Rumors
by Nefertiti

Gandalf stood before Meduseld, the Golden Hall of Edoras, and looked out across the plain surrounding the low mountain upon which the city stood. The sun was setting, and his keen eyesight could pick out the gleaming silver fleck that was Shadowfax, tireless and powerful, capering across the parched grass of August. The funeral of Théoden King had been held the day before and the long traditions of Rohan renewed and exalted in the wake of the War of the Rings. The victorious king has been dead for months now, and the affair had been more a joyous celebration of his unexpectedly heroic final days than a melancholy ceremony. Indeed, in the feast that followed, Éomer had used the occasion to announce officially his consent to the marriage of his sister Éowyn to Faramir of Gondor.

The group who were setting out to ride northward back to their homes had agreed to linger three more days in this breathtaking place. The wizard was glad of that. In the months before the destruction of the Ring, he had so often felt the press of time urging him on from place to place. Now he was traveling again but at a far more leisurely pace. The surviving members of the Fellowship had spent nearly four months in Minas Tirith. Along with the hobbits, he had lived in a large house near the summit of the multi-tiered city, near the palace. It had been so difficult to get used to the luxury of being able to relax. To ride over the Pelennor and then simply turn and survey the beauty of the White Mountains. To sit smoking with the hobbits of an evening and listen to their cheerful prattle and silly songs. To contemplate with a mixture of joy and aching regret the sapling in the courtyard of the White Tree, Middle-earth's most tangible link to his unfathomably distant youth in Valinor, when the original White Tree and its Golden companion had still lit the firmament, before the world was marred. Leisure without responsibility. He was gradually learning to enjoy it unashamedly.

Now, with the summer waning, the sun was setting earlier than it had. Tonight, after the funeral feast of the night before, they had enjoyed a relatively simple and brief supper, and that had long since ended. The evening was well progressed when he turned and went back into Meduseld. He wandered through the hallways until he came to the library. It was a small room, for Rohan was still largely an oral culture, and few but the royalty and nobility of the land could read. Most of the scrolls and maps, along with some rare books, usually lay unused. The wizard had spent happy hours there, but he had already exhausted the few items among its holdings that he had not known from earlier visits or from copies in archives elsewhere. Still, it was a pleasant place in which to sit, with a window facing west and catching the last glow of twilight. He picked up a familiar book and sat down before the cold hearth to read some favorite passages, pulling out his pipe to smoke some of the precious weed that Merry had brought from Isengard.

After about twenty minutes, the sun's last dim glow had nearly faded, and he rose to light a lamp, then settled back into the comfortable chair and took up his book again. Soon, however, he heard the door open and close, and Éomer moved to stand beside his chair. "Please, Gandalf, don't get up on my account. We are in private, and I hardly feel that the King of Rohan outranks a mighty wizard. Would I be disturbing you if I joined you? But perhaps you are engaged in important research."

"Hardly! Nothing that I do these days is likely to have much impact upon the future of Middle-earth-luckily! People like you and King Elessar will have much more influence upon the founding of the Fourth Age. Believe me, I am happy that it should be thus. I was never meant to rule here—only to help those who should rule to achieve their rightful places and then to live in peace and safety. Please, sit down."

"In that case, I shall share the evening's quiet with you for awhile." The young man sat down in a chair near the wizard's, and they talked of what had so recently been achieved and of the hopeful future.

At last they fell silent, and after a few minutes Éomer looked uncertainly at the wizard, then hesitantly reached out and rested his hand upon Gandalf's where it lay on the arm of his chair. "I have not sought you out tonight only so that we could glory in our triumphs."

Gandalf looked at Éomer's hand and then up into his eyes, startled to see an age-old and unmistakable question there. He had lain with many lovers during his time in Middle-earth, but few so beautiful as this regal young man. He struggled to control his features and not to betray the sudden surge of desire that had swept over him, mystified as to why Éomer was suddenly revealing such interest in him.

Emboldened by Gandalf's failure to draw back from him and by the hint of response he saw in the wizard's face, Éomer went on, "I have many, many reasons to be grateful to you. To begin with, you drew my uncle out of despair and decrepitude, so that he achieved heroic deeds before his end. You induced him to release me from unjust imprisonment. At the last minute, you came to us at Helm's Deep, with the huorns and reinforcements, and saved us when defeat seemed certain. You deposed and imprisoned our great foe of Isengard. You saved the life of Faramir of Gondor, who is to marry my sister. You devised the strategies that allowed the One Ring to be destroyed and the continent to be saved. Yes, I think all the free people of this continent owe you a vast debt of gratitude, but I in particular do. Wouldn't you agree?"

He slid his chair suddenly against the wizard's and leaned in to brush his lips gently against Gandalf's, placing one hand upon the wizard's knee and the other lightly around the back of his neck. Startled, Gandalf froze. At least part of his mind—a small and rapidly shrinking part, to be sure— was still functioning rationally. What in the world was going on here, and was it really a good idea to let it continue? And then again, did that really matter?...But wait a minute, shouldn't he be elsewhere, doing something to aid their cause...No, of course not! Get used to it! he scolded himself. There was nothing particularly important left for him to do— certainly nothing that could not wait—and most definitely nothing more important or pleasant than letting this lovely man's tongue beg for entrance to invade and explore him. And by this point that hand was definitely becoming increasingly important to him as well. He decided that he could put off a final decision until...yes, the tongue was teasing very effectively and the hand was making slow but fascinating progress along the inside of his thigh. He heard a moan and realized that he had uttered it and also that Éomer's tongue was no longer entirely in his own mouth. Summoning a great deal of will power, he stopped sucking eagerly at it and pulled away, trying not to allow his panting to be too apparent, and looked into the face of the dazzlingly attractive man. "I... I cannot allow you to offer me this pleasure out of gratitude, my dear Éomer. Everything that you mention was my duty. I did such things for the peoples of Middle-earth, not specifically for you. Indeed, you yourself played a considerable role in the triumph over Sauron, and I very much appreciate that. You should not feel obliged—"

Éomer placed his fingers over the wizard's lips. "It is not only gratitude, Gandalf, that brings me here this night."

Reluctantly Gandalf resisted the temptation to draw one of those fingers deep into his mouth. Instead he grasped the man's wrist and pulled it away so that he could speak. "No? And what else has impelled such behavior?" He surveyed Éomer's exquisite features with wistful longing. "Surely a beautiful young man such as you cannot lack for attractive partners closer to your own age—much closer."

"No, but, um...well...to be frank, I have heard rumors...rumors that have intrigued me and that I feel need investigating."

Sudden comprehension flooded Gandalf's mind. It was not the first time that he had heard something of this sort from someone who subsequently became his companion for the night. Rumors, he reflected cheerfully, had a wonderful way of offsetting his bearded, elderly appearance. He had nothing against rumors. He feigned puzzlement and asked, "What rumors are these?"

Éomer smiled impishly, but he suddenly found it difficult to look the wizard in the eye, and Gandalf considered it charming that his royal companion was blushing slightly. "Really, Gandalf, you seem to have used your months in Gondor well. If you cut such a swathe through the troops of Gondor and Rohan, you must expect rumors to fly!"

Gandalf smirked distinctly. "Well, I needed something to fill my time in Minas Tirith. I am not used to having so much leisure—or so little outlet for my energy. And, I must admit, I felt that, here at the end, I could not be greatly blamed for taking a bit of a reward."

"Exactly! You deserve it. And I would like a chance to find out if all that I have heard could possibly be true. If even half of it is, I think we shall both have a very pleasant time."

Gandalf's smug little smirk quickly disappeared as the man's creeping hand slid the rest of the way along his thigh and suddenly cupped the rapidly growing erection. Éomer laughed quietly as the wizard started and emitted what in a less dignified figure might have been described as a gurgle. The man's fingers slowly assessed Gandalf's endowment. "Well! That is one rumor confirmed. I hope the others that I have heard are as accurate! And now I know that you are far from indifferent to what I would like for us to do. So now will you stop being so coy with me?"

Gandalf sighed happily as Éomer's fingers manipulated his member until it was lying pressed up against his lower belly inside his trousers. Once more he reassured himself that he really had no other obligations hanging over him. If this beautiful man wanted to offer him such pleasure and receive some himself—why not!? He chuckled breathily. "I have long heard a rumor as well...that the soldiers of Rohan are hung as generously as are the steeds they ride." His fingers delved into Éomer's lap, and he nodded thoughtfully. "As you suggest, I have already done some preliminary research regarding that claim, and now I am delighted to have further evidence in favor of it. And conveniently enough, we are in a library—a highly suitable place to begin an investigation."

"Then you will accept this gesture of gratitude?"

"As long as you realize that afterwards I shall in turn be very grateful to you and eager to demonstrate that in kind."

The man grunted as Gandalf's skillful fingers teased at his swelling member. He laughed softly, "What you say suggests that another of those rumors is true. I fear that I shall not get much sleep this night. Not that I would complain. I think, though, that we should put a halt to such activities until we can get into the privacy of your room and the comfort of a bed. No, seriously, I do think that we should—oh! If you...if you keep doing that, I...I...don't know...what...oh, yes!"

He slumped down in the chair and gasped as Gandalf eagerly lowered himself to his knees in front of the man and pushed his legs wide. He could distinctly see the outline of Éomer's erection beneath the trouser- front, and he stroked it with the fingers of one hand while he undid the straining laces with the other. Éomer moaned and with nearly lidded eyes watched the wizard pull out his erection and lick it thoroughly and slowly, panting and occasionally glancing up at him. Gandalf's eyes, though, stayed mostly on the upright column with three tiny ridges fanning out below the flared edge of the tip and high, rough veins crisscrossing the length with hints of blue. The wizard pulled the loose skin of the shaft up to partially hood the crown of the member, licking and nibbling at the little pink dome that remained exposed, and teasing at the slit in the center. Then he let the skin relax downward to expose the entire tip again. He ran his tongue along the little ridges and up and down the throbbing flesh of the shaft. Éomer had never had a lover devote such careful, rapt attention to his cock, and he drifted into a blissful state of hovering arousal. Dimly he remembered that there was something wrong here...something... Oh, yes. Unthinkable as rising and walking out of that room seemed, they really should go elsewhere. "The door is not even locked," he managed to say in a strained voice. Gandalf paid no attention whatsoever to that practical statement but suddenly engulfed the knob of the young man's erection and sucked avidly at it. Éomer grimaced and began to thrust up into the wizard's mouth, then quickly managed to stop himself and sit still, his hips and thighs clenched and trembling, as the wizard slowly sank onto the rigid member, swirling and flicking his tongue around the underside of it as he went.

Éomer watched incredulously as the wizard's taut lips moved lower and lower on his shaft. He felt his member enter Gandalf's relaxed throat, and his head lolled back as he moaned with arousal. Just as slowly the clutching mouth slid back, and the wizard drew in a deep breath and impaled himself again until the nest of golden curls from which the erection rose tickled at his lips and nose. "Another rumor confirmed," Éomer whispered in awe. He whimpered as Gandalf repeated this performance over and over, sucking hard until his lips were stopped by the ridge surrounding the crown of the straining cock. His fingers lightly tickled the heavy testicles. Éomer began to realize that the wizard was humming softly with pleasure and had at some point freed his own cock and was stroking it vigorously.

Éomer suddenly said, "Wait," pushing gently on the wizard's shoulders. Gandalf released his erection with a small moan of disappointment and sat back on his heels, glancing at the moist penis that he still grasped around the base with one hand, then looking inquiringly up into Éomer's face.

Éomer gasped, "I don't think I like this arrangement. I can't reach that big staff of yours."

Despite his excitement, Gandalf winced inwardly. Another staff joke! He was long used by now to giving a polite chuckle in response to such remarks, and automatically he did so now.

Éomer continued teasingly, "I want my hand to be on it, not yours. I'm not a wizard, but maybe I could work a little magic with it—make something suddenly appear, perhaps."

Gandalf smiled at him more sincerely. Admittedly this was above the level of most staff-related witticisms that he had heard. Éomer leaned forward to nibble at his ear and whispered, "If you really want just to go on as we have begun, I would let you, I promise you. Still, I'd rather have you allow me to do what I long to—to go inside you, Gandalf. Would you want that? Please?"

Gandalf's breath shuddered as he looked up at the hungry look on that lovely face. The thought of this young warrior filling him and finding his deep pleasure point over and over dizzied him, and he simply nodded. At once Éomer reached into his pocket and produced a little silver flask and a cloth, hanging the latter on the arm of the chair. He slid onto his knees, urging Gandalf to move forward and rest his elbows on the cushioned seat of the chair. The man swiftly inched closer behind him, his pounding cock pressing up against his own body as he lowered the wizard's trousers. He opened the flask and poured a bit of oil onto his fingers before pressing one slowly into the wizard's small opening. Gandalf flinched and threw his head back, but his keening sounds of pleasure soon encouraged Éomer to add a second as he probed and circled to open the tight passage. As his fingers slipped in and out, his other hand managed to oil his long, hard erection generously.

At last, when Gandalf's entrance was relaxed and ready, Éomer grasped the base of his cock and rubbed it against the cleft. His other hand reached around to pump the wizard's shaft slowly. He hesitated. "I long to sink into you until I can go no further. As I enter, though, let me know how much you want. I shall stop if you bid me."

Gandalf nodded again, poised in the suspense of wanting to be filled by the large member. He had taken its measure deep in his throat and sighed raggedly in anticipation of the pleasure that he knew it could give him. He suspected that unless Éomer was less careful than he so far seemed, he would want it all, until the man's balls were slapping against his own at each blow. As the tip slid into him, his torso arched backward, and he moaned loudly. Thinking that he had hurt the wizard, Éomer eased back slightly, but Gandalf uttered a short, frustrated groan and shook his head, and Éomer pushed forward once more.

"Oh, yes!" Gandalf whispered as Éomer drove the bulbous tip deeper in, opening him further. As he reached the wizard's pleasure point, Gandalf jerked and shifted his arms slightly on the chair, raising his back a little until the pressure was so stunning that he gasped and growled, "Yes, that's it!" Thus encouraged, Éomer began to thrust harder, but slowly, torn between wanting never to leave the incredibly tight heat and needing to spill and relieve his blazing erection. Gandalf seemed to favor the long build, for he murmured, "Perfect! Just perfect!" Éomer pressed his torso against the wizard's back, licking his ears. Gandalf's face was fixed in a slight frown as he focused on the exquisite sensations deep within his body. Éomer's hand slid down the wizard's shaft, using his last two fingers to rub and roll the testicles before moving upward again.

At last the wizard began to keen with rising desperation. His cock was iron-hard in Éomer's hand, and he begged suddenly, "More!" The powerful muscles of Éomer's hips tightened and drove his erection into the tight passage to its roots, and he thrust quickly, squeezing Gandalf's shaft hard as he pumped it. A strangled groan from the wizard signaled the beginning of his bliss, and long strings of creamy liquid shot out onto the tile floor beneath the chair. His intense spasms gripped at Éomer, and the man put his arm around Gandalf's torso and pulled him upright against his body as a few more short, hard thrusts sent him over the edge and he grimaced and gasped as he drained his balls into the wizard.

Gandalf dropped forward onto his elbows again, and he sank to rest his forehead on the seat cushion as he panted and felt the room spinning around him. Éomer slumped forward against him as lightly as he could manage and drew in great sobbing gulps of air. After a few minutes he felt himself about to slip from the wizard and fumbled for the small cloth to wipe them both as he withdrew. Clumsily he scrambled to his feet and sat with one thigh along the arm of the chair, supporting Gandalf's elbow and helping him to rise and sit down heavily.

"I don't think any rumor I've heard could do justice to that," Éomer said softly, wondering if he had ever felt ecstasy flood through him so forcefully. If so, he certainly could not recall it.

Gandalf rested his neck against the back of the chair and looked up at him with a mischievous little smile. "The King of Rohan has just made love‹ to spectacular effect, I might add—in a library with an unlocked door. Shocking!"

Éomer shook his head in amused exasperation. "Not your fault, of course. No, not at all. Couldn't be."

After a brief, pleasant silence, Gandalf said, "Do you know, young man, I have many, many reasons to be grateful to you. To begin with, once your uncle shook off his despair and decrepitude, you helped him to achieve heroic deeds before his end. Once you were released from unjust imprisonment, you went on to lead the forces at Helm's Deep, staving off what seemed like certain defeat until I was able to arrive with the huorns and reinforcements. When we visited our great foe of Isengard, you effectively urged Theoden to resist his eerily persuasive speech. You have agreed to allow my young friend Faramir to marry your sister. You aided bravely in carrying out the strategies that allowed the One Ring to be destroyed and the continent to be saved. Yes, I think that all the free peoples of this continent owe you a debt of gratitude, but I in particular do. Wouldn't you agree?" He rested his hand on Éomer's bent knee and stretched up to suck briefly at the man's lips.

Éomer looked at him with mock reluctance. "I cannot allow you to offer me this pleasure out of gratitude, my dear Gandalf."

The wizard stretched luxuriously in the chair and leaned back against its opposite arm to run his eyes slowly down Éomer's semi-clad body. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Why not? I warned you that I would want to repay your gratitude in kind—and I have much more to be grateful for than I did a little while ago." One hand stroked appreciatively over the firm buttock resting on the chair's arm and up under Éomer's shirt to explore the muscular back, while the other rose to find and pinch a nipple through the cloth.

Éomer smiled and leaned slightly into his caresses. He nodded. "Very well, then. I shall let you repay my gratitude all you like—no matter how little sleep I get tonight! Obviously thanking me is far from being your only motive. But I do insist that we should move to your room first—the servants would be too inquisitive in mine—and continue comfortably in a bed."

Gandalf nodded, though he took his time about removing his hands from the delectable body. They rose to straighten and fasten their clothes. As they moved toward the door, Éomer paused, and Gandalf turned toward him inquiringly. The young man looked at him speculatively. "I have heard another rumor that you are very...versatile."

Gandalf grinned blissfully and cupped the long fingers of one hand over the man's tight buttocks, allowing the middle one to delve slightly into the cleft as he pulled the side of Éomer's hip lightly against his own. "Ah, so the royal horseman wants to be ridden himself. Give me just a little while, and I shall be more than happy to oblige you."

They left the library and set off for Gandalf's room. After the wizard had glanced up and down the hallway to make sure that no one was nearby, he asked with a waggle of his immense eyebrows, "Now, what other rumors have you heard?"

End

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