Respite
by Melina

After taking counsel with Aragorn and the other captains, Éomer spent more than an hour with his own lieutenants, planning for their departure the next morning. Their numbers were few — too few — to offer any serious challenge to the force that would meet them at the Black Gate. He knew this, his men knew it, and so did all the others who would join them in this last desperate effort. It was likely that few would return; perhaps none would. Perhaps the Ringbearer would fail and the world of Men would be utterly destroyed, massacred or enslaved to the will of the Nameless evil.

It did not matter. There were no other options, no other choices. Aragorn and Gandalf were right. They had to follow this through to the end, to make their last stand before the very gates of Mordor, whatever the cost.

The cost had already been unbearably high. His cousin, his King, so many of the men with whom he had grown to manhood — all dead. The cost at Helm's Deep had been high, but on the Pelennor Fields it had been devastating. If he paused to think of it for too long, the grief would be unbearable. He was the king of Rohan now, and he had to lead, to find the strength to impart to his men, to help them face what was to come.

Leaving the encampment on the Pelennor, he returned to the City. He had been given accommodation there so he could remain close to Éowyn, and although he had been returning to the encampment to sleep, on this night the solitude the Citadel's guest quarters offered beckoned him. But first he had to endure a painful, perhaps final, parting, and his heart grew heavy as he approached the Houses of Healing.

Éowyn's physical condition had improved, but her face was wan and pale, and her voice was without hope. "I wish you victory, my brother, for Rohan and our people, and our fallen king," she said after kissing his cheek.

"Éowyn...please," he pleaded, taking her hands in his. "Do not despair that you cannot accompany us. Our people will need you if we do not return."

"Aye, my lord," she said, absently slipping back onto the pillows, pulling her hands away. "Always, the women will be needed to recover what we may when all hope fails."

Remembering Gandalf's words about Éowyn, he realized he had said the wrong thing once again. He kissed her, then took his leave, whispering a quiet entreaty for her protection.

Perhaps taking refuge in the City's guest quarters had been a poor idea, Éomer thought an hour later. The comfortable surroundings felt oppressive rather than warm, and he was unable to focus on the maps laid out in front of him. He rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he should sleep, or try to. As exhausted as he was, sleep had not come easily since the battle before the City, since his uncle's death, his sister's near-fatal injury. Indeed, dreams had haunted him since Theodred's death, his own banishment....

A soft knock at the door startled him. "Enter!" he called.

He was surprised to find Legolas standing in his doorway. "My Lord Éomer," Legolas acknowledged him with a respectful nod.

He shook his head. "Please, no. We are just warriors, you and I, at least for awhile longer."

Legolas smiled and nodded. "Aragorn bade me deliver a message, that you should consider staying here tonight, and take the best rest you might before our journey begins tomorrow."

"I was considering it..." Éomer raised an eyebrow. "But surely he could have sent a page with this message?"

"I offered, as I was going to bid Merry farewell, and it was no trouble."

Éomer nodded. Suddenly, he did not wish for Legolas to leave just yet, but welcomed the distraction from the oppressive loneliness he had felt moments earlier. "Would you sit?" he asked, indicating the empty chair beside him. There was a decanter filled with wine on the desk, and he asked the question with a gesture. Legolas nodded, and Éomer poured two glasses, handing one to Legolas.

Éomer studied the Elf over the rim of the glass; he looked different than he had on other occasions, wearing only a blue silk shirt and tall boots over hose. Without his familiar tunic and the quiver of arrows on his back, he looked less like a creature of the forest and more like the king's son he was, at home among elegant surroundings. Yet as Legolas's eyes met his, Éomer saw the warrior remained, his eyes reflecting the somber tone of all that had passed, and what was yet to come.

"Tell me," he asked, unsettled by the silence, "about your home? In the Mark, we know little of your lands, except what we have heard of the Shadow there."

Legolas told him then of Mirkwood and his father's kingdom there, of the constant encroachments of the slaves of evil, and their long battle to keep it at bay. Éomer let the words wash over him, fascinated by Legolas's vivid descriptions of a forest country so far away. Yet he also realized they had much in common, more than he could have imagined the first time he saw Legolas with his companions on the plains of Rohan.

So much had happened since then, so much death.... He looked away and closed his eyes for a moment, seeking whatever strength remained within him.

"Éomer," Legolas said. "You need not hide the grief you feel, not here."

Éomer could not have borne pity, but it was not pity he heard in Legolas's voice, but simple understanding. The kind of understanding only another who had known many years of war might offer.

"It has...been difficult," he said, his throat constricting as he spoke. "So many lost, yet another battle lies before us."

"You should not deny your grief," Legolas said, placing a comforting hand on Éomer's shoulder. The empathy in his eyes and voice told Éomer that he spoke from experience.

Éomer shook his head. "If I allow myself to begin grieving now...I'm not sure I will be able to stop." He swallowed, willing the lump in his throat away. "There will be time for grief later, should we survive what is to come."

"Yet everyone, even a king, perhaps especially a king, needs respite from grief and worry." The hand on Éomer's shoulder slipped around his neck, and Legolas leaned forward and kissed him. The kiss was soft and sweet, undemanding, and Éomer responded to it even as his breath caught in surprise.

It had been so long since a man had touched him with desire, and that had been a man like himself, a soldier seeking companionship and release. This was somehow different, very different. His cheeks grew flushed, and as Legolas pulled away from the kiss, Éomer stood and stepped toward the window, seeking the cool night breeze.

"If that was unwelcome, I beg your pardon," Éomer heard Legolas say, his voice steady.

He turned, finding Legolas had silently moved behind him. He shook his head. "Not unwelcome, just...unexpected. Not unwelcome," he repeated.

Legolas's hand stroked his cheek as he studied Éomer, his bright eyes boring into Éomer's own. He did not know what Legolas saw there, what secrets he revealed in that moment. Was it Elven magic, or were his pain and need so apparent that no such arts were needed? He turned his head into the palm stroking his cheek and laid a kiss there, but his eyes kept Legolas's gaze. He saw something spark when he drew his tongue across the palm, something far different than Legolas's usually steady expression. It held a hint of danger, and he found it terribly appealing.

He did not need to wonder for long, for in the next moment Legolas gripped his shoulders and pushed him back against the closed door. Legolas's mouth pressed against his, and Éomer did not resist, yielding to the demanding kiss, seeking Legolas's tongue with his own, his arms sliding around the strong body. Desire flooded him in an instant, heat surged through him as he was pressed against the hard wooden door. Legolas's hands left his shoulders, slipping down his chest and flanks, and Éomer broke the kiss with a gasp as a hand ghosted over his sex.

Their eyes met again as Legolas moved one hand behind Éomer's back, throwing home the bolt, shutting away the outside world. Legolas went to the desk, and Éomer moved away from the door, inhaling deep breaths; his head had become light during their kiss. Legolas refilled a wine glass and handed it to Éomer; his eyes were bright with arousal, but his hands were steady. Éomer drank gratefully, trying to still a tremor in his own hands as he returned the glass.

Legolas took a draught himself, then set the glass down, his eyes returning to Éomer once again, taking him in from head to toe. The expression on Legolas's face made Éomer's breath catch; gone was the determined warrior, the soft-voiced companion who sang in the saddle, the Elf who teased and joked with Gimli. This was a different creature entirely, and Éomer felt as if he'd been trapped by a predator.

A very alluring predator.

Legolas stepped behind him, and Éomer had to concentrate to keep his fists from clenching and unclenching as he felt Legolas's breath against his neck. Arms finally slipped around his waist, and he let his head drop back, a gasp of something like desperation escaping his lips as Legolas's mouth found his neck, kissing, biting, licking. The sensation was intoxicating, and his breath quickened, his heart pounding inside his own head. When a hand dropped to cup his erection, his hips pressed forward, heedless of his mind's doubts about whether this was really a good idea or not.

Legolas turned him around, and he managed to find his feet, but just barely. Legolas combed a hand through Éomer's hair, finding and pulling away the tie that kept it back from his face. It was soothing, yet served to dampen his growing ardor not at all, for Legolas's eyes belied his gentle touch. There was fire behind the outwardly calm gaze, and Éomer felt the heat reflected throughout his entire body. Every inch of skin tingled with life, waiting for Legolas's touch.

Thus when Legolas moved his hands from Éomer's hair to slowly trace down his chest, the seemingly innocuous gesture caused him to gasp, and Legolas smiled, the cat who delighted in teasing his prey. He stopped, pulling Éomer's shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor. Legolas's palm played across Éomer's chest for a moment, then pressed flat against him, pushing him inexorably backward until he fell upon the soft bed.

Éomer lay still, trying to catch his breath as he felt Legolas pulling off his boots. But then Legolas's hands moved to the ties at the front of his hose, and his hips pressed upward of their own accord. Legolas's eyes were amused as he pulled the hose from Éomer's legs and tossed them aside, breaking eye contact only when he pulled his own tunic over his head. He sat next to Éomer on the bed, quickly pulling off his own boots and hose before stretching out beside him. Legolas pulled Éomer into his arms, taking his mouth once again, and the feeling of their bare flesh sliding against each other was almost too much...

Legolas drew back, and in his haze of need Éomer wondered if Legolas was reading his thoughts, for his touch became gentler, less arousing, as his fingers brushed against Éomer's chest. He began exploring Legolas's body, the smooth, unblemished skin a contrast to the defined muscle, a perfect blend of beauty and strength. His hands moved down Legolas's chest, and his mouth soon followed, his own need abated somewhat by the desire to feel Legolas writhing under his touch.

Writhe he did, and voice his appreciation too, moaning his pleasure as Éomer's mouth found his cock. Legolas combed fingers through his hair as he slid his mouth as far down Legolas's shaft as he could, enjoying the sounds of Legolas's pleasure, the taste of him on his tongue, the fingers in his hair. For the first time in months, the rest of the world dropped away as sensation replaced conscious thought.

Suddenly, Legolas said, "Stop," and tugged gently, pulling Éomer's mouth from his cock. In a blur of motion he pounced, pushing Éomer flat on his back, pinning his arms above his head with a single hand. He kissed Éomer, hard, his tongue invading, demanding, leaving Éomer breathless and aching once again. Finally, he pulled away, and the predator's eyes had returned, pleased at the helpless prey arching beneath his hands, pinned down by his thighs.

Reading the question in his eyes, or perhaps in his thoughts, Legolas said, "Your mouth is beautiful, but I want...more." His eyes were sharp, piercing Éomer's in a way that left no doubt as to his meaning. The thought of Legolas inside him made him shudder, and he nodded, unable to find words or voice. The predator smiled again, and he leaned over to kiss his prey, releasing Éomer's hands as he whispered, "Don't move."

Legolas disappeared, returning moments later with a vial Éomer had earlier seen on the washstand, a light oil used to soften skin or hair. Legolas placed it on the chest beside the bed and lay down again, his strong thighs pressing between Éomer's, his hands once again setting Éomer's skin on fire everywhere Legolas touched him. Legolas's tongue pushed inside his mouth once again, and he moaned in response, unable to contain the pleasure. He was left panting as Legolas slid down his body, sucking each nipple in turn, kissing and biting his skin, licking his way down to Éomer's cock.

His eyes closed as Legolas's mouth took him in, the pleasure threatening to overwhelm him again. He sucked in air, trying to keep from fainting like a virgin, fisting the blankets in his hands. Only sheer force of will prevented him from thrusting into Legolas's mouth while he tangled his hands in the soft hair, holding him still...

He gasped as another sensation intruded, Legolas's slick fingers tracing over the opening to his body. He shifted his hips, and Legolas continued to mouth his cock, pressing one finger inside. Éomer felt no pain, merely anticipation, and he pushed back, feeling the smile around his cock. Another finger was added, opening him, and Éomer moaned at the dual stimulation, his legs opening wider of their own accord.

With a kiss, Legolas released Éomer's cock as he removed his fingers, sliding up to kiss Éomer's mouth once more. Éomer was lost in a fog of need, unable to stop his hips from thrusting against Legolas's stomach. Legolas smiled and sat back, slicking himself with oil as Éomer tried without success to catch his breath. Wordlessly, Legolas pressed his legs apart as he leaned forward again, his mouth capturing Éomer's lips once more as his cock pressed slowly but determinedly inside him.

His breath caught as he felt Legolas's cock inside of him. His arms and legs slid around Legolas, encouraging him. He felt a flare of pain that almost passed before he recognized it, and then Legolas brushed against the spot that always undid him, and he gasped, pushing back, encouraging Legolas to move. Their eyes held for a moment, and then Legolas pulled back, and thrust inside him so hard that he only just stifled a moan. Then he cried out something — it might have been "More!" — and Legolas obliged, his own gasps for air mingling with Éomer's as he set a brutal pace, kissing Éomer into near unconsciousness while his cock sent shattering waves of pleasure through Éomer's body.

One of Legolas's hands slid between them, the fingers fluttering lightly over his cock, a sharp counterpoint to the rapid thrusts inside of him. It added yet another layer of pleasure, and suddenly it was too much, the sensations too intense. He was close, so close, and as Legolas bit his neck, his senses overloaded, simply unable to take in anything more. All the emotions of the past weeks, all the pain and loss and grief, all the worry and fear — everything broke loose at that moment, and Éomer cried out as he came, pulsing across Legolas's hand and chest, his entire body shaking as he felt Legolas's own release deep inside of him.

He gasped for air like a drowning man, unable to still the tremors pulsing through his body. Legolas withdrew from him gently, kissing his mouth once again, then wrapped his arms around him, drawing his head close against Legolas's chest. After long minutes, Éomer felt his own heart slowing, falling into sync with the much slower one next to him.

"Sleep," Legolas said.

He nodded, hoping that Legolas would still be there when he awoke, but afraid to ask him to stay. The last thing he recalled before fatigue overcame him was the sensation of Legolas's lips against his face, kissing away tears he didn't remember shedding.

He awoke some time later to find Legolas lying beside him, propped on one elbow, humming softly as he watched Éomer. He lifted a hand to Legolas's cheek, savoring the feel of the smooth skin beneath his own, rougher fingers. He was rewarded with a kiss to his palm, an echo of his earlier caress, Legolas's bright eyes holding his gaze all the while.

Legolas handed him a glass of wine. He took it gratefully, for his mouth was dry. He lifted his head to drink, and noticed the wine seemed to taste better than it had before, richer, its scent more fragrant. He handed the glass back wordlessly, and Legolas placed it on the chest next to the bed. He turned back to Éomer, slowly tracing a finger from his neck to his stomach. Legolas's eyes were serious but gentle, the predator apparently replaced by some other incarnation of the unknowable creature beside him. Éomer closed his eyes, his head dropping back onto the pillow, allowing the sensations offered by Legolas's hands to wash over him.

Desire replaced need this time, and he moved easily into Legolas's arms, kissing his mouth, his neck, his shoulders and chest. Slow and easy, with hands and mouth, they brought each other to the peak once more. Éomer cried out once again as he came, but in pleasure this time rather than desperation. Somehow, despite all that had happened and whatever they might face tomorrow, they had found a moment of true respite, of shared joy.

When he next woke, the first hints of sunlight were visible through the window, the breeze fluttering against the curtains allowing narrow shafts of light to invade their sanctuary. Legolas was already dressed, watching him from the chair, singing softly to himself.

"How do you feel?" Legolas asked, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Better," he said. It was true, yet insufficient; but it was the only word Éomer could find at the moment.

Legolas smiled as he combed unruly hair away from Éomer's eyes with his fingers. "We must go soon, I'm afraid." He leaned over and kissed Éomer's eyelids, as if to lift the weariness from them, then offered Éomer an arm and pulled him from the bed. Finding warm water in a basin on the washstand, Éomer quickly washed and dressed, and minutes later they were ready to depart.

As they turned to go, he halted Legolas with a hand on his arm. "Legolas..."

Legolas silenced him with a kiss, but not a kiss as they had shared during the night past. It was not a kiss of longing or desire, but a kiss sealing the moment between them. It was a kiss that told Éomer that no words were needed — not about what had occurred between them, and not about what the future might hold.

When Legolas broke the kiss, searching his eyes for understanding, Éomer simply nodded. Silently, they walked back to the Pelennor Fields together, to join the captains of the west on their journey toward the final battle with Mordor.

End

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