The Debate
by Raederie

Éomer closed the door to Boromir's quarters behind him and paused uncertainly for a moment in the hallway, wondering what to do. He had spoken to Faramir and Queen Arwen of unfinished business, but he did not know how to complete the task he had set for himself. He had seen Elves before, had met several of the members of the Lothlórien company at Helm's Deep and had spent much time with Legolas. Éomer had heard tales of their rapturous beauty, but the Elves had not impressed him. He found them cold, beautiful to look at, but nothing to take his breath away. These previous encounters had not prepared him for what he met when he greeted Arwen's escort at the side of King Elessar.

Eyes, eyes that held him, eyes of deepest blue as of the sky at twilight. Eyes with knowledge and ancient wisdom so profound, he blushed just to look at them, feeling uncouth and immature. Eyes that, when they met his own, sent a jolt of lightening straight to his balls. The eyes were surrounded by a cloud of golden hair that seemed to have captured the Sun in its strands. Éomer had not been able to see the body that lay beneath the enveloping robes, but he had no doubt that it would match the Elf's visible features in splendor. He did not even know the name of his obsession, because he had been too stunned when Aragorn had introduced the members of Arwen's escort.

Éomer snorted at his own arrogance. He was planning to seduce a being who was thousands of years older than he, and he did not even have a name to attach to the face. This was no blushing Rohirrim maiden, who would flip her skirts up without hesitation for the King's nephew. Éomer knew that he was not subtle enough or smart enough to lure this Elf into his bed. But he would never forgive himself if he did not at least try, because the Elf was more magnificent than even Gimli's precious Lady Galadriel.

"Gimli, there's an idea..." Éomer's handsome face broke into a wicked smile. Maybe subtle was not what was needed in these circumstances. He set off determinedly to find the Dwarf.

Éomer returned to the banquet hall and found Gimli there with Legolas, while the King's target was sitting with a group of Elves at another table. He walked over to the Dwarf, "Gimli Glóin's son, have you your axe ready?"

"Nay, lord," said Gimli, "but I can speedily fetch it, if there be need."

"You shall judge," Éomer replied. "For there are certain rash words concerning the Lady of the Golden Wood that lie still between us. And now I have seen her with my eyes."

"Well, lord," Gimli questioned, "and what say you now?"

"Alas!" said Éomer. "I will not say that she is the fairest that lives."

"Then I must go for my axe," Gimli grimaced.

"But first I will plead this excuse," the King said. "Had I seen her in other company, I would have said all that you could wish. But now I will put one of the Elves who rode in escort of Queen Arwen Evenstar first."

Legolas had been following the exchange with amusement, but now he was surprised. "Who?"

"I do not know the name, but it is the Elf at yonder table with the glorious golden hair." Éomer gestured to the table with the Elves.

Legolas was even more shocked, "Glorfindel?"

"Yes, that is the one." The King turned back to the Dwarf, "I am ready to do battle on my own part with any who deny me his fairness. Shall I call for my sword?"

Then Gimli bowed low. "Nay, you are excused for my part, lord," he said. "I have given my love to the Morning, but you have given yours to the Day. But the Day star burns with unrelenting brightness, so have a care that its heat does not scorch you."

Legolas had time to regain his composure and now he was amused. "So, you have raised your eyes to the Balrog Slayer. A worthy objective for a warrior and beautiful enough to snare any man."

"Balrog? Is that the thing Gandalf fought in Moria?"

"Yes, one of them. Glorfindel fought and defeated one of those demons by himself. He is one of the most famous warriors of the First Age."

Éomer was stunned. He had no idea that the object of his lust was such a renowned and powerful Elf lord. The King decided to give up, for he had no business pursuing a being of such stature.

Legolas saw the expression on the Man's face and decided to take pity on him. "Stay here, I will fetch him for you. Glorfindel has unusual...tastes and I am sure he would be delighted to meet you."

"Fetch," Éomer sputtered, turning to Gimli, "he is going to 'fetch' the Balrog Slayer?"

Gimli shrugged, "The Prince of Mirkwood has an impish sense of humor sometimes. Get yourself in hand, man, he is coming."

Legolas returned, trailed by the golden Elf. Éomer fiercely tried to suppress the heat that was stealing across his cheeks at the sight of the beautiful warrior, but his body was already responding.

The blonde hair had been put up in an elaborate arrangement of braids, caught up with blue-dyed leather thongs. The Elf's body was shown to advantage in a tunic and leggings. He was wearing boots colored the same shade as the thongs in his hair. His pants were leather as well, but a lighter tone than the boots. His tunic was a luxurious cobalt velvet shot through with golden threads. The body thus revealed lived up to Éomer's most fevered imaginings. As the Elf approached, the King could see that he was taller than most Elves. The velvet tunic was stretched tight over broad, muscular shoulders. Éomer's pulse picked up speed.

"Your Majesty, may I present Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin and Imladris." Legolas was being very formal and Éomer nodded shakily in response to Glorfindel's bow. "Lord Glorfindel, may I introduce King Éomer of Rohan."

"King Éomer," the Elf murmured, while subjecting the King to a scrutiny that reminded Éomer of a man assessing a horse he was intending to buy. As his gaze roamed over the Man's body, the stare seemed to become a caress and Éomer gasped at the sensation.

Glorfindel was apparently satisfied with what he saw for he raised his dark blue eyes to Éomer's and said in a musical voice, "Prince Legolas has given me to understand that I am the subject of a debate between you and the Dwarf?" At the King's dazed nod, the Elf continued smoothly, "Perhaps we could discuss this matter elsewhere?" He turned and left the feasting hall, and Éomer, who had never felt less like a King, followed him without question.

"Where are your rooms?" Glorfindel inquired. Éomer gestured towards the south wing and the Elf led the way, turning occasionally to the awestruck King for confirmation of his direction.

They finally reached the suite of rooms reserved for the King of Rohan in Minas Tirith. Éomer ushered Glorfindel inside, closed the door and leaned against it to recover his composure. His knees were trembling and he was afraid he would collapse. The Elf paced around the room, opening doors and twitching aside the curtains enclosing the bed.

Éomer cleared his throat, "Uh...would you like some wine?" He gestured to the side table with several decanters.

Glorfindel quirked an amused eyebrow at the obviously flustered Man. "Tell me about this debate," he demanded.

Éomer decided some wine would help his poise and he poured a goblet for himself with unsteady hands. "Well, I insulted the Lady of the Golden Wood when I first met Gimli. He excused me on the grounds that I had never seen her, but demanded that I recant when I did meet her." Éomer paused, unsure how his listener would take the rest of the story.

"Yes?" Glorfindel had moved closer to the King and was staring intently into the young Man's face.

Éomer sipped his wine and decided that if the Elf Lord were going to geld him anyway, he would at least tell his feelings. "I saw you first." He shrugged. "Beside you, Lady Galadriel is like the pale light of a candle next to the Sun. You are magnificent."

Glorfindel smiled and reaching over, removed the wine from Éomer's hand. The Elf extended a hand to stroke the Man's full mustache. "Do you desire me?"

Éomer gulped and nodded. Glorfindel slid his hand around to the back of the King's neck and pulled his head forward. Their lips met and Éomer forgot to breathe. The Elf's lips were hard and demanding as they met as one warrior to another. Éomer was determined to push back as hard as he was being pushed, and refused to surrender to the golden Elf. They broke briefly for air, but rejoined quickly as their tongues tangled together. The King of Rohan felt invaded, overwhelmed and out of control. He suddenly relaxed his neck and allowed Glorfindel to dominate the kiss.

Glorfindel tangled his hand in Éomer's hair while his other hand drifted to the neck of the Man's tunic. The Elf tilted the King's head to allow greater access to his mouth. Éomer was clinging to Glorfindel's shoulders as his head began to swim. The Elf stepped back abruptly and Éomer staggered at the loss of support. The warrior put his hands on the tunic and with a quick motion, ripped it open, tearing the laces out of their holes. Éomer gasped as his chest was exposed to the warm gaze of the Elf. The King raised his chin and stood straight, hoping Glorfindel would not be disappointed.

"Take mine off," Glorfindel ordered as he removed the thongs from his hair and wrapped them around his wrist, allowing his silky golden locks to float down around his shoulders. Éomer's hands were trembling as he worked at the laces, while the Elf's hair fell around them like a curtain. The Man felt his own tawny mane to be like sticks of straw compared to the Elf's Sun-lit tresses.

Desire was buzzing along Éomer's veins as their naked chests touched when their lips met in another powerful kiss. Glorfindel pulled the King's breeches down and stopped to take his own off. The Elf was more slimly built than the King, but still more muscular than any other Elf the Man had seen. Éomer ground his aching cock into the Elf's as they kissed again.

Glorfindel broke the kiss again. "Lay on the bed, on your stomach, and spread your arms and legs," he ordered tersely.

Éomer complied, feeling vulnerable in his spread-eagle position. The Elf quickly whipped the thongs off of his wrists and wrapped them around the Man's. He pulled Éomer's wrists up to the top of the headboard and secured them there with the bits of leather. The binding pulled his chest up from the mattress and he felt even more helpless. He was shaking in anticipation of the Elf's next move and he tried to see what was happening out of the corner of his eye. Glorfindel had apparently gotten some bathing oil from the adjoining chamber, for Éomer felt an oiled finger probe his secret entrance. He moaned as his muscles were quickly breeched. Glorfindel wasted no time adding more fingers, efficiently stretching the opening in preparation for the entrance of his member.

Glorfindel paused long enough to drizzle more oil on Éomer's aching hole. The King felt the firm probing of muscle at his entrance and then the Elf broke through all resistance with one brutal stroke. This was no gentle lovemaking, but the rough, powerful claiming of a warrior.

Glorfindel set a rapid pace, pounding into the King of Rohan. Éomer's hands were painfully raised and he could not get purchase to push back against the invasion of his body. Instead, Glorfindel held him firmly in place and would not allow him to move. The friction of the sheets against Éomer's cock was exquisite torment and he felt the Elf buried within him harden further in preparation for his release. Glorfindel was hitting the King's sweet spot with every stroke as he ground into the Man below him. Éomer could feel his own orgasm building slowly until the Elf reached out and grabbed a hank of his hair, wrenching his head up and back. Pain and pleasure collided in the King of the Mark, and still he could not move, held in place by the warrior strength of the Balrog Slayer. His only outlet for the tension coiling through him was through his voice, and he howled as he came, spilling his seed beneath him. Glorfindel was uttering a string of Elvish words, as he too found his ultimate pleasure moments later.

Éomer was still convulsing and whimpering as Glorfindel withdrew, but the King's cries soon turned into wrenching sobs. The Elf untied the leather holding Éomer's hands up and gathered the distressed young Man into his arms. "Shh, lirimaer, it is over." Glorfindel gently stroked the strong back and blond hair of the young King of Rohan.

"The Gift of Ilúvatar is hard to receive, especially for those left behind. But the world has been cleansed of great evil and you are the King of a mighty people. Hope has come back to Middle Earth and you are here to witness it. Rejoice."

Éomer's grief gradually quieted as he heeded Glorfindel's words. "How did you know?" he whispered to the Elf. "How did you know that I needed to be taken so harshly, that I needed to mourn?"

"I was once like you. The Balrog killed me, but the Valar sent me back, many years after the fall of Gondolin, to be the guardian of Tuor's line. I found all those that I had loved dead and the shape of the world itself changed." He gripped Éomer's chin and tilted it up to place a gentle kiss against the Man's lips. "Elros had died, so I bound myself to Elrond. But it was long before I could take joy in the world again, and stop regretting my losses."

He continued speaking, his lips ghosting against Éomer's, "When I saw you tonight, I saw the depths of grief in your eyes, and it pained me to see someone so young and beautiful looking so lost."

Éomer slid a hand through the golden hair and twirled a strand around his finger. "My uncle had stood in the stead of my father since I was a young boy. And my cousin, Théodred, had been as an adored older brother to me all my life. My sister goes to a blissful union with the Steward of Gondor, but I selfishly wish she would stay by my side." He sighed bitterly, "And now I find myself on the throne, a place for which I never had any desire."

"This grief will pass eventually." Glorfindel murmured more Elvish and left off nibbling Éomer's lips and began biting down the Man's neck. Éomer gasped at the assault and felt his member twitch back to life. The Elf worked his way across the King's chest, pausing to bite and suckle the Man's flat nipples, bringing them to small, sensitive peaks. Éomer twisted trying to grab at Glorfindel. "No, lirimaer, let me," he said pushing the Man back to the mattress.

Éomer was moaning as Glorfindel continued his teasing way down to the source of Éomer's pleasure. The King groaned as he was engulfed in the wet heat of the Elf Lord's mouth. Glorfindel took him in deeply as his nose nuzzled the golden curls at the base of Éomer's shaft. The Elf slid a finger in his mouth and used it to stroke the rigid cock. He removed the spit-lubricated finger and pushed it firmly into Éomer's tenderized entrance. Glorfindel felt around until he located the tiny nub of pleasure deep within the Man. He massaged it in time with the swallowing motions he made around Éomer's cock. The young Man could not hold out long against the double onslaught and emptied his seed into the Elf's mouth.

Glorfindel crawled up to place a come-flavored kiss on Éomer's lips while the Man recovered. Éomer regained his breath, and then sat up with a mischievous smile on his face. "Your turn," he growled to his companion, while he pressed the Elf flat on his back and began a leisurely exploration of the Eldar warrior's body. It was Glorfindel's turn to squirm as Éomer assailed him with lips and tongue.

Later, they curled up together in the enormous bed with their legs intertwined. Éomer was floating in sleepy completion when another question occurred to him. "Why me?" he inquired of the Elf. Glorfindel looked confused.

Éomer explained, "I am no Númenorean with a long life and far sight. I am not such a man as Aragorn or Faramir. I am a Man of Twilight. Why would you choose to be with me?"

"You remind of the Men I knew in the First Age, of Tuor, and Huor and his brother Húrin. The Valar had not gifted the Edain with Westernesse at that time. They were much like you, short-lived but brave and gallant. I feel as young as I did then when I am with you." Glorfindel grinned, "You are easy to look at, as well. And you make love the way you make war, fierce and reckless."

Éomer nodded in contentment and drifted into sleep, feeling more peaceful than he had in months. Glorfindel stayed awake, watching the slumber of his young lover. "And I thought to take the memory of the passion of Men with me, when I go to Valinor with Elrond," he whispered.

When the King of Rohan awoke the next morning, the Elf Lord had gone. Éomer accepted his loss and knew that he was stronger for having encountered Glorfindel. He was delighted, however, when he noticed a coil of sunny hair on his pillow with a note that read, "I could not allow the Dwarf to have a token from his Elf that you did not." Éomer smiled. The Sun had been his for one brief night, but he would remember for the rest of his life.

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