Riding Lessons

Pairing: Legolas/Éomer
Rating: NC-17
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 IX. Shadows of the Past

True to Éomer’s approximation, the two kings arrived at Aglarond shortly after nightfall. The entrance to the caves was lit with blazing torches and the two riders caused quite a commotion upon their arrival. At first the guards on duty regarded them suspiciously; until they recognized whom their unexpected guests were and then ushered them inside to meet with their lord. Gimli came bustling out to greet them, his beard speckled with drops of ale. Clearly, Legolas and Éomer had interrupted the Dwarf’s evening meal. The Lord of the Glittering Caves was so delighted to see the Elf that he forgot to make his usual disparaging comments and immediately led the two travelers to the dining hall where he and his closest twenty-five family and friends were taking their supper. Places were quickly set for the two Kings at the high table and before they knew it they were surrounded by food, wine and very merry company.

Legolas would have preferred to wash off the day’s filth and grime rather than eat but he knew that excusing himself at this point would have offended his host, so he sat at the table and delicately picked at what fresh fruits were available. Gimli often complained that he ate like a bird but not once had the Elf told his friend what truly stimulated his appetite. He had only to glance to his right and watch HorsHorse Lord eating with relish a leg of lamb to know what meal would be in store for him later. Éomer, on the other hand, found himself quite famished at the end of their long ride. He had been too upset to eat well during lunch and now the rich smells of roast lamb and chicken were enticing, not to mention that Gimli’s hospitality was legendary among the Rohirrim.

The Dwarf watched the two Kings with a curious eye. This visit was most unexpected and he immediately sensed, after ten years of being in close friendship with the Horse Lord, that something was not quite right with the King of the Mark. While he was pleased to see the Elf and was used to Legolas’ mysterious ways, he was not certain if he favored Legolas’ obscure intentions towards the Rohan King. He was not blind to the spell Legolas had cast on Éomer the night before his coronation, nor to the questionable horse trade that had been signed between the two of them soon afterwards. No, Legolas always had an ulterior motive in mind and Gimli suspected that there was more than a stallion and a horse race at stake here. He would have to speak to his old friend before anything regrettable occurred.

“What brings two fine Kings to Aglarond on this night?” Gimli suddenly asked aloud.

“Gimli, you always complain that I am too regimented in my ways,” Éomer said after taking a draft of wine. “I thought I would do something spontaneous for a change.”

“Spontaneous, eh?” the Dwarf repeated suspiciously. “Are you being spontaneous . . . or rash?”

“Spontaneous,” the Elf announced definitively in the Man’s place, fixing his friend with a firm look.

“And I suppose this ‘spontaneity’ is your doing, Elf,” Gimli continued, returning Legolas’ firm look with one of his own. The Elf’s eyes twinkled at the Dwarf’s persistence. He could already tell that Gimli would want to have a word with him later.

“On the contrary,” Éomer replied, completely oblivious to the wordless exchange between the two friends, “this was entirely my decision. Don’t you ever feel the need, Gimli, to simply get away?”

The Lord of the Glittering Caves was taken aback by the question. Éomer was clearly not himself tonight. “Get away?” he said in a baffled tone. “From this beautiful mineom tom the earth and its rich minerals? From my friends and my family. Whatever do you mean?”

“Why so many questions?” Legolas interrupted. “You’re starting to make us feel unwelcome. What about the legendary Dwarvish hospitality that I’ve heard so much about?”

Gimli grumbled a few inaudible words in his language before saying loudly in the Common Tongue, “Hospitality. I’ll show you what hospitality is!” Then with a wave of his stout hand, he instructed servants to bring in another round of sumptuous food and wine.

“Now you’ve done it,” Éomer said quietly to the Elven King. “He won’t let us leave until he’s stuffed us full of lamb, chicken, stew, pie, and whatever else he can place in front of us.”

“Well,” Legolas said thoughtfully, placing a hand on the Man’s thigh, “the more we eat, the more exercise we shall have to do before being able to sleep.”

Éomer almost said something in response but thought better of it, smiling to himself foolishly while he took another drink of his wine. Meanwhile, Gimli continued to watch the pair, slightly concerned by these developments.

~*~*~*~

When the meal was concluded a good hour and a half later, a very full King of the Mark and a not so full King of Eryn Lasgalen were shown to their separate rooms. The two had agreed to meet in Gimli’s game room after refreshing themselves so that Éomer could show the Elf one of his favorite games that he had taught the Dwarf. They were, naturally, too full to sleep or so Legolas pretended to be. The Elf took this time to wash, thankful for the basin of warm water that he found in his room and the change of clothes that had been laid out on the bed. He had spent enough time at the Glittering Caves to leave behind a suitable wardrobe just in case he dropped by unprepared, which is precisely what hap happened on this occasion.

After changing Legolas undid the plaits in his hair and picked up the comb that lay beside the washbasin. Then he dipped the comb into the water and began to comb through his hair, smoothing out any tangles and knots. He briefly considered re-doing the plaits but then decided against it. It would be good to let Éomer see him with his hair undone, a habit he reserved only for lovers and the closest of friends. Satisfihat hat he was prepared to meet with the Horse Lord the Elf strode to the door and opened it, only to find the Lord of the Glittering Caves standing before him.

“A word, if you please,” Gimli said gruffly.

Legolas looked down at his old friend and stepped aside, allowing Gimli to pass into the room.

“Your affairs are your affairs,” the Dwarf began. “But Éomer is my friend, as are you,” he added. “I would not like to see two of my dear friends do something they will regret later.”

“You are speaking in riddles tonight,” Legolas answered.

“Ignorance does not become you, Legolas,” Gimli said seriously.

“Then say plainly what you mean.”

“What are your intentions towards the Horse Lord?” the Dwarf asked bluntly.

“My intentions,” Legolas repeated. Gimli’s question was disturbingly familiar, as was the thread of this entire conversation. He sighed. “You are the second friend to ask me that question today.”

“What perceptive friends you have,” Gimli said with a touch of sarcasm. “And did you evade the question earlier as you are doing so now?”

Legolas smiled and shook his head. “Whatever may pass or may not pass between Éomer and I on this night will be of our own free will. I would not coerce him into doing anything that he would not otherwise offer freely, if that is what you mean.”

“Your interest in Éomer is not wise,” Gimli said quietly. “He is a good man,” the Dwarf continued, once again repeating Aduial’s words. “But what you take for lust he may mistake for love.”

“Gimli, your concern is touching,” Legolas said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “but I think you are exaggerating the situation. His interest is no more than a passing infatuation. He is attracted to difference, to the unknown. You do not give Éomer en cre credit.”

“You give him too much credit,” the Dwarf retorted.

“He is a sensible man.”

“And you test the boundaries of his sensibilities!”

The Elf gave the Dwarf a warning look, saying in a tone that put an end to their conversation, “I see the wisdom in your words and I shall bear them in mind. Now,” he continued in a lighter manner, “can you give me some tips on this mysterious game of Éomer’s?”

It was Gimli’s turn to shake his head, not entirely convinced that he had gotten through to his stubborn friend but he knew better than to push the matter any further. Éomer *was* a sensible man but he could not help feeling that Legolas was a greater temptation. Still, he walked his friend to the game room where the Horse Lord was already waiting, freshly changed and leisurely sitting on the rugs that had been thrown on the stone floor. In front of the Man was a low table with a painted board and carved wooden pieces on top of it. This, Legolas presumed, was the game that Éomer had been referring to.

Gimli would have preferred to stay awhile and act as a chaperone but he could sense that his presence was clearly unwanted. Thus, he bid his friends a good night, giving the Elf one more stern look before leaving them in peace. Legolas returned his attention to the Horse Lord who was now pog twg two goblets of wine from a decanter at the side of the table and passed one of the goblets to the Elf.

“Did Gimli explain the rules of the game on your way here?” Éomer inquired.

“Not entirely,” Legolas laughed, leaning in slightly as he said, “I asked him for tips. He did mention that it was a very visual game and that any explanation about the rules would best come from you.”

“Then I shall do my best to oblige,” Éomer said, arranging the pieces on the board. Legolas noticed now that they were all carved images of horses, some with riders on their backs and others without. It took a good fifteen minutes for the Horse Lord to explain the rules and the Elf listened attentively. It was a highly intellectual game and involved a great deal of strategizing.

“If this is what your people consider a pastime,” Legolas said when Éomer was through, “then it is no wonder that they are such fine battle tacticians.”

“We are not always so serious,” Éomer chided. “Gimli, for instance, always finds a way to lighten the game.”

“That is not surpng,”ng,” Legolas noted. “There is no other way he would be able to endure such an intellectual pursuit for an extended period of time. Gimli prefers action to words,” he added to make his meaning clear. “Tell me,” he said curiously, “what does Gimli do to ‘lighten the game?’”

“For each piece that is captured one must drink a shot of hard liquor.”

Legolas burst out laughing. That sounded just like Gimli, to incorporate alcohol into an otherwise rational game. Each player fielded twenty pieces, which amounted to quite a few shots of hard liquor.

“Since we are guests of the Lord of the Glittering Caves,” Legolas said mischievously, “should we play by his amended rules?”

“I see no harm in ‘lightening’ the game,” Éomer admitted, “but I had a rather different penalty in mind.”

“Oh? What do you think we should do instead?”

“For each piece that is captured,” Éomer said slowly, “a player should remove an item of clothing. And to the victor,” he added, “go the spoils.”

This time Legolas did not laugh and he met the Horse Lord’s even gaze. There was no mistaking how this game would end. Aduial and Gimli’s words echoed in his mind together with the image of a mound of trees and stones driven into the earth, but he pushed these matters aside. He did not underestimate their significance, but first they would play.

And play they did. If Éomer had believed that this game was nothing more than a pretext to seduce the Elf, he was sorely mistaken. Legolas was a quick learner and Éomer soon found himself stripped to the waist before Legolas had even removed a single piece of clothing. The Elf brought such intensity to the contest that the Horse Lord had to lift the level of his own game. Both friends were locked in a battle of strategy, but while Legolas’ eyes remained fixed on the board and his mind focused on predicting the possible maneuvers of his opponent, Éomer would glance up from time to time and note the flicker of torchlight that played in the Elf’s golden hair, he would linger on Legolas’ elegant features, and watch how the Elf would reach for his goblet of wine and take a delicate sip in a single motion without ever breaking his concentration. He longed for the game to end quickly but also knew that Legolas would make him pay for any rash move. Furthermore, pride prevented him from simply letting the Elf win the match. Eventually the game did end, nearly two hours after it began, when Éomer finally managed to corner the Elf’s prized stallion, forcing Legolas to concede.

“An excellent match,” Éomer praised, truly wondering if this was Legolas’ first encounter with the game.

“Yes,” Legolas agreed absently, still engrossed in the game’s strategy, retracing in his mind the maneuvers that had led to his defeat to ensure that he would not make the same mistake again. The Elf appeared to have forgotten what the original motive behind the game had been, but Éomer would soon remind him. As the victor, he was entitled to claim the ‘spoils.’

While Legolas ran his finger along the carved surface of one of his wooden knights, Éomer stood up clad only in a pair of loose trousers and walked to the other side of the low table, towering before the Elf. Legolas, now aware of the Man’s presence beside him and remembering the nature of their game, turned to face him, legs slightly spread and bent at the knee. He lay down, propping himself on his lower arms in an enticing gesture, waiting to see what the Man would do next.

Éomer, hands on his hips, appraised the Elf. He could not recall ever having seen Legolas so submissive before. “You are still wearing your leggings,” he observed.

“So I am,” Legolas replied. “Will you assist me with them?”

Wordlessly, Éomer bent down and grasped the smooth material at the Elf’s waist as Legolas lifted his hips, allowing the Man to pull off the leggings in one fluid motion. It was a glorious sight to see the Elf naked before him, and Legolas as Éomer remembered from previous experience, was completely unselfconscious about his nudity, as though lying on the soft rugs on the floor of a room in the Glittering Caves waiting to be touched by the King of the Mark were perfectly natural to him. Then Éomer settled in between the Elf’s legs, Legolas spreading them further apart to accommodate the Man. Neither of them spoke and Éomer made no further move to touch the Elf. They simply stayed in their positions, Éomer’s eyes traveling over the Elf’s body as though he were mapping out in advance the path that his hands, his lips and his tongue would take. Legolas tilted his head to the right, watching the Man drink in the sight of him. He hoped that tonight would be more than just a visual feast, and when he deemed that the Man had admired him for long enough, he reached out with his right hand and beckoned for Éomer to come closer. The Horse Lord accepted the invitation and as he moved over the Elf’s body, Legolas rose to meet him, his right hand cupping the Man’s bearded cheek and pressing their lips together.

The kiss was slow and sensual, belying the rapid beating of the Man’s heart and the nervous anticipation that he managed to contain. Legolas took control of the kiss, the taste of the wine on Éomer’s tongue mingling with the sweetness in his own mouth. For all of Éomer’s boldness, the Elf could sense his uncertainty and sought to reassure him. He wrapped his arms around Éomer’s broad back and pulled him closer, even as he could feel the Man’s hand snake up his own while his other hand ran through the Elf’s silken hair. They broke for air and Éomer kissed the Elf’s jaw line, working his way down Legolas’ neck to the little hollow in the Elf’s collar bone, his kisses traveling ever lower as his hands moved down the side of Legolas’ body.

Legolas lay back down on the rugged surface and closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the Horse Lord’s touch. He could feel Éomer’s hand on his chest now, following the trail left by the Man’s kisses and licks, lingering over his firm abdomen. Then there was a pause in their actions and the kisses stopped. Éomer was no longer touching him and Legolas knew what the Man was contemplating. He did not open his eyes or make any move to encourage the Horse Lord, knowing that Éomer would have to be the instigator of whatever would pass between them on this night. Instead, he waited.

And then, he felt it. A ghost of a kiss on the tip of his arousal; delicate and light as a feather. The touch returned. Firmer now but still gentle. A tongue ventured out to tease the slit at the head of the Elf’s shaft, coaxing from it a tiny drop of pearlescent fluid. Éomer licked it. Sweet, as he knew all along it would be. The taste emboldened him, and the Man thought fleetingly that it was some sort of elixir that would give him new life. He licked the underside of the Elf’s shaft from base to tip causing Legolas to inadvertently shiver in delight. There was no way the Man could have known that the underside was the most sensitive part of the Elf’s member. Then Éomer pressed his palms against the Elf’s inner thighs, spreading and holding them apart before diving down again. He began by suckling at the tip, each motion of his head and tongue allowing him to take the Elf deeper in. Legolas began to rise to meet the Man’s rhythm, but the pressure of Éomer hands on his thighs prevented him from thrusting into the Man’s mouth. Éomer had never done this before, but judging from the sweet moans that the Elf was making, he was a quick learner.

Legolas was thinking precisely the same thing, as much as thought was possible under the circumstances. Éomer was rapidly taking him to his peak and he purposely controlled his breathing to prolong the moment, reaching down in between his legs to run his hands through the Man’s hair in an attempt to slow his actions. Éomer understood the unspoken request as long fingers threaded throhis his hair, penetrating deep enough to massage the scalp beneath. As Legolas felt the wavy strands slide through his fingers, he marveled at their texture. They felt familiar to him, as did the affair that was taking place. They reminded him of the first time he had let an inexperienced Man pleasure him in this way and his eyes flew open.

That had been unwise, as had been many of his decisions regarding that Man in subsequent years. Yet the Elf would not have changed anything, and while he was certain that he would not repeat his mistakes, the momentary break from his current situation had been enough for Gimli and Aduial’s words to return to him. What was he doing with the Horse Lord? If the warnings of his friends had not been enough to plant the seeds of doubt in his mind, then his experience with Éomer in a patch of circular trees and rocks in the Éadig Fields earlier that day had certainly been. If he was no longer certain about his intentions towards the Horse Lord, then he felt that Éomer’s underlying motives for his current actions were completely veiled from him. They were both doing this for the wrong reasons.

The Elf’s grip in the Man’s hair grew harder, almost painful in its intensity as Legolas tried to coax Éomer away from his task. He whispered the Man’s name as he pulled on his hair one last time and Éomer released him, looking up in a mixture of concern and worry.

“Am I doing something wrong?” the Horse Lord asked.

“No,” Legolas assured him. “Far from it. You have a very talented mouth, one that I wish to taste again.” Saying so, the Elf lifted himself off the floor once more and pulled the Horse Lord into another kiss, one that Éomer responded to enthusiastically.

Legolas was sitting up now, his hands still tangled in the Man’s hair. This time he followed Éomer’s lead. He was looking for something in their kiss, a hint of desperation masked by eagerness and willingness to be with the Elf, and he detected it in the sweep of the Man’s hand across his back, in the way Éomer paused only for a fraction of a second to draw breath before seeking his mouth again. An unquenchable need to be close to the Elf radiated off the Man in waves and Legolas knew he would have to find its source.

With his right arm around the Man’s shoulders to maintain their bodily contact, the Elf paused and reached for his goblet of wine that stood at the edge of the table.

“I think,” he said, taking a delicate sip, “that we should take things slowly.”

Éomer hid his surprise well as Legolas offered him the goblet and he took a drink of the wine. It had taken them nearly two hours to undress; he did not know how much slower he could possibly go. Then again, the Man reasoned, the perception of slowness and patience to one who had eternity before him would be very different from his own.

“Very well,” r agr agreed, no longer certain how to proceed.

Legolas poured more wine from the decanter into the goblet as Éomer held it, finally placing the decanter back on the table and taking the goblet from the Man. He took a long draught from the wine, keeping the liquid in his mouth as he offered the Man a wine-filled kiss. Éomer accepted, the wine passing from Legolas into him as their tongues danced around the rich liquid. Then the Elf proceeded to pour small amounts of wine on the Man’s shoulders and chest, quickly following his actiwithwith his tongue, licking and sucking the substance off Éomer’s b lin lingering over his collar bone and a peaked nipple, pausing to place a tender bite on his muscular shoulder. Éomer sighed contentedly in response. If this was Legolas’ idea of ‘taking things slowly,’ he would be more than willing to comply.

But the Elf had other ideas in mind, and as he traced the Man’s earlobe with his tongue he whispered, “Éomer, why did you bring me to that special place at the Éadig Fields today?”

The Horse Lord stiffened at the Elf’s words but did not pull away, instead resting his head on Legolas’ shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around the slender body.

“I wished to share it with you,” he answered quietly.

“And have you ‘shared’ this place with anyone else?”

“No,” Éomer said truthfully.

“I am very honored,” Legolas said sincerely, “but I cannot help feeling that unfinished matters lay between you and the one you used to meet there. Distance and time does nothing to still a heart burdened by unrest and regret.”

Éomer said nothing but a lump caught in his throat that he had difficulty swallowing.

“Your cousin loved you deeply,” Legolas continued, running his hands tenderly against the Man’s back, “more deeply than he should have. And you could not return that love.”

“It would have been wrong,” Éomer whispered.

“Perhaps,” Legolas conceded, gently pulliway way to look into the Man’s eyes. He brushed away the unruly locks and then held the Man’s face in both his hands as he said, “I am not Théodred. I cannot return to you what has been lost, nor do I offer what he once did. Do you understand this?”

“That is not what I ask,” Éomer exclaimed, knowing as soon as the words left his mouth that this was precisely what he secretly desired. Legolas’ interest in him was more than a means of escape from the confines of his world; it was a return to a time when he had been ignorant and young, when his cousin’s confession had both shocked and thrilled him. But he had brushed Théodred aside and had crushed any ounce of feeling that had threatened to exceed bounboundaries of brotherly love. Théodred had been his brother and his comrade but he could never have been his lover. The younger man had accepted his cousin’s refusal more graciously than Éomer had deserved, and though they had lived together for many years in companionship and friendship, a ion ion had pervaded their relationship that none could detect, not even Éowyn, with whom Éomer was the closest to in the world. His cousin’s death had left a void in his heart that had remained untouched until Legolas had lit a tiny flame the night before the Elven King’s coronation, but Éomer had chosen not to acknowledge it.

Disturbed by the implications of their conversation, Éomer made to pull away bnbeknbeknownst to him Legolas had wrapped his long legs around the Man while he was speaking, and now the Horse Lord found himself trapped in the Elf’s strong embrace.

“Release me,” he ordered, all thoughts of lust and desire far from his mind.

Legolas did not heed the command, and hilenilence and inaction infuriated the Man. “You are a strange creature,” Éomer said, looking at the Elf with new eyes. “You have pursued me since that night in Eryn Lasgalen. You have teased and tempted me. Now that I come to you willingly, you reject my advances.”

The Elf felt a pang in his heart at the confusion and anger written on the Horse Lord’s noble face. This was his doing.

“I desire you greatly, Éomer,” Legolas said, reaching up to touch the Man’s brow, but the Horse Lord flinched and looked away. “And it was never my intention to turn you away tonight.”

“Release me,” Éomer said again, his tone quieter and filled with resignation.

Legolas let a t a heavy sigh and unwrapped his legs from around the Man’s waist. But before the Horse Lord could rise, the Elf quickly said, “What you offer must be offered freely with no illusions of the past. I am not your future but nor am I a shadow by which you may ease your guilt. I am the Present, Éomer. A moment that may be prolonged and sustained in and of itself, to be enjoyed and cherished in your memory ever more. When you can see that, we may try again if you so desire.”

The Rohan King said nothing but walked to the other side of the table where his clothes were scattered on the rugs and began to dress. It was not until he had finished dressing and headed to the door that he said with his back to the Elf:

“I am not like you. My race does not remain unchanging through the seasons, remaining outside of Time and watching it flow. We move within its stream, our actions linked in a causal chain. You have changed my course, Legolas. And I know not where to go from here.”

The words hung heavy in the air, long after the Man had departed and Legolas felt the weight of their responsibility as he sat in the silent room, fingering the image of a carved stallion on top of a painted board.

tbc...