Ride the Wind
by Alex

Rúmil did not like Edoras. It smelled like humans. And he spoke neither the common tongue nor the language of Rohan. And no one had time for him. And Haldir was still being attended by physicians. And Orophin was back home, guarding the Northern Fences.

He was miserable.

He had never been out of the Golden Wood until he went with the Elven Army to Helm's Deep and he never wanted to venture into the land of humans again. He had been wet and cold and terrified. He saw Haldir struck down by an Orc, and later, when he found out his brother still lived, thanked the Valar for the hardness of Haldir's handsome head.

But here he was in this cold city on a mountain crag and he was...well, he was a little bit scared. He had seldom been alone in his long life, yet he was totally alone here among these humans who could not even talk to him, who only stared at his ears or the silver of his hair.

He went down to the stables. He missed his horse. The army had walked to Helm's Deep, so Moondancer was back in the Golden Wood. He saw all the beautiful grey and roan steeds of the Rohirrim housed in the stable and in the surrounding pasture. It was so much nicer down here. He went inside the barn and saw the rows of stalls. The horses of Rohan were the majestic descendants of the Mearas, said to have been brought from Valinor itself. The true Meara allowed no one to ride them but the king and his sons, but all the horses of Rohan were well bred and beautiful.

Rúmil walked up and down the long row of stalls until he came to a huge dappled grey stallion. The horse whinnied at him and he stopped. It stamped the ground, yet did not seem hostile to him.

"You look a little like my Moondancer, my friend," he spoke in Elvish to the beast. It inclined its head as if it could understand him. He found an apple in his pocket, one left from his dinner a few hours ago. The horse's nose was as soft as velvet as it nudged his palm then took the apple into its mouth with a soft snort. Rúmil could smell the sweet scent of the apple as the big animal ate it.

The elf was so intent on the horse that he did not hear the man approach him from behind.

He spoke in the language that Rúmil recognized as Rohirric, though he could not understand the words as he turned, startled, and looked into dark eyes that seemed to see into his very soul. It was the King of Rohan.

Éomer came down to the stable to see to his horse. The magnificent stallion had carried him in many battles, and he always saw to its comfort before seeing to his own. Any good Rohirrim cared for his horse better than himself. He was surprised to see what appeared to be an elf talking to Silvercloud. When he got closer, he heard the sounds of Elvish.

"What are you doing with my horse?"

The elf turned, startled, and Éomer looked into eyes so blue that he knew he could get lost in them. The elf looked familiar, perhaps he was one of the ones from Lórien; he had the look of the Captain of the Elven Army, the one who had been injured. Perhaps he was his kinsman.

"What is your name, elf?"

The elf said nothing for a long time until Éomer finally realized that he didn't understand him. He touched his own chest and said "Éomer."

The elf brought his hand to his chest and nodded slightly, "Rúmil."

The Rider thought that the softly accented voice was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

"Rúmil?" He smiled when the elf winced slightly at his attempt to say his name.

"Éomer?" The word trilled off the elf's tongue like a song. Éomer nodded at him. "I come to take him out for a short ride, then rub him down and feed him." He felt a little stupid talking to someone who could not understand a thing he said, but he felt better for it just the same. He got his saddle ready and grabbed the informal bridle that he used when he rode here at home.

Rúmil watched as the man saddled and bridled the stallion. He led the horse from the barn out outside. Rúmil followed, fascinated with the man who took his horse out in the rising moonlight to ride. He looked like a god, blond haired and wide shouldered upon the deep grey horse.

He was surprised when the man said something to him then reached a hand down to him. He leaped up onto to the huge horse behind the man. He put his hands on Éomer's waist and held on as the horse took off running at full speed. The wind was cool as they rode hard and fast.

Once away from Edoras, they rode at a more leisurely pace, finally slowing down to a walk. Rúmil only then noticed that he had both arms tight around the man and his chest pressed close to the man's back. He found he liked the warmth and the scent of the man so he stayed close.

Éomer noted that the elf was still holding him tight even though there was no need. But those strong arms felt good so he said nothing. He had never had dealings with elves before and had been shocked when he saw the Elven Army at Helm's Deep. After seeing them, he understood how Gimli, the Dwarf, could have become so smitten with the she-elf of the Golden Wood.

They walked, then galloped upon the steed over the open plain around Edoras until the moon shone brightly. Éomer could feel the elf's breath on the back of his neck when they slowed down. The elf looked like he was just past youth, but he had heard they lived for thousands of years. He wondered how old this one was.

He cursed his inability to talk to Rúmil. He would like to have asked of the elf's home, of his family. The need to know these things surprised him, but then all of his reactions to this elf had surprised him so far. He felt...protective of him for some reason. There was more too, he just wasn't ready yet to face what it might be.

Rúmil was having similar thoughts too. The man felt...good in his arms, good in a way that he had shared with few. He knew this man was the new King of Rohan, but he found himself wondering if he had a wife and children, wondering if he had a real home other than the back of this animal.

Rúmil did something totally inexplicable then, at least to himself. He let his lips touch the back of Éomer's neck. He felt the slight shiver and smelled the strong musk that he was only able to smell when he pressed his nose against blond hair and skin. He tightened his arms almost imperceptibly, and smiled when Éomer noticed it.

Wordlessly, the man turned his horse back toward the citadel. They rode hard and fast, letting the horse have his head. He knew the way home without being told at all. Éomer let himself be lost in the feeling of that warm chest pressed against him and that warm breath close to his ear. He longed to hear more of than softly accented language, no matter what Rúmil said to him.

They arrived at the stable in a matter of minutes, the elf slid from the horse's back while the man climbed down using the stirrups. Éomer attended Silvercloud, removing his saddle and rubbing him down before covering him in a woolen blanket and taking him to his stall for water and food.

Rúmil followed behind him. He got fresh water for the horse while Éomer got the food.

"Thank you," Éomer put a hand on the elf when he said it. He was sure that his meaning was clear as Rúmil smiled and nodded. He offered the elf a drink from the canteen he had taken from his saddlebag after placing it back on the post it rested on. He watched him drink, not one drop spilling. He handed the canteen back to Éomer. The man drank a long swallow.

He set the canteen aside and took a step toward Rúmil. He raised his hands and let them fall to his side, unsure of what to do next. He looked at the elf, looked into those deep blue eyes and felt that same knowing he'd felt when he first saw him just a few hours ago. He made a step closer still.

He looked around, noticing that the barn was empty of people, not even one stable boy was left in attendance. He raised his hand again and this time, he touched the smooth face of the elf.

"Your beauty rivals that of any I have ever seen," the Rider, even though he knew the elf couldn't understand him. He slipped his finger under the elf's chin and stretched across the distance between to touch his lips to Rúmil's full ones. They were soft and warm, pliant beneath his own lips as they parted to allow his greedy tongue entrance.

Rúmil felt like he was melting as he welcomed the arms that pulled him close. He found that there was nothing about this man that he found unpleasant from his wavy blond locks to his demanding lips to the hardness of his body and his...manhood as it pressed against him. His scent made Rúmil's blood rush from his head and the taste of his lips made the elf dizzy. He had never felt such heated passion before.

He was trying to figure out why this was so when hands began to work the fastenings of his tunic and the warrior's war roughened hands touched his naked chest. He decided that thought could wait until later as he gave himself to the kiss and the touch of Éomer. He was no stranger to joining, but he had not felt need quite as intensely before as he did this night.

The Rohirrim's tunic proved to be easy to dispose of before Rúmil let his hands splay out over the hairy chest of the human male. He had never felt anything remotely like this and it was a delight to his hands and to his cheek as he leaned down and rubbed his face on the warm skin, sighing at the roughness of the blond, curly hair against his smooth skin.

Both tunics were cast aside and naked arms embraced and naked chests touched.

Rúmil's breath hissed when he felt hands on the lacings of his black suede leggings. He tried to keep his hips still, but they refused to obey his commands and bucked against the hands that sought to free his erection.

Éomer maneuvered him back against a large square bale of hay. He reached to the hook over Rúmil's shoulder and grabbed one of the heavy blankets that hung there. He pulled the elf against him while the spread the blanket over the side of the hay then pushed Rúmil back to recline against the hay once more. The elf still wore his leggings but his penis stood proudly, freed from the lacings.

Éomer sunk to his knees in front him the Lórien elf.

Rúmil whispered, "Yes," in his own language as that hot mouth kissed the hard muscles of his stomach at the same time that the man's hand circled his erection. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and flexed his hips so he could thrust into the hot hand that held him. He whispered encouragement and finally pleas to Éomer as the man kissed closer and closer to his needy shaft.

Éomer wasn't sure what the elf said in soft, pleading voice. He paused and looked up into his eyes to make sure the elf wanted him to continue instead of pleading for him to stop. He saw hunger and desperate need reflected back at him. He lifted the silky shaft to his lips and sucked the head in slowly, letting his tongue wet it as it slipped into his mouth. The pre-come was more sweet than salty as he tasted it and he was greedy to see what the elf's semen tasted of.

Rúmil was no stranger to physical love but no one had ever done the things that the man was doing with his tongue. He grabbed the man's shoulders and thrust himself into his mouth, then into his throat. He looked down into Éomer's brown eyes, searching to see if the man was comfortable with what they did and he saw his own desire in the man's eyes.

Éomer found out rather quickly what elf semen tasted like as Rúmil came in his mouth, wave after wave of pearly liquid running down the back of his throat, filling his mouth, running out onto his lips. He licked and sucked and swallowed until he felt as if his entire reason for existing at that moment in time was to bring pleasure and love to the lonely elf.

He sat back on his haunches and looked up at Rúmil. He wantedŠ he wanted Rúmil, plain and simple. He had no way to ask him either.

After a few seconds, the elf stood and slipped his leggings the rest of the way off, and when he rose, he began to unfasten Éomer's trousers. The man stepped out of his boots and allowed the elf to finish stripping him. Rúmil smiled shyly at him and turned around, offering himself to the King of Rohan. Éomer stood naked and looked upon the pale beauty of the elf's shoulders and back curving down to his smooth bottom. The elf leaned down over the scratchy blanket and spread his legs far enough to give Éomer a perfect view of what he offered.

He looked at the gift and felt that perhaps he wasn't quite worthy of this perfect creature. He had nothing to ease his way except for the sticky pre-come from his own penis and his saliva. He wanted to ask the elf if he were sure he wanted this, but he had no way to do so.

Rúmil shivered as the man's hot tongue touched the back of his neck, Éomer having lifted his hair to one side. Éomer leaned over his back, pressing himself against his smooth ass as he sucked and licked an ear tip. Rúmil swore in elvish and trembled so hard that no translation at all was needed. He worked his way from the elf's ear down his spine, taking care to lick and kiss the tiny dimples just above his ass. Rúmil was begging now for more, for anything. The tone was recognizable if the words were not.

He kissed the tiny opening, wetting it with his tongue before sliding a finger inside. He searched gently for the tiny gland he knew men had, but wasn't actually sure about elves until he heard the high keening sound and felt the ring tighten around his finger. He added a finger and another until the tightness eased enough that he could tell Rúmil was enjoying his ministrations.

Éomer finally knew he could wait no longer and he stood behind Rúmil and spit into his hand, smoothing the saliva onto to himself and mixing it with the slick pre-come that dripped heavily from his cock. The elf moaned and trembled when he pressed into him. The fit was tight but he didn't think the elf was unused to such lovemaking, as they stood immobile for a few seconds.

The Éomer began to move. He began by holding onto the elf's hips as he moved but soon he found himself leaning over, kissing Rúmil's back, telling him how good he felt, telling him how badly he wanted to please him. He called him by endearments he had never used with other lovers and told himself it was because the elf could not understand him but he knew that this was not true. He meant them; the elf meant more to him than he would have ever been able to adequately explain to anyone, even himself.

Rúmil had never felt so engulfed by anyone. He felt like he was being consumed by the man who made love to him. He whispered soft words to Éomer too, words of love, words of forever. Every time that his lover brushed his prostate, he cried out his pleasure until all his words ran together into moans and pleas.

Éomer came hard, clinging to Rúmil and telling him he loved him over and over. He held Rúmil tight when the elf spilled himself a second time onto the blanket, crying out Éomer's name in that soft accent. He kissed and held him until they were both able to breathe freely again.

Éomer found a soft cloth and bit of water from the trough to wipe them of before they donned their clothing to return to Medulseld. When they got to the keep, Rúmil turned to go at the gate, intending on heading to the barracks where they had been billeted. The hand on his arm stayed him as Éomer led him into the keep a back way and to his own quarters. Once there, he stripped the elf and lay him in the bed, then stripped and joined him. He pulled Rúmil up into his arms and then pulled the heavy quilt over him. He kissed the elven brow, smoothed his mussed silver blond hair and began to sing a children's song of Rohan about riding the wind. They slept.

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