Riding Lessons

Epilogue

The joint training program between the kingdom of Rohan and the Elven realm of Eryn Lasgalen was concluded one week later. Legolas, however, was unwilling to leave the vast plains of the Riddermark just yet and elected to extend his stay for at least another week. Most of his people did not share his sentiments and longed for the lush forests and clear streams of their homeland, so the Elven King allowed them to return, only retaining a suitable escort of guards for his own journey. Lossendir he sent back to Greenwood with new instructions for his councilors who were running the kingdom in his absence, as well as orders for the Captain’s demotion and immediate reassignment.

Wilhelm had been conscripted into the service of Rohan’s Royal Guard and was now under the direct instruction of Heardred. His parting with Lossendir had been terse and brief, but there had been no mistaking the look of sadness that had filled his eyes as he had watched the Elven Captain mount his steed and ride away. He had bowed his head and swallowed the lump in his throat, unwilling to shed a tear but when the boy had glanced up again he had felt the unmistakable gaze of the King of Greenwood upon him, and it had discomfited him.

Lord Caedmon briefly visited Edoras for the weekend at the end of the program as a guest of his cousin’s and stayed in the royal wing of Meduseld. He was there to inspect the accomplished trainees of Éomer’s house to find a replacement for his errant squire. Éomer, whose spirits had remained high since coming to terms with his relationship with Legolas, was particularly accommodating and generous to his cousin, a fact that did not escape Caedmon’s notice.

The two Kings were not as free to enjoy each other’s company as they would have liked, as the Horse Lord was very conscious about maintaining appearances. Furthermore, his exceedingly good humor of late was causing murmurs to circulate around the Golden Hall. Most attributed his general demeanor to a man in love and secretly praised Lothíriel for her positive influence. Indeed, it would be a fine match and their children would be noble and strong. Lothíriel also found her suitor to be more attentive to her than he had been in the past and she was glad, for though the Princess’s heart would forever remain with the sea, she had begun to warm to the plains of Rohan knewknew that with time and effort she could find happiness with the King of the Mark.

Éomer had already found happiness and its name was Legolas. To give them more privacy and to lessen his fear of discovery, the Rohan King had requested a room in the guest wing of Meduseld to be continuously maintained for certain unnamed guests. He had informed his servants that these mysterious guests would come and go as they pleased, for their business was of a clandestine nature and therefore would not join the King’s family and household for meals or any other communal activities. Their presence was not to be discussed, as secrecy was essential to the success of their designs.

It was to this guest room that the two Kings escaped whenever the opportunity arose, covering themselves in worn hunting cloaks with their hoods pulled low over their heads to avoid recognition. The room was far from the busier halls of Meduseld where isolated cries of pleasure would easily go unnoticed. Éomer had come to think of the place as their secret sanctuary and time indeed seemed to stop whenever he was with the Elf. The Man was not blind to his growing feelings for his lover but kept them to himself as Legolas was not keen to discuss such matters. Instead, the Elf’s mantra to ‘live for the present’ remained foremost in the Man’s mind, which was precisely what he was doing now as he lay on his side on the large bed feigning sleep. He loved to watch Legolas after their lovemaking, for the Elf would slip out of bed when he believed the Man to be asleep and begin tidying up the room, picking up the clothes that were usually hastily discarded and folding them neatly. “Covert business,” he had once told the Man, “does nean ean that your mysterious guests must live like slobs.”

Then the Elven King would put on one of the rich, velvet robes that always adorned the closets of guest rooms. Leaving the robe loose and untied, for the material was impractical and too hot for summer, the Elf would pad soundlessly to the table at the center of the room where a tray of food, particularly the fresh fruits and berries that he favored as well as different types of bread, was always replenished. Éomer had discovered an endearing secret of the Elf’s and that was nothing stirred Legolas’ appetite like an hour of lovemaking.

Lovemaking.

Éomer played with the word in his mind as he admired Legolas’ profile; how the golden hair flowed freely over the Elf’s shoulders and contrasted with the dark maroon hue of the robe; how he espied the slender form of the Elf’s member as Legolas leaned over the table to pick an orange from the fruit arrangement; how the flat abdomen moved in time to the Elf’s breathing and the sinewy muscles of Legolas’ swift and strong legs.

Lovemaking.

That was what they did, was it not? They made love. Somehow Éomer did not think that Legolas would agree, nor would the Elf be eager to debate semantics on the topic. Nevertheless, the Horse Lord heard himself say, “Are many people privy to the knowledge that lovemaking whets your appetite so?”

Thf tuf turned his head to look at the Man, smiling as he piled more food onto his plate before heading to the bed’s side where Éomer moved over to give him room to sit.

“My list of lovers is not so very long, if that is what you mean,” Legolas replied, placing the plate of food before the Man.

Length was relative, Éomer reflected, for one who had several millennia behind them and eternity before them but he merely smiled and said persistently, “Have you loved all these lovers?”

“I have loved each in their own way,” Legolas said, “and many of them, I love still.”

Éomer nodded thoughtfully, reaching across to grasp the Elf’s soft member and fondling it in his hand.

“What we share,” Legolas continued, his member showing renewed interest in the Man, “is not the kind of love you desire.”

“No,” Éomer agreed, redoubling his efforts on the Elf’s hardening shaft. “But it could be.”

Legolas did not reply but lifted the plate of food and placed it on the bedside table, slowly moving over the Man with his feline grace as Éomer enveloped him with his legs, and he was caught once again in the turbulent passion of the Man’s kiss.

Later, when both lovers were dressed and prepared to go their separate ways to avoid notice, Éomer impulsively pulled the Elf back in just as Legolas was about to leave. The sudden motion threw back the Elf’s hood to reveal his head of golden hair and the surprised expression on his face. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Éomer covered it with another kiss, wondering how he could make Legolas understand. But Legolas understood well enough. He felt it in the way Éomer’s tongue slid possessively against his own, in the pressure the Man exerted on the small of his back as he held the Elf protectively, in the intoxicating scent of the Rohan King that had begun to invade his dreams. While his heart sung at this unexpected gift offered by the King of the Mark, the Elf’s mind refused to be swayed. His weakness for mortality would not be his undoing.

As the kiss deepened, a figure silently shifted in the shadows at the end of the deserted hallway, watching the scene with keen interest before turning around and walking away.