine and he knew Legolas watched, even if he could not see the elf.

“Hail and well met Master Gimli,” he said as he dismounted.

“Hail Éomer King,” the dwarf answered gruffly as he greeted the Man one warrior to another. Even Gimli knew when to keep things civil, though sometimes he chose not to.

Pleasantries were exchanged and the men were welcomed into the camp. Éomer chafed at having to wait but he needed to ask Gimli a few questions before he went in search of Legolas. As his men set up their tents, he pulled the dwarf aside.

“Where is he Gimli?” the Man questioned softly.

“Why should I tell you?” the dwarf demanded. “He’s in enough pain as it is.”

“I did not come here to cause him more pain,” Éomer answered sincerely. “I came… by the gods, I need him.”

“That isn’t enough,” Gimli growled. “It isn’t enough that you need him because he more than needs you. He loves you laddie and its tearing him apart inside. He has no hope, none whatsoever, that you care for him, even a little. It’s killing him. So your need is nothing compared to his. I may not know everything about elves, I doubt anyone does, but I DO know that my friend is suffering and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you add to it. So you best be sure you love him before you proceed because it’s all or nothing. If you don’t love him then get back on your pony and go home.”

“I AM home Gimli,” Éomer said, a fire burning in his eyes. “Whether in Meduseld, Helm’s Deep or on the open plain, I am home. I am bound to this land as deeply as your people are to their mountain homes. I feel her life, her passion, I AM Rohan. Her heart beats for me.”

“And who does YOUR heart beat for King?” Gimli demanded. “Answer THAT question… honestly, and I may tell you where Legolas is to be found. Bound to Rohan you may be but she does not lay claim to you entirely.”

Gimli watched Éomer storm away with grim satisfaction. He had at least made the man think. It was a start.

The king paced back and forth in the darkness a little way from the camp. He could hear his men chatting amicably with Gimli. At the moment, the dwarf’s gruff voice grated on the man’s nerves. He knew it was only because of their argument earlier.

Legolas had yet to make an appearance and Éomer somehow knew the elf wouldn’t step foot in the camp while he was there. The knowledge sent a sharp pain though his gut. He feared he was defeated by his own careless actions. The prince would never forgive him. Yet, it was not in his nature to give up so easily. He had not done so while in exile; he would not do so while he was king.

Love freely, passionately and without fear

His uncle’s words came back to him and Éomer felt a surge of hope. He would not let fear stand in his way, nor would he let a stubborn dwarf or an elusive elf do the same. Taking one last look at the camp, he walked towards the forest.

As he approached the trees, a thrumming began in his body. At first he thought it a reaction from his knowledge of what the trees were capable of. However, as he continued, it grew stronger until it was a steady thump, like a heartbeat, inside him. Soft whispers caressed his ears and the pulse changed depending on which direction he chose. It took only a moment for Éomer to realize what the sensation was and how it would help him. His body, his very soul, was leading him in the right direction. It knew, even if he did not, where the prince was and it was taking him there.

Finally he came upon a small glade. He heard the soft sounds of splashing as he approached. Peering through the foliage, his breath caught in his throat and his body sang its praises. Legolas stood, waist deep at the edge of a small pond. His body glistened with water droplets as he worked soap through his long tresses. Éomer stepped out into the glade, making no attempt to hide. It wouldn’t do any good, as Legolas’ senses were much keener than his own.

The prince whipped around to face the intruder, only to have his entire body freeze in surprise. His cerulean gaze locked with Éomer’s as tanned hands slowly removed the leathers and clothing he wore. Legolas couldn’t help his reaction as the man stripped. He was so beautiful.

The king slowly walked into the water. He never took his eyes off the exquisite elf before him. When he reached Legolas’ side, he gently cupped the prince’s face in his hands. Tenderly Éomer kissed him, lightly brushing his mouth across the elf’s lips until they parted on a gasp.

“Éomer,” Legolas murmured.

“Shhh,” the king said softly.

“Nay,” Legolas cried stepping away from the temptation before him. “I cannot… I would not survive it.”

“This time is different,” Éomer said. “I know now what I have been denying for far too long. I love you Legolas and, to be honest, it scares me more than anything ever could.”

“Mere words,” the elf said.

“Mere truth,” the man answered.

“How am I to believe what you say?” Legolas asked, tears shimmering in his haunting eyes.

“I know the words alone are not enough, not after the horrendous mistake I make months ago,” Éomer said softly as he stepped closer to the wood elf. “Please… allow me to show you how I feel, to cherish you as you deserve and to make amends for the pain I caused you the first time.”

“You were my first,” Legolas whispered as he lowered his gaze.

“Your first?” Éomer said with surprise. “But Aragorn…”

“The first to take Me.” the prince explained as he placed long slender fingers on the man’s lips, stilling his speech. “I never allowed any to lay claim to my body in such a fashion. From the moment I met you, from the very second I kissed you, no one else had the right and I could not give it to them. I became yours alone.”

“Then I am indeed a blessed fool,” the king whispered against those fingers, savoring the shiver that raced through him with the mere touch of his elf’s hand.

Slowly he wrapped his arm around Legolas’ waist, drawing the prince against his body. A groan tore its way from his throat as he felt the elf’s smooth skin brushing his own. It matched the musical moan of his lover.

“Please Legolas,” Éomer whispered as he laid kisses along the slender neck. “Let me make love to you as I should have from the beginning.”

“Yes,” Legolas whimpered wrapping his arms around the man’s broad shoulders. “Saes Éomer Aranen.”

With gentle care, the man swept his prince up into his arms and carried him to the shore. Laying him down on the sweet smelling grass, he claimed those tempting lips once more, cherishing the sounds his lover made. He let his eyes wander over exquisite features, amazed and awed that this… shining creature, this excruciatingly beautiful elf loved him, a simple man, a king to be sure, but a man nonetheless.

“You are too good for the likes of me,” he whispered softly against kiss swollen lips.

“I am perfect for you, made for you and you alone,” the elf responded as he pressed against the king.

The time for words was over. Éomer knew that and lowered his head once more. With sweet tender kisses and gentle strokes of callused hands, he pleasured his elf, taking the prince higher and higher until their bodies strained together, slicked with sweat. He discovered Legolas to be ticklish behind the knee and just under the curve of his firm buttocks. Teasing the sensitive flesh with his beard, he could not help but smile. This was how love should be.

Passion rose and would not be denied. Soon Éomer had Legolas beneath him again, long lean legs wrapped around the king’s narrow waist as thick long fingers danced against the prince’s opening. The archer cried out in need, pressing his hips down on those intruding fingers and letting his lover know what he needed so desperately. A low growl escaped Éomer’s throat as he tried to keep control. He did not wish to hurt Legolas again… ever.

“Saes Éomer Meleth. Aniron le nedh-nin. I need you inside me,” the wood elf panted as he gripped the man’s strong shoulders. “Ride me Rohir!”

“Such a demanding elf,” the King chuckled as he pressed slowly into the quivering passage.

“Na vedui!” the prince cried as he was unhurriedly breeched, irrevocably claimed by the Horselord above him.

Tight, hot, slick and perfect. Those were the only words echoing in Éomer’s head at that moment. Legolas’ passage clenched around him and gripped him even as he slid deeper into the elf. Strong archer’s fingers dug into the tense muscles of his back, leaving red marks, as he slowly withdrew. He drove forward once more and the scream of pleasure that tore its way from the Sinda’s throat only made him harder.

They moved as one, advancing, retreating in a dance older than either of them could remember. Skin against skin, hair brushing and sensitizing silken elven flesh, the two knew nothing of the world around them. They knew only the joining of their bodies. Legolas sensed the melding of their souls as the chill within him faded in the face of their heat. He felt the emptiness filled and the pain dissipate and knew he had nothing to fear. Éomer loved him and was loved in return.

Passion can be like a slow slide into oblivion, like waves upon the sand slowly carrying away tiny bits over time. It can be like a fire raging wild across the plains, hot and furious. It can be as gentle as the wind and solid as the earth when all else swirls in a maelstrom of sensation. All these things came to be in those hours. Prince and King, Edain and Eldar, joined for all time.

Panting, straining, Legolas felt his peak approaching. Each thrust of Éomer’s cock within him, stroking his sweet spot until he could barely think for the pleasure, drove him forward until he arched like his bow beneath the man, crying out the King’s name in a crashing wave of ecstasy like he had never experienced in all his centuries, The utter perfection of the moment bringing tears to his cerulean eyes.

Nothing could have prepared Éomer for what he experienced. All other encounters paled to nothingness as his body convulsed, spilling his seed deep within Legolas’ writhing body. The King’s roar of passion released echoed through Fangorn Forest to the camp beyond. Had he known, he MIGHT have been embarrassed. However, he did not. All he knew was the feel of his beloved prince surrounding him, undulating beneath him as passion and love claimed them both in a kaleidoscope of sensations and emotions.

After such an intense experience, the last thing Éomer expected to hear was the bell like sound of Legolas’ laughter. Opening unwilling eyes, he lifted his head from the pale shoulder and looked down at his prince whose eyes were alight with joy. He raised one honeyed eyebrow in question but the prince merely shook his head and lifted on slender arm, fingers outspread to catch the flower petals falling about them like rain.

“Fangorn approves,” the Sinda whispered softly.

“Oh I feel so much better now that the forest has granted such a boon,” the man joked.

“Did you expect any less where a prince of wood elves was concerned?” Legolas asked in a haughty yet amused tone.

Éomer laughed fully and rolled, taking the prince with him until Legolas stretched out along the length of his body.

“No I don’t suppose I did.” He admitted as he caressed that beloved face.

“It was so much better than I imagined,” Legolas said with that small mysterious smile.

“What was?” Éomer asked.

“Being ridden by The Horse Lord,” the prince smirked. “Now I wish to ride.”

“You may have to… “ The king paused as his body eagerly answered the elf’s invitation. “Perhaps not.”

Hours later, as the prince lay exhausted on top of the man’s chest; Éomer let his mind wander to more mundane and distinctly less pleasant thoughts. His people may not accept his choice and it would be difficult to rule them. Stroking silken hair, the man worked the problem over in his mind, never once ceasing his touching of Legolas.

“You underestimate them,” the elf purred softly, not even opening his eyes as his fingers traced over the intricate torque tattooed around Éomer’s neck. “Your people love you Éomer as they loved your uncle and his father before him. More than anything they wish you to be happy. You are the King of Rohan and Her heart beats for you.”

“My heart beats for you,” the king whispered humbly.

“You are the very air I breathe and my soul,” the prince answered. “Whatever happens, I will always be with you even if I am a hundred miles away. Our souls are joined. You merely have to think of me and I will answer.”

“I do not wish to be parted from you,” Éomer admitted. “However, I know you have responsibilities to your father and your people as do I.”

“Rest now A’maelamin,” Legolas whispered, placing his fingers and a sweet kiss on his mate’s lips. “Soon we must return to camp or Gimli will come blundering in here with his axe at the ready. We will face what comes together… always.”

“The last thing I want is for that particular dwarf angry and near me with any weapon,” Éomer chuckled. “He might remove something I value dearly.”

“I would miss it as well,” Legolas purred as he slowly writhed. With a cheeky wink he then slipped to the king’s side and pillowed his head on a broad shoulder. “Sleep Meleth.”

“I am going to have to learn how to speak elven,” the man chuckled as he shifted. “I wish to understand all that you say to me.”

“A’maelamin means my beloved. Meleth means my love,” the prince said softly.

“Rohir?” the king questioned.

“Horse Lord,” Legolas said with a blush.

“And that other phrase? I do remember it you know,” Éomer teased.

“Aniron le nedh-nin, I want you inside me.” Again the elf blushed.

“I KNEW you were demanding, Elf.” The king laughed as he hugged his prince to him.

After a few more moments of teasing and kissing the two lovers fell asleep. Dreams sweet and dear graced their minds as Fangorn continued to shower them with flower petals and leaves in approval. Soon they were covered in a light blanket from shoulder to feet and held within the forest’s gentle embrace. Nothing would harm or even bother them until they chose to leave their bower.

Gimli didn’t bother to raise his head from the haunch of meat he was consuming at the gasps of his companions. He waited until he reached for his tankard before looking at the approaching couple. Éomer and Legolas walked side by side, their arms wrapped around each other and the love they shared plain on their faces. Gone were the dark circles under the elf’s eyes and his skin had regained is soft glow. Legolas was happy and that was all that mattered to Gimli son of Gloín.

The Rohirrim were confused. Yet, it did not take long for them to puzzle things our and then they were passing tankards and congratulating their lord and king. Too long had Éomer been consumed by sadness and loneliness. Rohan was happy only when her King was happy.

These soldiers were only a small sampling of the people of Rohan. However, when the party returned to Edoras and Éomer stood before his people on the steps of Meduseld to announce his bond with Prince Legolas Thranduilion of Eryn Lasgalen formerly known as Mirkwood, there was nothing but joy in the air. They loved him with all their hearts and wanted nothing but peace and happiness for their King. He was his father’s son and Théoden’s sister-son. He had been trained well and would lead them as admirably as his fathers had before him.

Legolas leaned over and whispered in the King’s ear, letting his lips brush the sensitive shell as the celebration around them continued.

“I told you Melethron,” he purred.

The king turned to his lover and smiled. Then he rose to his feet, pulling the prince with him as they stood before the banner of Rohan. He turned to Legolas and took both of his strong hands. Around them the crowd grew quiet.

“This King’s heart beats for you Legolas son of Thranduil, now and forever.” He said, his voice carrying to the back of the hall.

“Éomer King, son of Éomund, sister-son of Théoden, you are my first, my last, my only love always.”

It is said that when King Elessar claimed his Queen upon the day of his coronation, the love and passion between them was like a shining star. When Éomer King claimed Prince Legolas, they nie set fire to the Hall.

*****

THE END

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