For The Sake Of Peace, Part 2
by ne'ichan

Éomer suppressed the instinct to flinch away from the large elves who came nearer to him, so tall, angling their approach to trap him between them, the move of males long bred to war and fighting. A move perfected by their many years of being together, hunting together, living together. They resembled men, yes, but did not move as men. They were something more primitive, more primal, more instinctual. He had no trouble seeing the ease they had with each other. Éomer, he was the outsider. The one who didn't belong.

He lifted his chin, looked into the eyes of the larger one, the tallest one who had fought with the men of Rohan at Helm's Deep. The archer, with the powerful arms and shoulders, the upper body of a master archer. Of one who had pulled a bowstring for centuries. The Elves learned to shoot arrows with either hand, equally well. It balanced them, in a way human archers were not. The elf's eyes met his without flinching, looking deep, pinning him until he had to fight to drop his eyes. He had to fight to submit even this much. When he did, he could feel them looking at him, as if they ran hands over him. His skin shivered with the touch of their gazes.

Haldir looked down at the man standing in sheer drapery, like a bride. He was handsome, shaved as he was, his cheeks smooth, his eyes so dark in contrast to his honey blond hair, hair pulled back and wound with fine chains of gold and green forest leaves. He was almost as beautiful as an elf. Not a crude man, not coarse or hairy as some. This one, while a lesser being, was still worth appreciation. His mouth called and begged for worship of a carnal kind. Strongly cut, well made, his mouth and his body, though smaller than most elves of Lothlorien, he had his appeal, he was well able to heat one's blood, just looking at him. There was no reason not to honor him as husband. Haldir slid an arm around his new husband and pulled him near. Feeling the stiffening of the strong body, the fear that the man did not let show.

Haldir let his embrace stay loose, not confining, but he did not give it up. He tilted back the man's head to reveal his face. So carefully blank. He looked into the dark eyes and saw the fear in them, the despair. The acceptance of his fate. Haldir did not like the look. He had not spent time with those of the race of Men, until the brave warriors at Helm's Deep. There he had fought against a common enemy, and saw the fighting of the Men around him. Fierce fighting, desperate, and men of honor. He would not have chosen to wed one of that race, nor even to take one to his bed. But, he could not regret that since it had come to pass, that it was this man come to him.

Haldir remembered him well. The leader on the battlefield who rode his horse into the fight, screaming defiance of death, dealing great damage to their foes. Fighting with all the mortal heart that he had. How could another warrior not admire that effort, that heart, that will? That raw courage? Together, man and elf, they had won. And that should have been the end of it. Haldir should have returned to his position of Marchwarden, and his life returned to it's former peace and isolation save for his brother's company.

But those who wielded power were never content. They wanted treaties of peace and promises. They wanted weddings and bondings. They meddled in lives that should have been left well enough alone, lives that needed to heal away from treaties and royal orders. They wanted sacrifice. And here stood Haldir, Rumil, and Orophin, with the small man between them, a brave man, caught like prey in the web, who politicians and kings had driven to fear, to this bonding, to this soon to be consummated bed. And none of their lives would ever be the same. Haldir felt the tremors in the man. How to comfort one so proud, one who normally offered ease, safety, and comfort to others? Not asking for it, or needing it himself? How could he comfort such a man?

Rumil went to the table standing at the side of the great, empty bed, poured from one of the many jugs, wine, a dark red, spilling into a cup. He carried it to their bride-guest, drank from it himself to prove it's safety in the manner of a good host. Then he held it out in both his hands. "Drink from the bounty of our house, Éomer of Rohan, king's nephew. Drink from the fruit of our vines, and join with us, husband. I would not have you fear our bed or our touch."

"Drink." Haldir urged, echoing his brother, his arm careful around the strong shoulders of the man. "We would not have this be insufferable for you, Éomer once of Rohan. Drink and let the lassitude spread through your limbs, let yourself relax while we take you to our bed." The man smelled of faint honeysuckle blossoms, and the sweet musk scent of his skin underneath the light scent of the flower. Haldir wondered how long it would be, if ever it would be, before he could close his eyes and lay in serenity and caring with this husband given to his hand. Will he ever willingly seek the bed of Haldir? The elf wondered.

"I am not girlchild who needs to be drugged on my wedding night, plied with drink so I do not cry out and flee." Éomer returned tightly, his hand gripping the cup until it nearly cracked. Rumil laid his hands over the one holding the wine. He knelt so the man looked down into his eyes, not up, needing to bend his neck at one who towered over him.

"No. You are not. Yet, this is new to you, the coupling of male and male. Drink and be at ease." Rumil said, helping gently lift the rim to Éomer's mouth. "Drink, my husband."

"It is the first request I have for my new husband." Rumil murmured, when the man hesitated still. "Let us make this pleasant for you."

"Will it only take wine for it to be so?" Éomer murmured looking into the cup. "I do not hold such faith in the vintage I drink at home. For it has failed, in all my years, to bring me to the bed of any male."

"Nay. Not merely wine. We will treat you with care as well. I do swear it." Rumil said when Éomer took the first sip of the heady drink. "The wine, though, it will help."

"I do not wish to forget what goes on here this night. I do not wish oblivion. I am a man and as such I will not shirk nor shrink from what is required of me. I will submit to you, all my husbands, however you may require it of me." He drank again, at Rumil's urging, their hands still together on the cup.

Orophin stepped away once he saw the man begin to swallow. He extinguished the lamps, then opened the drapes that led out into the gardens. The light that came in was silvered with moonglow, filling the large bedchamber with a magical feel. Éomer lowered the cup, empty and looked around at the change. He blinked. The covers were pulled back from the bed sheets. He swallowed hard seeing that, lifting his eyes to those of the elf who held him most closely.

Haldir looked down at the Man, seriously. No smile on his handsome face, nay, more beautiful in it's masculinity than simply handsome. Haldir, his first husband was beautiful. Éomer could hardly deny the truth. But even so, he would not have chosen this, if not for the sake of his people. While he gave these elves his body, and his submission, he did not give them his heart, for that was already given to Rohan.

Éomer looked back at the tall, tall elf. How strange it was to be the smallest in the room. He had not had it so since he hit his growth as a youth of sixteen. Now his head lay on the shoulder of a man, as the wine roared over him with a power no other wine had ever had, overwhelming his senses and with it, weakening his knees. The room spun around him. Elven wine was not the same, he thought his eyes fluttering, feeling himself swung up into strong arms carried across the floor a few steps.

His back hit the softness of the bed. And he felt the bodies of others join him there. His husbands. Those who would soon know his body, deeply and fully. For the sake of this tenuous peace.

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