Title: Winds of War, 31/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Rúmil/Galen (OMC), Legolas/Éomer Rating: NC-17 Beta: Fimbrethiel Archives: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Glorfindel of Imladris & Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males, violence, angst and incest. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: If you like, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: Seventh story in the "Love in a Time of War" arc. Set in the late Third Age and continuing into the early Fourth Age. Galen is a name I am borrowing from a character that Khylaren and I have used before. This is not the same Galen, only the name is identical. I know Éomer was not at the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen, so I'm breaking the rules to suit my own purposes. Once again, I am employing the usual disclaimer of not following canon strictly. Summary: Legolas finds comfort and understanding in an unexpected place. Éomer removed the elf's tunic carefully. As much as he would have liked to tear the garment off, Legolas would need to leave his chambers eventually, and when he did, he would need to look as immaculately dressed as he had when first came in. Escaping the elf's arms for a moment, he draped the tunic over the back of a chair near his bed, then turned to see Legolas removing the intricate braids in his hair. Éomer watched as the stately elf-king transformed into the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. There was something about seeing Legolas this way, his hair loose and flowing around his shoulders, that made him appear vulnerable. Legolas possessed an ethereal beauty that refused to be defined by gender. However, there was no denying the elf's strength, despite his lean build. Éomer had seen Legolas in battle often enough to know just how deadly that lithe body could be. Éomer crossed the room slowly; after years of having women tell him how handsome he was, he suddenly felt so common in comparison to this exquisite elf. Legolas was slightly taller than him, but was leaner of build. There was not one speck of hair on the elf's body that he could see, other than his eyebrows and that which crowned his head. Legolas' skin was flawless, smooth and perfect, almost giving the impression of fine marble, if it was not for the glow that infused it. His hair was the color of the summer wheat that grew in the grasslands of his home, only the elf's hair shined like precious metal. His eyes, such eyes he had never seen before, bluer than the depths of the ocean as they sparkled in the flickering firelight. His lips were a light, rosy pink, soft and full and sinfully kissable. Éomer placed his hands on Legolas' chest, allowing them to roam freely over its smooth and taut surface. "By the gods, you are a rare beauty," the man murmured. He moaned softly as Legolas reached for him and captured his mouth in a kiss. A deeper groan escaped him as the elf's fingers clutched at his buttocks, and he felt his length harden in his leggings. "Have you ever taken a male?" Legolas murmured into Éomer's ear. Éomer felt his heart skip at the thought. "No, my encounters with men have often been crude and rushed," he answered. Legolas sighed and Éomer felt his length harden more fully at the soft, warm brush of air against his ear. "There is a first time for everything, my friend." Legolas guided Éomer toward the bed slowly, tugging upon the man's hands as he walked backward. He slipped his own leggings past his hips, taking his undergarment with them, then stood bared to the king's eyes. His fingers deftly unlaced Éomer's trousers and he slid them down, past the man's hips. Éomer wore no undergarments, and Legolas gazed at the thick and turgid length of flesh that jutted from between the man's thighs. It was wholly different from that of elven kind; it was surrounded by thick auburn hair and rippled with veins. Kneeling, Legolas reached out and touched it, his fingers softly exploring the ridges, and he heard Éomer groan in anticipation. The man's scent was musky and wild, as he imagined it would be, and he offered a cursory lick to the weeping tip of Éomer's length, which caused the man to shudder. Legolas smiled as he gazed up the length of Éomer's body, his eyes meeting the dark brown pools of his soon-to-be-lover. "You smell good," he purred. "Like leather and wild grasses." Éomer ran his hand through the heavy mass of flaxen silk that crowned Legolas' head. "Everything about you is a mystery to me," he answered. Legolas rose to his feet and gazed deeply into Éomer's eyes. "Not everything," he replied softly. "I am male, as you are. . ." "Not as I am. There is nothing about me that is like you. I am but a man, a soldier. . ." "You are a reluctant king, just like me," Legolas answered. "We have both lost those we love and have been thrust onto the throne, when all we wanted was to serve our kings." Éomer caressed the side of Legolas' face, his thumb softly brushing the elf's cheek. "Aye, that much is the same. And we have fought together, we share the same enemies." Legolas smiled and nodded gently. "Aye, that we do." "But you. . .you are ancient compared to my kind. You have seen so much, done so much. I feel like a boy. . ." "Éomer," his name sounded wholly different when it left the elf's lips. "You are no boy. In so short a time, you have done so much. When I was your age I was still playing with trinkets." Éomer chuckled. "I can imagine you running through the corridors of your home with a miniature bow and arrows." Legolas caressed Éomer's soft beard with the back of his hand. "If this is too much to ask; if you cannot. . ." "Ssshh," Éomer replied, then slipping his hand around the back of Legolas' neck, he drew the elf forward to his mouth. Legolas' deep moan confirmed for Éomer that this was indeed what he needed. The elf needed to forget his pain and grief; he needed to feel something else in its place. Legolas' skin was so soft beneath his rough horseman's hands. The elf was smooth and firm, warm and alive. If not for the taut muscles that glided beneath the soft flesh, he might have thought it was a woman he touched. But the softness of his skin did not disguise the strength contained in the body he held. Legolas drew him toward the bed and covered him with his body. Éomer could not stop touching him; everything about Legolas felt so good, so soft, so perfect. Their moans echoed one another's, their deep voices combining and surrounding them in the warm air. He closed his eyes tight, his jaw clenching as a deep groan escaped him. Legolas engulfed his length in his hot, wet mouth as he arched beneath him. No woman had ever touched him like this, with such boldness, such voracity. Each sliding pass of the elf's mouth sent him careening toward the abyss as he wadded Legolas' hair in his fists and began to thrust shallowly into the elf's wet embrace. Legolas' deep moans reverberated along his length, causing him to answer in kind. Without warning, the warm, wet nirvana that he was immersed in was gone, and he opened his eyes to see Legolas' lean, muscular form crossing the room to his bathing chamber. Propping himself up on his elbows, he watched as Legolas reentered the bedroom carrying a small phial of some kind of liquid. He felt his heart skip at the smile that curved Legolas' beautiful mouth and he watched his lover mount the bed and straddle his hips. Legolas' arousal was standing hard against his flat stomach, swollen and weeping and blissfully perfect. Éomer was no doubt attracted to women more than men, but this elf, this beautiful warrior-king, was more beautiful than any other living being that he had ever seen. "Hold out your hand," Legolas said softly. Éomer complied and the elf poured a small amount of bath oil into his palm. "Coat your fingers in it, then prepare me," Legolas murmured as he balanced himself over Éomer on his hands and knees. Éomer followed Legolas' instructions, reaching behind his lover and sliding his fingers into the cleft of his backside. He found his target quickly, sliding two of his fingers into Legolas' entrance. Legolas hissed into his ear and he stopped. "Have I hurt you?" he asked softly. "Slowly, lover," Legolas answered. "It has been quite some time since I have taken one inside me." Éomer moved his fingers slowly, twisting them gently and bending them as Legolas instructed. He had never taken a male, nor participated in anything like it, so this was uncharted territory for him. Legolas moaned softly into his ear between kisses, nibbles and licks to his earlobe and throat. He felt as though he was going to burst before it was done. Legolas' legs were spread wide and the elf moved against his hand, his taut body rippling and undulating above him; it was more sensual than any performance by either Gondor's or Rohan's finest dancers. Suddenly, Legolas cried out, his lover's voice muffled in his hair. It was not a cry of pain, but a cry of intense pleasure. "I am ready," Legolas whispered hoarsely into his ear. He watched as his elven-lover grasped his pulsing and weeping arousal then lowered himself down onto it slowly, taking him in inch by inch. He struggled to keep his eyes open, wanting to watch every erotic second, but the pleasure was too much and he closed his eyes, groaning deeply as he was sheathed inside Legolas' body. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Hot, tight, soft as velvet; he was wrapped and held and squeezed as Legolas began to move, sending waves of nearly unbearable pleasure coursing through his body. He grasped Legolas' hips, trying not to squeeze too tightly as his lover moved above him. Words failed him as he was undone by both the sensation and the vision. He watched Legolas' lean body bow and arch, rise and fall, muscles rippling under flushed skin, head thrown back, hair cascading down his back, eyes closed and lips parted. Legolas' deep moans were more like music than sounds any living being would make; like everything else about him, they were warm and beautiful. Éomer felt it in his stomach first, that twinge that turned into a knot, the knot that turned into fire that roared through his body laying waste to all other sensations. With a deep growl, he tumbled over the edge, spilling his seed inside Legolas' body. Slowly, Legolas ceased moving. His elven-lover was bent over him, flaxen hair covering their faces like a silken veil, his soft, sweet breath fanning his lips. Éomer slid one hand behind Legolas' neck, drawing him into a kiss. As he plundered Legolas' mouth, he reached for the elf's arousal, swallowing the plaintive moan that issued from deep inside Legolas' chest. He brought his friend-turned-lover to completion, feeling Legolas' essence splash his stomach and chest. Legolas collapsed upon him, breathing heavily as he slipped from the elf's body. Stroking the mass of flaxen hair beneath his hand, Éomer pressed kisses to the top of Legolas' head and he held him close, as much for his own benefit as for any comfort that he might offer. He didn't want to let him go; he wanted to hold on to this beauteous creature for the rest of his days. * * * * Twilight was his favorite time of day, both at the beginning and at the end. It was a time of change, when all things were possible. It reminded him of happier days when he would climb out of bed and race Éowyn to the stables to see who could fill the first bucket of grain to feed the horses in the morning, or nights when they would climb the trellises and sit upon the roof, dreaming of what life would be like when they were grown. Éomer stood looking out the open casement of his chamber, watching the sun cast the first rays of light up and beyond the mountains to the east. The sky was a rosy pink, long shadows were cast on the ground and the last of the stars lingered in the sky over the mountaintops to the west. His robe hung loosely on his body, put there more as a formality than to ward off any chill that might come from the open window. The city was silent; the revelry of the evening would keep many abed late that day. Indeed, even his own hardy friend was still sleeping; he had fallen into reverie soon after their lovemaking ended. Éomer looked upon the elf, lying on his stomach, his hands tucked under the pillow, his hair spread out across his back. What he wouldn't give to wake up to this every morning for the rest of his days; it seemed like a just reward for a life spent in sacrifice and hardship. However, that was not part of the bargain and he knew it. Legolas had looked to him for comfort, not for complication. An elven king was not a suitable prospect for a partner, or for a lover. No, Éomer knew he must take a wife and provide his people with an heir; that fate was sealed when Théodred fell. If he was lucky, he might enjoy Legolas' company in his bed awhile longer and his friendship for a good time longer than that. Now was not the time to be selfish; those days were gone forever. He crossed back to the bed and removed his robe, sliding into the bed beside Legolas and smiling as his elven-lover mumbled and rolled into his arms. It felt good to hold him, good to know him this way. No wonder Aragorn loved this elf so; there was so much to love about so beautiful, loyal, and gentle a creature. He pressed a kiss to Legolas forehead and closed his eyes, drifting back to sleep for a few more hours. To be continued… Title: Winds of War, 32/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Rúmil/Galen (OMC), Legolas/Éomer Rating: NC-17 Beta: Fimbrethiel Archives: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Glorfindel of Imladris & Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males, violence, angst and incest. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: If you like, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: Seventh story in the "Love in a Time of War" arc. Set in the late Third Age and continuing into the early Fourth Age. Once again, I am employing the usual disclaimer of not following canon strictly. Summary: Éomer's secret is nearly found out; Legolas makes an apology. The sun had risen fully when Legolas awoke. The smell of musk and cloves greeted his nose and he slowly combed his fingers through the rich auburn pelt of hair that grew upon Éomer's chest. ‘How completely unexpected,' he thought as he gazed around the room. Éomer was the last person on earth he would have imagined being in bed with; well, not the last one, but certainly not the most obvious choice. As he went over the night's events in his mind, he cringed upon remembering his harsh words to Elrohir. ‘He has done naught but offer me his love and friendship, and I repay that with cruel words.' Legolas slowly disentangled himself from the man's arms and slipped from the bed. ‘No need to tread lightly in Éomer's presence,' he thought with a grin as the man mumbled and snored lightly in his sleep. Padding into the bathing chamber in his bare feet, he cleansed himself of the evidence of their lovemaking, then returned to the king's dressing table and retrieved his clothing. He dressed, then sat down and ran Éomer's brush through his hair, working through the few knots that had formed from their activities. He braided it in his customary fashion, then slipped on his shoes and crossed back to the bed. Holding his hair back, he leaned over and bestowed a kiss upon the sleeping man's lips, whispering, "Thank you," softly as he drew away. He then opened the doors that led to the veranda and stepped outside. With a quick leap, he was gone. Éomer awoke when he heard the doors close; before he could fully open his eyes and sit up, Legolas had departed. A look of disappointment clouded his eyes, but he understood why the elf had left. It would not look good for either him or the elf-king to be found together disheveled in bed. He lay back down, drawing the pillow that Legolas had slept upon part of the night to his chest. It still smelled like him, soft, clean, like the woods on a spring morning. "Stop it, Éomer," he chastised himself. "You are behaving like a lovesick boy, not like a king." A soft knock on his door was followed by a more insistent one; he heard his sister's voice calling him from the other side. "Éomer? Are you awake? Are you going to sleep the day away or join us for breakfast? Éomer? Are you alone in there?" He rose from the bed and wrapped his robe around his waist, crossing the room and unlocking the door. "Good morning, my dear sister." Éowyn entered the room and looked at the bed. "For a moment I would have sworn you had someone in here," she said teasingly. "Although it is not as if that would be a strange occurrence for you." Éomer playfully swatted her bottom and laughed. "You know me well, sister," he teased in return. "But no, I spent the night alone." "Come, get dressed. The king and queen are hosting a breakfast for their honored guests. Those adorable hobbits will be there, as will Gimli, Legolas, and Mithrandir." Éowyn plopped on the foot of the bed as Éomer retreated into his bathing chamber. "Lord Elrond is a most impressive man, I mean, elf." "Yes, he is," Éomer answered from the bathing chamber. "Elves are fascinating beings." Éowyn smiled. "I remember when you thought they were not to be trusted." Her keen sense of smell picked up something she couldn't quite identify, and she looked around the room. "That was what we were taught to think. Since I have met a few, I have changed my mind," Éomer replied. "Aragorn's half brothers are excellent warriors. Between the two of them, they have slain as many orcs as my regiment put together." Éowyn continued to inspect the room, rising from the bed and walking around. "And Lady Arwen seems to be a most wise and good queen," she answered, half her attention directed to her search. "Aye, she does," Éomer answered. "And she is most beautiful; Aragorn did well to woo her." Éowyn rolled her eyes as she moved to the dressing table. "You men, that is all you think about, beauty…" She picked up Éomer's hairbrush and found a strand of very long, very shiny blond hair in it. She quirked an eyebrow as she pulled it out, then frowned in the direction of Éomer's voice. Walking toward the bathing chamber, she held it out. Éomer jumped as his sister appeared in the doorway, and he quickly wrapped a cloth around his naked body. "For gods' sake, Éowyn!" he barked. "You said you spent the night alone," she chastised as she held out the strand of blonde hair. "This is not yours." Éomer squinted. "Where did you find that?" "In your hairbrush. Tell me, should I look in the bed as well?" "All right! I relent… I took a . . . woman into my bed last night. She was no virgin, so there is no fear of an angry father or brothers coming for me." Éowyn sighed. "Really, brother, you must stop carousing and find a woman to settle down with. You are the king now, no longer the Third Marshal. I am sure she was lovely, but you need to be looking for a queen…" Éomer placed both hands on the basin and hung his head. "I know this," he muttered. Éowyn placed her hand on his back and leaned her head on his broad shoulder. "I met a lovely young woman last night, she is the daughter of Prince Imrahil. Faramir introduced us. I do think you would really enjoy her company…" "I have been king but three months, give me some time to adjust…" Éomer grumbled. Éowyn laughed softly. "All right, but it could not hurt to meet her, could it?" "Of course not." Éowyn smiled broadly. "I will introduce the two of you this evening, during feasting. Now hurry, we will be late." She departed the chambers and waited for her brother in the corridor. Éomer hated lying to his sister, but he could not reveal the truth of what had happened the night before. He dressed in riding attire, needing some time away to work out how he was feeling, and then he joined Éowyn in the hallway and walked with her to the feasting hall. * * * * Legolas found Elrohir sitting in the wide windowsill of his bedchamber. Their rooms overlooked the Pelennor and had a view of Osgiliath. His friend sat on the wide stone sill, dressed for the morning meal, with his knees drawn up to his chest. The sound of running water came from the bathing chamber that he and Elladan shared, and Legolas surmised that the elder twin was bathing before the meal. He crossed the room and sat down behind Elrohir, sliding his arms around his friend's waist and leaning his head upon Elrohir's shoulder. "Forgive me," he said softly. "I was cruel." Elrohir closed his eyes. The sound of Legolas' deep voice always warmed him inside; it was rich, deep and smooth, like molasses. "You are grieving," Elrohir answered. "That is no excuse to be cruel to one who has only shown me love." Elrohir stretched out his legs and turned in Legolas' arms to face him. "I have been worried about you," he said softly as he caressed Legolas' cheek. "Both Elladan and I have been worried about you." "I know, forgive me," Legolas answered. "I cannot explain it, Elrohir, other than to say that I have to keep things inside." "Why? I fear that if you do, it will consume you." "I cannot control it any other way," Legolas answered. "I cannot release a little at a time, I am afraid that if I release any at all, I will not be able to stop it. It is as if I would suddenly go mad. Can you imagine how you would feel if something happened to Elladan?" Elrohir closed his eyes and nodded. "Aye. I fear I am not as strong as you are. I fear I would have faded already." Legolas smiled sadly. "I am not strong, Elrohir, I am trapped. I have been dealt this lot and now I must handle it as best I can. I have no other choice." Elrohir embraced Legolas tightly. "We can help you deal with it, you need not do this alone." "I am afraid it can be done no other way, Elrohir," Legolas answered quietly. "But I do cherish your friendship, never doubt that. I know where to go when it becomes too much to bear." He pulled away and took Elrohir's face in his hands. "Thank you, for your forgiveness and your love," he whispered, and then placed a soft, chaste kiss upon Elrohir's lips before rising and leaving him alone. Elladan entered his brother's bedchamber to find Elrohir wiping tears from his face. "What is it?" he asked as he sat beside Elrohir. "I do not know what to do," Elrohir answered. "He suffers so much and there is nothing I can do." Elladan wrapped his arms around his twin. "Was he here?" "Yes. He came to apologize to me for what he said last night. He looks so weary, Elladan. I am so worried about him." "He has to bear this alone, brother, there is no other way." Elladan sighed as he looked out the window. "Perhaps he needs to find comfort some other place; perhaps we are too much of a reminder of days gone by. It must be difficult for him to be near us, when he knows how much we love each other. We are a reminder of what he cannot have now. His fated mate is gone, Elrohir; anyone else will be a poor substitute." Elrohir nodded. "I have been clinging to him out of fear." "It is time to let him go," Elladan answered. "He will always be our friend, Elrohir. Never forget that. Come, wash your face, Estel is expecting us." Elrohir nodded and rose from the windowsill, leaving his beloved to contemplate the future. To be continued… Title: Winds of War, 33/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Rúmil/Galen (OMC), Legolas/Éomer Rating: NC-17 Beta: Fimbrethiel Archives: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Glorfindel of Imladris & Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males, violence, angst and incest. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: If you like, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: Seventh story in the "Love in a Time of War" arc. Set in the late Third Age and continuing into the early Fourth Age. Galen is a name I am borrowing from a character that Khylaren and I have used before. This is not the same Galen, only the name is identical. I know Éomer was not at the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen, so I'm breaking the rules to suit my own purposes. Once again, I am employing the usual disclaimer of not following canon strictly. Summary: Éomer tracks Legolas, much to the elf's amusement. Legolas walked through the forest outside of Osgiliath. It was a relief to be near trees and living things after being in the city for so long. The land was already healing; trees that had been barren for long years were beginning to sprout leaf and bloom again. The ruins of the watchful fortresses of the Númenoreans were overgrown by vines, a testament that nature would always be more powerful than mankind. It was comforting to him, that this world that had so long been under the stewardship of the elves would endure once they were gone. He heard horses' footsteps behind him, heard the creak of leather and the soft jingle of buckles. A smile curved his lips as he shook his head. Will men never learn that they cannot sneak up on an elf? He kept walking as though he had heard nothing and was unaware of Éomer's presence. He cocked his head. Two more horses. Of course, Éomer was king now, he could go nowhere without an escort. Indeed, his own soldiers, not to mention Gimli, would have followed him had he not given them the slip amongst the ruins of Osgiliath. It was not so hard to do amongst the rubble and scaffolding that had taken over the once fair city. Éomer's interest in him came as a small surprise, and the frank offer of friendship and understanding had come as a larger one. Now, as he walked through the forest, followed as he was by the King of Rohan, he had to wonder what other surprises lay in wait for him as he bided his time before sailing to Aman. Cresting a small hill, he found a pool of fresh water, fed at one end by a small waterfall. In the warmth of the day, the pool looked inviting. It had been too long since he had enjoyed the simple pleasure of bathing beneath a waterfall. He stood on a rock that overhung the pool, feeling the spray of the falls on his face and listening to the wind in the trees. A smile curved his lips as he heard the king dismount at the base of the hill, and he listened to the man's heavy footfalls as he climbed. He turned at the waist, just enough to look over his shoulder and greet Éomer's gaze. "You knew I was following you," Éomer said with a sheepish grin. "Yes," Legolas answered, turning back to the falls. "Would you rather be alone?" "No. I enjoy your company," Legolas answered softly. Éomer stood beside Legolas on the rock and wiped the sweat from his brow before removing his gloves. "Warm?" Legolas asked, the corner of his mouth quirked into a half-grin. "Aye. But it seems no matter what the weather, I must ride out wearing battle gear. One would think I was raised in an egg of some sort, not been the Third Marshal of the Riddermark these many years." Legolas snickered. "Yes, but you are king now. A third marshal they can lose, a king they cannot." Éomer snorted and shook his head. "It was once my place to guard the king, now I find myself guarded by those I have trained." "Who better to guard you then?" Legolas asked, his face half turned in Éomer's direction. Éomer smiled a bit wickedly, "I can think of one who would do better." Legolas nodded. "Aye, but I think Aragorn has his own kingship to manage now." Éomer smiled wider. "You know what I meant." Legolas leaned in and murmured, "But who will guard you from me?" He winked, then turned back to the falls. Éomer stepped closer. "I know no one who can protect me from you, my dangerous friend." "Dangerous? Is that what I am?" "Aye, most dangerous." "Then it was prudent for you to bring your guards." Legolas felt Éomer's presence close behind him. The man stood close enough to smell, close enough to feel the heat that radiated from his body. He had but to lean backward and their bodies would touch; he knew the spark that would ignite from that contact, and he fought to resist. "Wait here," Éomer said quietly, then turned and walked back down the hill. Legolas found himself bewildered by this sudden and nearly overpowering attraction to Éomer. In the long months that they had ridden together and fought together, he had not so much as a hint of it before. It was not love, not in its truest sense, but it was most definitely attraction, augmented by a bond of friendship that was growing stronger by the day. He heard Éomer's footfalls again, then heard the sound of hoof beats departing at a canter. He turned to see Éomer crest the hill; the look in the king's eyes was undeniable. It would be so easy to elude him, he had but to turn and jump to the small ledge beneath. Alternatively, he could stop the king in his tracks with one blow, render him helpless and gasping for air; but he was rooted to the spot as Éomer approached. He did not resist as Éomer took him in his arms, rather he yielded willingly, allowing the man to clasp him to his chest. Éomer's battle roughened hands touched his face, his calloused thumbs caressing his cheekbones. "I already know this is fruitless, I also know it is dangerous, but I don't care," Éomer murmured. "I have thought about nothing but you this long day. I am only grateful that you were flanked by Elrond's son and the dwarf, for I could not have borne sitting so close and not touching you." Legolas' fingers explored the man's face, smoothing his auburn beard and tanned skin. Éomer's eyes were so full of emotion; passion burned hot in this man of Rohan. "I cannot be a substitute for a woman, Éomer," he said softly. "I was not made to yield always." Éomer leaned in and nuzzled Legolas' mouth. "I know, and I am willing to give you whatever you ask of me. I will give you what I have given no one else." "What have I done to earn such a gift?" Legolas asked. "You have already given me more than anyone has before," Éomer answered. "I cannot love you, not the way I should," Legolas whispered as he brushed Éomer's lips with his own. "Then love me as you will," Éomer answered. "For I will gladly take whatever you offer." He moaned deeply as Legolas pressed his mouth to him, opening and yielding to the elf-king's perusal of his mouth. He was burning up, not just from the weight of his tunic and armor, but from the fire that his elven-lover had lit. Legolas released his mouth and he gasped softly, his eyes opening slowly to peer into the impossibly blue orbs of his lover. "You are hot, swim with me," Legolas said softly as his fingers began working the buckles on Éomer's armor. He lowered the heavy chest plate to the ground and began working the clasps on the man's tunic as his own began to fall away. Éomer wasn't as graceful as his other lovers, nor was he as skilled in giving pleasure to a man, but what he lacked in grace and skill was more than made up for with passion. Legolas distractedly thought that it must be because men's lives were so short, they had far less time to experience life; therefore, they lived and loved to the utmost of their ability. Soon they were divested of their garments, and Legolas turned and smiled at Éomer. "Follow me," he said with a grin, then dove off the cliff into the deep pool below. Éomer watched in astonishment as Legolas jumped, his beautiful and powerful body slicing the surface without so much as a ripple. There he stood, on a low cliff in Ithilien, naked as the day he was born in the broad daylight, peering down at an elf-king who treaded water below him. "You have taken leave of your wits, Éomer," he chastised himself. He had done many adventurous things in his youth, but this particular situation was not one he had ever imagined. His leap was not as graceful or elegant as the elf's. He let out a loud cry as he jumped, pulling his knees into his chest as he struck the surface of the water. Legolas turned his head and laughed as Éomer sent water flying upon striking the surface, then laughed again as the king emerged and shook his wild, honey colored hair, water flinging from its ends. Éomer swam toward Legolas, who seemed to be retreating at an equal pace, and soon they were shaded by the overhanging cliff. He advanced upon Legolas, who only half-heartedly evaded him, and soon he had the elf against the cliff wall, his hands on either side of Legolas' head, his feet balanced on an outcropping of rock beneath the water. "Why me?" Éomer asked softly. "I do not know," Legolas answered as he caressed Éomer's wet face. "Curious?" "It was more than that," Legolas answered. "It was the way you spoke to me in the garden. For the first time in a long time I felt like someone understood; you made me feel. . .safe." "Forgive me if I succumb to the temptation to want to keep you that way. I know you are no weakling; you could easily kill me with your bare hands. If I endeavor to protect you, to shelter you, it is only because I know no other way to act towards those I love." Legolas smiled. "You love me?" "Yes; that is most unfortunate, isn't it." Éomer answered, half teasing, half not. "That is one of the things I love about you, Éomer," Legolas answered. "Your honesty." How easily that word had rolled off his tongue, and how easily it could be misunderstood. Éomer smiled. "I only want to make you happy, Legolas. I know this cannot be forever." He closed his eyes as Legolas wrapped his legs around his waist. "It need not be forever, Éomer. It need be only as long as we both need it to be." He took the man's mouth in a kiss and a soft moan escaped him at the way Éomer responded. The kiss burned itself in Éomer's memory; it was one that would never be equaled as long as he lived. The elf tasted like honeysuckle, wild and sweet, as if he had been born of the earth itself. His feet lost their purchase on the ledge, and he gasped as he slipped and they both were briefly submerged. They came up for air and Legolas laughed as Éomer coughed. "Are you well?" Legolas asked, his smile more broad than it had been for a long time. "Aye." Éomer laughed as well. "Perhaps we should find a more suitable place to pursue this?" Legolas winked. "Follow me." "Why do I worry when you say that?" Éomer responded, swimming after his elven-lover as Legolas made his way toward the falls. To be continued… Title: Winds of War, 34/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Rúmil/Galen (OMC), Legolas/Éomer Rating: NC-17 Beta: Fimbrethiel Archives: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Glorfindel of Imladris & Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males, violence, angst and incest. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: If you like, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: Seventh story in the "Love in a Time of War" arc. Set in the late Third Age and continuing into the early Fourth Age. I know Éomer was not at the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen, so I'm breaking the rules to suit my own purposes. Once again, I am employing the usual disclaimer of not following canon strictly. Summary: Éomer and Legolas share an intimate afternoon in Ithilien. Éomer grunted as his back impacted with the smooth stone cliff. Legolas gripped his hair tightly, the elf's long legs wrapped around his waist, their bodies moving against each other with heated energy. There was a small cave behind the falls, the cave floor being only a few feet below the water's surface. He was seated on a smooth slab of stone that formed a bench of sorts, and they were shielded from view by the falls themselves. It was a magical place, cool and secluded, light danced off the cave walls and reflected off the waterfall. He was moaning deeply, the sound of his voice echoing off the walls of the cave. His hands roamed with abandon over Legolas' slick, soft skin, alternately gripping and caressing as the elf undulated in his lap. He had never been so desperate to possess another, or to be so possessed. Legolas was the one in control, he always had been, Éomer realized. He would do anything, anything for this bewitching creature. Legolas nibbled his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, leaving love marks that would not be concealed. He mused that he would need another tale to tell, and would receive another dressing down by his sister, but it was well worth the price. As if the elf could read his mind, he felt Legolas' long fingers wrap around his hard length, gently squeezing and stroking. "Out of the water," Legolas breathed. Éomer fumbled backward along the ledge until he found where the floor rose. He was slowly pushed to his back, his legs still hung in the water but his upper body was above the surface. He gritted his teeth and groaned aloud as Legolas engulfed him, flexing his hips and gripping at the wet stone with his fingers. He would not use Legolas as he had used others. Not that he had ever been abusive or cruel, but he would not couple with his elven lover so roughly. He resisted the urge to grasp Legolas' hair and thrust into his mouth; the elf was more than voracious enough for the both of them. He was on the verge of exploding and spilling down Legolas' throat when the elf gripped the base of his arousal tightly. He cried out as his body convulsed, yet his seed did not spill forth. Wave after wave wracked his body, and Legolas held him tightly, allowing only enough to escape to spread his length. He lay panting as his body stilled, yet he was still painfully erect. He opened his eyes to watch Legolas mount him as he had the night before, still gripping him by the base. He groaned again as he was sheathed inside his lover's body, and slowly, Legolas released him to grasp his wrists and pull him into a sitting position. "Back into the water," Legolas murmured against his neck, and Éomer obeyed, lifting and sliding carefully back into the chest-high water. Legolas moved with him, their bodies joined as they were partially submerged. The elf held his face in his hands, covering him with kisses before consuming his mouth again. Each movement of Legolas' hips sent waves of pleasure through him; his lover's buoyant body seemed to hover above him effortlessly. Éomer held the elf's hips, guiding him as he had guided women in the past. "You feel so good," Éomer murmured against the wet flesh of Legolas' neck, alternately licking and nibbling. A smile curved Legolas' lips and he answered, "My ears, put your mouth on my ears…" Éomer smoothed the hair behind Legolas' elegantly pointed and curved ears, admiring them before doing as instructed. He bestowed a long, slow lick along the curve and felt Legolas shudder atop him. Gripping the elf's backside he did it again, the second time he licked the point. The shuddering moan that escaped Legolas caused Éomer's length to twitch inside his lover's body. "You should have told me about this sooner," he murmured, barely able to contain the tenor of his voice. "More," Legolas whispered hoarsely as he rode Éomer's arousal with increased intensity. Éomer complied, as Legolas' movements intensified. He reached for Legolas' length, stroking it in time with the elf's thrusts and gently suckling the point of his ear. With little warning, he felt Legolas' body tighten and the elf cried out, his essence spilling over Éomer's hand and into the water. Legolas' tightening body squeezed his length mercilessly and Éomer followed Legolas into the abyss, spilling his seed inside his lover's body. Legolas collapsed against him, the elf's long arms around his neck. He wound his own tightly around Legolas' waist and held him close for long moments as the sounds of their ragged breathing echoed off the cave walls. Slowly, Legolas sat back, a warm smile curving his lips as he caressed Éomer's face. "What a lovely way to spend an afternoon," he said softly. Éomer chuckled. "Aye, that it is." He smiled as Legolas combed his beard with his fingers. "You like that, don't you?" Legolas nodded slowly. "It is something I am not accustomed to. I like touching it." Éomer grinned. "You can touch it anytime you like." Legolas quirked an eyebrow. "Anytime?" "Wouldn't that be grist for the Gondor rumor mill," Éomer answered wryly. Legolas chuckled. "Aye, quite potent grist, I would say." "My sister would be most confused and upset, I think." "Do not be so impatient with her, Éomer, she only wants what is best for you." "And she knows what that is better than I?" Legolas shrugged. "Perhaps. Honestly, how would your people react if they saw us together? Love between males is common among my folk, but yours…" Éomer drew him closer. "I know; you speak true. I never dreamed I would have a male lover, and when you and I are no longer thus, I will not take another." Legolas nodded in understanding. "'Tis easier with me, I suppose. I am perceived as more feminine than those males of your own kind." Éomer drew his hand from Legolas' face to his lover's chest. "Perceptions are just that; often they have little to do with the truth. You and I both know that you are not feminine. True, you are soft to the touch, but beneath this soft skin are muscles of iron and a heart like a lion. I have seen you too oft in battle to ever think otherwise." Legolas smiled. "You know me too well, Éomer son of Éomund." "Not nearly well enough," came Éomer's reply. Legolas leaned in for a kiss. "That will change," he murmured against the man's mouth. * * * * Éomer cantered into the courtyard with Legolas riding behind him. In the heat of the day, their hair had dried and there was no evidence of their swim and encounter at the pond. Éomer's high collar hid the purpled marks Legolas' mouth had left on his neck, and any marks that he had tried to leave behind on the elf had already faded. Legolas slid off first, gently patting the horse's flank in thanks for bearing him back to the city. The stable hands rushed forward, taking Éomer's horse, and the two kings walked toward the guesthouses. Éowyn stood waiting, a broad smile on her face as she saw her brother and his friend. She raised her hand in greeting and they waved back. She watched as Éomer clasped Legolas' shoulder and the elf-king returned the gesture before heading toward his quarters, making sure to pause and kiss her hand before he departed. She hugged Éomer tightly. "It is so good to see the bond of friendship between you. It reminds me of watching you with Théodred." They walked toward the wing where they were housed. "Will you dance with Lothíriel this night?" she asked softly. Éomer closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Must it begin so soon?' he thought to himself. "If she wishes," he answered. Éowyn smacked her brother's arm. "Do not make it sound like such a chore," she grumbled. "My apologies, Éowyn. I do not mean to make it sound thusly. Lothíriel is a lovely maiden." "And quick-witted, too. If you would speak to her in more than one syllable words you would see that." "I am a soldier, Éowyn. I know nothing of wooing. I have never wooed a woman, I have only bedded them." "Éomer! Must you speak so…" "Forgive me, my lovely sister." He bent and kissed her cheek. "I am weary from my ride and I could use both a respite and a bath before the festivities begin in earnest." "Go then, rest and bathe. I expect you to be on your best behavior this night." "Of course," he answered, bending to give her a quick kiss on the cheek before retreating to his bed. * * * * Legolas lay on his side, his nude form covered only by a thin sheet. A warm breeze carried the smell of the sea and the call of gulls into his bedchamber. "Forgive me, Aragorn," he murmured, "But I do not know how much longer I can abide here." If he listened closely enough, he heard the sound of his father's voice whispering to him on the wind. "Do you wait for me?" Legolas asked the wind. "Are you wandering a beach in Aman searching for my ship? Will you know me when you see me?" He closed his eyes and wept for the first time since the funeral, his sobs muffled by his pillow and drowned in the cry of gulls. * * * * Anor was rising, and the Vanya stood and stretched, feeling the waves lapping at his toes before his morning swim. Something was different about this dawning, though he knew not what it was. His whole life he had been consumed by a restless spirit, haunted by dreams he did not understand. His modest home was filled with drawings of places he had never seen, beings he did not know. He trusted that all would be revealed in time, but it was so hard to wait. Each dawn, he walked out of the wood and emerged upon the beach for his daily swim. He tossed his robe upon a rock and waded into the sea, slipping beneath the breaking waves before emerging on the other side, and he began his daily swim from the island of Eressëa. To be continued… Title: Winds of War, 35/40 Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Glorfindel/Erestor, Lindir/Gildor, Elladan/Elrohir, Rúmil/Galen (OMC), Legolas/Éomer Rating: NC-17 Beta: Fimbrethiel Archives: Rhovanion, OEAM, Mirrormere, Glorfindel of Imladris & Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males, violence, angst and incest. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this… Feedback: If you like, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Author's Notes: Seventh story in the "Love in a Time of War" arc. Set in the late Third Age and continuing into the early Fourth Age. Galen is a name I am borrowing from a character that Khylaren and I have used before. This is not the same Galen, only the name is identical. Once again, I am employing the usual disclaimer of not following canon strictly. Summary: Éomer learns a lesson in love from Legolas. Legolas silently dropped down onto the balcony outside Éomer's room as they had agreed; for the King of Rohan to be entertaining an elf in his quarters two nights in a row would look suspicious. The doors were already open, and he stepped inside to find Éomer standing beside the bed. The man's arms were crossed over his broad chest and he was staring at the bed as though he had not seen one before. A grin curved Legolas' lips as he watched Éomer rearrange the pillows and smooth the sheets. The King of the Mark looked as nervous as a groom on his wedding night. Normally, Legolas would announce his presence by clearing his throat or making some other kind of noise; however, this time he felt no such urge. He silently crossed the room and slid his arms around Éomer's waist. Éomer jumped and nearly cried out, and Legolas laughed quietly as he stepped back. "Mae govannen," Legolas said softly. "What does that mean?" Éomer asked as his heart returned to its normal rhythm. "Well met," Legolas answered with a smile. "It is Sindarin, the language of my people." "Is that the language I have heard you speak when you are angry?" Éomer asked with a grin. Legolas chuckled. "Aye, one and the same." Éomer admired his visitor; the elf-king was resplendent in the moonlight. His feet, as perfect as the rest of him, were bare, his flaxen hair glowed and spilled loosely around his shoulders, and his lean frame was swathed in a pale blue robe that was open to his stomach. "Is it possible that you are more beautiful now than you were just this afternoon?" Éomer asked in wonder. Legolas smiled alluringly and took one of Éomer's hands, lifting it to his mouth. "I doubt I have changed overmuch." The elf pressed the palm of the man's hand to his mouth and Éomer swallowed as Legolas kissed it slowly. "You made Éowyn very happy this eve, my friend," the elf continued. "I noticed you are becoming more comfortable with dancing as well." "Must we speak of that?" Éomer asked quietly as Legolas' lips caressed the inside of his wrist. "Does it trouble you?" "Lothíriel is a fair enough maiden, and she is quite endearing; however, she is not what I wish to focus on this night." He swallowed as Legolas pushed up his sleeve and explored the crook of his elbow with his lips. "As you wish," Legolas answered. "You are apprehensive," he said softly. "May I ask why?" "How can you tell?" "I can sense it in you; you feel . . . tense." "You must know what I am considering," Éomer answered quietly. "Marriage?" Legolas purred. "No, not yet. You know what I am nervous about, do not tease me thusly." Éomer could not stop trembling as Legolas' lips moved from his arm to his neck. The elf's long fingers played inside the opening of his robe, dancing through the hair on his chest. "I will not hurt you, Éomer, that I promise," Legolas murmured against the man's neck. "I have never done this before." "I know. You will not be the first that I have initiated; trust me, my friend, I will handle you gently." Éomer laughed nervously. "You are the only male in Middle-earth who can make me feel like a maiden." Legolas smiled and teased Éomer's lips with his tongue. "And you are such a handsome one." Éomer sighed deeply as Legolas took his mouth in a kiss, moving his hands into the elf's hair as he cradled Legolas' head. Legolas' strong, archer's hands moved down his back to grasp his buttocks, and Éomer could not stop the needful moan that escaped him. Already his length was hard and pulsating, the fabric of his robe shifting against it in a maddening fashion. "I promise you this, Éomer," Legolas whispered huskily. "You will never deflower a maiden the same way again after this night." "You think I will be deflowering many maidens?" Éomer whispered. "No, just one," Legolas answered before taking Éomer's mouth again. He deftly untied the man's belt and slid the robe from his shoulders. His hands explored the curves of muscle, making note of each scar that marred Éomer's skin. He slithered out of his own robe as Éomer untied it, allowing it to fall to the floor around his feet. Rolling his hips forward, he brought their lengths together, causing Éomer to groan anew. "Gods," Éomer groaned. "How is it possible that I need you so badly so soon?" "No more than I need you, my king," Legolas purred into Éomer's ear. He pushed Éomer to the bed and covered him with his form, his hands and mouth exploring Éomer's body with abandon. The wild, heady scent of the man heightened his desire, and he bestowed a long, slow lick to his lover's chest. Éomer moaned and arched beneath his elven-lover, his hands greedily roaming Legolas' lean back. He began rubbing their lengths together as he grasped Legolas' firm backside and thrust into him. Legolas slipped from his grasp and he watched as the elf made his way down his stomach to his turgid arousal. His eyes closed and his head fell back to the bed as he was once again engulfed in Legolas' wet embrace. The wet heat of Legolas' mouth disappeared and he opened his eyes to see the elf kneeling above his chest. Legolas' eyes asked a question of him, one that had to be answered. He remembered the elf's words that afternoon: "I was not made to yield always." "Yes," he answered in a whisper, "but not like this." Legolas stepped aside and lay upon his back, then propped himself up on his elbows. "Will this be more comfortable for you?" he asked softly. Éomer settled between Legolas' thighs, as he had settled between the thighs of so many women before him. "Aye," he answered, and he pressed his mouth to the inside of his lover's thigh. The long, low purr that escaped Legolas caused him to smile. "Does this meet your approval?" Éomer asked huskily. Legolas squirmed beneath Éomer as the man made his way up the inside of his leg. The soft scratch of his lover's beard was driving him mad as he breathed, "Oh yes…" Éomer arrived at the apex of Legolas' thighs and gazed upon the elf's swollen length. It was beautiful in the way a man's never could be, smooth and perfect. Even the elf's sex smelled clean and sweet. He bestowed an experimental lick and watched Legolas arch and moan beneath him. He understood now, the power the elf had over him, for he was as eager to please Legolas as he was to be pleased himself. He knew what Legolas was feeling, that tingling in his thighs, the tightening in his belly, and the ache in his length. Only another male could know that. Slowly he took Legolas' arousal in his mouth, working as much on instinct as on memory of what it had felt like. He could not be as bold as his lover, but he compensated as best as he could. Legolas bent his knees and spread his legs wide, offering a teasing glimpse of what would be withheld from him that night. But it did not matter, for Éomer meant what he had said. He would give Legolas anything. He did not bring Legolas fulfillment, for that would come later as his lover breached his body. Instead, he kept him aroused as he gathered his courage to yield in a way he never had before. His own arousal was aching for release, yet he did not touch himself; that would be for Legolas to provide. He felt Legolas tug upon his shoulder and he moved back up his lover's perfect body. He hungrily kissed his elf-king, delving into the deepest recesses of Legolas' mouth as if he could climb inside and remain there always. Legolas' deep moans serenaded his passion; they were a siren call to his deepest desire. He allowed Legolas to roll him to his side, and then he waited. The first brush of Legolas' slick fingertips in the cleft of his backside caused him to tremble, then the warm press of Legolas' body against his back calmed him. His lover murmured softly into his ear as he massaged his entrance, causing him to moan quietly and unconsciously arch into Legolas' touch. A single finger breached his body and he clenched tight around it. "Ssshh…" Legolas murmured. "Relax, lover, trust me." Éomer willed his body to heel, as he felt Legolas' finger moving slowly inside him and his moans intensified, as did his state of arousal. Soon, the unpleasant burn was replaced by the most erotic sensation he had ever experienced. A second finger joined the first; Legolas showed patience he did not believe he had himself. Again, the burn was replaced by a strange, erotic sensation; then, suddenly, stars exploded behind his eyes. He opened his mouth to cry out, yet his voice failed him; he could only arch helplessly into the elf's touch as he gasped. "Does that not feel wonderful?" Legolas deep voice murmured into his ear. Éomer whimpered as his blood turned into liquid heat and he thrust back against the elf's hand. His lover slowly kneaded his chest, occasionally pinching an inflamed nipple, causing him to moan wantonly. He knew not how many fingers were inside him now, but he was opened with great care. Suddenly he was empty, it felt so strange to be so, and then he felt the tip of his lover's arousal at his entrance. He tightened reflexively, and then felt Legolas' hand upon his aching length. "You must relax, Éomer," Legolas purred. "I promise you, it will be worth it." His breath was stolen as his body was breached; he was unable to move or cry out as he was stretched and filled beyond what he thought he could bear. He forced himself to relax, concentrating on the low, deep, honeyed moans of his lover, and the slow movement of Legolas' hand upon his weeping arousal. As the burning and pain subsided, it was replaced by the most memorable experience he would ever have. Legolas was inside him, around him, moving in a slow erotic dance, filling him and withdrawing, the elf's hand slowly working his pulsating arousal. He began arching against his lover, the feel of Legolas' lips upon his neck was so right, as if this was what he had been born for. He found his voice, his deep moans joining those of his lover's as they moved together, the heat building between them. It was over far too soon as his seed spilled over Legolas' hand. Éomer's constricting body, already deliciously tight, caused Legolas to find his own release, and he drove deep, spilling inside Éomer's body. They lay together, breathing roughly, sweating and caressing one another. Legolas kissed Éomer's shoulders and neck as the man's hands caressed his hip and thigh. "Stay with me, just until the sun rises," Éomer murmured. "Yes," Legolas answered, and he curled tightly against his kingly lover. To be continued…