Title: Discoveries, Chapter Two: A Kiss in the Rain
Author: Shannon, Fields_of_paper_flowers@hotmail.com
Pairing(s): Legolas/Éomer
Rating: NC-17 (again, this chapter’s relatively clean, but the later chapters 
may be quite risqué.  It’s the overall story, not the chapter, that’s rated as 
such.) 
Summary: A first kiss, a letting go of woes.
Disclaimer: Not mine, but I love them anyway.  Sometimes I wish they 
were mine, if you get my meaning (wink wink!), but their not, so I’ll just 
dream about them and write what I dream up.
Warning: again, only Mpreg.
Authors Note: Okay, I found out shortly after I had submitted the first 
chapter to the archive that someone had already accepted Dara’s 
challenge!  Oh well, I guess two people can have the same themes, other 
stories do.  But hey, it’s just more for Dara to indulge in!  Also, thanks to 
Pris for the lovely E-mail!  Hope this chapter pleases you as much as the 
last!  One last thing: this story is sort of movie canon as of now, but it’s 
more book canon in the later chapters because (duh) the third movie isn’t 
out yet!  While this may be true, some of the story is also a little bit of my 
own.

The sun was setting in the West, scattering its rays of gold and pink 
across the plains and mountaintops in the distance.  Éomer loved 
watching the sun’s setting from Helm’s Deep.  Each was different, and 
each was beautiful. The sun’s graceful farewell was a comfort to the man, 
a simple pleasure in hard times. Yet this time the sun’s fading light fell 
upon the thousands of bodies strewn across the landscape, untended to, 
for the living lay in their beds, exhausted after the long battle, unable to 
bring in any more of the dead.  He was exhausted as well, but sleep had 
found a way to elude him, even after the battle.

He wondered if Legolas was also watching the sunset.  As an elf, he 
would probably be more apt to appreciate the earthly beauty of the day’s 
change than any man, even himself.  He wondered if Legolas would 
remain angry.  These were trying times, and allies were always better 
than enemies.

Éomer knew that he had seemed rather haughty that first day that they 
had met, but wasn’t it acceptable to have the occasional bad mood?

It didn’t really matter.  Of course, it hurt to have enemies, especially ones 
that he would want as a friend, but that was the way of the world.  All he 
had to do, and could do, was adapt to fit into it.

He sighed softly as the sun disappeared over the horizon, leaving only 
the traces of light blue and lavender still glistening in the fading daytime 
sky.  He turned from the sunset and walked slowly into the citadel. In one 
of the many rooms of the keep, he found Gamlend, the boy he had 
nurtured back to life on the walls of the stronghold.  This boy was the son 
of one of Théoden King’s most trusted friends and warriors, Gamling.

“How is he?” Éomer entered the room but kept his voice low so as not to 
disturb the sleeping child, but he still managed to startle Gamling, who 
had been nearly asleep in a chair at the foot of the bed.

“He will live,” Gamling replied after recovering from Éomer’s entrance. 
“But he wouldn’t have if you had not found him.  I can’t thank you enough, 
Éomer.”

Éomer smiled and walked toward the other man.  “He’s one of the lucky 
ones.  A good lad,” he said as he placed a hand upon Gamling’s 
shoulder.  The other man was right.  If the boy hadn’t been found, he 
would have surely perished.

“I am forever in your debt, my lord.”  Gamling looked up at the younger 
man, his loyalty for the royal family as deep as a bond between kin.

Éomer’s grin only grew wider.  “You owe no debt to me, good friend.  You 
would have saved my son as well, should we had been in each other’s 
positions.”

“It’s true, but I can’t save your son until you find a bride, Éomer.” Gamling 
clapped Éomer on the back and stood.  “When will you find her?”

Éomer sighed and the smile faded from his face.  “I don’t know.  I’m sure 
there’s a lover for me out there somewhere.  I’d rather not have just any 
bar wench.”

“You’re the heir to Rohan.  Surely you can find more than just a bar 
wench.”  He laughed. “Or you could end up like me, with a poor serving 
girl with a heart of gold.”

There was nothing Éomer could do but smile and nod.  Was he supposed 
to just go along with his friend’s ideals when he was anything but a lover 
of women?  That was all he *could* do.  So he just agreed and laughed 
with his friend until young Gamlend awoke, calling the attention of the two 
men away from thoughts of women and marriage.

Later that same evening, after he had dismissed himself from the 
company of Gamling and the injured boy, Éomer walked the outer wall of 
the keep, slumber eluding him.  He couldn’t remember how long it had 
been since he had had a good night’s sleep, and since his banishment his 
insomnia had only worsened.

Perhaps it was the fact that he had been born into a lifestyle that didn’t 
suit his innermost desires.  He was a warrior as dictated by his relation to 
the king, but he wanted more than anything to join with a lover and live in 
peace, leaving the sword to those who had the desire to wield it.  He 
wanted more than anything to have a family, but his tendencies toward 
other males would never give him that privilege.

That was the one reason why he envied his sister.  Sweet, fair Éowyn 
could have any man she wanted and have the opportunity to feel the 
bond only a mother has with her child.  That was a gift that so few people 
appreciated, a gift that he would have gladly enjoyed.

It was a funny thing.  He would have preferred to have been born with her 
freedoms; to live the more feminine life, to express inner feelings openly, 
that he could not enjoy except in secret without facing the persecution of 
his people.  Yet she wanted to battle as he could, to ride into the fray and 
fight with the dogs of war to the bitter end, but the gender she had been 
born to could not permit her that joy.  It was sheer irony.

Would that I could find a lover, Éomer mused.  He had never had the 
opportunity to lie with another man in true love, but more as a lustful way 
to release the tension before and after a battle.  Just earlier that same 
day, he had been with another nameless, faceless soldier to relieve the 
stress that had been brought upon them by the first bloodshed of the war.  
But he had always wanted something more.

“They are beautiful, aren’t they?”  A soft, gentle voice penetrated the 
darkness, and Éomer turned to see Legolas walking toward him on the 
walkway, his eyes fixed upon the stars above.  The man couldn’t help but 
notice the beautiful, lithe movements of the elf and the way his golden-
blond hair shone silver in the pale moonlight, while the light from the 
nearby torch cast its fiery glow upon the fair creature.  And he regretted 
that such beauty was diminishing, only to be replaced by men, who 
lacked grace and serenity that was only innate to elves.

“They are.”  He wanted to say that Legolas was far fairer than any star, 
but he knew that the elf didn’t appreciate his presence, much less such a 
phrase used only by lovers.   No, he could not say what he wanted to, but 
he was used to that.

“It’s a shame that thoughts of the war dampen their brilliance.”

“Such beauty as the stars may fade, but somewhere they still exist, 
somewhere out of the reach of mortals.”  The man hoped that the elf 
didn’t recognize the implications in that phrase.  “Is that not a comfort?”

“Few things can comfort a troubled mind.”  Legolas said, and despite the 
man’s attempt to mask his true feelings, he still understood what lay 
behind those words, but chose to let them pass without becoming angry.  
In truth, the remark was flattering, if anything.

“I thought you were upset with me.”

Legolas sighed and bowed his head.  “I was.  But I really shouldn’t have 
been.”  He then looked deep into Éomer’s hazel eyes, which conveyed no 
malice, nor anger; just understanding.  “I was distressed by the loss of so 
many of those who I had once known.  It was…and is, quite painful.”  He 
paused.  “But I’m sure you know how that feels, to lose companions in 
battle.”  He lowered his eyes as the man stepped forward, closing the 
distance between them.

“Aye, it does hurt, and often pain causes anger; you were justified in 
being upset.  Yet it is best not to dwell on sorrow, or anger, after the 
death of friends or any other time.”

Legolas looked at Éomer sharply.  It was no wonder Éowyn said that 
some thought her brother proud!  He was so without trying, or even 
knowing about it.  But now that Legolas actually had a chance to speak to 
the man, he found an opportunity to get to know him and learn more 
about his personality.

“But it’s always that way in battle.  I have lost companions before, two 
who were very close to me just recently, but I’ve never seen so many die 
at once.” Legolas said softly.

Éomer picked up on the slight sorrow in Legolas’ tone and tried to turn the 
subject away from the loss of the elf’s kin.  “Who was your friend?”

It took a moment before Legolas answered, for he was debating within 
himself to spill his innermost secrets to this man whom he barely knew, 
but after a while, he decided that it would do no harm in telling Éomer 
about him.  He sighed and began to speak, but cautiously, for he still 
recalled his companion’s blunt, all-too-human personality and how easily 
he had been drawn by the seductive power of the ring.

“When Merry and Pippin--the hobbits we’re searching for-- were taken 
from us,” Legolas began. “Boromir, our companion from Gondor, was 
slain.”  He stopped abruptly, not wanting to recall the harsh times that had 
been caused by the ring’s grip upon the man.

Éomer perceived that Legolas didn’t want to speak of it, so he didn’t press 
the issue.  A silence fell between the two; the only sound to be heard was 
the wind sweeping gently across the plains below.  Both thought of lost 
companions, lost friends.  And they both thought about the other. Legolas 
thought the man wiser than his kindred, and Éomer thought the elf as 
supernatural.

After all, Legolas would live forever, while Éomer, a mortal man, would 
die, either by the sword or by the passage of the years.  The elf 
possessed a beauty not found among the men of the world, a grace that 
could never be matched, and he would thus he would be forever out of 
his reach.

“What is it like,” Éomer turned to Legolas. “To live forever?”

Legolas smiled slightly.  “I don’t know.  I haven’t lived forever, so I 
couldn’t tell you.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Éomer chuckled, leaning on the stone wall, eying 
the elf curiously.  He admired the agile frame, the sinewy shape of the 
elf's body, and the beauty etched into the marble-white skin of Legolas’ 
beautiful face.

Legolas felt the man's eyes upon him, and he turned shyly away.  It 
wasn't that the man's actions disturbed him, rather they were flattering, 
but he didn't want to use the man as a relief for his pain caused by the 
battle.  In truth, he didn't mind Éomer’s presence as he thought that he 
had.  It was true, men could be quite strange with their ever-shifting 
emotions, but that was the beauty of men. They were so complex, so 
multi-faceted.  That must have been what he loved about Aragorn.

But Aragorn was out of his reach.  He needed to find another, for it was 
lonely, to find passion in only a man's embrace.

The elf shifted his gaze to meet Éomer’s eyes.  The man *was* good-
looking, in a rugged, hardened way.  His golden hair flowed over his 
shoulders in gentle waves, softening the intensity of his masculinity, an 
effect that Legolas found quite pleasing to the eye.  He stood taller than 
the normal man, nearly as tall as the average elf, even slightly taller than 
Legolas himself.  His frame wasn’t as large and dense as it had seemed 
when Éomer wore his armour, but he was still visibly muscular.  He wore 
now only a thin shirt under a wool tunic, revealing that he was not too 
heavily built, but that he still had the wide shoulders and the upright 
stature of a nobleman and a warrior.  All in all, this man was certainly 
handsome. But Legolas couldn’t get involved.  He knew that Éomer’s 
desires ran along the less-beaten path, like his own, but even if the two 
were compatible, there was always the sorrowful fact that Éomer would 
die as Legolas lived on.

Éomer eyed Legolas, sensing a slight aura of sorrow shrouding the elf.   
He touched the elf gently on the arm, drawing Legolas away from his 
thoughts.  “Why are you sad?” 

Legolas’ eyes drifted to the stone walkway.  “I’m just thinking.”  He 
wanted to tell Éomer that he found him attractive, that his feelings toward 
males was similar to that of the man’s, but he could not tell him just yet, 
for they had only met some time ago, and it was just now that the two 
were getting to know each other.

“I’m sorry about the death of your friends.  They fought bravely.”  Éomer 
looked into the deep blue eyes which drifted up to meet his own, and he 
noted the gloom clouding their depths.  How beautiful the elven males 
were, so ethereal in their grace and poise, a beauty that faded with the 
departure of all that was fair. 

Looking into each other’s eyes, both man and elf felt a growing need for 
the other within their hearts, a desire and passion for one another that 
had come suddenly and unexpected, but was welcome all the same.  
Neither knew where the feeling had come from, but both sensed the 
departure of the grief surrounding them and the feeling of strange 
affection replacing the sorrow’s effect tenfold. Both felt that the moment 
was right.

Legolas gently touched his fingertips to Éomer’s lightly furred cheek and 
noted the small smile that crept onto Éomer’s lips.  He raised his own lips 
slightly to kiss those of the man, and as he did, the sense of nervousness 
melted away and he felt only the purity of the man’s sweet kiss.

Éomer was surprised at first, but he soon succumbed to the gentle caress 
and returned the kiss.  He closed his eyes, giving his full attention to the 
complexity of a simple kiss.  He opened his mouth to allow Legolas’ 
tongue entrance, and Legolas took the offer without refusal.

Éomer was astonished by how well this elf could kiss!  He didn’t have 
much to compare it to, but he knew that this was how it was meant to be.  
It was so sensuous, the tender feel of Legolas’ sweet mouth upon his 
own.  He didn’t notice the long passage of several minutes and the drift of 
clouds across the night sky.  He barely heard the crack of thunder or the 
sudden pattering of the cool autumn rain upon the stone walkway.

Neither noticed the change in weather, which had been as unexpected as 
the kiss, for the kiss had been fully consuming of all their senses, drawing 
their thoughts away from sadness and pain toward the brighter subject of 
budding romance.

They kissed for several minutes, caressing one another in the night time 
rain.  It was long before they broke apart and noticed their soaked 
clothing.

Legolas looked at Éomer, his hair hanging in wet curls around his 
handsome face, and he laughed.  How utterly amazing this man was!  He 
thought it odd that his opinion could change so drastically, from loathing 
to liking, in less than a day.  As an elf, it was common for him to hold 
grudges, but the bitterness that he had felt towards this beautiful man had 
faded.  He looked into Éomer’s hazel eyes and knew that he was worth 
more than anything that anger could buy.

Éomer smiled at Legolas through the rain, blinking away the droplets that 
fell into his eyelashes.  There was no more sorrow in Legolas’ eyes, 
which pleased Éomer greatly.  He wanted to be kissed again, to taste the 
elf’s sweet lips, and to feel the closeness forming between them, but he 
had finally begun to feel the chill of the cold rain and his wet, clinging 
clothing.  He looked over toward the door at the end of the walkway, and 
he and Legolas walked back into the keep.

Through the doors, Legolas seized the opportunity to steal another kiss.  
He gently pushed Éomer against the wall and invaded the man’s willing 
mouth with his own.  He ran his hands across Éomer’s muscled chest, 
admiring the hard muscles and the gentle contours through the wet 
clothing. Éomer pulled Legolas close, wrapping his arms around the elf’s 
agile frame.  As their bodies touched, Éomer could feel the stiff bulge 
between Legolas’ legs as it gently grazed against his own hardening 
erection.

He wanted to be with Legolas, to hold him and be held by him until the 
morning, but he knew that it was too soon to share such acts of passion.  
If they were together that night, any growing affection that they could 
have for one another would be destroyed in the intensity of a lust-filled 
orgasm.  As hard as it would be, he knew that this had to be delayed.

With some difficulty, Éomer pulled away from Legolas’ sweet kiss and 
leaned his head upon the stone wall of the keep.  “We shouldn’t do this 
yet.”  He said softly.

Legolas looked into Éomer’s eyes, fully understanding his meaning.  It 
was indeed too rash to think of making love that night; Legolas knew they 
would have to wait.  “Yes, of course.”  Legolas agreed with Éomer.

Éomer smiled.  He looked into Legolas’ eyes and noted the passion that 
blossomed in those fathomless blue oceans. That passion may yet have 
a chance to be fulfilled, Éomer thought to himself.

Legolas gently kissed Éomer before pulling away.  He would wait to be 
with him, but it was not so painful a wait now. Certainly it was more 
difficult, trying to wait for the right time knowing that Éomer felt the same 
way about him, but it did not hurt as much as the lonely feeling of not 
having another to care about.

The two stood silently in the torch-lit hall for some time before parting to 
go to their separate rooms, each contented, each happy.

As Éomer walked toward his room, he felt both tired from his lack of sleep 
and as awake as one could possibly be, flying high above the earth, 
dancing in the clouds of new love.  He entered his bedchamber and lied 
down on the bed, feeling ever so blessed.  He smiled as he closed his 
eyes and slipped into a deep sleep filled with dreams of love and peace.  
It was the best sleep he had had in months.