Title: From Inauspicious Beginnings
Author: Esmeralda (Esmeralda@bctalk.net)
Rating: NC-17 for m/m sex. Legolas/Eomer.
Spoiler warnings: By and large, this story is based in Mr. Jackson's 
movie-verse (It's been a number of years since I last read The Lord of 
The Rings in its entirety.)  However, it does allude to events after The 
Two Towers. After that it goes entirely AU <g>
Summary: Eomer encounters an elf. (Sorry, I don't like to give too much 
away in summaries.)
Disclaimer: Sadly, these characters aren't mine.
Key: Where used, * denote word emphasis and < indicate a character's  
thoughts 
Feedback: Yes please, I'd love some :o) This is my first attempt at a 
LOTR story. It was a pairing I thought had possibilities after seeing The 
Two Towers (did you notice the way they looked at one another when 
they first met! ;o) I'm currently working on a sequel. Hugs and thanks go 
to the posse of beta readers who helped me with this story. They are (in 
no particular order ;o) - Eruantale; Helmboy; VampLover; Yinka, and my 
fellow slash-a-holic, Jo ;o)



Chapter I

Eomer had heard stories of elves and dwarves, which is why he 
recognized these two as such, though he had never set eyes upon either 
race before this day. Rohan had few dealings with outsiders, seldom did 
any but their own kind walk amongst the wild hills and wind-blasted crags. 
He took his fill now, staring bluntly at the three strangers. The man was 
tall and weathered, weariness and sorrow scoring his features. The dwarf, 
much as Eomer had imagined, was short and squat, with an abundance 
of matted hair and a tangled beard. Lastly, there was the elf. Eomer's 
gaze narrowed as it settled upon the third member of the group.

Apparently, the fairness of elves was no exaggeration. This one stood 
almost as tall as the man, but was slighter in build. His long hair was paler 
than Eomer's own; the sides braided in a similar fashion, keeping it away 
from face and eyes - and such eyes. Eomer was not a man prone to 
poetical thoughts, but he found himself thinking of starlight glittering on 
shadowed water. Eomer barely managed to check a flinch when - quicker 
than his eye could follow - the elf notched an arrow and levelled it at his 
head. The spears that instantly tilted toward the elf failed to make the 
arrow point waver, and Eomer found himself grateful for the man's 
intervention, for he was not certain the elf wouldn't make good on his 
threat. However, when all had passed between them, he wished he had 
gladder tidings to impart. He knew Aragorn to be a man of honorable 
repute, and while he had not heard of the ranger's companions, Eomer 
had little doubt that they were of similar standing. It grieved him to convey 
the news that those they sought were probably dead, and it troubled him 
still further to wonder whether or not they might have died by his own 
unwitting hand.

He could sense the elf's focus upon him throughout, those flawless 
features and emotive eyes casting sparks of distrust and dislike. It was all 
Eomer could do not to recoil from that gaze. He wasn't afraid - he had 
faced far worse in his lifetime - but it left him uneasy. To look into those 
eyes was to feel the weight of aeons, and to glimpse the reality beyond 
the youthful visage. Eomer was relieved when they finally went their 
separate ways.

He took care not to think of the elf again, until their forced proximity at 
Helms Deep made such thoughts inevitable. As he stood amongst the 
carnage, the dying and the dead, Eomer found his gaze drawn to the 
solitary figure standing upon the crumbling battlements.

********************

The elves had suffered for occupying the frontline positions. Legolas was 
now the sole surviving representative of his race. Drawn features paid 
silent testimony to his grief, pale skin stretched taut across the sharp 
bones. Slender hands no longer wielded deadly knives; they hung limply 
by the elf's sides as Legolas wandered amongst the fallen; seemingly at a 
loss how to deal with this surfeit of death.

Eomer knew of the immortal nature of elves, and couldn't help but wonder 
what it must be like for one of their race to be confronted with so many 
dead. Eomer found himself moving forward to intercept the elf, but he 
stopped when two other figures entered his field of vision. It was Aragorn, 
closely shadowed by the dwarf, Gimli; concern for their companion etched 
deeply into their faces. Eomer watched as the man approached the elf 
and words were exchanged. Or rather Aragorn spoke, and Legolas slowly 
raised his head and looked at his friends dully. Eomer continued to 
observe the trio, as the man and the dwarf led the elf away. Eomer later 
learned that Aragorn had obtained permission for the elven warriors to be 
laid out in one of the halls. Though once Aragorn and Gimli had assisted 
in bringing them inside, Legolas refused all other aid, and took it upon 
himself to bathe the bodies of blood and gore; removing arrows, 
straightening broken, shattered limbs, combing out the fine hair. His 
friends kept watch over him, until duty drew a reluctant Aragorn away, 
and Gimli was left to maintain a lone vigil.

Eomer's observation went unnoticed. From his vantage point he saw the 
dwarf frown and start forward when the weary elf swayed unsteadily. As 
Eomer looked on, Legolas seemed to rally, pulling himself straight, before 
continuing with the dreadful task. Gimli stepped back, allowing Legolas 
his requested solitude. Finally, it was done, and Legolas quietly asked for 
fresh water to wash the blood from his hands.

Legolas stripped down to the waist; carefully laying aside his ruined 
garments and weapons on the table, beside the bowl of fresh water. It 
quickly bloomed with clouds of scarlet, as the blood of his people ran from 
his skin. Eomer intercepted a second servant who came hurrying with 
clean clothing for the elf. He instructed her to tell Gimli that he wished to 
speak with him, but not to mention his whereabouts. Obviously puzzled, 
the serving girl nevertheless did as he asked, and Eomer watched from 
the security of the shadows as she approached the dwarf. He noted the 
dwarf's reluctance to leave, and heard him call out softly to the elf.

"It seems the young Horse Master wishes to speak with me. What say 
you, Master Elf? Would you have me stay?"

Legolas glanced back over his shoulder, wearing the faint shadow of 
smile. "I need no nursemaid. I am well here. Go." The words seemed 
harsh, but the tone was fond, almost teasing.

Gimli harrumphed and moved off, muttering under his breath about the 
many peculiarities of elves and men. Eomer waited until the dwarf and the 
serving girl were out of sight before approaching Legolas; bearing the 
bundle of clothing. As the distance closed between them, Eomer found 
himself helpless not to stare. The elf's skin was moon-pale and 
unblemished, like the skin of a child. Though there the analogy ended. 
For this was no childlike being, nor was it the body of a beardless youth. 
This was muscle pared down to its purest form, wrapped around willowy 
limbs. Empowered with gracile strength. Eomer's fingers ached to touch, 
craving to add to his knowledge. Would that skin feel as smooth as it 
looked? Would it be warm, or would it impart some of the icy coolness 
Legolas seemed to project?

He was torn from his reflections when the elf turned to face him, and he 
once again found himself pinned by that formidable gaze. With some 
difficulty, Eomer freed his tongue; though his speech sounded halting and 
clumsy to his ears. 

"I brought you some clothing." Flustered, he dropped the bundle 
carelessly onto the table, and almost succeeded in letting a sleeve fall 
into the bowl of water. Only the elf's quick fingers spared him needing to 
retrieve a second set of clothes. "Thank you." Legolas inclined his head 
very slightly.

Eomer felt certain the gesture wasn't meant as deference, so much as an 
acknowledgement that he had done the elf a fitting service. He had heard 
much talk of the arrogance of elves. To his eyes, Legolas appeared to 
display all the hallmarks of their legendary, haughty demeanor. Irritated, 
Eomer decided to leave.

He turned and was walking away when Legolas's soft voice reached him. 
"Why did you send Gimli to seek you out? Could he not have 
accompanied you from here, if you wished to talk in privacy?"

Eomer stopped, and slowly turned to face the elf. "I did not see the dwarf 
when I came here." The lie did not slip out as easily as he would have 
liked.

Legolas's head tilted quizzically. "Was he not here all the while you stood 
and waited?" Legolas may not have said watched, but Eomer heard it as 
clearly as if he had done, and heat suffused his face - part anger, part 
humiliation. Spying upon honoured guests was behavior unfitting a Rohan 
warrior, particularly when those guests were undoubtedly responsible for 
saving the lives of his people. He did not try to deny it. He had misjudged 
the senses of elves, believing this one lost in grief. His actions shamed 
him; the least he could do was own up to them. The apology stuck in his 
throat, but he managed to force it out. "I am sorry. You are right. I was 
watching. I did not wish to intrude." That part at least was not a lie.

Legolas seemed to accept this, but then asked: "Should you not then 
have followed Gimli when he left? If it was with him you wished to 
speak?"

Eomer felt he was being played, and disliked the notion of this too-clever 
creature toying with him. "I have given my apology," he snapped. "And I 
make no excuses for my behaviour."

"You were curious?" Legolas seemed to be thinking aloud. "You wished 
to see how elves deal with their dead?" His tone was flat, the selfsame 
reflected in his face.

Eomer had no desire to be accused of such ghoulish behaviour, but to 
deny it carried the risk of the elf uncovering his true intent. Nevertheless, 
with his earlier anger dissipating, he did not wish to leave the elf's 
company with Legolas entertaining such thoughts, so he shook his head. 
"No. I have no interest in how elves treat their dead. I wanted an 
opportunity to speak with you alone." There he had said it. Eomer waited 
for the world to shift beneath his feet.

No such drama unfolded; though the quizzical expression had returned to 
Legolas's face. "And why would you wish to speak with me, Horse 
Master?"

Eomer's admittedly short temper was stoked hearing the dwarf's title for 
him. He spoke through gritted teeth. "My name is Eomer."

"My pardon, I meant no insult. It was my understanding that the men and 
women of Rohan place great value upon their mounts, and so I believed 
the title a worthy one."

Put in such a way, Eomer felt foolish for making issue of it. Perhaps, 
unlike the dwarf, the elf had truly meant no disrespect? "Your 
understanding is not misplaced," he admitted. "We do. I had merely 
hoped you might use my given name." Even as he said the words, Eomer 
realized they were true. Perhaps too true. He wanted to hear that lyrical 
voice speaking his name. How might it sound said in the grip of passion? 
Would those pale cheeks flush? Would those strange eyes brighten like 
stars? Or would desire darken them to fathomless blue-black? What 
would it feel like to be held by those slender limbs, would he sense the 
strength he knew was contained in that slight form? Would it be very 
different to lying with a man? However, even as these thoughts emerged, 
Eomer was already fearful that it was more than simple curiosity that 
inspired them. For he knew it wasn't elves in general that engaged his 
interest, but this elf who now stood before him, watching him with an 
intent, curious gaze.

Eomer realized Legolas was still awaiting an answer to his question. 
Deciding a half-truth was safer than an outright lie, Eomer gave his reply: 
"I wanted to come in person to pay my respects." Eomer looked beyond 
the stone arches to the row of elven bodies. "Their courage came at great 
cost, and for that I am truly sorry. But be assured, the people of Rohan 
will not forget their sacrifice. Boys who will grow to manhood because of 
them will do so telling of the valour of elves."

Legolas's gaze fell away. It seemed to turn inward briefly, as though grief 
had overtaken him. Then his eyes cleared, and he looked back at Eomer. 
"Long have my people fought the darkness. In Mirkwood, many have 
fallen to spiders and orcs - though we have slain far more of their number. 
Yet, to see them all dead…." The elf's voice, an emotion-filled whisper, 
trailed off into silence. It was clear he was still struggling to accept their 
loss.

Eomer wasn't certain what to say. After an awkward pause, he submitted 
to the will of his own emotions and let impulse guide him. He gripped the 
elf's trembling arms. "We still stand, Legolas. We still stand." It was meant 
as a message of hope. He did not want the elf to fall into the black chasm 
of despair. Eomer had heard that elves could die of grief. The thought left 
him cold and filled with dread. Yet he could understand it, for at this 
moment, Legolas seemed almost fragile, as though sorrow consumed the 
elf from within. Eomer was uncertain that his words had been heard as 
they were intended, until Legolas's gaze focused upon him, a small smile 
of gratitude playing around his lips.

"Yes. We still stand."

Sharp features were set in fierce lines, a little of the grief melting away; 
allowing Eomer to glimpse the warrior who had so fearlessly challenged 
him. In the next instant he became uncomfortably aware that he was still 
holding onto the elf, bare-skin damp and slightly chilled beneath his 
fingers. He released Legolas quickly and took a step back. "You should 
put these on." Eomer nodded toward the pile of clean clothing. "I would 
not have you sicken."

"My people do not suffer with the cold, but I thank you for your concern."

Legolas was wearing that damnable expression again - the one that left 
Eomer feeling like a tongue-tied youth. Now would probably be a good 
time to depart, but still he lingered. There was another semi-awkward 
pause, before he realized he had to leave or make a total fool of himself. 
"All the same, I should go and let you dress. Unless there is something 
else you need?"

Legolas shook his head. "I have all I require. But please, give my thanks 
to your King. It means a great deal - that I can prepare my people for their 
final journey." 

Eomer nodded and left. As he walked along the corridor he heard the elf's 
voice lift up in song. Eomer couldn't understand the words, but the sound 
was hauntingly beautiful, and he knew that Legolas was mourning his 
people. Eomer paused and closed his eyes, letting the melancholy refrain 
wash over him. He suddenly grew aware of what he was doing, and 
angrily shook himself free of his reverie. Stalking back to his quarters. He 
was grateful that he encountered no one but his sister on route. For as he 
paused to greet her, she put a hand up to his face and touched his cheek 
in wonderment.

"Eomer?"

It was only then that Eomer realized the elf's song had roused his own 
grief, and his cheeks were wet with tears that had not fallen since 
childhood. Eomer gently brushed aside his sister's concern, retiring to his 
quarters. Damn the elf anyway, and all his kind; he was far too old to 
allow himself to be swayed by a beautiful face and a graceful form. But 
then, Eomer ruefully acknowledged, Legolas was far more than that. A 
fierce spirit and a skilled warrior, someone Eomer would be proud to call 
friend, someone who had raised feelings in him long since buried. 

However, now was not the time to think on them. They stood in shadow, 
surrounded by the encroaching darkness. Until it was defeated, Eomer 
would not permit himself to dwell on selfish thoughts. He did however 
make this promise. That if he and Legolas should survive all that lay 
ahead, he would confront his feelings for the elf and discover what it was 
between them. For there was something, and Eomer was almost certain 
that Legolas felt it too.


Chapter II

Legolas sang until the agony of his grief no longer robbed him of his 
breath. Though it was hard to find any kind of peace in this place. Fear 
and pain were all around him; it seeped through the stone walls and left 
its cold handprint upon his skin. His emotive outburst before the battle 
had come about largely because of the charged atmosphere, assailed as 
he was by the terror and despair of the people of Rohan. He had 
struggled with it, just as he had struggled with his own concerns for his 
friends. Aragorn in particular had held sway over his thoughts. Legolas 
was well aware of the misplaced guilt Aragorn carried, for the actions of 
his forbearer, and he feared what the man might be willing to give to 
make atonement. He did not want his friend to die---but then, wasn't that 
the fate of all men?

Legolas found his thoughts turning toward another man - Eomer. Would 
the Horse Lord survive all that lay ahead? Legolas did not want to care, 
but against his will he'd found himself drawn to the man from their first, 
inauspicious meeting. He'd trusted Aragorn's judgment when the ranger 
had led them out to greet the warriors on horseback. He had remained 
watchful and silent - until the leader's words had ignited his temper. It 
mattered little to Legolas if the man chose to view him with suspicion or 
scorn, but he would not hear a word spoken against either of his 
companions. Gimli had born the brunt of Legolas's own prejudices when 
the quest had begun; since then, Legolas had learned to look upon other 
races with newly opened eyes. He would have the dwarf treated with the 
respect befitting a creature of such courage and compassion. For he had 
learned too, that dwarven hearts were not hewn from stone, or cold-cut 
gems - they beat, as did the hearts of elves.

In hindsight, Legolas did not believe that it was prejudice that had given 
rise to the Horse Lord's words, but rather anguish and despair. Banished 
from his family and his people, Eomer had been facing an uncertain 
future, and was understandably wary of those he encountered. Legolas 
could not imagine being cast out from his home. He and his father had 
failed to see eye-to-eye on many occasions, but it had never gone 
beyond angry words or awkward silences. Though Theoden could hardly 
be held at fault, since he had been in the grip of an insidious enchantment 
that had robbed him of all reason. Legolas was grateful that Gandalf had 
been able to repel Saruman's hand. The people of Rohan possessed 
courage and skill, but theirs was a land in turmoil, and they would need a 
strong King to guide them through the dark days that lay ahead. A strong 
King and warriors like Eomer.

Legolas had noted the Horse Lord's presence, even in the confusion of 
battle. Much like Aragorn, Eomer had an aura about him that demanded 
your attention. It was more than noble bearing; it was a gift of sorts. One 
possessed by very few. Elrond had it in considerable measure, as of 
course, did Galadriel. It wasn't power or physical beauty that drew all to 
them, but this presence that commanded the eye. Legolas had often 
smiled to see Aragorn sitting in the shadows; a silhouette lit only by the 
amber glow of a pipe. Did his friend not realize that he could never hide in 
such a manner, for his presence made an impression in a room, and in 
the end he avoided notice only because others were too fearful to meet 
his gaze.

Legolas was well aware of Eomer's interest in him, but he was not at all 
certain of the man's intent. Moreover, he was not certain the man knew 
himself, and now was not the time to be undertaking a journey of self-
discovery. Legolas was grateful for the eventual intervention of his 
friends, as they drew him away from thoughts of Eomer, and he willingly 
surrendered to their gentle chiding that he should eat and rest.

***********************

Time carried them forward. The darkness allowed no respite, and 
Sauron's yearning to be reunited with the One Ring hung like a heavy 
shadow over all the lands of Middle-earth. If, in the midst of all that 
followed, either man or elf thought of one another, their behaviour did not 
betray those thoughts, nor did they confide them in any other. However, 
when all was done, and word came that the One Ring had been 
destroyed, time was once again theirs, and both privately rejoiced to hear 
that the other had survived.

Sharp eyes and sibling insight enabled Eowyn to see how her brother's 
gaze would linger upon the elf Prince. She chose her moment - 
confronting Eomer when they were alone, and wine had loosened his 
tongue. Beneath her gentle badgering, a reluctant Eomer eventually 
confessed that he held Legolas in high regard. Eowyn was not satisfied 
with this answer, and she continued to question her brother until the all 
the facts lay before her, and then she both rejoiced and lamented. For it 
was clear to Eowyn that her brother was in love, and it was just as clear 
that he intended to do nothing about it.

Eowyn was not inclined to show the same reticence; though she bided 
her time until she could speak privately with one she was sure could aid 
her. When her Uncle had been laid to rest, and toasts had been raised to 
her brother the new King - Eowyn got her chance. She encountered 
Aragorn walking alone though the corridors of the palace. Steeling her 
resolve, Eowyn called out to him.

***********************

"My Lord!"

Aragorn stopped, and turned to face the Lady Eowyn as she approached. 
When she reached him, he inclined his head respectfully. "My Lady." She 
then seemed to hesitate. Aragorn waited patiently.

After a pregnant pause, she continued. "My Lord, you are a good friend to 
the Elf Prince - Legolas, son of Thranduil?"

"I am grateful to count myself as such, yes."

Eowyn glanced around her, as though anxious she should not be 
overheard. "Forgive me, but my own happiness is such that I would wish 
for others to share of it. So could you…that is….would you know - does 
the Prince have someone close to his heart?" Her voice dropped to a 
whisper, and pink tinged her lovely cheeks. 

Aragorn was startled by the question, but managed not to show it. "Too 
the best of my knowledge, no one lays claim to Legolas's heart." This 
answer seemed to please Lady Eowyn. She walked toward the greater 
privacy afforded by an alcove, her expression dictated that he should 
follow. Increasingly curious, Aragorn did. Eowyn's gaze dropped to her 
clasped hands. "Would you be privy to such knowledge as could tell me, 
whether or not the Prince would find the attentions of a man unwanted? If 
that man were of equal rank and honour?" she added quickly. Her flush 
deepened, as she seemed to realize that she might have given away too 
much.

Indeed, in his head Aragorn was already running though a list of likely 
candidates. In view of Eowyn's involvement, one name stood out from all 
the others. 

Aragorn nodded slowly. "I think I can say that Legolas would not discount 
such a suit out of hand."

Eowyn's lips curved upward in a small, hopeful smile. "Thank you, my 
Lord. I think I must go and seek someone out. If you will excuse me?" Her 
smile grew as she walked away.

<Eomer?> Aragorn mused silently. It might prove a good match, though 
probably not a very peaceable one. He grinned at the thought of his two 
hotheaded friends in a relationship.


Chapter III

"YOU DID WHAT?!" Eomer made no attempt to moderate his voice, 
shouting at his sister in a despairing fashion.

As always, Eowyn was unimpressed. "Hush, brother. Lower your voice" 
she instructed quietly. "Or would you have everyone hear?"

Eomer was running an agitated hand through his hair. He stopped and 
glared meaningfully at her. "What difference does it make? No doubt they 
already know!"

Eowyn made a 'pssh' sound of dismissal. "I hardly think it likely that 
Aragorn is a man inclined to go around spreading rumour."

Eomer thought on this and relaxed slightly. His sister was right; a man 
further from being a gossip would be difficult to imagine. Still, he 
maintained his glower as his sister came forward and took his hand, 
tugging him down to sit beside her on the window seat. He scolded her 
softly. "I wish you had not betrayed my confidence."

Eowyn looked suitably chastened. "I'm sorry." Then she added: "But I 
acted with the best intentions." She sighed her frustration. "You forget 
how well I know you, brother. You would have carried this inside of you 
until you lay in your tomb. You cannot receive love, if you will not reach 
for it."

Eomer brushed a stray lock of hair behind his sister's ear. "Not everyone 
has your good fortune in such matters." He was a little taken aback when 
her eyes flashed in annoyance.

"Nay, you are wrong to think as you do." Her voice was impassioned as 
she continued. "Even as I felt love first burn in my breast, it was denied to 
me, and I had to find the courage to seek it out again. It was not mere 
good fortune that brought me to where I am now." Eowyn's gaze 
softened. "I reached for love and received it in such abundance, that my 
heart fills to overflowing. I would only wish that you would chance the 
same."

Eomer turned away from his sister's imploring gaze. "It is not so easy," he 
argued. "This is no mere elf that we speak of. He is an immortal Prince."

"And you are no mere man," Eowyn reminded him gently. "You are a King 
of the Mark."

"But I am a man," Eomer persisted.

"Has Legolas ever shown himself to be prejudiced towards men?"

"No, but that is when we stand together in battle, facing a common foe. 
He might not judge a suitor in the same light."

Eowyn's sigh now was pure exasperation. "And how will you know if you 
do not put it to him? What is the worst that could come of it? If he refuses 
you, you will remain here, and he will return to Mirkwood. Neither of you 
will have to look upon the other again if that is what you both wish."

Eomer stood and began to pace. "And therein lies another barrier. He is a
woodland elf; he will return to his people."

"Do you know that?"

"He must," said Eomer, who was determined not to hide behind foolish 
hopes. "Just as he must one day journey with them to the Undying 
Lands."

"As the Lady Arwen will?" said Eowyn in a soft whisper.

Eomer stopped pacing and spun around to face her, his expression 
aghast. "I would never ask that of him." He was horrified at the mere 
thought that Legolas might one day fade and diminish from the world.

"I do not believe that any one asked it of Lady Arwen. In love she gave 
freely, and does not, I believe, see her lot as any worse for the giving."

"Lord Elrond would no doubt dispute that point with you."

Eowyn stood up, and came to stand by her brother's side. "Would you 
rather Legolas was lonely for all eternity?" she asked.

"He will find love amongst his own kind," said Eomer desperately. <He 
must; as must I>

"Are you so certain?" Eowyn pressed gently. "Love is a rarer creature 
than bards and minstrels would have us believe, brother. Many travel a 
lifetime without ever encountering it."

"Who speaks of love?" Eomer bluffed, struggling to dispute his sister's 
words.

"You do," said Eowyn tenderly. "Every time you speak his name, or steal 
a glance toward his face."

Eomer walked the few steps back to the window seat and sat down 
heavily, burying his face in his hands. He felt, rather than saw, his sister 
re-take her seat beside him. She placed a comforting arm around his 
shoulders and rested her golden head upon his shoulder. 

"I have never known you flinch from any battle," she whispered. "Will you 
not now show your valour, and go forth and seek this?"

Eomer lowered his hands and pulled away slightly. "I fear I lack your 
courage in such matters," he muttered.

Eowyn took his face between her own small hands. "In all this, you have 
not once asked what Aragorn said to me when I questioned him. Are you 
not even a little curious?" There was a teasing glint in her eye.

Eomer swallowed hard. "Speak then."

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Eowyn!" Eomer's voice rose. Eowyn playfully squished his face until he 
batted her hands away. "Tell me, before I recall several stories with which 
I may keep your new betrothed well entertained." Eowyn scowled, but her 
eyes danced with good humour, and he found the knot in his stomach 
easing slightly.

"Very well. I asked him first if there was any one to whom Legolas was 
intended; to which he replied there was not."

Eomer felt a faint bubble of hope rising within him, and he struggled to 
quash it.

"So then," Eowyn continued, "I asked him if he thought Legolas would find 
a man an unacceptable suitor." When she left a dramatic pause, Eomer 
tugged her hair sharply. "Ow! I'll tell you nothing if you treat me thus."

"Stop torturing me," Eomer implored, he was in no mood for their usual 
teasing.

Eowyn's expression softened. "Forgive me. I'm being cruel." She took 
Eomer's hand between both her own and squeezed it gently. "He said 
that he did not believe the Prince would discount such a suitor out of 
hand. Those were almost his exact words."

Eomer stared down at their joined hands as he tried to muster his 
thoughts. Out of hand? What did Aragorn mean by that? Did he mean to 
imply that Legolas would consider him as a suitor? Or did he mean the elf 
would eventually find some other reason to discount him?

"I think he meant that Legolas might not be averse to your courting him," 
said Eowyn, as though reading his thoughts.

Eomer looked up at her, eyes suddenly very wide. How, in the name of all 
his ancestors, did one go about courting an elf?

*****************************

Eomer was persuaded, after a little more effort on Eowyn's part, to seek 
Aragorn out. He found the King of Gondor high upon the ramparts, 
looking out over the windswept plains. Aragorn's brow was furrowed, his 
face troubled, and Eomer wondered if it would be wise to intrude. 
However, even as he hesitated, 

Aragorn glanced toward him and gave him a faint smile of welcome. 
"Your lands are beautiful."

Eomer nodded and came to stand beside Aragorn. "I have always thought 
so. Others may call it bleak, but perhaps they have never chanced to see 
light reflecting off grey crags, or the sun rising over the plains." He 
paused, and silence fell between them briefly, before he took up the 
conversation again. "My sister spoke with you?"

"She did," said Aragorn simply.

"You know the man of whom she spoke?"

"She did not name him."

Eomer gave the ex-ranger a long, searching look; then stared out past the 
ramparts "And if I were to say that I am that man?"

"I would wish you success in your venture, and joy in its conclusion."

Both men glanced at one another - Aragorn smiling. Eomer faintly 
stunned, but pleased.

"So," said Aragorn slowly. "Legolas?"

Eomer tried not to squirm. He was not used to laying out his thoughts and 
feelings for another; and to discuss personal matters was close to being 
painful. However, his best hope lay with the man before him. If he could 
secure Aragorn's guidance, things might move along much more 
expediently.

"He is comely," Aragorn continued. He might have been discussing the 
weather for all the inflection in his voice, but Eomer could read between 
the lines as well as any man.

"It is more than his face that draws me." <However pleasing that aspect 
might be>

It was Aragorn's turn to bestow a searching look upon Eomer. "There is 
much to admire in Legolas."

"There is," Eomer agreed fervently. Betraying some of the emotion he 
held in check. Aragorn suppressed an amused smile. Newly emboldened, 
Eomer pressed on. "My sister said you did not think he would be wholly 
opposed to my interest?"

Aragorn nodded slowly. "Those were my words to her. To you I would add 
something more." He turned to face Eomer, his expression earnest. 
"Speak with Legolas on this matter. I can offer my advice, and I may 
claim, I think, to know Legolas's heart as well as any. But only as a friend 
and a brother. If you wish to know more, you must seek him out and 
broach this subject with him yourself."

Eomer sighed. "I know this. So tell me. How does one go about 
discussing such matters with an elf?"

"The same as with any you might hold feelings for - openly, and honestly. 
Let Legolas see into your heart." Apparently, this was all Aragorn was 
prepared to say on the matter. Though as he made to leave, he paused 
and looked back. "I believe I saw Legolas ride out alone at dawn. He had 
mentioned a desire to visit to Fangorn Forest." And on this last note, 
Aragorn left. Eomer stood a while longer, gathering his thoughts, before 
going down into the courtyard and calling for his horse.


Chapter IV

Eomer would have preferred to meet with Legolas in a place of his own 
choosing, and ideally more familiar territory than the wild and 
unwelcoming Fangorn Forest. However, he wanted to proceed before he 
had time to rethink his plotted course of action. Legolas's mount, 
unencumbered by either bridle or saddle, stood grazing at the edge of the 
trees. Eomer left his horse standing beside it and slowly entered the 
wood. The forest felt alien to Eomer; used as he was to the wide-open 
plains. The air was cool and damp. Only stray shards of sunlight 
managed to penetrate the tangled canopy of leaves and branches.

Feeling increasingly foolish with each moment that passed, Eomer 
pressed on further into the forest. He began to feel like the trees were 
closing in around him, and he drew in a shaky breath. Releasing it, he 
called out: "Legolas?" Eomer wasn't certain what he expected. Certainly 
he didn't expect Legolas to drop down right in front of him, causing him to 
start and stumble back. He frowned, annoyed at his own jumpiness. 
"Legolas," he repeated, this time in greeting.

"Eomer." Legolas acknowledged him cheerfully. In the next instant the 
elf's features clouded over with concern. "What brings you here? Is 
something wrong?" 

Eomer didn't respond immediately. A dusty stream of sunlight fell upon 
Legolas's face, throwing smooth planes and sharp angles into dramatic 
focus. Those strange, lustrous eyes seemed lit from within; their normal 
otherworldly hue transformed into an even more striking amethyst.

"Eomer?" Legolas repeated; his tone more forceful.

"No," said Eomer quickly. "Nothing is wrong. I merely wished to speak 
with you."

One slender eyebrow slanted in silent inquiry.

Standing so close to the elf, Eomer found it difficult to think, and he 
suddenly felt an overwhelming need to put some distance between them. 
He crossed the small clearing to stand a few paces away, beside a large 
elm. He glanced sidelong at his companion. "I find myself wanting to 
know you better, Legolas of the Woodland realm." When this quiet 
confession met with continued silence, Eomer swallowed and went on. "I 
would know what stirs you to joy and merits your anger. I would know 
what brings you grief, and I would do all in my power to ease it. I would 
know what gives you most pleasure, and I would wish to share in the 
same. All this and more I desire. If you would allow it?" Eomer didn't balk 
from Legolas's searching gaze, watching eyes narrow, and then widen in 
apparent comprehension.

Legolas stepped close, until they stood eye-to-eye. "Forgive me if I 
mistake your words. But do I understand that you wish more than 
friendship from me?"

Unwilling to trust his voice, Eomer nodded.

Legolas smiled slowly. "I think perhaps I would like that."

Eomer blinked; then a broad smile spread across his face and he took a 
step forward - only to stop when Legolas held up his hands and stepped 
back.

"I would ask only this of you," Legolas continued. "That we enter into this 
at a pace of my choosing."

Eomer barely contained a grimace. "I take it elves do not hurry these 
matters?"

Legolas shook his head, and Eomer sighed. "I fear I do not have the time 
to court you as an elf might."

Legolas looked amused. "I do not ask that you 'court me' in the manner of 
an elf."

Eomer was still less than pleased. "I am but a mortal man. I do not have 
the luxury of an immortal timeframe. I would ask that you do not make me 
wait too long."

Legolas's expression darkened. "I do not ask that you display the 
patience of an elf - only that you show some patience. If you feel you 
cannot, perhaps we should reconsider this?"

"No," said Eomer hastily. "I am as capable of patience as any elf. Put me 
to the test if you will." Legolas leaned in close - Eomer trembled as he felt 
the elf's sweet breath upon his skin.

"You hear me not, Eomer of the Riddermark. I do not wish to test you. Nor 
do I seek to torment you. I ask only that we do not blunder ahead blindly, 
but that we pause to savour the learning. For I would take the time to 
enjoy all that it yields." 

Staring into those remarkable eyes, Eomer found he could only nod. His 
gaze was drawn downward briefly, as Legolas's tongue peeked out 
between moistened lips. When Eomer rediscovered his wits and looked 
up, he saw playful humour dancing in Legolas's gaze. Eomer scowled. 
"And this is neither test nor torment?" he muttered.

Legolas chuckled. "You don't like to play, Eomer?"

"Do you play with me?" said Eomer softly. If this was all a game to the elf, 
he wanted no part of it.

The teasing light disappeared from Legolas's eyes as he understood what 
Eomer was asking, and he shook his head. "Nay, that is not my intent."

Eomer held his breath, as Legolas closed the remaining distance 
between them, and lips ghosted lightly over his own, sketching the barest 
of kisses. Those same lips found their way to Eomer's  ear, whereupon 
they whispered: "Come, let us depart. We make the trees uneasy with our 
talk."

Eomer had no idea how, or why, their conversation should trouble trees. 
Still, he was inclined to agree. "We must stay together as we ride. My 
scouts have brought back reports of a lone warg roaming the hills 
between here and Edoras."

Legolas frowned. "A warg? Has any one actually seen it?

Eomer shook his head. "No, and it may only be the talk of frightened 
villagers. My people have suffered much, and it has left them victim to 
every campfire tale and storybook warning. They see orcs and wargs in 
every shadow. A farmer says he's had livestock taken, and tracks left by 
the beast responsible imply it was a Warg of considerable size. It is as 
likely to have been a careless boy who let the animals wander off, and 
made the tracks to avert the blame. Or perhaps the farmer seeks to gain 
the pity or attention of another." Eomer sighed. "Do not mistake me. I 
know they are more than entitled to their suspicions. We failed them once 
- the Uruk-hai claimed many before we were able to act. I must show 
them now that we will protect them in the future, and they need no longer 
live in fear."

"You hunt this beast?" Legolas guessed.

Eomer nodded. "Aye. Even if it proves to be naught but a shadow - to see 
my men riding out eases their fears, and I would not refuse them such 
comfort. And if the beast is real, it must be slain before it claims a life."

"Would the assistance of an elf be unwelcome with this hunt?"

Eomer hesitated. Part of him was loath to put Legolas in the path of any 
danger, however vague. Nevertheless, he knew the elf would be a 
valuable asset in hunting down the warg if it did exist. He had heard that 
elves could sense the presence of such creatures. Eomer was also 
certain that Legolas would take exception to any attempt to keep him from 
harm by cosseting him. In addition, having Legolas participate in the hunt 
could only serve to warm Eomer's people to the elf. Some still clung to 
their suspicion of strangers, despite all they owed to them.

He nodded his assent. "Your skills would be most welcome." Eomer 
managed a smile. "It would have to be a remarkable warg indeed, to 
withstand the combined might of the Rohirrim and an Elf of Mirkwood." 
The smile Legolas bestowed upon him in return, led Eomer to feel he had 
just passed some kind test - despite all of Legolas's claims to the 
contrary. Eomer was determined he would demonstrate himself worthy of 
Legolas's affections. It did occur to him in passing, that he might feel 
affronted at having to prove himself in such a manner - he was after all a 
King of the Mark - however, he had instigated this, and in doing so, he 
had agreed to Legolas's terms. Now all he had to do was find the 
wherewithal to see it through.

********************

As they rode back to Edoras, the sun low in the sky, Legolas took the 
opportunity to study his companion. He could sense the man's discomfort 
and had no desire to add to it; nevertheless, he felt compelled to take 
account of what he felt. Legolas had already decided that Eomer was in 
no way displeasing to the eye. Tall and strongly built in body and limb, 
Eomer's flaxen hair and slightly florid complexion were scorched by sun 
and wind. That same golden hair was often an unruly mane; though the 
beard that shadowed Eomer's jaw line was neatly trimmed, and Eomer's 
overall appearance was not unkempt. Legolas had learned long ago that 
many men gave little thought to their bathing habits, and it didn't require 
the senses of an elf to find the resulting odour offensive. Legolas was in 
no small amount relieved to discover that Eomer smelt - not unpleasantly 
- of leather and horseflesh; meadow grass; the sun, wind, and rain - a 
man touched and shaped by the elements.

Eomer was some years younger than Aragorn, but equally careworn; as 
though many of those years had not been kind to him. Yet Legolas had 
also seen him laugh and jest, and the obvious regard and affection Eomer 
had for his sister lifted Legolas's heart. In his minds-eye, Legolas could 
see the open joy in Eomer's face when he had announced Eowyn's 
betrothal to Faramir. Eomer's gaze had traveled around the room as he'd 
raised his cup in a toast - clearly wanting to see if others viewed the 
match with favour. Legolas had experienced a tiny frisson when that gaze 
had rested briefly upon him. It had been the intensity of Eomer's gaze that 
he had noticed from the first. Legolas had seen a depth of passion and 
intelligence in those eyes that had instantly called to him. It was not often 
that a man drew his interest; Aragorn had been the last of note, and 
Legolas had never been more grateful for another's friendship. He felt a 
similar connection when he beheld Eomer - and perhaps something 
more.

However, Legolas had reservations about the wisdom of pursuing any 
deeper connection. Eomer was a King, bound by duty to his people. 
Legolas's home was Mirkwood, and he knew his father would not willingly 
welcome another man into its Halls. Thranduil was deeply mistrustful of 
other races, and had long viewed Legolas's friendship with Aragorn with a 
jaundiced eye. Thranduil tolerated Aragorn only out of affection for his 
son, but Legolas was uncertain how far fatherly regard would carry. While 
Legolas had not been pressed to marry and provide heirs - his older 
siblings having already performed that role - he was expected to uphold 
certain dignities and responsibilities. It was unlikely that Thranduil would 
see Legolas's involvement with Eomer as behaviour befitting a Prince of 
Mirkwood. And what of Eomer? Surely he would be expected to wed and 
provide an heir? Where would that leave Legolas?

Legolas was not given to casual dalliances. He invested too much of 
himself in anything he turned his focus toward. He would not be an 
intermittent bed-warmer for any man - even if that man were a King. 
Legolas was not old for an elf, but he had been long in the world. He 
knew that just as many found elves unsettling, others coveted them for 
that same perceived strangeness. He did not think Eomer's intent was of 
such base design. Nevertheless, Legolas preferred to be wary. Finally, he 
reached a decision. He would not shy from this. He would allow this 
connection between them to develop, and hope to learn more as it did so. 
He would deal with his father's inevitable disapproval if and when the time 
came.


Chapter V

"I will go mad," Eomer declared fervently some weeks later. "He seeks to 
scatter my wits and leave me an addled fool." His words were directed at 
the King of Gondor. Aragorn and his party had arrived in Edoras that 
morning. Officially it was to ratify a new trade agreement; though if in 
addition it happened to allow old friends to meet, and gave Aragorn a 
much-needed respite from the claustrophobic trappings of his new 
position, who was to mind. Gimli, Merry, and Pippin had joined the party. 
When last seen, Legolas and Gimli had been engaged in a heated 
discussion, arguing volubly in that manner peculiar to good friends.

Aragorn greeted Eomer's frustrated outburst with a tilt of his head and a 
tolerant smile. "All does not go well I take it?"

Eomer harrumphed and refilled their goblets before resuming his seat. "It 
goes well enough," he muttered. "We talk. We ride together. We hunt that 
damnable warg. He tells me of his people; I speak to him of mine."

"Then where is the problem?" asked Aragorn mildly.

"The problem is I know no more about him now than when we first met. 
We speak in generalities - My people. His people." The goblet's contents 
sloshed about alarmingly as Eomer waved his hand for emphasis. 
"Whenever I would discover more, his response is always the same." 
Disgruntled, he quoted the elf: "Patience, Eomer. Patience." Eomer's lip 
furled in disgust. "I find myself loathing that word. I do not understand why 
he acts this way. I want him. He has led me to believe he feels the same. 
Why must we continue with this pointless dance?"

"Perhaps because Legolas does not perceive it as pointless," said 
Aragorn quietly. "I will speak plainly. Understand I do so out of regard for 
you both. I would ask that you think; is it your love for him that wears so 
heavily upon you, or simply the desire to have that which you do not 
possess?

Eomer's eyes flashed angrily "Be very glad that I understand you speak in 
friendship, Gondor. For that is all that stays my hand."

Aragorn raised both hands appeasingly. "Peace, Eomer. I meant no 
insult. But be assured, Legolas will know the difference."

Eomer stood and walked over to the window. He drank deeply from his 
goblet before speaking; his gaze fixed firmly upon the landscape beyond. 
"Then know this: I love him. He occupies my every waking moment and 
disturbs my dreams. I will say nothing more. All else is for Legolas, and 
for he alone." Eomer glanced back at Aragorn, his expression vaguely 
rueful. "Perhaps it was merely curiosity that stirred my interest at first. I 
have heard much talk of elves, but he is the first of their race I have 
encountered. And I admit, I found him more than merely 'comely'." He 
quoted Aragorn from their earlier conversation, earning a wry smile from 
the ex-ranger. "And if I merely wanted someone to warm my bed, I would 
have no difficulty finding a willing partner." There was no arrogance to the 
claim. Both men knew that finding a bedmate eager to please in return for 
royal favour was not a difficult task.

"An elf is not so easily won," Aragorn warned.

"I do not seek him as a prize," Eomer insisted. "I know that he is my equal 
- perhaps more than that. He is a Prince of immortal blood."

Aragorn's gaze narrowed thoughtfully. "Does that trouble you?"

Eomer sighed heavily and came back to stand by the hearth. He placed 
his folded arm against the wall and rested his head against it. The empty 
goblet hung loosely from his other hand. "Should it not?"

"You believe he maintains his distance because he seeks a way to refuse 
you without causing pain or offense? You feel he must reject you 
because, after all, what would an elf want with a man?" Aragorn was 
more-or-less musing aloud. Unaware of how close his comments were 
hitting,  until he perceived a wince from Eomer, then he shook his head 
and came to stand beside his friend. Aragorn placed a comforting hand 
upon Eomer's back. "Hear me, Eomer. I have known Legolas for many 
years. He would not scorn you for your race. Nor would he hesitate to end 
this swiftly if he felt it should stop. That he continues with it tells me he is 
hopeful of a happier outcome."

Eomer glanced up at Aragorn from the crook of his arm. "You think there 
is still hope then?"

"You don't?" Aragorn's tone was slightly exasperated. "Do you really think 
Legolas would still be here if he did not want this? If he did not want you?"

Eomer flushed slightly. "What should I do?" He tried to keep the plaintive 
note from his voice.

"Be patient," said Aragorn, refusing to shy away from the hated word. 
"You have made clear your intentions. The next move must be his." 
Aragorn must have seen something in Eomer's expression, for he 
frowned and added: "You did make clear your intentions toward him?"

"I may not have been as clear as perhaps I could have been," Eomer 
admitted awkwardly.

Aragorn looked like he wanted to roll his eyes. "What did you say to him?" 
He held up a hand when Eomer would object. "I'm not asking for details; 
just generalize it for me."

"I told him I wanted to know him better. I told him I wanted more than 
simple friendship from him. Then I asked if he found my interest 
unwelcome. He said he did not." The look of dawning comprehension on 
Eomer's face probably gave away more than he would have liked, since it 
was now Aragorn's turn to wince, this time in sympathy. Eomer clung to 
the last few threads of hope. "Why did he agree to enter into this if he 
doesn't understand my intent?"

"He probably hopes to learn it," said Aragorn. "Elves are skilled at 
interpreting what truly lies in the hearts and minds of others, but they are 
not infallible. It is mainly experience and good judgment that guides them. 
Despite what you may have heard of elves, Legolas does not possess the 
ability to read your thoughts. He is young for one of his race, and has 
spent relatively little time in the company of men. There is no reason to 
suppose he guessed your intent if you did not speak it plainly."

Eomer groaned. "I am a fool. I need not fear he will scatter my wits. I have 
none."

"Take heart, my friend," said Aragorn. "For this is a problem easily put to 
rights."

Eomer's eyes were already on the door. "I must speak with him."

"Listen for the noisy protestations of a dwarf," advised Aragorn with a 
smile. "Perchance you will find an elf close by."

********************

Eomer eventually found Legolas and Gimli sitting together upon a grassy 
rise above a rocky outcrop. It was a favoured spot of the elf, providing 
imposing views of the surrounding mountains. They were arguing some 
point or other; verbal barbs proving to be in plentiful supply, though all 
were hurled in good humour. The elf's light, teasing laughter drifted 
toward Eomer. His stomach clenched. This was not a conversation he 
anticipated with any degree of fondness. In all probability it would 
conclude matters between them once and for all, and he struggled to 
appear calm as he went forward to greet them. Legolas rose and turned 
to face him with a smile. Eomer's heart lurched. He made a brief and 
rather hasty apology for intruding on their conversation; requesting a 
moment alone with Legolas. Gimli gruffly announced that he would go 
and rescue the hobbits from any mischief they might have fallen into.

Desperate to say his piece, but uncertain where to start, Eomer decided 
they'd wasted enough time, and plunged recklessly into the conversation. 
"I find that I may have been remiss in addressing certain matters," he 
began formally. "There is something I would have you know. Through 
oversight on my part I neglected to speak of it before." He paused and 
gazed at Legolas, trying to gauge the elf's reaction. Legolas's face 
appeared devoid of all expression, except for a slight tightening around 
his mouth and eyes. Eomer softened his tone. "Legolas, what is it you 
think I want from you?"

Legolas's features betrayed a flicker of surprise, quickly masked. "It was 
my understanding that you wished to know me beyond the boundaries of 
friendship. Was I mistaken in my assumption?"

"No," said Eomer quietly. "You mistake nothing. But I think perhaps I did 
not say enough. I stated only what I wanted from you and gave no 
thought to mentioning what I would offer in return." Seeing Legolas frown, 
Eomer attempted to elucidate. "Do you not wonder why I crave your 
companionship? Are you not curious as to where I hope this will lead?"

Legolas paused before replying. "I will not lie to you and say such 
thoughts have never entered my head. I hoped that you would speak of 
them in time."

Eomer moved closer and took Legolas's hand, feeling the slender fingers 
twitch as he folded them within his own. He placed it over his heart. "This 
is what I should have offered you, Legolas. It was my intent. I fear in my 
haste to make my intentions clear, I achieved exactly the opposite." He 
stared into wide blue eyes.

"Speak now, Eomer. I will listen," Legolas whispered.

"Then know this," said Eomer. "I am in love with you. I would share all I 
possess with you, and let no other lay claim upon my heart." Legolas 
looked taken aback; though Eomer thought he also detected a glimmer of 
hope.

"You are a King, Eomer," Legolas began. "What of your people?"

"They regard you as a hero of Helm's Deep; a member of the fellowship 
that prevented all of Middle-earth from falling into darkness. They know 
they owe you much. I do not think that they would begrudge me my 
choice."

"I cannot give you heirs, Eomer. What then will they say of your choice?"

"My people may choose their King from those who have the right to make 
a claim. These are harsh lands. Birthright alone does not guarantee the 
qualities needed to rule it. I have kin that could step forward if I have no 
heir of my own. My sister may have many sons, and I am sure they will 
possess all the qualities needed to guide my people." Eomer pressed the 
hand he still held to his chest. "So tell me your answer, Legolas. Would 
you claim this? Do you accept what I offer?"

Legolas's immediate response was to close his eyes, fingers spread flat 
against Eomer's chest as though seeking the heart that beat beneath it. 
Dark lashes fluttered open, and blue eyes regarded Eomer with a heated 
gaze. "I claim you, Eomer of Rohan. I would accept all that you offer, and 
give the same of myself in return."

Eomer had no further use for words; with his free hand he gently clasped 
the nape of Legolas's neck, drawing him forward and closing the last 
fraction of distance between them. Their lips touched, almost chastely. 
Legolas deepened the connection and Eomer tasted moist heat and 
honeyed-sweetness. He surrendered his hold on Legolas's hand to pull 
the slender body flush against his own. Legolas stiffened, and then 
willowy limbs wound around Eomer to draw him closer still.

Lost in pleasure, the man's approach went unacknowledged until he 
cleared his throat loudly. Then Legolas broke the kiss and moved out of 
Eomer's embrace. Eomer suppressed a groan and spun around to vent 
his wrath on whoever had dared to interrupt. It was Jagen, an officer of 
the Watch. Looking somewhat flustered, and sounding slightly out of 
breath. "My pardon, My Lord. I mean no disrespect. But the warg has 
been sighted."

Eomer quickly set aside his displeasure. Tracks and spore had confirmed 
the warg's existence, but it had so far eluded all their attempts to locate 
and kill it. He had placed men in every settlement and farmstead, and 
mercifully no lives had yet been lost, but the beast needed to be slain, or 
such an outcome would be inevitable. "Make ready my horse. We ride out 
at once." Jagen nodded and ran back toward the main gates. Eomer 
turned to Legolas. He was pleased to see that
the elf had not wholly recovered from their kiss.

Twin spots of colour stained Legolas's cheeks. The blue eyes appeared 
dark, their pupils dilated. Though Legolas managed to sound composed 
when he spoke: "I will find Aragorn." 

Eomer nodded. "It would be best if we travel without the others, we must 
make haste if we are to reach this creature before it again slips from our 
grasp." He meant no offense; dwarves and hobbits were simply not built 
for speed on horseback. Legolas answered with a sharp nod and a 
regretful glance as he left Eomer, running lightly over the uneven ground.

Eomer tried to marshal his thoughts as he hurried back to the main gates. 
He cursed the warg bitterly, and swore to put an end to the creature's 
existence. He would lose no more of his people to its kind. Unbidden, his 
tongue stole out to wet his lips. He thought he could still taste Legolas 
upon them. He swallowed hard and tried to set thoughts of the elf aside. 
Nevertheless, his heart sang out that Legolas returned his feelings, and 
even the warg could not crush the joy that swelled in his chest.


Chapter VI

They rode to where the warg had been sighted, and discovered a farmer 
and his family who had taken refuge on the roof of their barn. They'd 
managed to light a signal fire before scrambling to safety, and the smoke 
had alerted others to their plight. The warg had gone, but it had left a trail 
of destruction in its wake, the torn and mangled bodies of the farmer's 
livestock testimony to the creature's single-minded ferocity. No amount of 
reasoning would coax the farmer and his family down. Instead, the farmer 
shouted to them, relaying events as they had transpired. The warg had 
come without warning, rushing down from the hill rise behind the 
farmstead. It had seemed confused by the squawking, fluttering birds and 
the desperate bellows of the cattle. Recognizing it would be futile to try 
and protect his animals, the farmer's only thought had been to save his 
family. He had led them up onto the barn roof - the highest point - to try 
and evade the beast's rampage.

"What of the man I left here?" Eomer asked.

The farmer wordlessly pointed to the far side of his dwelling. Eomer, 
Legolas, and Aragorn dismounted and walked across the yard, 
whereupon they discovered the unfortunate man's remains; mutilated 
beyond all recognition, his sword arm and most of his torso missing. 
Legolas saw Eomer's face tighten. He looked around him, reading the 
signs of the desperate struggle that had taken place. "He fought bravely. 
He placed himself in the beast's path."

"Trying to buy time for the farmer and his family," said Aragorn.

"I left him here to die," said Eomer.

"No one is at fault here," said Aragorn. "He died as was his duty - 
protecting those who needed his sword."

Legolas studied the impressions left in the soft, muddy ground. He stared 
at the span of a paw imprint and frowned. "Eomer?"

Eomer snapped out of his angry grief and turned to look. He crouched 
down beside Legolas, who directed his attention to a reasonably clear 
impression of a paw. Eomer cursed.

"What is it?" asked Aragorn.

Legolas explained. "This is not the warg we have been hunting. This 
creature is smaller."

Aragorn didn't bother to ask if the elf was sure. "So now we have two 
wargs to kill."

The creature's tracks led back over the hill-rise. Leaving two men behind 
with the farmer and his family, the rest of the party rode out. The warg 
had carried off one of the farmer's animals. Some distance away they 
found the pitiful remains - a few small bones and a scrap of skin. Aragorn 
studied the area. "There were two at this feast," he announced. "Either 
the larger was awaiting the others return, or it came down from the hills 
when it smelt the fresh carcass. They squabbled over it – the larger taking 
more than its share. The smaller one fled at some point, taking the path 
over those rocks." Aragorn pointed eastward. "The larger remained until it 
had eaten its fill and then it went back up into the hills."

Eomer cursed. "We cannot let either beast escape. We must split up."

Aragorn nodded. "Legolas and I can follow this one." He indicated the 
rocky terrain that the smaller warg had taken. There were no immediately 
discernable tracks, but for a skilled ranger and an elf, the terrain was not 
impossible.

Eomer agreed. "Take some of my men."

Aragorn shook his head. "We have our bows, we need not engage the 
creature in close-quarters; and you hunt the wiser animal. It shows 
cunning in avoiding the settlements. Keep your men, Eomer. I fear you 
will need them." There was no time for further discussion. Taking Aragorn 
and Legolas's horses, Eomer led his men up into the hills. Legolas and 
Aragorn set off across the rock-strewn ground.

Legolas's gaze strayed back to the departing figure of Eomer. Aragorn 
nudged him gently.

"Come, Legolas. We have our own warg to hunt. Or would you risk being 
outdone by a party of men?" His tone was deliberately light, trying to jolt 
Legolas out of his dark mood.

Legolas summoned a slight smile, acknowledging the challenge. "The day 
a man outdoes an elf in a hunt, I will lay down my bow."

**************************

Eomer and his men rode as tightly grouped as the hilly-terrain permitted, 
trying to avoid giving the warg the tempting target of a lone rider; for as 
surely as they were hunting it - it would be hunting them. The tracks in the 
soft ground were clear and easy to follow. Blood from the beast's paws 
tinged the muddy imprints. It was still fairly fresh, indicating that little time 
had elapsed since the larger warg had left the kill. Eomer spurred his 
mount forward when he heard terrified shouts and screams from 
somewhere ahead, and quickly discovered the source of the panic. The 
warg had encountered a cart traveling along a rough dirt track, carved 
into the steep hillside. It had killed the poor animal pulling it. The cart itself 
had been completely overturned; its occupants were attempting to escape 
the snapping jaws by hiding underneath it - all bar one, who lay 
motionless some distance away. The warg was in the process of 
destroying the cart to get to its screaming victims.

Eomer drew his sword, shouting loudly to try and draw the beast's 
attention. The warg stopped and turned to look. Unfortunately, one of its 
panicked victims used the break in the attack to try and run. The sobbing 
young woman ignored the desperate pleas of her companions. 
Scrambling out from beneath the cart she gathered up her skirts and half 
ran, half crawled toward the unmoving body. 

The warg seemed torn between facing its oncoming attackers and seizing 
the girl. It eventually bounded the short distance over to her, blocking her 
attempt to reach the body. As it opened its jaws and roared, she in turn let 
out a piercing scream. The first spear struck the warg in its side. The 
creature twisted and snapped at it; its attention once again leaving the 
girl. Eomer and his men finally drew level with the warg; using spear and 
sword to hold it at bay, while one of their number removed the girl to 
safety. The Rohirrim surrounded the warg, but the beast was far from 
defeated. Those bone crushing jaws and massive paws could slay horse 
and rider with one strike, and they were forced to perform an elaborate 
dance on horseback to avoid its attacks. Jabbing at the beast with their 
spears and hacking at it with their swords. At some point during the 
struggle, it decided fleeing would be a better option. It tried to charge 
through the Rohirrim, choosing a point between Eomer and another rider. 
Eomer was more fortunate. As the beast barrelled into them he was flung 
aside. The other man was knocked from his horse and thrown into the air. 
He was plucked from it as lethal jaws closed around his leg. The poor 
man screamed as the warg shook him as a dog might shake a rat.

Eomer groggily picked himself up from the ground and re-entered the fray 
on foot. He found an opening and lunged forward, thrusting his sword up 
into the beast's throat. The warg relinquished its victim as the blade bit 
deep. Eomer staggered back, blood dripping down onto his hands. The 
warg swayed unsteadily, bloody foam and saliva strings hanging from its 
jaws. It took one final step forward before collapsing, its dying breath 
rattling in its torn throat. Eomer released a shaky breath of his own. 
Certain that the beast posed no further threat, Eomer went to check on 
his injured man. The warg's death had come too late for him. The 
mangled leg had bled-out, and eyes stared glassily at the sky. Eomer 
closed the sightless eyes, his hand shaking from exhaustion and emotion. 
While the rest of his men drew the frightened people out from beneath the 
cart, Eomer walked wearily over to his mount. Stroking the animal's 
trembling flank he spoke soothingly to it. All at once, the horse's ears 
flattened back and its eyes rolled in fresh terror. Eomer froze, the hairs on 
the back of his neck prickling. With barely strength left to lift his sword, 
Eomer turned to face this new threat.

Directly above his head was a rocky overhang. Crouched upon it - poised 
and ready to spring - was the last warg. Eomer thought he heard a 
distant, anguished shout, and then the beast was upon him. The weight of 
it drove the breath from his lungs, crushing his chest, making it nigh on 
impossible to draw another. 

Darkness tugged at the edges of his vision as Eomer struggled to avoid 
the snapping, snarling jaws. Eomer fought it, knowing he was as good as 
dead if he lost consciousness now. The warg's claws tore at his armour, 
which proved poor defence against their savagery. Eomer gasped as they 
sank into his flesh, tearing and rending. He could smell the sharp, 
coppery odour of his own blood; his hands and arms slippery were with it 
as he struggled to hold the beast off. All around him was a confusion of 
noise, from the snarls of the warg, to the shouts of his men as they ran to 
his aid.

Eomer felt the determined pull of the darkness that clouded his vision. It 
was becoming harder to refuse its persistent summons. He wanted to 
escape the pain. Then the beast was gone; the weight lifted from his 
body, and bloody jaws were replaced with distant sky. The ensuing quiet 
was both strange and still, filled only with the sound of his desperate 
struggle to draw breath. Each exhalation caused such sharp agony that 
Eomer wanted to stop, but he couldn't, not yet. Not until he had seen 
Legolas. Not until he had made clear his regret and his sorrow for leaving 
the elf so soon. <Ah, Legolas. Forgive me my mortality> But Eomer knew 
he wouldn't be able to hold on until Legolas was found and brought to 
him. Coldness had seeped into his limbs, and the world grew faint. He 
was grateful that the last image his conscious mind supplied was of his 
love - though it pained him to see the elf's normally composed features 
marred by grief.

Eomer tried to speak. Even if this was only a shade sent to soothe his 
passing moments, he felt he ought to bid it a proper goodbye. But 
darkness was closing fast around him, and Eomer could no longer fight it. 
Without a sound he slipped into the swirling shadows, the world and 
Legolas vanishing within the space of a breath.


Chapter VII

Legolas and Aragorn had successfully tracked the smaller warg across 
the weatherworn stones. Legolas had felt a stab of alarm when the warg 
turned away from its rock-strewn path, heading up into the hills, toward 
Eomer and his men. Turning to follow it, Legolas and Aragorn had strived 
for the impossible - trying to outmatch the pace of their prey. Even as they 
ran, Legolas had known there was little chance of catching the creature 
before it encountered the Rohirrim; they were some distance off when 
sharp elven eyes picked out a group of riders, and close by - the body of 
a warg. Legolas chest tightened as he spotted the two motionless figures 
lying on the ground, and he searched desperately amongst the others. 
Relief coursed through him when he recognized Eomer - battered and 
bloody, but very much alive.

His relief was short-lived. A fresh spike of alarm set nerves afire with 
tension, and Legolas looked on in horror as the second warg came into 
view. Fingers moved of their own accord, stringing an arrow even as his 
mind cried out that it was too far. The arrow sailed uselessly; falling, as 
Legolas had known it would, far short of the warg. His warning shout was 
carried away by the wind. It became an anguished sound of denial as the 
beast sprang, taking Eomer down to the ground in a blur of dark fur and 
gleaming teeth. Aragorn was able to see only a distant struggle. Legolas's 
keener senses spared him none of the horror. His eyes remained fixed on 
the battling pair as he raced toward them, swift as only an elf could travel 
over such uneven terrain - and still agonizingly slow. He paused only 
once more, and this time his arrows found their mark in rapid succession. 
The beast arched back, howling in rage and pain as arrows added to the 
torment of spear and sword. A final arrow took the warg through its right 
eye, entering its brain and ending its life.

The corpse was hurriedly dragged aside as the Rohirrim turned their 
attentions to their King. Legolas covered the remaining ground with 
reckless haste, dropping to his knees beside Eomer's still form. Eomer's 
eyes were open, but they were dull and unfocused, consciousness 
already fading from their gaze. Heedless of those around him, Legolas's 
emotions played over his face, foremost among them fear. He had seen 
men die from wounds such as these; icy cold robbing them of their 
strength and breath, even after the flow of blood had been stopped. The 
men struggled to remove Eomer's armour to perform this task. Legolas 
touched Eomer's cheek, his fear deepening as he felt the unnatural chill 
of Eomer's skin. 

"Let me see, Legolas," said Aragorn gently. He drew the stricken elf 
aside.

Legolas watched as his friend quickly finished binding the worst of 
Eomer's wounds. From the shock and grief displayed by the Rohirrim, it 
was clear that they now looked to Aragorn and his knowledge of healing 
to help their King.

Legolas could remain silent no longer. "Aragorn?" Aragorn looked up; his 
expression made Legolas's heart contract.

"I will not lie to you, Legolas. I do not know if it is within my skill to save 
him. If I am to try, we must bear him back to Edoras at all speed."

Legolas nodded, smoothly rising to his feet. He called to his horse in 
elvish and it trotted away from the rest to join him. Legolas mounted it 
gracefully, making room for Eomer. "Pass him to me," he instructed.

Aragorn moved to act, but the Rohirrim showed more reluctance, wary of 
trusting so precious a charge to so delicate-looking a creature. Aragorn 
correctly guessed the reason for their reticence. "There is none amongst 
us more able," he assured them. "An elf's horse is never wrong-footed." 
He was not seeking to discredit their horsemanship, but for all their skill, 
the Rohirrim lacked the inborn abilities of an elf. Still they hesitated, and 
Aragorn spied something dangerous flash in Legolas's eyes. He spoke 
hurriedly, pointing out that the horse's burden would be less carrying a 
man and an elf. With some reluctance they took Aragorn at his word, and 
finally aided him in carefully lifting Eomer into Legolas's arms. Aragorn 
exchanged a parting look with Legolas; there was no need for words 
between them. Both understood the desperate urgency. Both knew 
Legolas's ability to coax that little more from his mount might be all that 
would keep Eomer alive.

Three of the Rohirrim remained to assist the terrified travelers. The young 
woman sat sobbing beside the body of her father. The dead warrior was 
laid across his horse, another leading it. Aragorn and the remaining 
Rohirrim rode back to Edoras with all speed.

*******************************

"We should summon the Lady Eowyn." It was Genoryn, the healer, who 
spoke. She had spent the last few days working at Aragorn's side. 
Together they had bathed, stitched, and dressed Eomer's wounds. Now 
they struggled to bring down the fever that threatened to take him beyond 
the reach of their skills. Eowyn was in Ithilien with Faramir, preparing for 
their upcoming nuptials. At Genoryn's words, Legolas - already drained of 
colour - grew paler still. His eyes appeared almost black by comparison.

"You think he will die?" The elf's tone was almost accusatory.

"We have done all we can, Legolas," said Aragorn softly. "If his fever 
does not break soon…." Aragorn let his voice trail off. Not wanting to add 
to Legolas's pain by saying the words aloud. Aragorn's own feelings of 
helplessness gnawed at him. He wished he had the wisdom of Elrond to 
call upon. Arwen had inherited much of her father's ability, but she too, 
was beyond reach. The little time allotted to them did not allow for a 
message or a rider to come from far-off Gondor. This fever must break 
before then. Aragorn also knew there was no time left for Eowyn to return 
and bid her brother farewell if it did not. He glanced worriedly at Legolas. 
The elf's vigil had been unceasing. Legolas had borne witness to the 
worst of Eomer's wounds. He had stayed at the man's side as they were 
scrubbed of dirt and stitched with fine thread, his voice all that would 
soothe Eomer when the pain hit. It had been Legolas who had held 
Eomer as they worked, using a strength belied by that slender form, as 
delirium made Eomer struggle against the hands that would aid him. 
Legolas had not once moved from Eomer's side; no food or liquid had 
passed his lips, and he had taken no leave of rest. Others, including 
Gimli, had wanted to force them upon him. Aragorn had advised against 
it. He knew that naught but Eomer's recovery or death would end this 
vigil.

*******************************

The hours passed. Eomer's condition worsened. Throughout Edoras, 
people wept and prayed, but hope was fading. Aragorn knew that despite 
all their efforts, and Eomer's desperate fight, the fever was winning. 
Genoryn continued to assist Aragorn; nevertheless, it was clear she 
expected no miracle to come from their labors. Even Aragorn found 
himself struggling not to lose hope. Only Legolas remained unwavering in 
his conviction that Eomer was not yet ready to leave them. In the first 
hours of Eomer's sickness, Legolas had carried out the most menial of 
tasks without question. Tenderly bathing the sweat from Eomer's body; 
changing bed linens; assisting in the preparation of fresh poultices; 
crushing herbs for tonics and elixirs.

Legolas now sat motionless by Eomer's bedside, long fingers clasping 
Eomer's own. Legolas's melodic voice, roughened through lack of sleep 
and sustenance, gently implored Eomer to return to them. He added 
endearments in elvish, softly whispered utterances that only Eomer might 
hear. Eomer lay still; feverish thrashings reduced to a frightening stupor. 
Only the harsh breath-falls indicated that any life remained. Though with 
each ragged exhalation, Eomer seemed to draw closer to death. Legolas 
was startled by Aragorn's hand upon his shoulder.

He turned and saw in his friend's eyes a truth he was not ready to face.

Eomer had woken feelings in Legolas that he had never touched upon 
before. In the past, Legolas had loved without physical intimacy - his 
family and friends. He had enjoyed physical encounters without love, 
simply taking pleasure in the act itself. Though of the latter, he had 
indulged fairly infrequently. Legolas was not inclined to give himself 
casually to another. Such occasions had been times spent with a friend or 
a close companion that he trusted and cared for, but also someone who 
would demand no more of Legolas than he was prepared to give. 
Whenever anyone had show signs of wanting more, Legolas had always 
shied away. Until Eomer. Something about the man had Legolas almost 
eager to take things further.

It wasn't simply curiosity. Legolas had found himself drawn to Eomer 
without fully understanding why. Now he understood. The shock of seeing 
Eomer savagely attacked, coupled with the terror of watching him slip 
further and further from his grasp as the fever took hold, had brought 
about a swift understanding. This was love, as Legolas had never known. 
This was desire, and need, and companionship on a level that was both 
strange and wondrous. As Legolas looked back at Eomer, he felt as if his 
innards were bathed in ice. Had this understanding come too late? The 
words he had spoken to Eomer before, now seemed weak. He had 
lacked the courage to speak his heart. Now it seemed events had caught 
up with them both, and there would not be another opportunity. Legolas 
stood slowly, swaying as the demands of the past few days made 
themselves known upon his body. Steadying himself, Legolas leaned 
over the bed. Taking Eomer's face between his  hands, he cradled it 
tenderly, everything he was feeling displayed upon his face.

"I did not take you for a coward, Eomer; that you would give me your 
heart, and then snatch it back. Well know this, wherever you go, my heart 
will follow. Hear me, Eomer. I love you." Legolas's voice began to fail as 
emotion choked it. "I love you," he repeated in elvish. Then he covered 
Eomer's lips with his own and laid a gentle kiss upon them. As he drew 
back, he rested his forehead against Eomer's for a moment. Repeating 
the words again, as one slivery tear fell. Then he stood, closing his eyes 
against the grief he felt sure must rend his body in two.

***********************

Aragorn lowered his head and closed his own eyes. His sorrow at losing 
Eomer was twinned with the heartfelt fear that they would also lose 
Legolas to this. He had never seen the elf so lost in grief, not in all the 
years he had known him. The suddenness of fingers snatching at his arm 
made Aragorn re-open his eyes. 

"My Lord." Genoryn's disbelieving whisper led Aragorn's gaze back 
toward the bed. Aragorn stared as Eomer's eyelids fluttered and then 
slowly opened. He stepped closer, and found himself looking directly into 
Eomer's befuddled gaze. The other man's eyes were dulled, and bore 
witness to his exhaustion, but they were no longer fever bright, and 
Aragorn felt himself smile for the first time in days. He quickly turned to 
his grieving friend. "Legolas." There was no response. "Legolas," Aragorn 
repeated more urgently. Blue eyes lifted to his, and the suffering in them 
made Aragorn want to step back. Instead, he directed the elf's gaze to the 
bed. Aragorn saw a tremor pass through Legolas's body as the two's 
eyes met, and he stood ready to support the elf, as Legolas stumbled 
back.

Aragorn guided Legolas to the chair beside the bed. "Sit," he scolded 
gently. "Before I find myself with two sickbeds to attend." It was doubtful 
that Legolas even registered his voice. The elf's gaze never strayed from 
Eomer's face; the sudden change in the man's condition too wondrous to 
take-in.

Genoryn brushed Eomer's face with shaking fingers, confirming what her 
eyes could scarcely believe - the fever had broken. She regarded Legolas 
with something akin to awe. "I know not what you did, my Lord. But I 
thank you." Her voice was tight with happiness, tears brightening her 
eyes.

Legolas blinked dazedly, slowly focusing on the young woman as her 
words reached him, and he caught their implication. "There is no sorcery 
here. I did nothing."

Aragorn corrected him gently. "Perhaps there was no magic, but you did 
something, Legolas. You had hope when the rest of us were ready to 
surrender to despair. You gave Eomer reason to fight. Your words guided 
him back."

"He will recover?" It was barely a question; Legolas knew the worst of the 
danger had passed.

"He will do so more swiftly if he doesn't have the added burden of 
worrying over you," said Aragorn, kindly but firmly. "You need food and 
rest, my friend. You've pushed yourself hard these past few days. Will you 
not let Gimli walk you to your rooms?" The dwarf had paced the corridor 
during Eomer's sickness, wanting to remain close on hand, but reluctant 
to intrude upon what might possibly have been Legolas's last moments 
with Eomer.

In response, Legolas shook his head. "I am well here," he insisted. 
Folding his arms gracefully he sat back in the chair. As his gaze grew 
distant, a peaceful look stole over his features, wiping away some of the 
traces of strain and grief.

Genoryn peered at the elf curiously, as she prepared to divest Eomer of 
his sweat- dampened bedding. "Is he all right?" she asked worriedly.

"Aye," said Aragorn with a sigh. "He rests."

Genoryn stared at the elf's open eyes, but said nothing and proceeded to 
remake the bed. Aragorn assisted her, knowing it would be useless to 
contest his friend's resolve. Legolas could be hopelessly obstinate when 
he so chose. Despite his weariness, Aragorn smiled; privately 
acknowledging that Eomer was easily a match for the elf in hardheaded 
stubbornness.


Chapter VIII

Given the grievous nature of his wounds, Eomer was recovering 
comparably quickly. Abetted, no doubt, by his growing impatience to be 
up and about. Aragorn and his companions prepared to return to Minas 
Tirith. Confident that Genoryn and Eowyn - now home from Ithilien - could 
between them keep Eomer in line. 

Eomer was in a despondent mood when Aragorn went to say his 
farewells. His fever had broken not two days before. Confined to bed, and 
weak as a newborn foal, Eomer's physical restrictions chafed at him. In 
addition, he was plagued by anxieties over Legolas, whom he had not 
seen. Aragorn casually mentioned that Legolas had not left Eomer's side 
during his delirium; refusing to return to his own quarters even when Gimli 
had threatened to bodily carry him there. It was only when Legolas was 
assured that Eomer was recovering, that the elf had relented and 
permitted Gimli to take him back to his room. Aragorn added that Legolas 
had visited Eomer on several occasions since, but Eomer had been 
asleep. This was the first occasion that Eomer had been fully conscious 
and coherent.

Eomer's misgivings were much reduced by this news, and he 
remembered to thank Aragorn for all that he had done to speed his 
recovery. "I am in your debt."

Aragorn discounted his own efforts, paying tribute to Genoryn's skill and 
devotion. He also spoke of Legolas's refusal to abandon hope, when 
others were ready to surrender to despair, he himself included.

Eomer seemed to think on this. "I heard a voice," he finally confessed 
hesitantly. "I had thought it only a fever dream, it spoke words I did not 
understand." He closed his eyes as he tried to recall their exact nature. "It 
sounded like Mellar min."

"Melamin," Aragorn corrected gently.

Eomer's eyes snapped open. "It was elvish," he guessed at once. 
Aragorn nodded. "Tell me what it means," said Eomer. Part demand, part 
plea.

"My love," said Aragorn simply. Amused by the look of almost smug 
delight that stole across Eomer's face.

"My love," Eomer repeated, flushing as he remembered Aragorn's 
presence. He cleared his throat and tried to reclaim his dignity. "I would 
be grateful if, when you say your goodbyes to Legolas, you could tell him 
I would like to see him."

"I can do that," Aragorn agreed. He waited until he'd reached the door 
before adding: "But remember, Eomer. If you do aught but sleep in this 
bed, you will answer to your sister and Genoryn for it." He grinned and 
ducked out of the room as a metal tankard struck the door where his head 
had been.

***************************

Hours drifted by. Despondency threatened to reclaim Eomer. Following 
Aragorn's departure he had slept for a short time, but now he was awake 
and restless. Genoryn had paid him a brief visit to foist another of her 
nauseating elixirs upon him. Eowyn had stopped by to try and admonish 
him into sleeping again. He had shouted at them both, protesting that he 
would not be treated like a child.  Eowyn had snapped that if he ceased to 
behave like one, they would cease to treat him like one. She had 
reminded him who it was who had picked him up off the floor when he 
had tried to get out of bed earlier. Eomer had the good grace to feel 
somewhat abashed for his behaviour. He knew he was far from an ideal 
patient. But where was Legolas?

He continued to stare out of the window - partially shuttered to protect him 
from drafts - when he heard the creak of the door opening. He wondered 
if he should feign sleep to avoid the attentions of Genoryn and Eowyn. He 
was grateful that he did not close his eyes when the object of his thoughts 
stepped into the room and walked noiselessly across it.

"You look better." Legolas sounded pleased, a light smile gracing his 
features.

Eomer was silent. He was too busy looking his fill. Legolas was informally 
dressed in a silver-blue tunic, pale as a winter sky; and form-fitting 
leggings that accented the lean musculature of his legs. He looked 
ethereal, untouched and untouchable.

Eomer knew better. This was no otherworldly innocent. Eomer had seen 
Legolas besmirched in the blood and filth of battle; that fair face filled with 
savagery, as the elf cut a swathe through a sea of screaming orcs. 
Legolas's beauty was as bright and deadly as a blade. Desire blanketed 
the pain and discomfort of Eomer's wounds, and drove all else from his 
mind. Save one burning question. "Why have you stayed away?" He tried 
to keep the accusative tone from his voice.

Legolas smile faded. "I did not--"

Eomer interrupted him; stung by a sudden flare of anger. "Sitting in my 
room while I sleep, is poor substitute for companionship when I am awake 
and confined to this." He slammed his fist down on the bed. The action 
tugged at his wounds, and he was unable to stop a wince.

Legolas came forward, taking Eomer's hand within his own. He half-knelt 
beside the bed; head lowered as though avoiding Eomer's gaze. "I 
apologize," he replied somewhat stiffly. "I needed some time to think."

It was enough to make Eomer's heart quicken in alarm. "Why?" he asked 
softly. Though he dreaded the answer.

Legolas looked up. His gaze was haunted. "You almost died."

Eomer turned his hand, so that now he was cradling Legolas's long, 
tapered fingers. "I cannot promise not to," he responded sadly. "You know 
that is my eventual fate. Will you turn from me now because of it?"

Legolas looked shocked. "No," he answered sharply. "That is not why I--" 
He stopped and took a breath, continuing more calmly. "I did not expect 
to feel as I did. While I watched you suffer, I felt as if my heart would 
wrench itself from my chest." Legolas closed his eyes. "It beat with such 
pain I thought I should not be able to bear it." He reopened his eyes. "But 
it went on and on, and I could not turn from it. Then your fever broke, and 
joy swept away all else. But with that joy came a fear so strong I thought it 
must consume me. For I knew then that the day would come when there 
would be no such reprieve."

Eomer thought he understood. Loss and grief affected all races, but most 
were conditioned to accept it. Elves, in many ways, were not. They lived 
their lives behind a shield of immortality, and while they stayed amongst 
their own kind they were protected from the worst of it. Eomer had lost 
most of his close kin at an early age - mother; father; grandparents; a 
sibling who never lived to see the following dawn. Legolas would have 
lost comrades-in-arms; whose deaths had probably come comparably 
swiftly in some skirmish. It was unlikely the elf had given a thought to the 
possibility that the one he gave his heart to would inevitably sicken, age, 
and die. "I am sorry," he whispered gently, uncertain what else to say.

A strange expression drifted over Legolas's face; the years he had walked 
Middle-earth suddenly apparent. "I am not." His other hand came up to 
touch Eomer's face. "This is all I never had, and never understood. Now it 
is all I want, and I would change no part of it."

Eomer chose to ignore both the bandages that bound his chest, and the 
wounds that lay beneath them. He seized two slender wrists and drew the 
elf onto the bed beside him. As he'd hoped, Legolas did not resist for fear 
of causing him harm, and Eomer was able to turn himself in such a 
manner that Legolas lay stretched out partially beneath him. Eomer's 
smile was victorious, and it held back the sting of pain as his wounds 
again made their selves known.

Legolas's expression was less happy. "Release me," he demanded 
imperiously. Though he made no attempt to break free of Eomer's hold.

"I think not," said Eomer, with a gleam in his eye.

"Eomer you are--"

"Do not say sick," Eomer cut in, exasperated. "This is not my death bed I 
lie upon."

"I was going to say recovering," Legolas finished smoothly.

Eomer harrumphed. He leaned over Legolas, ignoring the scream of 
healing skin. "You would leave? Without offering me even one kiss?"

Legolas's gaze was warm. "One?"

"One," Eomer agreed happily.

Their lips had barely touched when they were interrupted by twin cries of: 
"Eomer!" and "My Lord!" Eomer instantly drew back from Legolas, who 
sprang up like a scalded cat. Eomer tried to roll into a supine position, 
yanking hard on the blankets as he did so. The end result being, that 
Legolas was unceremoniously tipped onto the floor. He landed with a 
distinct lack of his usual customary grace, half-tangled in the covering he 
had dragged off the bed. Legolas flushed hotly as he looked at Genoryn 
and Eowyn, before turning a glare upon Eomer. For his part Eomer didn't 
know whether to be furious or mortified. He settled for a little of both, 
glaring balefully from beneath what was left of his bed-coverings.

As Genoryn and Eowyn approached, Legolas scrambled to his feet. He 
seemed momentarily at a loss as what to do with the blanket, eventually 
bundling it together and putting it hastily back onto the bed. He dipped his 
head toward the ladies and exited with a last departing frown at Eomer. 
Leaving the latter at the mercy of his sister and Genoryn, neither of who 
looked particularly happy with him.

"Can I not trust you alone, even for a moment?" Eowyn scolded as she 
straightened the blankets. "You aren't on your feet yet and already you 
engage in the sort of foolishness that is likely to have you lapse back into 
a fever."

Eomer thought it was far more likely he would succumb to a fever of a 
different sort. His desire for Legolas still burned, despite his embarrassed 
anger. He waved his sister away. "Leave me be," he insisted. "I told you. I 
am no child to be cosseted. And I would ask that you knock in future." He 
directed the last toward them both. Genoryn nodded quickly, apparently 
equally discomfited at having caught her Lord in an awkward position.

Eowyn also agreed. "I'm sorry." She smiled. "I sometimes forget that we 
are no longer children." Her smile turned teasing. "So tell me - does he 
kiss as sweetly as those lips would imply?"

"Eowyn!" Eomer didn't know what flustered him more. His sister talking of 
such things - especially in front of Genoryn - or the fact that she had 
noticed the sweet, detectable curve of Legolas's mouth.

Eowyn laughed gently. "Peace, brother. I will not hold you to the details." 
She brushed his face with her hand. "Besides, the blush that paints your 
cheeks so prettily, tells me all I wish to know." Her eyes sparkled as she 
drew back to avoid the mock slap he aimed at her. However, her 
expression became stern as she addressed other matters. "You need to 
rest, Eomer. I would not have you sicken again. And I am sure that 
Legolas is of the same mind. Please, for our sake, if not for your own - 
sleep and heal." She placed a tender kiss upon his forehead and stepped 
back. Genoryn checked Eomer's bandages, clucking her tongue at the 
spots of blood that marked the previously pristine wrappings. She 
changed them with Eowyn's assistance, and foisted another foul-tasting 
elixir upon Eomer before leaving. Left alone again, Eomer sighed heavily 
and returned his gaze to the open window.


Chapter IX

Legolas hid an amused grin at Eomer's vexed look. He had spent most of 
the past few days at Eomer's side. Unfortunately, they had never been left 
alone for more than the briefest of moments. Eowyn or Genoryn always 
seemed to manage to be in attendance, though they did apparently make 
an effort to ensure their presence was discreet. If not them, then one of 
Eomer's advisors, or men-at-arms – bringing news, or needing aid. As he 
healed, Eomer had been allowed to exert himself a little more each day in 
matters pertaining to the governing of his kingdom. However, in regard of 
Legolas, his sister appeared determined to make certain that Eomer was 
chaperoned at all times.

Eomer was far from amused, and it seemed today that his tolerance 
would break.

"Out!" he shouted at last. "Out! This is my room, and I will have whomever 
I will in it. Now get out!" He rose up out of the chair he had been sitting in, 
drawing his robe around him.

"Eomer," Eowyn began.

Eomer cut her off. He crossed the room and held her arms gently. "Sister, 
I love you dearly, as dearly as any brother could love a sister. But if you 
do not leave this very instant, I will not be held accountable for my 
actions." His words were softened by the tender look upon his face as he 
held her, but it was equally clear that he would stand for no more of this 
protective nonsense.

Eowyn hesitated, her lips pursed. She glanced across the room at 
Genoryn, who was seated by the window, reading a text on herbs. 
Genoryn nodded, and Eowyn smiled. "Very well, brother. You have been 
more patient than I would have thought you able, and Genoryn seems to 
think you well enough to leave to your own charge. And so I go." She 
stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the cheek, adding in a whisper. 
"Do not think this has not tested my patience." Her expression
was impish as he released her and she stepped back.

Legolas stood as Eowyn and Genoryn left the room in a graceful swirl of 
skirts. He
resumed his seat when they had gone.

"What are you doing over there?" Eomer demanded gruffly. He had 
returned to the bed. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I not 
have the right to be treated as a man? I am tired of being swaddled like 
an infant." Legolas arched one eyebrow pointedly. Eomer sighed. "All 
right, I may have been a little demanding on occasion." He shrugged 
irritably. "I didn't ask for the damn creature to attack me."

Legolas stood quietly, and joined Eomer. Sitting on the edge of the bed. 
"Your sister only has your best interests at heart."

"I know," Eomer snapped, evidently now feeling slightly guilty for his 
rather petulant display. "But you have no idea how it feels to be handled 
like a babe-in-arms. It is unbecoming for a warrior to be cosseted in such 
a manner."

"I understand it well enough," said Legolas. "I once snuck out from my 
room, when I could no longer stand others fussing over me."

Eomer looked interested. "You did?"

Legolas nodded, though he was somewhat shamefaced as he illuminated 
the rest of the tale. "I had been infected with spider venom. I believe I was 
quite unwell for a time, it gave my family enough of a scare that they had 
me confined to my rooms while I recovered. One evening I felt I couldn't 
bear it any longer. I needed to be out amongst the trees again, to feel the 
sky upon my face. So tricked my attendant into believing my father 
wished to speak with him, and I slipped out." He had the good grace to 
look guilty for the ruse he had pulled.

"What happened?"

"I got as far as the door, before I must have passed-out. I was found and 
carried back to my bed; whereupon my father swore to have me tied to it 
and watched around the clock, if I did not heed the healers' advice."

"And did you?"

"For a few more days. Then I finally escaped their charge and stayed 
away long enough to convince them I was ready to stand on my own two 
feet again."

They shared a look of understanding concerning the over-protective 
nature of families. Eomer's expression shifted into something akin to a 
smirk. "I am not worried about staying on my feet." He lay back on the 
bed to emphasize the point he was making. He patted the space beside 
him.

Legolas relented, and lay down beside Eomer, propped up on one elbow. 
"I would not incur the Lady Eowyn's wrath," he cautioned. "Or Genoryn's," 
he advised, seeing that Eomer was about to discount the threat of his 
sister. "Remember she mixes your tonics."

Eomer pulled a very expressive face. "The woman seeks to make me ill."

"I believe the opposite is her aim," said Legolas.

Eomer scowled at him. "Don't think I don't know that she enlisted your aid 
to make the loathsome things."

Legolas shrugged one shoulder gracefully. "She needed someone to go 
up into the hills to gather ingredients for her."

"She wanted you out of the way," Eomer muttered ungraciously. 
"Between them they conspired to keep me cloistered like a maid."

Legolas chuckled softly. "I can just see you - weaving a tapestry, gazing 
longingly out of the window." He rolled onto his back and placed a hand 
over his chest in a melodramatic gesture. "Awaiting your one true love." 
He broke off into giggles. 

Eomer growled and took hold of Legolas's wrist. He captured the other 
and pinned them both above the elf's head. "I wait no longer. Now I claim 
love's reward." 

"Love's reward?" Legolas asked with mock innocence.

Eomer lowered his face to Legolas's. "A first kiss," he answered.

Legolas was trying very hard to keep a straight face, in light of the game 
they were playing. "I believe if we are keeping a true account, this would 
be the third."

"Enough!" Eomer exclaimed. "I will have my kiss."

The teasing light vanished from Legolas's gaze, replaced by something 
more intense. "Then take it," he whispered, a demand rather than an offer 
of compliance. The words had barely left his lips when Eomer claimed 
them in a kiss that made his heartbeat quicken. Legolas let his lips and 
tongue join the dance, enjoying the feel of Eomer's beard against his 
face, so different to sharing this intimacy with another elf. Happiness 
bubbled up, and he found himself smiling into the kiss.

Eomer evidently felt it. He drew back wearing a look of mild 
consternation. "You're laughing?"

Seeing Eomer's expression, Legolas almost did succumb. But he 
contained his laughter and shook his head fondly. "Should I hide my 
happiness?"

Upon hearing these words, Eomer smiled too. "No. I would see it. I would 
make you happy, Legolas. In any way I could."

"Then stop talking, and kiss me again," Legolas demanded playfully. He 
drew Eomer's lips back to his. Eomer dutifully obliged. As pleasurable as 
it was to lie half-under Eomer, Legolas knew that the man was far from 
fully healed, and he would not have Eomer over exert himself. When he 
felt the hold upon his wrists relax, as Eomer grew distracted, he wriggled 
free, and carefully nudged Eomer until he lay back against the bed-
cushions. "I think," he declared. "That you should stay there and let me 
explore a little." He let his intent show in his face, and was pleased to see 
desire flare in Eomer's.

"As you wish," Eomer agreed, his voice husky.

Legolas sat back on his haunches and took a moment to survey the 
landscape. Though still pale, he thought Eomer appeared less careworn. 
He looked younger, the lines of stress had lessened around his eyes, and 
the furrow between them had smoothed out. Legolas reached out, and let 
his fingers trace the contours of Eomer's face - the surprising softness of 
the man's skin, and the rub of beard. He mapped every scar, a small one 
beside Eomer's left ear, and a slightly deeper one above his right temple. 
He very lightly brushed the tips of his fingers over Eomer's lashes, 
watching them flutter and close. Legolas leaned forward and placed a 
kiss upon each shut lid, feeling Eomer's warm breath fan against his skin. 
Legolas heard it catch as his lips touched Eomer's eyelids. He laid a trail 
of soft kisses over Eomer's face; bristle teasing his lips and tongue as he 
moved down.

Eomer breathed deeply, eyes still closed. Hands clutching the bunched 
bed sheets. Legolas carefully eased the robe away from Eomer's 
shoulders. Tracing a newly bared collarbone, before rubbing his cheek, 
cat-like, against the strong curve of muscle. He heard Eomer's indrawn 
hiss and smiled. Much of Eomer's chest was swathed in bandages, but 
Legolas found a path for lips, tongue, and fingertips to explore. He took 
his time, savouring the scent and taste of Eomer's skin – spice and musk. 
When his tongue dipped into the slight hollow of a navel, Eomer gasped 
his name.

"Legolas. Please."

Legolas continued with his journey. He traveled upward again, caressing 
each arm in turn, determined to leave no part neglected. He suckled upon 
a trembling finger, hearing Eomer's breath hitch. He let the finger slip from 
between his lips and blew over it gently. Eomer's hand twitched and 
grabbed at the sheet again. 

Legolas slowly opened the lower part of Eomer's robe, revealing the 
straining hardness, already wet and weeping with need. Legolas blew 
over the glistening tip.

Eomer emitted a strangled groan, his hips bucking off the bed. He spoke 
through gritted teeth. "If you have any regard for my health. Torment me 
no further."

Legolas immediately moved up the bed, kissing Eomer on the mouth, 
whispering an apology against it. "Forgive me, my love. With such riches; 
I lost myself in the journey."

Eomer's eyes opened; irises almost swallowed by the inky-black of pupil. 
"Legolas," he breathed softly. A plea.

Legolas responded to it; pale yellow hair falling over his face, as he took 
Eomer into his mouth. He didn't try to draw it out, recognizing that his love 
was already too close to the edge. When he flicked his tongue expertly 
against the weeping slit, Eomer came with a cry. Legolas drank in the 
sweet, sharp flavour; suckling until the last drop was surrendered, and 
Eomer lay breathing hard beneath him.

Bestowing one last grateful kiss upon the spent flesh, Legolas moved to 
lie beside his love. His own hardness nudged Eomer's thigh. Still trying to 
catch his breath, Eomer reached for the opening to Legolas's leggings. 
"You do not have to--"Legolas began.

"You would deny me?" asked Eomer hoarsely.

Legolas shook his head. "I would deny you nothing," he vowed honestly. 
He bit his lip to withhold a moan of pleasure, as those warm calloused 
fingers found him. He would not last long; his exploration had already 
driven him close to release. Hips rocking into the sure grip, Legolas 
buried his face against Eomer's shoulder to muffle his cries as he came, 
his seed spilling silkily over Eomer's hand. 

When the last waves of release had rocked through him, he drew back 
slightly, smiling when he saw that Eomer was almost asleep.

"Hmm…I…" Eomer murmured, as Legolas shifted against him.

"Sssh." Legolas used the corner of his robe to wipe Eomer's hand, and 
then drew the bedclothes up over him. "Sleep, melamin." He cleaned 
himself up as best as he was able, and then lay down beside his lover, 
being careful not to disturb him. He need not have worried, exhausted in 
his weakened condition, Eomer was lost to dreams. A contented Legolas 
let his own thoughts carry him away.


Chapter X

Eomer watched with mounting impatience, as Genoryn removed the last 
of the bandages. He grimaced at the patchwork of reddish scars that 
marred his chest and upper arms. Genoryn, however, pronounced herself 
well pleased with the result. "To think," she mumbled. "That it has been 
under my nose all these years." 

She was referring to a tiny, pale pink flower that grew upon east-facing 
slopes. It was Aragorn who had led her attention to it, knowing as he did, 
that it was widely used in elven healing. He had shown her how to use the 
petals to make a paste that hastened the closing of even deep, infected 
wounds - such as those suffered by Eomer.

Eomer was just grateful that it meant he was no longer encased in 
wrappings, and dosed hourly with foul-tasting tonics. He was eager to 
meet with Legolas alone once more. It had been several days since their 
too brief encounter, and Eomer was suffering from the slow burn of 
humiliation. He did not want Legolas to believe it was the norm for him to 
fall asleep straight after such intimacy. Eomer was not a man who felt the 
need to prove his prowess, but then again, he would like to hope that no 
lover left his bed unsatisfied. Perhaps he'd had too high an expectation 
for their first encounter; still, he would at least liked to have a clearer 
recollection of it.

Instead, he had a dream-like memory of whisper-soft kisses, a teasing 
tongue, and a feather light touch, bringing him to the brink of madness 
and beyond. The sight of that golden head, bowed over him had been too 
much. Heat suffused his face. He felt he had done Legolas a disservice 
by not paying more attention to the elf's needs. He could barely recall 
whether or not he had affected Legolas' release - he hoped it was so, or 
the resulting mortification would be too much to bear. The heaviness of 
sleep had drawn him under before he could fight it. He knew he was not 
wholly to blame; of the draughts and tonics he had been obliged to 
consume, many contained substances to aid sleep. Plus, he had still 
been suffering from the weaknesses brought about by fever and blood 
loss. Legolas did not seem to hold it against him in any way; though the 
elf had seemed more reticent to be alone with him since then. Eomer 
sighed. He paid scant attention to Genoryn's instructions, as she directed 
him in the continued care of his injuries - not to tax himself too much. 
Finally, she left, and Eomer was able to finish dressing. He wasted no 
more time, and set off in search of Legolas. He didn't have to go far. 
Legolas was loitering outside in the corridor. Eomer practically pounced 
on him.

"I am well," he announced happily. "And I am free of my watchdog."

"I doubt she will discard you so readily," said Legolas dryly.

Eomer noted the elf's response, and looked questioningly at him.

Legolas flushed lightly. "Genoryn was unhappy with how long you slept 
after our time alone. She felt you overtaxed yourself."

"And she took you to task over it," Eomer guessed.

"She was very civil in her manner," Legolas allowed. "She was also quite 
firm. Apparently, I am a bad influence." One corner of his mouth curled 
up.

"That is why you have been avoiding me again?" Eomer was relieved.

"I haven't been avoiding you."

"You're as skittish as a wild horse in my company."

"You seek to break me in?" There was a faint, amused challenge in the 
elf's eyes.

"No," said Eomer quickly. "Never."

Legolas smiled. "Good. I fear I would be ill suited to saddle and bridle."

Eomer scowled in semi-annoyance. "Now you mock me," he complained.

"No," Legolas denied. "But I find myself wondering why we stand here, 
when your room is just behind you. If, as you say, your watchdog has 
been called off?"

Eomer's sudden comprehension was almost comical. He snared a 
slender wrist, and practically bundled the elf inside his quarters. Legolas 
took no offense, laughing merrily at Eomer's eagerness. Eomer led them 
over to the bed, tumbling them onto it in a loose tangle of limbs. "You are 
not disappointed then?" Eomer asked.

The merriment faded slightly from Legolas's face. "Disappointed?" he 
repeated, obviously confused.

Eomer flushed hotly. "I would not have you think that I would willingly treat 
you in so selfish a manner."

Comprehension smoothed-out Legolas's puzzled frown. "No, Eomer. I am 
not disappointed." He smiled. "Though I would ask if you have some 
obsession with my wrists that I should know of?" He flexed his arms 
pointedly. Eomer still held one in a firm grip.

Eomer's expression turned predatory. "It's a very fine wrist." He turned it 
and placed a kiss upon deceptively delicate wrist bones.

"Hmm." Legolas was non-committal. "I myself must confess to being 
rather partial to this mouth." He lifted his free hand and stroked his thumb 
over Eomer's lips.

Eomer traced the path with his tongue. "It is yours to command." "Then I 
would have it show me pleasure," said Legolas softly.

The sibilant whisper sent a delicious shudder through Eomer's frame. "As 
you wish." He turned his head to recapture Legolas's thumb, drawing the 
pad between his teeth and nipping it playfully, earning a mock-glare from 
his lover. Eomer caught Legolas's hand when the other would have pulled 
it back, lathing his tongue across the crease of a slender palm. "You taste 
of mountain air and winter streams," he told the elf.

"I sound cold," said Legolas.

Eomer disagreed. "No. Not cold." He released Legolas's wrists and lay 
over him. Face to face, he looked deep into Legolas's eyes. "When you 
touch me, I burn."

"Yes," Legolas breathed, his body arching up of its own accord.

They kissed long and hard. Eomer gently clutched Legolas's hair, loosely 
threading his fingers through the pale silken strands. He reluctantly eased 
away from those tempting lips, but only because he wished to taste more 
– bathing Legolas's face in light kisses. The elf's eyes were wide and 
impossibly dark as Eomer ducked his head to brush his lips against the 
pulse, fluttering in the hollow of Legolas's throat. "Let me give you 
pleasure," Eomer practically begged.

"You do," Legolas murmured. "Uuma tampa." He tugged Eomer back to 
kiss him again.

"I would show you more," Eomer whispered against Legolas's mouth.

"Then show me," said Legolas, baring his throat to Eomer's questing lips 
and tongue.

Eomer tried not to let his own nervous eagerness betray him, as he 
divested them both of their clothing. He was no green youth; still, he was 
mindful of the number of years Legolas had over him, and it was hard not 
to be a little daunted. Somehow, he doubted that Legolas's learning 
experiences had been limited to perfecting his skills with bow and blade. 

When he had undressed them both, Eomer paused for a moment to 
savour the sight of the elegant creature gracing his bed. He could not 
comprehend why others perceived elves as fragile. Looking upon 
Legolas, Eomer was put in mind of a hunting cat - sleek and supple, with 
cunning intelligence and sly humour in that wide gaze. Eomer noticed that 
gaze now followed the path of scars that traversed his torso. Legolas 
traced them with lightly trembling fingers. Eomer stopped him. "I am 
here," he reassured the elf softly. "I have not left you.

"Do not," Legolas whispered brokenly. "Amin mela lle. A'maelamin."

Eomer wanted to swear that he would never leave, but he wouldn't make 
a promise that was not in his power to keep. Instead, he took Legolas's 
face between his hands and kissed him deeply, pressing their bodies 
against one another, skin-to-skin, drowning fear and grief in pleasure. 
Together they shut out the world, until only this moment existed between 
them. Eomer ran his hands down the elf's smooth sides, cupping the 
slight swell of buttock and drawing it hard against him. Kisses and 
touches were exchanged, until Eomer felt the pressure build within him. 
He reached wordlessly for the vial of oil he had hidden away beneath the 
bed-cushions, and held it out for Legolas to see. Eomer read the consent 
in his lover's eyes, even as Legolas manoeuvered himself into position. 
This display of limberness left Eomer dry-mouthed. He uncorked the 
bottle With shaking fingers, slicking them with the thick, golden fluid. He 
guided the first into the elf's body, biting his lip, clinging to the fragile edge 
of his control. 

Moist heat clenched his finger; he added a second and moved them 
gently. His desire leapt several notches as Legolas whimpered and slowly 
rocked his hips, easing back onto Eomer's fingers. Eomer added a third 
and Legolas moaned with pleasure. Glassy-eyed and near incoherent 
with need, Legolas raised his head from the bed and silently urged Eomer 
to continue. Eomer withdrew his fingers and hurriedly poured more oil 
over them. He coated his hard flesh, and positioned the blunt head at the 
still-tight opening.

Eomer gritted his teeth as he pushed past the ring of muscle, fighting the 
urge to thrust blindly into that white-hot, silken embrace. Legolas made a 
soft keening sound in the back of his throat, and drove upward with his 
hips to meet Eomer's initial thrust. Eomer sank deeper into Legolas's 
willing body; until at last, he was buried to the hilt. He paused for a 
moment, teetering on the knife-edge of control. Then he began to move 
slowly, increasing the pace of his thrusts as they found a rhythm that 
suited them both. He adjusted his angle slightly, and was rewarded with a 
sharp cry, and a sudden tightening of the sheath surrounding him. Eomer 
reached between their bodies and stroked the slippery flesh his fingers 
found. Legolas cried out again, head thrown back, as wordless ecstasy 
coursed through him. Once, twice more - and seed spilled hotly over 
Eomer's hand; a last soft, stuttering cry wrenched from Legolas's throat. 
Silky muscles clenched around Eomer, and his release followed swiftly, 
Legolas's body milking him of his essence. As the world flowed back into 
focus, Eomer eased free - eliciting a slight hiss from Legolas. Ignoring the 
stickiness coating their bodies, they drew each other close. Duty would 
demand entry soon enough; before they let it in, they would have this 
moment. They lay wrapped in one another - exchanging slow, lazy kisses 
and murmuring words of love and contentment. From such inauspicious 
beginnings they had come finally - to this.

The End.

Elven Translations (Kindly provided by Cheysuli and Candi, and taken 
from 
The
Phrase Guide of Tel'Quessir.)
Melamin ~ My love.
Uuma tampa ~ Don't stop.
Amin mela lle. A'maelamin ~ I love you. My beloved.