Stud Fee
by Isabeau of Greenleaf

She had the wise eyes of the Mearas, and it seemed to Éomer that there was a bit of mockery in their blue depths as she stared at him. His stablemaster was both apologetic, and fearful that he would be blamed.

"She will not stand to take a stud, my lord. None of the Mearas, and none of the other stallions." Éomer gave him a disbelieving look.

"You put the regular stallions to a mare of the Mearas?" Aedwyn swallowed hard, but like most Rohirrim, he had his share of courage.

"I offered them to her only, my lord, and only when she would not have those of her kind. You were at war, and not here to consult, and the breeding season was wearing on. I thought you would feel a half-breed foal better than no foal at all." Éomer sighed, and stroked her white satin neck. She turned her head and nibbled on his sleeve, leaving a copious amount of green, grassy slime. Fortunately, the King of Rohan was wearing his stable clothes.

"You are not getting any younger, Lightfoot," he told the mare, who chose that moment to snort all over the front of his tunic. "None have ever been swifter, or more forward in war than thou. My uncle rode one of your foals, and I wish to do the same," he declared, looking down at his ruined tunic somewhat wryly, "Though I do sometimes wonder why I am so set upon this." The mare gave him a hard nudge with her nose, and he began to scratch the whorl of hair in the center of her forehead.

"How many years is it now, Aedwyn, since she allowed herself to be bred?" The stablemaster leaned on the door and grimaced.

"Three, my lord king. 'Twas why I did what I did."

"Think you she is past the age for it?"

"Not quite, I would deem, but it seems that she feels otherwise." Éomer sighed.

"Well, she is a daughter of the Lords of Horses, and we may not force her. Keep offering—I will take a late foal and be glad of it, even if it means housing her and the foal in Meduseld itself this winter." Aedwyn nodded his understanding.

"It will be done as you command, my lord, though there is no great hope that she will consent at this late date."

"I know that Aedwyn, but I have to try. None of her other foals still live, and I would have a mount from this bloodline." The stablemaster bowed, and was moving away to see to his other charges, when a shadow darkened the doorway, and a lithe, grey shape entered the dimness of the barn. One of the Elven horses belonging to the party accompanying the King Elessar's bride stepped delicately towards its stall of its own volition. As the Elves had instructed, their horses had not been confined to the stalls, but the doors had been left open, and they came and went as they pleased. The Mearas were treated similarly upon the rare occasions they were stabled, so this was not an uncommon thing, and the Elven horses had conducted themselves perfectly, keeping to themselves as they grazed the green fields, and causing no trouble.

This particular one was a stallion, palely dappled with a silver mane and tail. Huge, dark eyes shone in his pale face, and the silky floss of his mane and tail looked as if he'd spent the entire morning being combed. Éomer found the Elf horses to be a bit delicate-looking for his taste, but there was no doubt that they were beautiful and swift, and far hardier than they looked. They were also every bit as intelligent as the Mearas. Like most of his folk, the King of Rohan might forget the face of a human acquaintance but he never forgot a horse, and he knew that this one was named Nimfaun, or White Cloud, and belonged to Prince Elladan Peredhil of Imladris.

A nicker sounded suddenly in the quiet of the barn. Lightfoot, her ears pricked forward, stretched her nose towards the Elven stallion. Nimfaun paused in the passage, then turned back to the mare, and touched noses gently before proceeding once more on his way. Lightfoot's neck and tail arched invitingly, and she nickered beseechingly once more as he left her. Aedwyn looked at his lord, speculation and hope in his eyes. Éomer glared at his recalcitrant mare for a moment, then groaned in despair.

"I am sure that you, of all people, will not be offended, and will understand when I say that we do not breed our horses to those of mortal folk." Elladan's voice was gently apologetic as he sipped the mead that Éomer had offered him. In the brief time Edoras has been invaded by Elves, Éomer and his sister had found that though they did not care for beer or ale at all, they liked mead quite a bit. He and the elf-lord were sitting in Éomer's study, a cluttered, disordered room filled with tax rolls and other such things. He had been spending far more time than he would have liked there of late, but it was private and suited his current purpose well.

"She is no mere mortal horse! She is a Mearas, like unto Gandalf's Shadowfax. They are said to descend from Orome's horse himself!" Elladan's slender fingers caressed his cup in a graceful manner, and he smiled.

"I will own I have heard legends to that effect. And Shadowfax is certainly an extraordinary fellow! I am willing to concede she might be worthy, but why is this of such importance to you?" Éomer rose, and began to pace the small confines of the room rather nervously.

"Her foals were surpassing swift of foot, and fell in war, but they are all dead now, from the War or other mischance. She is getting older, and has refused to breed for the last three years. She is in season now, and the only stallion she fancies is your Nimfaun. This may be my last chance to get the foal I desire from her, and perpetuate her bloodline."

"And how does Nimfaun feel about this?" A man of Gondor would have laughed at such a question, but Éomer was no Gondorrim, and responded seriously.

"He seemed not adverse, from what I could tell." Elladan's eyebrows arched delicately.

"That is easy enough to determine. Though even if he were, he would do it if I asked him to. T'would be best if he were not forced to it, however. I would not strain our friendship in such a way." However incomprehensible Éomer found Elves, and particularly this Elf, he could not help but approve of that sentiment.

"I truly do not believe you would have to coerce him, my lord prince." Elladan nodded, and his eyes hooded thoughtfully.

"There is, of course, the question of the stud fee." Éomer froze where he stood, and cleared his throat uneasily.

"I have gold, my lord, and some jewelry that might be of interest." The elf-lord took a long and deliberate drink from his cup, then licked his lips delicately.

"I have riches enough of my own, King of Rohan, and though your artisans fashion works that have a certain vigorous charm about them, they are not truly to my taste. There is no political advantage you can offer me—the Elves are leaving Middle-earth, and have no interest in alliances with Men. I think you know what it is I would have." Éomer swallowed hard. He had not been unaware of Elladan's desire for him. At Cormallen, and afterwards, he had seen the elf-lord's eyes fastened upon him in a way that could not be mistaken. And Elladan had propositioned him once before, and had been refused. He had taken the refusal politely enough, but Éomer had known that, given any sort of opportunity at all, he would ask again.

"Prince Elladan, I am not the sort of man who...does that. Name another price."

"I am well aware that you do not do that sort of thing. It is precisely that which makes the price worthy of my Nimfaun." Elladan set his cup upon Éomer's desk, stood and stretched like a cat, without any of the sound of cracking joints that happened when mortals did it. Two swift steps brought him into close proximity with the King, though he did not touch him in any way.

"We leave the day after tomorrow, and your mare is ready now, perhaps your last opportunity to get what you desire." He smiled sweetly, no mockery or lechery to it. "It certainly seems my only opportunity to have what I desire. Spend the night with me, the whole night, from after the night-meal till dawn, and Nimfaun will cover your mare in the morning. And as I possess the healing gift of my people, I will examine her first today, so that we may be sure she can conceive. I would not have you make such a ...sacrifice for nothing."

Éomer hesitated, caught between revulsion for the act proposed to him, and his deep desire for a foal from the Mearas mare. Elladan watched him with a certain amount of sympathy, and when he spoke, his voice was soft.

"Éomer, you need not be afraid. I will not hurt you. I could not—to do so would be contrary to my peoples' nature. You might even find it possible to take pleasure in the act." The King shuddered.

"I doubt that. And I am not afraid of you, Prince of Imladris. But your offer is not...unreasonable, and I...accept." Elladan exhibited no undue elation, nor did he gloat over his victory. He simply nodded.

"Very well. But one caution, Éomer." Éomer looked at him quizzically. "Fortify yourself somewhat if you must to accomplish this, but it is a lover I require this evening, not some sodden, snoring bedwarmer. If you come to me too drunk to...participate, the bargain is broken." The King's blue eyes kindled.

"You need not fear, elf-lord. I am a man of my word, and I will uphold my end of the pact." Elladan nodded once more.

"That is well. Now— let us go have a look at this mare of yours."

The King of Rohan sat to his meat that night with a roiled stomach and a mind in turmoil. As he looked down the table at the Elves interspersed with the men and women of his court, he pondered, not for the first time, their alien natures. They were indeed most like cats, he decided after a while, in the way they were so graceful and soft-seeming, yet could slash swiftly to the bone in a heartbeat. Their all-knowing airs and even the way their eyes glowed in the candlelight reminded him of feline things.

And as he sat at the high table with his guests, he wondered what it was that attracted Elladan, a nearly three-thousand-year-old warrior of renown, to him. He wondered if this sort of aberration was common among the Elves, and if so, what Aragorn, raised among them, thought about it. He wondered what Aragorn would think if the King of Gondor were ever to find out what Éomer was going to do with his foster brother tonight.

His usually excellent appetite diminished to the point that his sister was giving him concerned looks, Éomer endeavored to make polite conversation with the exquisite Lady Arwen, wishing whole-heartedly that it had been she, and not her brother who had been attracted to him. Though that would have caused difficulties as well, since he considered Aragorn to be the brother he had never had.

An interminable hour later, Elladan rose and begged the King's permission to depart. Éomer granted it with what he hoped was a neutrally gracious expression. He himself, in his capacity as host, lingered for another three-quarters of an hour before he rose and excused himself, saying that kingdom concerns required his attention, and begging his guests to remain and eat and enjoy the entertainments that had been arranged for them. Éowyn gave him an odd look as he left, but willingly took over as hostess.

He stepped outside of Meduseld, and felt the evening breeze upon his face with relief. Haying was being done in one of the meadows close to Edoras, and the smell of it was sweet upon the wind. With a sigh, he made his way to the guesthouse wherein the Elves were situated, and careful to make sure he was not being observed, came eventually to Elladan's room and knocked upon the door. A quiet voice bade him enter.

Within, there was no light save for a candle upon the bedside table, and a couple more in wall sconces. Elladan was reclining upon his bed, clad in a robe of something that looked like dark grey silk, but rose gracefully when Éomer entered, and crossed the room noiselessly. Éomer looked at him, his hair undone from its usually intricate braiding, and falling loose upon his shoulders, and swallowed.

"Are you not sharing this room with your brother? Should we find another place?" Elladan smiled.

"I am, but Elrohir is keeping company with someone else this night. And we are less likely to be disturbed here, I deem, than if I came to your room. For surely, anyone who sought the King would go there."

"That is certainly true." The elf-lord laid a long hand upon his shoulder then, and Éomer shrugged out from underneath it.

"I can take my own clothes off, Lord Elladan." Elladan stepped back, turned, and moved to one of the room's two windows, his back to the King.

"I have no doubt of that, my lord king. But you do realize that the nature of our bargain rather necessitates my touching you at some point, don't you? I had thought that you might prefer to start with something not quite so intimate, but please, suit yourself."

Taking advantage of the opportunity given him, Éomer moved to one of the intricately carved chairs that his people favored and with which the room was furnished, seated himself, and removed his boots slowly. Then, standing, he began to divest himself of his garments, laying them upon the chair as he did to. Belt, crown, collar, tunic and undertunic were placed there, then, after a moment's hesitation, his breeches and underthings. He moved to the bed and slid under the covers swiftly.

At the sound of rustling bedclothes, Elladan turned and moved to the bed himself.

"I should like to have been able to look at you," he chided Éomer gently, seeing him all tucked up in the bed.

"You've seen me before. When I was bathing at Cormallen that time."

"Indeed," Elladan conceded, "And Elves are creatures with perfect memory. Nonetheless, I would have enjoyed refreshing mine, for you are surpassing fair, Éomer." Flushing a little at receiving such a compliment from a man, or more exactly a male elf, Éomer watched as the elf-lord slid out of his robe, and laid it at the foot of the bed. He stood naked, and completely unselfconscious before the king for a moment, allowing him to look his fill. His skin was very pale, and unmarked by wind or weather, even on his hands and face, and his hair, unbound, fell in a drifting black curtain to the small of his back. Broader in the shoulder than Éomer would have expected, his body tapered gracefully to a very narrow waist and hips, and his musculature was that of a swordsman and bowman. The slender, silver traceries of battle scars showed up faintly here and there, but that meant nothing to Éomer—he had his fair share of scars himself.

Save for his head, no body hair adorned the elf. That, and the porcelain look to his skin and fineness of his features should have given him a feminine quality, but it did not. That which lay between his thighs was very definitely masculine, formed like Éomer's and rather larger than Éomer had expected. His mannerisms and bearing were that of a warrior and a male. There was no way Éomer was going to be able to make this easier upon himself by imagining the elf a woman.

As if discerning his thought (and perhaps he was), Elladan smiled at him, then slid gracefully beneath the covers himself. Éomer willed himself not to flinch as the warm smoothness of Elladan's body pressed against his. A quiet voice breathed in close proximity to his ear.

"You did not drink anything at dinner."

"You said you did not wish me to."

"What I said was that I did not want you drunk. If you had partaken of something to give you courage, I would have understood."

"I have courage enough that I need not look for more in the bottom of a mether." A soft chuckle rippled through the body next to his.

"Indeed you do, Lord of Rohan. Indeed you do." A hand reached up and brushed Éomer's cheek, light as a feather, and the other trailed down the outside of his arm. Despite himself, Éomer shivered, and closed his eyes. "Open your eyes, Éomer," Elladan's silken voice said. When the king complied, he was met by an amused grey gaze. "Would you imagine that I am a woman, then?"

"If there were any way I could," Éomer replied forthrightly, and the elf-lord chuckled again.

"Sorry I am that I force you to attempt such feats of fantasy. Am I so hideous to look upon?" His hands were roving about Éomer's body now, like warm breezes, stroking and pressing gently in secret spots the elf seemed to have knowledge of, in a way that served to calm and relax the king whether he willed it or not.

"You know that you are not. None of your folk are. But you are uncanny. What is it you are doing to me?" The last burst forth from Éomer as the caressing continued, and the tension seemed to ooze from his form.

"Soothing you. Relaxing you. I have had some training as a healer. I would that you enjoyed this, Éomer."

"Enjoyment is not a requirement of our bargain, elf. Only my participation."

"I could not enjoy being with you if I thought you were deriving no pleasure from the act."

"Then you have a problem." Elladan's eyebrow made a sudden, graceful arc.

"We shall see about that." The expert touches continued, none of them intended to arouse it seemed. The Elf prince spent a considerable amount of time upon Éomer's face and hands, and when he deemed the king sufficiently at ease, he swiftly yanked down the coverlet. Éomer made an abortive grab for it, but missed, and lay there trying to control his embarrassment as Elladan looked him up and down.

"Very fair indeed, as I remembered you to be," was Elladan's soft comment, then he slid bonelessly down to Éomer's feet and began ministering to them and his lower legs. The King of Rohan had never imagined that a simple foot rub could be so pleasurable, but then he had never had a lover with centuries of expertise before either. Despite his unease with the situation, he found himself relaxing further, even beginning to feel somewhat drowsy. Eventually, even the tautly held muscles of his thighs slackened, and he sighed and yawned, rather to his own surprise. Elladan chuckled, and gently drew the bedclothes back up over them both as he lay back down beside Éomer.

"Now perhaps we may begin," he said quietly, and leaning up on an elbow, pressed his lips softly against the king's. Éomer's eyes widened slightly, but he accepted the light, warm pressure against his mouth without protest. While one of Elladan's hands stroked his face delicately, the elf-lord's tongue slid across his lips, seeking admittance. Knowing what was expected of him, Éomer relaxed his jaw, and allowed it to enter. With his acquiescence, the kiss firmed and deepened, Elladan's tongue probing and stroking and pulsing within his mouth in a most educated manner. Despite his reservations, Éomer felt the first tremors of arousal within himself. He closed his eyes once more, hoping to concentrate upon the sensations rather than the circumstances, and this time he was permitted to keep them closed.

"That is better, my brave one," Elladan breathed, breaking from the kiss, and his hand began to wander over Éomer's chest and belly, plying his nipples delicately, and dipping into his navel. Éomer felt himself beginning to harden, and made a small moaning noise, part excitement, part dismay. Elladan's hand made a brief foray lower, brushing against his member, and the king jerked spasmodically.

"All will be well, Éomer, you will see," the elf-lord soothed, before claiming the king's mouth again, and gently but firmly taking him in hand. With careful, knowing strokes, he began to urge him towards full arousal.

"Do not talk so much!" Éomer gasped, his hips bucking up beneath Elladan's hand whether he wished it or no. Elladan's lips left his, and smiled against his neck.

"Still trying to pretend, are we? Very well, then." And he was silent after that, though his mouth suddenly became very busy with other things. Teasing nips and kisses covered Éomer's neck and nipples, while his hand stimulated Éomer just enough to put him into a state of burning want without allowing him his release. Then hands and mouth switched tasks, and Éomer cried out in surprise. He had lain with a woman or two who were clever with their mouths, and had enjoyed their ministrations greatly, but they were as children compared to the master who had him in his keeping now. Hair soft as silk flowed over his thighs, and colored lights exploded behind his eyes, as Elladan's tongue and lips and throat urged him towards the most intense pleasure he had ever known. And he was permitted to achieve it eventually, crying out loudly and pulsing deep into the elf's throat while Elladan swallowed everything, his tongue still stroking gently while his teeth gripped Éomer's base lightly.

Quivering from the force of his orgasm and damp with sweat, he slowly opened his eyes to find Elladan pouring himself a glass of what looked like wine from a carafe on the bedside. He took a long draught, and swished it about his mouth before swallowing, then offered the glass to Éomer. The king slowly pushed himself up on one elbow and drank while Elladan held the glass to his lips. He found it was not wine at all, but brandy, and very potent indeed. An aroma of fruit and flowers exploded on the back of his tongue and filled his head, and fire trailed down his throat to his stomach. He knew he had no such vintage in his own cellars.

"Father brought some comforts of home with him, and I did a bit of pilfering in honor of this special occasion," Elladan explained with a smile, and handed Éomer the rest of the glass. "As you had no fortification at all earlier, you might enjoy this." Recovering somewhat, Éomer began sipping the brandy while watching his bedmate curiously. Elladan was obviously aroused, but seemed in no particular hurry to do anything about it.

"Why is it that you sleep with men, and not women?" he asked the elf-lord. Elladan's mouth quirked into a rakish grin.

"What makes you think I do not sleep with women?" Surprised, Éomer floundered a bit.

"Well, you seemed so interested in me, and I had heard some things, so I just assumed that you slept only with men." Elladan shook his head, his hair sliding off his shoulder like black water.

"From time to time, I find a woman I find attractive, mortal or elven. It is true that I sleep more often with men, and a little more often with mortal men than elven ones. But not exclusively. My brother is rather the opposite way. He too has slept with both, but on the whole prefers women to men." With a graceful swing of his head, he sent his hair flying back behind his shoulder once more.

"Elves are not so particular about gender as mortals are, Éomer. Perhaps it is because we know that our spirits will last as long as Arda, and may be rehoused in a new body more than once in the course of our existence. Admittedly, we are male or female, and do not change sex during that time, but again, the bonding of the spirit is what is important to us, not the parts the bodies we inhabit possess."

"And Aragorn? He was raised in an elven household." Éomer asked, voicing the question he'd been curious about ever since this whole business had started.

"I can think of one time when Aragorn may have lain with a male during one of our festivals. And there may have been more that I know not of, that happened while my brother and I were out upon errantry. But I have not heard that it was so, and Rivendell is a small, closed community where secrets are hard to keep. I did hear some tales about Aragorn and one of his friends, another Dunedan, when he was younger, though those may not be true. But he is, on the whole, a man for women. And with such a woman as my sister to cleave to, you need not fear for your virtue at his hands." Elladan's tone was dryly amused. Éomer flushed slightly.

"I was not concerned about that at all."

"Were you not? What were you thinking about then? Wondering if he had done it, so that you could see if it left some visible trace? Made him less a warrior? Less a man?" Deciding that silence was his best defense, Éomer tossed back the rest of the brandy in one large gulp, and set the glass on the bedside table. Elladan raised his eyebrow once more.

"Whatever you were thinking of, I do not wish to spend my night with you talking." He chuckled at the look of disappointment that crossed Éomer's face despite his best efforts, and took him into his arms. His mouth came down upon Éomer's once more, and this time he was not so gentle, demanding a response rather than coaxing it. Never one to shirk a challenge, Éomer found his hand snaking into the cloud of black hair, his tongue twining combatively about the elf's. Elladan, with the steely strength that hid beneath his slender frame, eased him back upon the pillows, and began to caress his body once more. Somewhat uncertainly, perhaps inspired by the brandy that still burned pleasantly in the pit of his stomach, Éomer began stroking his back gently, actually touching him for the first time. The elf arched in pleasure beneath his hand like a cat, and pressed his groin against the king's. Éomer could feel his arousal, hot and hard, and felt himself hardening in response. Elladan flexed his hips, and Éomer groaned at the delicious friction. Silver-grey eyes looked down upon him kindly.

"Would it be easier for you if you were to take me?" Elladan asked gently. Éomer stared at him in bafflement.

"I thought you wanted me."

"I do want you. But I just want to lie with you. It matters not to me who is the dominant partner. I am not the one who is uncertain about his manhood here." Éomer snorted.

"Thank you very much!" Elladan grinned.

"Well you are! You think this night's work is going to diminish it, or turn it blue or something." That mental image was so absurd that the king actually barked a short, loud laugh, and he was smiling as he asked, "What must I do?" The smile left his face when the preparation process was described to him.

"That sounds painful."

"It can be, if you are not careful," Elladan admitted. "Or it can be pleasurable in and of itself. You have large fingers—take it slowly. The oil is on the bed table there."

So it was that Éomer found himself doing what he had never imagined himself doing, readying the elf according to the elf's careful instructions. He had subsided a bit at the initial description, and there was some fear in him that were he not able to rise to the occasion, he would have to take the subordinate role after all. But once he had begun, the feeling of strangeness for the most part went away. And when he found the spot within the elf that Elladan had described for him, and saw him writhe and gasp in response, his head thrown back and body arching towards Éomer, the elf-lord's obvious enjoyment caused him to harden once more in sympathy.

"Éomer! Are you ready? For I truly cannot wait much longer!" Elladan gasped. It was somewhat pleasing to the king to see the elf, who had dominated their interaction totally so far, out of control at last. Carefully, he splayed his big hands over Elladan's slender hips and lifted them, parting his buttocks; then, with equal caution began to enter him.

It was different than with a woman, he found—tighter, and he had to push fairly hard to get in. Elladan groaned as he finally breached the taut entrance, and he paused, worried.

"Am I hurting you?" Eyes closed, the elf shook his head a bit frantically.

"Valar, no! Keep going!" Reassured, Éomer pressed inward once more, till he had fully sheathed himself. Then he paused once more, panting a bit himself at the feel of Elladan clenching around him spasmodically. The elf-lord lay splayed beneath him in abandon, a dewy sheen of sweat beginning to form. He cracked an eye open to stare at the king.

"For the love of whatever you hold most dear, Éomer, MOVE!" Thus encouraged, Éomer thrust, and Elladan threw back his head once more and cried out. Reasonably certain by now that this was not a sign of pain, the king began to move within him, deeply and rhythmically, and after a moment's consideration, carefully closed his hand around the elf's member. Elladan's hips bucked up, and he cried out once again. It took Éomer a few moments to determine how best to coordinate his hand movements with his other motion, but when he did, Elladan's exclamations became regular and more frenzied. Caught by the elf's passion, Éomer found himself moving ever more swiftly and with ever greater force into the body beneath him, till he feared he was being too brutal. No woman he had ever had would have appreciated such vigor. But Elladan did not protest—he seemed, in fact to relish the violence with which he was being taken.

Éomer's climax, when it came, came with such devastating power that he felt as if something had exploded behind his eyes. Spilling himself within the elf, he only dimly heard Elladan's cries as he too achieved satisfaction. When he had subsided enough, he carefully withdrew from Elladan, and lay slowly down upon the bed beside him, breathing hard. Elladan turned his head, and brushed his fingers along Éomer's cheek gently, a look of satiation in his eyes.

"That was marvelous," he murmured quietly. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"I do admit, it was not as...horrible as I had originally believed," Éomer said after a moment. Elladan laughed.

"Coming from you, I think I may take that as high praise indeed." He got up in a single fluid motion, moved to a washstand that stood nearby, and cleaned himself. He then returned to Éomer, and cleaned him up as well. When that was done, he slid back into bed with the king and pulled the covers over them once more, taking Éomer into his arms, and stroking his back gently.

"The fire within you burns so hotly, it warms my soul," Elladan whispered appreciatively into his ear. Bemusedly, Éomer ran sword-callused fingers through silk-floss hair.

"And is your soul so cold then, that it needs so much warming?"

"Not so much cold as weary at times. Weariness has always been the bane of the Eldar."

"I do not understand," Éomer said, "But then, I have not been granted so great a length of life that I should grow tired of it."

A curious impulse seizing him, he traced the outline of Elladan's leaf-like ear with his finger, and felt the elf shiver suddenly, his member stiffening slightly against Éomer's leg. Intrigued, he pursued this avenue for a few moments, eventually running his tongue along the same route his finger had taken. Elladan groaned, and became very hard very quickly. Éomer, eyebrow cocked, levered himself up on an elbow, leaned over, and took the tip into his mouth, sucking and nibbling gently. Elladan gasped and thrashed gracelessly against him, the first clumsy movement he'd ever seen the elf make.

"Ai! Éomer, you undo me!" Grinning, Éomer took Elladan's head between his strong hands and proceeded to turn it back and forth, laving and licking and nipping first one ear, then another. To his amazement, the elf became totally and suddenly frantic, all masterfulness gone, whimpering and begging and squirming in a way he had to admit to himself that he found quite stimulating.

"It would seem that the strong, all-knowing, and ageless Elven race have a weakness after all," he murmured eventually to the gasping elf-lord beneath him. Pupils dilated with renewed passion to the point that his eyes looked almost black, Elladan gave him a feeble smile.

"Now that you have discovered our most carefully-kept secret, you realize I will have to kill you, don't you?" he panted. Éomer grinned again.

"Somehow, I do not think you will," he said confidently. His hands and mouth began to roam over the slender body beneath him, hands stroking and coaxing, teeth scathing gently over sensitive areas. From time to time, he would return to the ears, and each time he did, the elf's frenzy increased. The part of him that had previously found the idea of this so distasteful was still there, but suppressed to an onlooker's role, as he surrendered to the sensuality of the moment and enjoyed the feeling of control he received from reducing a powerful immortal to a quivering, begging supplicant.

Finally, Elladan's pleas became so desperate, and his own arousal so extreme, that he could ignore them no longer. He was taking the elf's knees to push them up when Elladan wrenched himself free, and turned over onto his belly, his hips in the air, his dark head pillowed submissively on his arms.

"Do it this way!" he gasped. "It will be easier for you." Moving behind him, Éomer hesitated a moment, stroking a gentle hand over his hip.

"Do I need to—"

"No. It is well. Please go on!" So it was that Éomer found himself for the second time that night deep within the elf-lord, being urged to use ever greater speed and strength by his immortal lover.

"I do not wish to harm you!" he protested at one point. Elladan groaned and pushed back against him hard in answer.

"You will not! Are you warrior or no? Take me!" With that, Éomer ceased to worry about damage to the elf, plunging into him with wild abandon, reaching beneath him to stroke him with hard hands. Elladan's increasingly loud cries were muffled by the pillow for the most part, though his final shriek of ecstasy did ring about the room. Éomer was quieter, though he did groan loudly as he spasmed, then collapsed upon Elladan. Several minutes passed before he was able to do more than pat the sweaty shoulder beneath him dazedly. Then, withdrawing carefully, he flopped down beside the elf-lord once more, breathing hard and staring blindly at the ceiling.

"'Tis a good thing that you are a healer, and another good thing that you do not ride out till the day after tomorrow," he commented to the elf, "for I do not see how you could possibly sit a horse after this."

"There is some truth to that," Elladan said ruefully, rubbing his rump as he stretched out gingerly beside the king. "You have ridden me well, and more than well, my golden stallion."

"Just make sure that your stallion does as well by my mare tomorrow." Grey eyes met blue, and after a moment there was an explosion of laughter from both parties. Éomer slid a hand into the small of his back with a groan.

"I think I threw it out! You and your 'Take me! Take me!'." His attempt to mimic Elladan's dulcet tones was something less than successful. "A good thing the walls are so thick—you screech like a barn owl! I thought your people were supposed to be musical."

Elladan gave him a look of mock offense. "I will have you know that not only are my people musical, but I am said to have an excellent voice as such things are reckoned—even among them. You have heard me sing before."

"That is true," Éomer conceded, "and I remember it was passable, now that you mention it." He smiled at the outraged noise the elf made, and got up and stretched. His back made an ominous popping noise. "I need a beer."

"There isn't any," said Elladan with satisfaction. "Elrohir and I sent it all back." Éomer's face fell.

"I suppose I could go get some..." he dismissed that idea after a moment. "No, I might be discovered." Elladan relented slightly.

"There is mead over on the table there. Will that serve?" The king nodded, and strolled over in the indicated direction.

"Would you like some?" he asked as he poured himself a tankard. The elf-lord snorted.

"After brandy?"

"Why not? It might put hair on your chest." Elladan's lip curled elegantly.

"In the course of my lifetime, I have tried infinite alcoholic potables in infinite combinations, and I assure you that none of them ever made a single hair grow anywhere nature had not already planted it." Éomer started back to the bed, and Elladan hurriedly added, "But yes, I would like some." Giving him an annoyed look, the King of Rohan completed his trip, and handed the tankard to the elf, then returned to the table and poured himself one as Elladan watched him, grinning.

Catching the appreciative look in the almond eyes staring at him over the rim of the tankard as he returned to the bed, Éomer growled, "You did that on purpose," and seated himself.

"Yes, I did," admitted Elladan. Éomer shook his head.

"I confess, I still do not see the appeal."

"I would you could see how I see you through my eyes. So bold, so strong and graceful. Burning bright as the sun above your green fields. Peerless in battle. So beautiful, and so ephemeral."

Slightly uncomfortable under the elf's keen regard, Éomer gulped down the better part of what was in his tankard and muttered, "Elven fancies."

Elladan drank from his own in a more moderate manner, and retorted, "Elven truth." He reached out to touch Éomer's back and was pleased to see that the king no longer flinched away.

"Surely not again already?" Éomer inquired in disbelief. "Whether your people are melodious or not, they are certainly insatiable."

"I had thought," declared Elladan with affronted dignity, "to see if I might give your sore back some ease. But if you do not wish me to..." Éomer tossed back the rest of his mead with the practiced motion of a man who'd been drinking since before he'd been considered a man, and without a word, reclined upon his stomach, moving the pillow, and resting his head upon his folded arms. Elladan smiled, straddled his hips and began to work his hands up and down upon the king's spine, using his healing knowledge to align and soothe it. Éomer sighed with relief beneath his ministrations.

"That is very much better. Thank you. Though I shall go to sleep soon if you continue to do that, and I do not know if you are finished with me."

"There are some hours yet before dawn," said Elladan softly as he worked. "Time enough for you to rest before we continue. I too could do with some rest." Éomer chuckled sleepily.

"Have a care, lord elf, that you do not oversleep, and lose the remainder of your fee. Though it could be argued you have been handsomely paid already."

"Never fear, lord king—I have spent centuries in the wild, and can tell myself when to wake for a watch within a minute's span."

Éomer mumbled something incoherent in response, that might have been "Too bad," and the next moment was asleep, snoring gently. Elladan rose, pulled the coverlets from under the king, and tucked them over him. He then slid in beside him, spooned close, and fell to sleep himself.

"Wake, Éomer," a soft voice lilted in the king's ear. Éomer stirred, and groaned, and blinked blearily. He gradually became aware that he was not in his own room, a not unusual circumstance given his appetites, and that there was a warm presence pressed against his back, also a rather common occurrence. Only something was wrong. There was no pair of soft mounds pressed against his back, only something lower down that throbbed insistently against his backside... Startled, he twisted around and found himself face to face with the elf-lord.

"Oh, it's you," he grumbled rather discourteously. Elladan laughed.

"'Tis about two hours before dawn, sleepy one."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"We have been asleep for three hours. If you are sufficiently rested, one more time will pay for all." Beginning to finally wake up, Éomer nodded, and started to sit up, but Elladan drew him back down, and stroked his face gently.

"This time, if you would permit it, I would like to take you. I will be gentle, Éomer."

"So you keep saying," growled Éomer, "but I do not know that I entirely believe you, rough as you like things." He stroked a meaningful hand down Elladan's hip, where bruises were starting to bloom. The elf-lord smiled.

"What I like to have done to me, and what I am capable of doing with others are two different things, King of Rohan. I give you my word I will not hurt you. You will be able to sit a horse today when I am done, if that is your wish." Éomer considered this for a few moments, then finally, reluctantly nodded.

"Might as well be hung for a horse as a sheep," came his less than gracious assent. Elladan laughed.

"Hardly the most romantic avowal, but it is probably as good as I am going to get!" He bent to Éomer's lips immediately, as if fearing he would change his mind, and the king opened his mouth slowly, yielding hesitantly to Elladan's demand.

Once again, the elf-lord's expert tongue began to work its magic as his hands stroked soothingly down Éomer's body. The elf was a quick study, and over the course of their one evening together had already noted the sorts of touches the king enjoyed the most. He employed them all now, hoping to bring Éomer to a state that would allow him to accept and enjoy what Elladan intended to do. With whispered Elven endearments, he coaxed and teased and played Éomer's flesh as if he were a musical instrument with which the elf was long familiar.

When he finally slid down the king's body, Éomer was already hard in anticipation, and when he took him deep into his throat, the king cried out, his hips jerking upward uncontrollably. As they did so, Elladan quickly slipped a hand beneath him, and when he came down, he found that fingers were carefully exploring the cleft of his buttocks. Éomer's eyes grew wide, but Elladan did nothing too frightening, merely stroking the area gently while he continued ministering to the king with his mouth. Éomer clenched against the intrusion at first, but finally relaxed and permitted the caresses. When he was on the verge of achieving his release, Elladan let him slip from his mouth. Éomer groaned in disappointed frustration, and the elf-lord chuckled.

"It will be well, brave one. Just wait a bit." He reached to the table for the oil, and coated his fingers with it. Éomer, seeing this, closed his eyes. Elladan patted his hip consolingly with his unoiled hand, and nudged the king's knees open. When he first felt the oiled fingers circling his opening, Éomer made a small, protesting noise, and when one of them began to gently press into him, he gasped and dug his heels into the bed, lifting his hips off of it. Despite the evasion, Elladan persisted, and soon his finger was entirely sheathed within the king. He held it there, unmoving for a time, until Éomer became accustomed to the intrusion and began to relax once more. Once he had done so, Elladan began to move the finger gently, seeking for the spot that would pleasure the king.

Éomer gasped when he found it, and jerked. "Valar! You were right about that!" Elladan smiled smugly.

"I told you so. Just relax." Getting down on his elbows, he carefully worked a second finger into the king, and began to prepare him in earnest, stretching and working him gently, intermittently touching his pleasure spot, and taking him into his mouth from time to time to sustain his interest. Éomer knotted his fingers into the bedclothes and moaned softly, part of him unable to believe he was actually permitting this, the other part too caught up in sensation to care.

Elladan for his part was cautious, taking far longer to prepare Éomer than he normally did with his other lovers, for he wanted to be very sure that the king had a good experience. Deciding eventually that Éomer was as ready as he would ever be, he oiled his member and pressed the king's thighs open. Éomer's eyes flew open as well.

"Are you—"

"Yes. It is time, I think. Lie quiet, and do not fear—I will take this slowly." As good as his word, the elf began a steady and increasingly firm pressure against Éomer's entrance. When it gave way, he immediately slowed his inward progress, moving in infinitesimal stages that allowed the king time to accommodate him. Éomer groaned and squirmed a bit in an effort to escape, but Elladan gripped his hips and continued to move into him inexorably.

"Do not fight it so, my stallion. You only hurt yourself when you do. Relax and accept it, and you will find it much easier to endure."

"It burns!"

"Only at first, and it would not so badly were you not fighting me. Relax!" Éomer took a deep breath, and tried to do as he was told. Once Elladan was well and truly within him, the pain did begin to subside, and some of his panic with it. Motionless by an act of will Éomer knew he personally would have been incapable of, the elf-prince waited patiently until the king relaxed at last.

"That is better, brave one, is it not?" Éomer nodded a bit jerkily.

"It is not so bad now." Elladan smiled.

"Let us see if we can do better than 'not so bad'," he suggested, stroking Éomer's flanks and thighs soothingly. Gripping and lifting his hips slightly, the elf-lord began to move within the king, slowly and with a care for the angle, so as to maximize the pleasure that was felt. This gentleness was far removed from the fervor with which he'd demanded Éomer take him, and his eyes were soft as he looked down upon the king.

"It is a gift you give me, Éomer," he said quietly in his melodious voice, hands caressing the strong body beneath him as if it belonged to a frightened child. "The gift of one warrior to another. No shame in it. No shame at all."

"That is not what my people believe," Éomer muttered, his face flushing with the resurgence of passion. The repeated, deliberate stroking of that traitorously pleasurable place within him was near driving him mad.

"Your people are very young." It was matter-of-fact rather than insulting. Éomer's rejoinder was gasped.

"Besides, 'twas naught but a bargain!"

"If you say so. But you could have had me the third time as well. That you agreed to let me do this is a gift of trust, and I appreciate it."

"Appreciate it well then, elf, for the opportunity will never come again!"

"Of that I am well aware, Éomer of Rohan. All the more reason to make it last." And he continued to move cleverly within the king, using angle and pressure and pace to push him to the very edge of release without allowing him relief. After a seeming eternity of this, Éomer's pride gave way to his body's need, and he began to move in time with Elladan, his hips rising to meet the elf's thrusts. Groans spilled regularly from his lips, and his hands tore feverishly at the coverlets. Finally, he could take no more.

"Finish it Elladan, by the Valar, finish it!" he pleaded, "Or you will finish me!" Eyes black with passion again, Elladan threw back his head and cried aloud in triumph. His pace quickening, he came to completion with several quick, hard thrusts, and as he did so, so did Éomer with a loud cry. Residual shudders racked the elf for a few moments, then he carefully withdrew and laid himself down upon the belly of his lover, oblivious to the seed that had spilled across it. Éomer, still panting and shivering, looked up at him a bit dazedly.

"You shriek like a barn owl too," Elladan told him, whereupon Éomer came back to himself in a hurry and the elf-lord was treated to a diatribe in Rohirric that covered his parentage, his perversions, and his parents' perversions; a highly original exercise in invective which never repeated itself. Elladan laughed delightedly all the way through it, then rose and went to the wash stand to cleanse himself once more. When he was done, Éomer did the same, still muttering under his breath, then went over to the chair which held his clothes.

"Is our bargain complete then?" he asked the elf rather grumpily.

"You are mine until dawn, even if I do naught more with you," Elladan reminded him, and Éomer's brow furrowed. "But I will not hold you to that. You are no Ranger, and I fear you might be discovered should you be forced to try to skulk away in the morning light." Éomer saw the wicked humor glinting in the elf's eyes, and snorted. "There is but one more thing I will ask of you, ere I release you that you might safely depart under the cover of darkness." He glided forward, laid his hands upon Éomer's shoulders and his lips upon the king's in a gentle kiss. It was soft, and slow, and long, and ended on a sigh.

"Thank you, Éomer. I know that this was not a way in which you would have chosen to spend your evening, but it was a most enjoyable night for me." Éomer dropped his eyes for a moment, unable to meet the intense silver gaze fastened upon him.

"Nay, Elladan, it was not what I would have chosen. But I agreed to the bargain, and I realize that you made a great effort to see that I would not regret it. I appreciate that." The elf stepped back, releasing him.

"I fear I must rest some more, spent as I am by your love-making." Another snort, this one amused, from the king. "I will speak to Nimfaun mid-morning, and see that my end of things is accomplished." Éomer nodded, and donned his clothes, and with no further speech, departed.

He had just reached his chambers, and was about to enter them, when the door adjoining them opened, and his sister stepped out, yawning and rubbing her eyes blearily. She saw him, and halted in her tracks. Her eyes widened and nostrils flared. She sniffed delicately, once, and her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed.

"Éomer Eomundson! 'Kingdom business' indeed! How DARE you use such an excuse to escape dinner and leave me to play the hostess to all those elves while you ran off to dally drunkenly with some wench! The only kingdom business you did this night was possibly make a bastard to be supported from the privy purse! I ought to take my sword to you! I think I will! You forgot, did you not, that I had to rise early this morning to see to your guests' comfort? Did you even THINK of how you were depriving me of my rest as you lay with your leman? Of course you did not! You big, senseless, arrogant, lecherous, drunken, inconsiderate son-of-a-mare!" She was not shouting, but neither was she exhibiting consideration for anyone who might be sleeping within earshot. Éomer assumed the slightly sheepish expression he reserved for such occasions, and fumbled at the handle of the door.

"Sorry, 'Wyn!" he mumbled. "Ever so sorry! I'll make it up to you, I promise! Buy you a new sword or something!" The handle clicked, and he all but fell into his room, as his sister snarled at him. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned against it with a grin, thanking the Valar for Éowyn's hot temper. Someone had to have been awakened by that, and before breakfast, the word would be all over Edoras that he had been out wenching that night. He retired at last to his own bed a very relieved man.

On green-gold pastures waving sea-like in the breeze, a white mare and silver stallion grazed contentedly together while their masters watched from a distance.

"Your stallion did his work well," Éomer commented quietly, then after a long moment's pause added, "not unlike his master." Elladan smiled and nodded, acknowledging the compliment for the rare and precious thing it was.

"I will be returning to Minas Tirith for Yule this year, I think. If she did not catch, we could try it again, if you minded not a winter foal."

"I will take a foal from her anyway I can get it," admitted Éomer, giving the elf a slightly uneasy look.

"Fear not!" Elladan declared, laughing. "I would not ask for a repeat performance—the bargain was that you get a foal from last night's work alone."

"Strictly speaking, the bargain was that your stallion cover my mare," admitted Éomer. "I did not absolutely insist upon the provision for a live foal."

"It was understood by me, however— I could tell that that was what you were bargaining for." Disconcerted as he usually was by mention of the elves' uncanny mental gifts, the king frowned slightly. Elladan reached out a finger, and for the first time that day touched Éomer, for he had been discretion itself that morning. The slender tip gently traced the corner of his mouth, pressing it upward into a semblance of a smile.

"None of that now. If you would wish for vengeance for what I wrought with you last night, then think upon this. I will remember you always, Éomer of Rohan, with the perfect memory of my people, and I foresee an evening some centuries hence when I, in Valinor, will think back upon our evening together and remember what we shared. I will hunger for your touch as if last night were yesterday, and you, you will have long since been dead and dust and buried beneath one of those mounds of yours, and my desire will go unslaked." Elladan's finger traced his cheek briefly and Éomer stared at him for a moment, unsure of what to say.

At the last, all he could think of was, "I am sorry." Elladan gave him a blinding smile, and in that instant, the king had to admit to himself that he found the elf-lord beautiful.

"I am not," And he bowed gracefully, before walking away with the easy stride of a master swordsman, and leaving Éomer with much to think about.

The wise elders and doughty Riders of the Mark who served Éomer upon his Privy Council were overjoyed to hear their firebrand king announce at their next meeting that it was high time he started looking for a wife. They were not sure what had finally brought their peripatetic liege around to this sensible decision, but were inclined to merely thank the Valar, and not ask too many questions.

Lightfoot did in fact conceive by Nimfaun, and eleven months almost to the day after the elf's visit, she gave birth to twins, a colt and filly. Though horse twins are often weak and require cosseting to survive, these were strong and throve wonderfully well. They grew up to be strong and swift, brave and intelligent, extraordinary even for the Mearas, and as like unto Felarof, it was said, as had been seen for centuries. Eventually, Éomer rode the stallion to war in many lands, and he saved his master's life upon more than one occasion. His foals, and those of his sister, were the mounts of the Kings of the Mark for many years afterward.

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