Confidence Boost
by Mayetra

March 3rd 3019 T.A.

Aragorn wound his way deep into Hornburg, the fortress at Helm's Deep. The Rohirrim, led by King Théoden and Éomer, had come here to make their stand against Saruman's forces. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli had come with them.

Aragorn silently tread the narrow halls that had been hewn in Ered Nimras. He came to a series of small chambers marked by old oak doors and entered the first one. He closed the door quietly and surveyed his surroundings.

It was a small room, devoid of the trappings of wealth. Cold stone walls marred only by the occasional candle in a wall sconce. The candles dispelled the shadows of the windowless room, but did little to warm it. In the center of the room was a long, wooden bench, dark with age. It was covered with a plain gray cushion that provided the only comfort to be found in the room.

Aragorn wasn't looking for comfort; he was looking for a place to sort out his chaotic thoughts without being disturbed. The room suited his purposes exactly. He walked over and swung a leg over the narrow bench. He sat, straddling the bench, and held out his hands. They shook slightly, and he clenched them into fists to hide the tremors.

So many doubts and what ifs plagued his thoughts. What if, he hadn't allowed Frodo to wander alone? Would Boromir still be with them? Would the Fellowship still stand? But, if the Fellowship hadn't broken, would they have all fallen to the Lure of the Ring?

If they had traveled to Mordor, wouldn't Théoden, even now, still be under the thrall of Gríma Wormtongue? Wouldn't Rohan have fallen easily under Saruman's power?

No, Aragorn thought, it could still fall. The future was not set, and even now, an army marched towards Hornburg.

He buried his face into his hands as the weight of possibilities pressed down on him. He thought of Frodo and Sam, lost in the wilds. Would they make it to Mordor? Would Frodo succeed in destroying the One Ring, or would he fall to the Lure? Would he surrender it to Sauron, either by force or free will?

Hot tears stung his eyes as he thought of his beloved Arwen, who was his bright light in a world of darkness. He would never possess her, unless he fulfilled his destiny and reclaimed the throne; Elrond had been very specific about that. Yet, how could he rule Gondor and reunite the kingdoms, when he could barely lead eight members of a fellowship?

Warm hands settled upon his shoulders and squeezed lightly, jerking Aragorn from his morbid reverie. He hurriedly wiped away his tears, humiliated at being caught in such a compromising position. He tensed and straightened, seeking to shake the offending hands from his shoulders. He looked over his shoulder to see Éomer looking down on him. He was standing, straddling the bench, and he wore an expression of worry on his face.

"What is it, Éomer?" Aragorn asked in a tense voice. "Is there trouble?"

"There is always trouble in these times, my friend, but the trouble that concerns me at this moment is you," Éomer answered softly, concern laced his voice.

"I am fine, Éomer. I only wished for a moment of peace before the storm descends upon us," Aragorn said tersely.

"Fine, you say? I think not. Where is the man that stood upon the plain of my homeland and declared himself the lost heir of Isildur? He was a man that was self-assured, not the broken one I see before me."

Aragorn could not met Éomer's eyes and he looked down at his still trembling hands. "I am merely reflecting on my choices of late. Do not fear, Éomer, I will be ready when the battle begins."

Éomer sat behind the older man with a sigh. "You are so tense and full of doubts, that you will be of more use to the women and children hiding in the caves."

Aragorn slumped further. Éomer was correct. He hadn't the heart to fight, to rule, or to even live at this moment. He felt like a failure. No, he argued, he was a failure. He had failed the Fellowship. He had failed his people. He had failed Arwen. Bitter tears slid down his face, as he tried to choke back a sob.

Éomer slid his arms around Aragorn and pulled him back towards his chest. He held him tightly while the older man cried. There was no shame in the act. Éomer knew that sometimes, the only way to rid oneself of the poison of doubt is to purge it with tears. He spoke not a word, but gave comfort through his embrace.

Aragorn felt cleansed as he wiped away the last of his tears. The self-doubts remained, but he felt in control again. He pushed them deep, where they would fester, until he, once again, was overwhelmed by them. He tried to pull forward from Éomer's embrace, but the younger man held him fast.

"I am well, Éomer. Forgive my display, I am myself once again."

Éomer clucked his teeth. "I think not, Aragorn. I think you have purged only a bit of what rots deep within you. I shall leave you, when you are free. When you are fit to weld Andúril."

Aragorn tensed even further as he felt Éomer nuzzle his ear through the heavy curtain of his hair. "What game do you play, Éomer?"

"No game, Aragorn," Éomer whispered against the older man's ear. He smiled at the shudder that ran through Aragorn as his hot breath brushed the sensitive flesh of the Ranger's ear. "I shall give you the desire to rule."

Before Aragorn could retort to Éomer's bold statement, he felt the younger man cup his groin through his leggings. He could not stop the moan that issued forth, unbidden, as his flesh hardened in response to Éomer's caresses.

"Nay, Éomer. I am betrothed to the Evenstar." Aragorn's statement was mixed with another breathy moan as Éomer squeezed the bulge beneath his hand firmly.

"I ask not to sit by your side as your queen, Aragorn. I seek not to give you heirs. I only mean to show you what it is to be dominated and bent to the will of another. I mean to spark the embers that will give you the burning passion you need to be King!"

Éomer punctuated his bold statement by undoing the lacings of Aragorn's leggings. His last words heralded the appearance of Aragorn's hard erection as it sprang forth from its confines. He reached down and gripped it firmly. His callused palm encircled the Ranger's thick shaft, and he could feel the heat radiating from it. He began to gently stroke Aragorn's shaft.

Aragorn was beyond words as Éomer began to fist him. He was lost in the pressure that began to burn within him as the younger man stroked him closer and closer to release.

Éomer rubbed his thumb up the vee of Aragorn's cock, eliciting a throaty moan from the older man. He slowed his movements, ignoring the impatient shifting of Aragorn's hips. He slowly ran his thumb around the throbbing head, before rubbing the little slit at the top. Pearls of clear liquid reflected the flickering candlelight before being spread around the tip of the bulbous head.

"You like that, do you not?" Éomer breathed against Aragorn's neck, after moving the Ranger's shaggy hair out of the way with his free hand. He could tell by the elder man's labored breathing that he was getting close to fulfillment. Éomer was careful not bring Aragorn to release, but held him in that painful limbo between intense pleasure and gratifying satisfaction.

"Yes," Aragorn groaned. "Please, Éomer. Stop my torment."

Éomer nipped Aragorn's neck, before running a soothing tongue tip over the irritated flesh.

"Can you not picture it, Aragorn," Éomer licked the outer shell of Aragorn's ear lightly before continuing, "me bent before you? The firm tender flesh of my ass laid bare for your pleasure."

"By the Valar," Aragorn gasped, as his cock twitched. "You read my mind, Éomer. Tis what I indeed picture."

Éomer chuckled and began to push Aragorn's leggings down. The older man lifted his hips, and the offending britches were pushed down to the middle of Aragorn's thighs.

Aragorn never knew how it exactly happened. One moment, he was leaning back against Éomer's chest. His head was resting on Éomer's shoulder, while visions of the naked blonde dance in his mind. The younger man's hand was stroking and caressing him as he whispered erotic words in Aragorn's ear. The next moment, he was bent forward on the bench. His hands trapped beneath his chest and the soft cushion. His feet pulled back and hooked behind the younger man's stronger legs. He was still straddling the bench and his hard shaft rubbed and twitched against the course material beneath it.

Even as his new position registered in his mind, Éomer pressed him further down to the cushion with a firm hand on his neck. He was strong, but so was the young Prince.

"You shall not know the pleasure of conquering me, Aragorn. You must be conquered before you will know what it feels like to want to rule."

Aragorn was adrift on a torrent of emotions—fear, lust, anger, despair. He tensed, as he felt cool, wet fingers probe the cleft of his ass.

"Relax, Aragorn. Twill make the lesson more enjoyable for the both of us," Éomer hissed, before he leaned over and gently bit Aragorn's shoulder.

Éomer used the bite as a distraction as he pushed his finger passed the twin, tight rings.

Aragorn groaned at the invasion and bucked, inadvertently taking Éomer's finger deeper within himself.

Éomer twisted his finger until felt the tiny nub that would bring the older man pleasure. He stroked it deftly, bringing guttural groans of bliss forth from Aragorn. He began to gently thrust his finger in and out of the tight passage, loosening it.

Aragorn was beyond the capacity to speak. He had never sought pleasure in the arms of his comrades, even when he wandered alone among the kingdoms of Men. He knew it was common, but the weight of his ancestry forced him to remain aloof and alone.

Éomer slowly and patiently prepared the virgin channel for his entry. He removed his fingers and positioned himself behind the Ranger. His own oiled shaft throbbed and wept with need, but he controlled his primal urges with the patience of a seasoned warrior. He pressed forward to put pressure on the tight rings, but not hard enough to gain entrance.

"Think now, Aragorn, that it should be you in my place. It could be you in my place, if only you would accept your true place in this world."

Éomer's words rung through his ears as the pressure became pain. He gritted his teeth as he was invaded. It wasn't until Éomer brushed the sweet spot deep within him as he seated himself to the hilt, that Aragorn realized he had forgotten to breathe. The hot bolt of pleasure cause him to expel his held breath in a harsh hiss of air.

Éomer groaned as he savored the hot tight flesh encasing him. He gave Aragorn a minute to adjust before sliding out and thrusting in again. Soon, he was pounding into the Ranger rhythmically as the sounds of flesh slapping flesh filled the air.

Aragorn groaned in pleasure as the young horseman rode him. He knew now what it meant to be dominated. He knew know what it meant to be a leader. Not only to know it in one's heart, but, more importantly, to exhibit it for the world to see. He would never again doubt his heritage. He would be king, and he marveled that it had taken a boy to make him a man.

Éomer reached down and wrapped oily fingers around Aragorn's cock. He was getting closer and closer to release, but he wanted to make sure the older man joined him there. He matched his thrusts, and he pumped his hand up and down, faster and faster.

Aragorn threw back his head and roared as he reached his peak. The hand around his shaft continued to pump, until it had milked him of all he had to offer. He relaxed instantly and melted into the bench beneath him. His body rocking back and forth as the younger man continued to thrust into him.

Éomer grabbed Aragorn's hips and began a brutal pace, intent on finding his own pleasure. He felt his sac tighten, and he buried himself deep into Aragorn. His cries rent the air as his seed spilled into the older man. He collapsed on Aragorn, panting heavily and covered with sweat.

For a long time, the two men stayed that way, trying to regain their breath.

Finally, Éomer slipped free of Aragorn and sat back. He watched as Aragorn sat up and adjusted his clothing.

"Do you hate me now?" Éomer asked, genuinely curious.

Aragorn maneuvered so that he was facing the younger man. He said not a word, but calmly tucked Éomer's limp, wet cock into his leggings and deftly closed them. He looked the young Prince hard in the eyes. He reached out suddenly and gripped the side of Éomer's face with his hands. He pulled him forward and kissed him hard, his tongue demanding entrance.

Éomer was overwhelmed and dominated by the kiss. Now, this is a King, he mused silently.

Aragorn broke the kiss. "Thank you, Éomer. But know this, the next time it is I who shall ride you."

Éomer grinned lopsidedly. "I look forward to it, my Lord."

The two men stood and left the room. They had an army to crush, a war to fight, and two kingdoms to free from the dark evil that threatened to destroy them.

The End

Read the sequel Self Confidence

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