Riding Lessons

Pairing: Legolas/Éomer
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Always welcome at c_rhodora@hotmail.com
Setting: Post-RotK, AU
Summary: Thranduil and his family have sailed West, leaving Legolas as the new King of Greenwood. Legolas decides that a horse trade with the King of Rohan is in order.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Tolkien and New Line Cinema. No infringement or offence is intended.
Author’s Notes: This fic was written for the excellent Waters of Cuivienen fest challenge. Many thanks and praises to my beta readers, Zasjah and Panthera. This is dedicated to Dodger for putting up with me.

Part Awa Awakening

Éomer was absurdly alert given the time and the amount of wine he had drunk. He knew he would feel the effects of this late night in a few hours when he would have to sit through Legolas’ coronation, but he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, unwilling to let the night come to an end. He inhaled the fresh air as he walked by the Elf’s side. They had left the palace grounds but instead of making their way into the heart of the city, the Prince had turned towards the dark woods, still carefully shielded by the surrounding slope of the mountainside.

“You will make a good king,” the Horse Lord suddenly said aloud.

“Oh?” the Elf’s tone was amused. “What makes you say that?”

“I have seen your leadership skills both in times of battle and in times of peace,” the Man replied.

“To be a good king requires more than leadership skills,” Legolas said quietly to himself. Then he raised his voice and said, “I was never groomed to assume the throne. That was Suil’s responsibility. My older brother,” he explained and Éomer nodded. “Quite frankly,” the Elf continued, “I never expected Thranduil to sail West. I thought that this earth was too close to his heart. He does have a heart,” Legolas added and Éomer couldn’t help but smile, thinking of all the terrifying stories he had heard about the Woodland King.

“Thranduil used to admonish me for what he saw as my weakness: ‘You are too easily attached to mortal things,’” the Prince said, mimicking his father’s stentorian voice. “‘They will be your undoing.’”

“Are they?”

“No,” the Elf replied evenly.

“Why then, did you not go with your family when they sailed?”

“It is not yet my time,” Legolas replied simply before lapsing into silence.

“You will make a good king,” Éomer repeated again after a while.

The Elf grinned and abruptly stopped walk The They had reached the edge of a small clearing and the Horse Lord looked around expectantly. What on earth did Legolas want to show him out here?

The Prince stood perfectly still, mirroring the sudden disappearance of the cool breeze. He appeared to be listening to something, but the Man could only hear the suffocating sound of silence. Then Legolas let out a low whistle unlike anything Éomer had heard before. Its pitch was clear and even, but it bore no semblance to a melody or the trill of a bird. It wove around them an invisible spell before carrying out into the night and the Horse Lord was captivated by the sound.

The Man peered into the darkness but nothing moved. The whistle faded until the two friends were left standing at the edge of the clearing in silence and still nothing happened. Éomer glanced to his right but Legolas remained motionless. Waiting.

An unmistakable sound drew the Man’s attention back to the darkened woods. The pounding of hooves, distant at first, but steadily growing louder as the animal approached. He could see the barest outline of a horse’s shadow moving through the woods until it emerged from a thicket of trees and made its way towards them, its canter slowing to a trot until it stood in front of the Elf.

Legolas raised a hand in greeting, speaking soft Elvish words to reassure the beast while Éomer studied the animal with a mixture of awe and apprehension. It was a stallion, he had no doubt of that. A magnificent creature. It held its head high and proud, as though he too were of royal blood and his black eyes studied the Man warily.

“I assure you, Éomer,” Legolas said softly, “that he is no beast of Mordor though his coat may lead you to think otherwise.”

“A black stallion,” the Man murmured softly, noting how the moonlight gleamed off the flawless jet-black coat. “Are they rare among Elven steeds?”

“They are very rare,” the Elf answered, moving to stroke the animal’s long curved neck. “This is Echuir, one of my family’s most prized possessions. You must be careful. He is not accustomed to strangers.”

Éomer had not moved. Judging by the horse’s guarded stance, he did not think that his presence was entirely welcome. Legolas continued to talk to the animal in his native tongue, stroking its neck and periodically massaging the tense crest muscles in a comforting gesture. The Horse Lord could see the animal visibly relaxing under the Elf’s ministrations until he stood beside the Prince and playfully rubbed his head against the Elf. Then the animal turned his attention to the Man and Éomer got the distinct impression that he was being scrutinized, not unlike the manner by which Legolas had watched him earlier that eve. The Man hid a smile. Apparently, Elven horses were very much like their Elven masters.

Tentatively, Éomer held out his hand, palm facing upwards. Echuir snorted. The King of Rohan was tempted to think of it as a snort of disdain and he had to suppress another smile. Legolas gave a small word of encouragement and the stallion gingerly smelled the Man’s hand. The horse did not find anything offensive and after a moment, he began to nibble the Man’s palm as though looking for a treat. Éomer took this as a sign that he would be allowed to touch the animal and he gently rubbed the stallion’s muzzle, moving upwards to brush the forelock from Echuir’s face and revealing a perfectly formed white diamond on the animal’s forehead.

The Horse Lord let out a breath that he did not realize he had been holding and said, “He is no horse of Mordor.”

Echuir snorted again at the unpleasant name.

“Does he understand what I say?” Éomer asked.

“Well enough,” the Elf smiled.

“What does ‘Echuir’ mean?” the Man asked curiously, now running his hand down the stallion’s strong neck, following the path that Legolas had made before. Once the Elf was certain that Echuir had accepted Éomer’s presence, he had stepped away to allow the Man more freedom to better examine the animal. The stallion turned his head as the Horse Lord reached his shoulder, also following the Man’s actions inquisitively.

“‘Echuir’ is the beginning of spring,” Legolas explained, pausing before he continued, “but it may also mean ‘awakening’.”

Éomer paused at the word, his back to the Prince. His hand now rested on the horse’s back and the stallion grew restless under his touch. There was no mistaking the tension that had arisen from that single word. Even Echuir could feel it coursing from the Man’s fingertips. The Horse Lord slowly turned to his right, instinctively knowing that the Elf now stood beside him.

“What strange magic is this?” he whispered. “Do you put it in the wine or is it merely in the air we breathe?”

The Elf took a step closer, running his right hand along the stallion’s back until it rested mere centimeters from the Man’s hand. Legolas could almost brush Éomer’s fingertips with his own, but he was careful not to touch the Man. Not yet.

“Have you been caught in its spell?” the Prince whispered in return.

Éomer wanted to shake his head but his body refused to move, and he wondered if he was indeed caught in some Elvish spell.

“There is something happening,” he said hesitantly, “and I know not whether this forces acts upon me or comes from my own will.”

Legolas said nothing but studied the Horse Lord intently, his expression once again unreadable. Éomer looked down, unable to bear the weight of the Elf’s gaze.

“I know why you will be a good ruler,” Éomer suddenly burst out, his head light as though the effects of the wine had come upon him in a rush.

Still Legolas said nothing.

The King of Rohan wanted to laugh to ease the tension, but his throat was too dry. His voice sounded raspy to his ears when he spoke.

“It is because you have the respect and loyalty of your people,” he rambled. “They will follow you out of love and not– ”

“Fear?”

The word hung heavy in the air and Éomer dared to look up.

“I was not going to say that,” he said evenly, trying to sound certain although he was far from it.

“You would have been right,” Legolas answered, moving imperceptibly closer, his long ivory fingers almost touching the Man’s. They were standing so close together now that Éomer could inhale the Elf’s scent. Legolas smelt like the forest, frend cnd cool, with a touch of pine. It was a refreshing change from the smell of the earth, the dust and the plains of Rohan.

“Fear and love are often two sides of the same coin,” the Elf said, his voice low and enticing. “A lesson that my father taught me well.”

“You are not your father.”

The comment made the Prince smile and he reached out with his other hand to run his fingers through the Man’s hair. Éomer did not flinch.

“No,” Legolas agreed. “I am not my father.” He paused, fingers smoothing the tangles in the blonde mane. “But I know what you fear, for I feel the same way.”

It was the Man’s turn to remain silent.

“Imprisonment.”

Legolas tilted his head to the left and Éomer marked how the moonlight lit half the Elf’s face while the other half remained shrouded in darkness.

“Cages surround us,” the Prince continued, his melodic voice caressing his words. “Cages that are thrust upon us and others that we build for ourselves.”

The Elf’s hand had found its way to back of the Man’s neck and he rested it there, not applying any pressure but also not allowing the Man to pull away.

“Step outside your cage for but a moment,” Legolas whispered, leaning forward and brushing his lips in a featherlike touch against the Man’s cheek, “and I will show you something wondrous.”

He pulled away slightly to gauge the Horse Lord’s reaction. Éomer was stiff and tense like an animal about to flee, but there was also something that held him rooted to the spot. Confusion. Anticipation. Desire. Legolas could see the torn emotions swimming in the Man’s eyes. The Prince used this moment to entwine his fingers in the Horse Lord’s hand and Éomer returned the gesture, gripping the Elf’s fingers painfully as though he sought some form of reassurance. Echuir shifted beneath their touch.

Legolas leaned forward again and this time he brushed the Man’s lips with his own. The gesture could hardly be called a kiss and yet Éomer sighed. Encouraged, the Prince tried again, pressing his lips more firmly against the Man’s. Lingering.

Éomer did not respond, but he could feel the Elf’s lips form a smile against his own. *He must think me some inexperienced maid.* The thought appalled the King and he instinctively returned the pressure of the kiss. When the Elf titled his head, it became the most natural thing in the world to open his mouth and deepen the kiss. Legolas accepted the invitation, relishing the feel of Éomer’s tongue sliding against his own. The Rohan King tasted of wind and earth.

It is not so very different from being with a woman, Éomer thought, enjoying the slow tempo of their kiss, unaware that his other hand had wrapped itself around the Elf’s back and pressed their bodies close together.

But it was very different. Legolas was not a submissive partner, as Éomer had grown accustomed to. The Prince had instigated the kiss, for no amount of Elvish magic could have prompted the Man to do so. And while Legolas did not dominate the kiss, he was clearly Éomer’s equal and this thought sent a shiver of delight through the Horse Lord. An equal. Was that what was missing from his life?

Éomer would think about it later as he lay in bed waiting for the last few hours before sunrise. He was too alert to sleep and the events of the night filled his mind. His thoughts inevitably returned to Legolas and that wondrous kiss they had shared. He could still taste the Elf as he absently traced his lips with the tips of his fingers. He remembered how Legolas had held his hand in a comforting and encouraging gesture upon Echuir’s back, gradually lifting it to place it on the Elf’s shoulder. His thoughts flashed to Aragorn and a similar moment earlier that eve. He remembered exploring the Elf’s back, the texture of Legolas’ velvet tunic and the lean muscles he could feel beneath. He remembered Legolas wrapping an arm around his waist, molding their bodies together, while the hand that had held his neck moved lower, passing over one shoulder blade and then other, as though seeking some secret pressure point. The Elf found it near his lower back, causing Éomer to moan into their kiss, temporarily breaking it. Legolas smiled in satisfaction before seizing the Man’s lips again. His inhibitions stripped away, Éomer returned the kiss passionately.

All the while Echuir watched them, guarded them, until finally the kiss ended and the stallion bolted into the night.


tbc…