Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2197338.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      TOLKIEN_J._R._R._-_Works
  Relationship:
      Aragorn/Éomer
  Character:
      Aragorn, Éomer
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-25 Words: 5921
****** A Yule Gift ******
by Talullah
Summary
     Young Éomer tries to make up for a rough beginning with a very warm
     demonstration of Rohirrim hospitality and Yule spirit.
Notes
     Many thanks to kenazfiction for the beta. All remaining mistakes are
     mine.
     Written for lotr_sesa, for butterballer, who requested R to NC17, fic
     and fanart, young!Eomer/Aragorn. Éomer is 17 in this fic.
     fanfic100 prompt 004: insides.
     OMC name (Frealaf) from Meduseld.
     Disclaimer/Blanket_Statement
Thorongil men called him in Gondor, the Eagle of the Star, for he was swift and
keen-eyed, and wore a silver star upon his cloak; but no one knew his true name
nor in what land he was born. He came to Ecthelion from Rohan, where he had
served the King Thengel, but he was not one of the Rohirrim. Lord of the Rings,
Appendice A - J. R. R. Tolkien
Off Edoras, Third Age 2995
Aragorn had been watching colts from fence to fence for a few hours. He was a
patient man and knew that a quick glance to observe the stride and offered only
an inkling of a horse's abilities. He was not interested in a runner, but in a
horse of firm temperament who was strong and resilient. His future owner would
depend on him to cover long roads and still be ready for battle at the end of a
tiring day. If this horse would be able to do a little sprinting now and then,
it would not hurt, but in the long run, what he needed was stability and
strength.
The fair site was bustling with life. This was the last opportunity before
Winter to close a few deals for many Rohirrim. Yule was coming and with it,
rain or snow to close the roads with mud and unforeseen dangers. The improvised
grounds were off Edoras for a few miles, but they lacked none of the comforts a
man of Rohan would appreciate. The afternoon was still young but already bawdy
songs fueled by fine ale made their way through the air. Aragorn stayed away
from the parties, though - he had no time, inclination or desire to join these
happy souls.
For the third time that day, he returned to the second fence. Three fine colts
stood close to each other, nibbling on the hay left in the manger and two other
playfully challenged each other in the reduced space. So far those two were the
most promising: they were light in spirit and foot and seemed more active and
alert than the other animals, who would rather eat and seek shelter from the
chill.
In an unconscious gesture he reached inside the cloak for his pipe. After
quickly feeling its contours inside its pouch, Aragorn removed his hand; this
was not the time of place for smoking. A young voice, cold with anger sounded
behind him as a hard tip of a knife pressed against his back.
"I would hold out my hands if I were you, stranger," the boy said.
Aragorn sighed, slowly extending his hands out. He had thought himself
inconspicuous in his dark cloak and hood, but apparently the people of Rohan
were not as trusting as they had once been. Without being told he carefully
turned to face his aggressor. He bowed slightly.
"Peace, young master. I seek to do no harm, only a little honest business."
The blondish young man in front of him frowned, still holding out his dagger.
"You have been circling my horses, don't deny it."
Aragorn made a gesture of peace. "The usual procedure for the ones who wish to
make a good choice."
"Or for those who intend to return in the dead of the night!" the boy retorted,
raising his voice.
"You are fast to accuse without proof, young one," Aragorn replied, noticing
that a few passers were already directing them curious glances. The last thing
he wanted was undue attention. "If you are the owner of these fine horses I am
ready to make my business now. Or we can seek your father," he proposed, trying
to solve the situation quickly.
The young man squinted at him and slowly put the dagger to its sheet. "I may
not have proof as you say, but you look far from being a decent honest man. Why
would you skulk around if you were?"
As soon as Aragorn opened his mouth to reply, a cheerful voice boomed from
behind them. "Well I can't believe my eyes! Thorongil!"
Aragorn looked back, mildly annoyed, recognizing Éomund.
"It has been a long time since we have seen you around these parts," the man
continued unabashed, walking in large strides toward them.
Upon a second look, Aragorn recognized Éomund. The man had not aged gracefully
and of the boy Aragorn had known only the rakish grin remained.
"Éomund." Aragorn nodded, pleased to see an old friend, despite his
indiscretion. "I do not go by that name, these days..." He glanced at the young
man only to find him visibly reddening.
"How can it be..." he whispered.
Ignoring him, Éomund clasped Aragorn's arms in his, pulling him closer for a
bear hug after. "Why shouldn't you travel under your own name? We have much
thank you for. And look at you! It is as if only a year has passed by you!"
"Other tasks require my attention and some secrecy too, I should say," Aragorn
replied vaguely.
"Very well, then, my friend. What should I call you, then?"
"Strider will suffice."
"Oh, Théoden should be here to see you! I see you have met my boy, Éomer..."
"I have indeed..." Aragorn replied noncommittally.
"I hope he has treated you with the respect and courtesy you deserve..." Éomund
cast dark glance at Éomer's hand that still rested on the hilt of his dagger.
"Have no worries," Aragorn replied discretely. In his youth Éomund had been
generous but also quick tempered. Aragorn was not willing to find out if that
character trait had mellowed with time or not.
Éomund did not seem to care too much, though. "Laconic as always," he said, his
smile returning. "You men from the North need to know how to let go." He landed
a congenial slap on Aragorn's back.
Aragorn smiled slightly but kept quiet. Éomer kept his eyes fixed on his boots.
"You must join me for dinner tonight," Éomund continued. "Are you staying at
the inn?"
"No, I am just passing by and I will ride out before dusk. I was hoping to find
good steeds for two of my men's sons. The boys are reaching the age when they
must start training themselves and their steeds." Aragorn could not help a
covetous glance at the colts.
Éomund followed his eyes and grinned. "You have not lost your impeccable eye!
You would do us honour to have business with us."
Aragorn inclined his head politely. "The honour is mine."
Éomund looked at the horses. "The restless two, eh? Not bad choices, not bad at
all. They are not Mearas, of course, but one would suspect they have a drop of
that blood, let not Théoden hear us. For you, they will go below price."
Aragorn pressed his lips in what could have been a smile in a softer man. He
reached inside his cape and searched for a pouch in his vest. He felt the
heaviness of the gold one last time before proffering it to Éomund. "I think
you will find a fair amount inside," he said.
Éomund weighed the pouch in his hand after taking a glance inside. "More than
fair, my friend," he replied, "But you'll always think of this as money well-
spent!"
Aragorn nodded, his eyes running again to the colts.
"They are indeed very fine."
Éomund placed his arm around Aragorn's shoulder. "I am glad they are going to
you. We must have dinner this evening to celebrate this meeting. I can't
believe that you would come and go without a word!"
"The times are growing darker, my friend," Aragorn replied.
"Perhaps, but then we should cherish friends all the more. You are enjoying my
hospitality tonight, like it or not!" Éomund broke into boisterous laughter,
extracting a smile from Aragorn.
"My boy will lead you to our tent if you want to rest for a while before
dinner. You look tired."
Aragorn sighed. "It was a long ride, and not a completely uneventful one."
"Still chopping off Orc heads, eh?" Éomund slapped Aragorn's back again, and
turned to his son. "Thorongil here is a man we were sorry to see go. Valiant
and battle-hardened as few. Your father here had the honour of fighting by his
side on more than one occasion."
Éomer forced a smile. Aragorn saw the blush returning to his cheeks.
"The boy rides well but is awfully quiet," Éomund proceeded. "I suppose it's
the age."
He faced his son again. "Éomer, go with... Strider here and find his horse.
Show him our good hospitality can be. I'll take care of the sales."
Aragorn nodded and lead the way. They quickly found Roheryn tied to a pole
outside the fair grounds. The horse seemed happy to see his owner, and followed
him calmly through the crowd to Éomund's camp. He accepted the company of the
other horses and the fresh hay Éomer gave him with a happy nicker.
Aragorn then followed the young man into the tent. It was warm and dark inside,
but enough light came from the embers in the central fire to show the rich
tapestries covering the ground and the many pillows scattered around. Éomund
might be a man of the wilderness like himself, but he had no qualms in keeping
a comfortable life when possible. Aragorn rubbed his hands over the fire,
allowing himself a sigh of pleasure before the rare comfort.
"Do you want some ale or food?" Éomer offered with his back to him, preparing a
space for the guest.
Aragorn declined with a simple 'no'.
Éomer stepped back. "You can rest here," he said, pulling a curtain. He had
made a bed of with a couple of furs and pillows. Aragorn felt tempted, but it
was too soon and he had other business to take care before he joined Éomund for
dinner.
Éomer stood between him and the improvised space, gazing somewhere between
Aragorn's chin and his belt. "I'm sorry to have insulted you before," he said,
lowering his eyes even further.
Even in the dim light Aragorn could see his face set aflame again, eliciting a
mix of compassion and amusement in the ranger.
He decided to be magnanimous. "You do well in protecting what is yours... but
do be more careful the next time."
Éomer nodded.
Aragorn went out again, leaving the boy behind and used the remainder of
daylight to shop for a few other things. The Rohirrim were master craftsmen in
all leathery items. The new colts would need saddles, bridles... He might as
well get the boys the best items in the market.
Then there was the smuggled merchandise from the Haradrim.It was still terribly
expensive in Rohan, but at much lower prices than in the north. He wanted to
buy something exotic for his brothers and for his foster father. The Elves made
rarely made a fuss about Yule, but they made a point of honouring the common
tradition while he was growing up. Now, so many years after he had left the
shelter of Elrond's house, he still made a point of giving them something nice
every year.
He especially hoped to find something for Arwen, perhaps some fine fabric, or
cocoa, her favourite. Aragorn wanted a gift that would finally melt her
reserve. She was still so elusive fifteen years after their promise of love...
Sometimes Aragorn doubted he would ever fulfil Elrond's conditions. In those
moments he believed that Arwen's reluctance in yielding to him came from her
lack of belief in his ability of becoming worthy of her. The thought weighed
heavy on his heart, so heavy that sometimes he felt like simply giving up. His
people would always accept him, elven bride or no. Many would be glad to marry
their daughters into his house. Aragorn shook the dark thoughts as he
approached the first merchants. He wandered through the tables, examining,
bargaining and slowly stuffing his bag and emptying his pouch.
Casually keeping his arm draped over his bag to discourage pocket pickers, he
returned to Éomund's tent after sundown, also carrying two fine saddles. The
fair ground looked livelier than ever, all lit up by torches. Men, women and
children still ran around, laughing, preparing for the evening's festivities,
and doing the last business of the day. He called out upon his arrival, but not
even young Éomer remained in the tent. He sought his assigned space and emptied
his bag in the furs. He had found some gauzy silk for Arwen and a few semi-
precious stones. As lovely and pricey as they had been, now as he recalled them
in his mind's eye, they seemed dull and cheap. Picking an amethyst from the
soft cloth, he lay back watching the dim light gleaming around it, creating
deep shades of purple, and hoped that Arwen would at least find it endearing.
Voices came through the tend walls and he hastily say up and put away his finer
purchases in his bag. Hearing Éomund coming in followed by Éomer and a servant
he pulled open his curtain and greeted his host.
"Ah! I see that you managed to do more business after you left!" Éomund
observed, eyeing Aragorn's full bag and the saddles.
"I did," replied Aragorn standing up.
Éomund stopped him. "Rest, my friend. I need to do a few things before we leave
for dinner."
"Leave?" Aragorn enquired, slightly concerned.
"But yes! Frealaf has brought his tavern to the fair. I could offer you a fine
dinner prepared by my staff, but there is no roast that compares to his. Surely
you remember!"
Aragorn nodded. He did, in fact. During his time spent in aid of Rohan he had
often frequented Frealaf's tavern with his brothers in arms. "So Frealaf's it
is." He returned to his furs and sat, waiting patiently for Éomund to finish
his business.
Éomund did not take long. They walked back to the center of the fair with Éomer
and one of Éomund's men in tow. Vague sounds of fiddling resounded through the
air, mingled with children's cries, and many overlapped conversations. Éomund
stopped often for a word here and there, interrupting the course of his
conversation with Aragorn, but he did not mind it. He would rather keep the
conversation shallow and fragmented than to reveal too much of himself. He had
accepted the man's extended hospitality because it was a grave offense to turn
down a rider of the Mark, and in his heart he appreciated a bit of company.
Still, one had to be careful and always guarded against danger and Aragorn
wondered if he would still have the chance to regret accepting Éomund's
invitation.
Frealaf's tent resembled more a pavilion, so large it was. Inside, the crowd
spoke loudly and incessant clashing of mugs and cutlery filled the air. A waft
of warm air and kitchen smells hit Aragorn in the face, dissipating his doubts.
They sat and a girl with generous flesh and insidious manners came to take
their order Éomund ordered for the table and Aragorn dismissed her insinuations
with a bland smile, praying that no one else in the crowd would recognize him
as easily as Éomund had.
The meat came swiftly to the table. Éomund was well-known among the Rohirrim
for his own merit and for being married to the king's sister. The girl came by
often, as they ate, to check on their needs and flirt a bit. She quickly
focused her attentions in Éomund, as Aragorn politely ignored her advances and
Éomer and the other man were not fish for her hook. Men sat at their table
chatting amiably with Éomund, then left, only to be replaced by others. The
table become the heart of the tavern. Aragorn sat quietly, enjoying the food
and the ale, and listening to the conversations. He kept to himself unless
directly approached and then kept it brief. Éomund respected his desire for
anonymity, and quickly his attentions were solely focused on the whirl around
him. Aragorn preferred it that way.
Éomund's man also participated in the multiple conversations leaving Éomer in
silence too. Aragorn took the chance to observe the boy. He was tall already
but his bones promised more growing. His upper lip had signs of a poor shave
but his cheeks were still clean as a child's. Excepting his almond-shaped eyes,
he was the spitting image of Éomund when Aragorn had first met him years
before. And yet, father and son did not seem to connect, Aragorn thought,
regarding the fierce silence passing between them.
Ale kept flowing to the table and pretty soon the dishes were out and the mugs
remained. More men came to the circle and laughter and music sounded louder.
After much flirting the girl sat on Éomund's lap. Aragorn noticed Éomer's face
twisting as his father's hands roamed through her curves.
The boy left the table without a word, but as he turned to leave Éomund called.
"Éomer! You stay here. You stay until our guest wants to leave and return to
the tent."
The boy's eyes flashed at this public humiliation but he returned to his seat.
Aragorn took pity on him. He waited for a few moments, slowly finishing his mug
of ale, so that his departure would not be too conspicuous, and then bid his
host goodnight. Éomund insisted that he could stay longer, but Aragorn reminded
him that he had a long journey ahead in the morning. The girl whispered
something in Éomund's ear that made him burst in laughter. He bid Aragorn
goodnight and farewell, and forgot him even before he had crossed the
pavilion's door.
Outside, Aragorn stopped for a minute and took a deep breath. Éomer stood
waiting.
"You can go ahead, young Éomer," Aragorn said. "I am going to smoke a pipe
before sleep, to warm me up and top this delicious meal."
"I can wait," Éomer said.
"I think you want to leave..."
"I don't want to see certain things, that is all," the boy replied, staying
stubbornly by Aragorn's side. "That doesn't mean that I should leave a guest
alone in the middle of the night."
Aragorn nodded. "As you wish." He prepared his pipe and offered Éomer some
pipe-weed.
Éomer frowned. "Thank you but this is a foreign custom that I am not ready to
experience!"
They walked slowly in the direction of the tent. Midway, Éomer broke the
awkward silence. "What my father said... is it true? Are you the same Thorongil
who burned down the corsair ships of Umbar?"
Aragorn reluctantly nodded. "That was a long time ago."
"But you should be old," Éomer protested.
"I am old. But the men from the north age slowly, or has no one told you that?"
"I thought it was the stuff of legends," Éomer replied faintly.
"As you see, it is not."
"You could be Thorongil's son," Éomer insisted half-heartedly. "You could be
pretending to be your father."
"Hardly. I have tried to keep as unnoticed as possible; I certainly am not
pretending to be someone else."
Éomer looked fiercely at his boots. "You are pretending to be Strider. If
that's a Man's name at all."
"I am not pretending, young Éomer," Aragorn retorted, starting to lose his
patience. "I simply do not want to announce my presence to the four winds.
Perhaps when you mature a little you will understand that not always a man can
act upon his wishes under his name."
Éomer buried his chin in his chest and they continued in silence the rest of
the way. Éomer opened the flap of the tent to let Aragorn in, and quickly
followed him inside. Aragorn went to his private space and pulled the curtain.
He heard Éomer kneeling just behind the fabric.
"Have a good night's rest, young Éomer," he said, dismissing the boy. "Or go
and have fun in the fair if you will."
Éomer hesitated for a few seconds. "I would like to speak to you..." he asked
quietly.
Aragorn pulled the curtain open. "What is it?"
"I am sorry that I have been so rude. My father would kill me if he suspected."
"Don't worry, Éomer," Aragorn replied. "I will be leaving with the first light
and I would not tell him if I remained, anyway. Your father is a good man and
embarrassing him would do no one good."
"No, no, I'm sorry. Once again I said it all wrong. I am not apologizing so
that you won't tell my father. I am truly sorry that I have been such an
ungracious host." Éomer lowered his eyes, slightly pouting. "It seems that
everything that I say or do comes out wrong."
Aragorn smiled. "I know that feeling."
Éomer looked up surprised.
"Well, I was a young man once. I am still awfully green by elven standards. And
even today, now and then I can experience embarrassment, clumsiness, and the
likes. It is part of being human."
Éomer stared at him dumbfonded. "You do not act in this way," he said when he
collected himself. "And neither does my father or my uncle or most other men."
"That is because you are too busy finding your own flaws and worrying about
them." Aragorn lifted Éomer's chin. "You are a fine young man, but are still to
build some trust in yourself and find your place in the world. I can imagine
that it is not easy, belonging to a house such as yours. You have the weight of
expectations on your shoulders, the legends of your forefathers... it can be
daunting."
"You speak as if you know..." Éomer softly inquired.
"I know more than you think," Aragorn replied avoiding a direct answer.
Éomer nodded. "I trust your word."
Aragorn lifted an eyebrow but Éomer hadn't found their little interview over
yet. He smiled tentatively and offered, "The servants left mulled wine. Do you
want some? I should stoke the fire."
"I thank you, Éomer, but I have to be up early tomorrow and I already had my
share of wine at dinner."
Éomer's smile waned, eliciting a pang of guilt from Aragorn. The young man
seemed so lost and alone. He recalled how sensitive he had also been at that
age.
"Come to think of it, maybe I should have one last drink before bed to warm me
up," he offered.
Éomer beamed and returned to the center of the tent to quickly stoke the
brassier and serve the wine.
Aragorn followed him and sat in a large pillow.
Éomer extended him a mug. They sipped the wine in companionable silence for a
few moments. The cheerful fire slowly ate away the chill in Aragorn's bones and
he was glad to have taken Éomer's offer.
"It is nice in here," he offered as small talk.
"It will be quiet during the night," Éomer replied with a sad smile.
"Yes, I would imagine... it's far enough from the fair and from the other
tents. I owe you and Éomund an uncommonly comfortable night."
"Actually that was not what I meant, but yes, you are right."
"What did you mean?" Aragorn asked.
Éomer served them more wine. "It's just that my father probably won't return
tonight, that's all."
"I see." Aragorn remembered the young man's discomfort upon seeing his father
groping the maid. It was not uncommon or unheard of warriors and riders to seek
comfort away from home. Even he, despite his stern nature and his promised
heart, had now and then sought the warmth of another's arms for one night. But
Éomund did it with little discretion and too close to home. Aragorn could
understand that it was hard for the boy to see his father flaunting his self-
indulgence so callously. There was nothing that he could say to give him
comfort, though, that would not be disloyal to either of his hosts.
After a few moments, Aragorn tried to change the subject. "Don't you have a
sweetheart with whom to dance this night?"
Éomer snorted. "No."
"And why not?" Aragorn asked.
Éomer stared at the contents of his mug. "Girls are complicated."
Aragorn smiled, knowingly. "Have you ever been with one?"
Éomer shook his head.
"So it can be said that you don't know what you are missing..." Aragorn
remarked.
"To use your own words, maybe I know more than you think..." Éomer stole a
glance in Aragorn's direction.
Aragorn frowned, but then it dawned on him. "Ah," he simply said.
"So you condone what my father does, but not what I do?" Éomer challenged him
when no further answer came.
"I never said that I condoned your father... but I cannot pretend to know what
is in his mind and his heart. And I didn't say a single word regarding the
other matter," Aragorn stated blankly.
"That is saying enough."
"Éomer!" Aragorn snapped. "You are young but I hope that you will soon realize
that you do not need my approval or anyone else's for your intimate business.
Where I come from we are too busy with survival to take time to worry about who
beds whom and when or why."
Éomer blushed. "It seems that I have offended you again."
"No... no. But there is still so much that you need to learn. And the first
thing would be to stop judging others so quickly."
"Have you ever lain with a man?" Éomer cut.
"That is not of your business."
Éomer looked so beseechingly that Aragorn once more felt compassion for him. "A
few times, yes," he admitted. "When I was younger."
Éomer dipped his head, lightening fast and kissed Aragorn who pulled back
instantly, too shocked for words. He felt foolish, opening and closing his
mouth like a fish on land, but he could not think of a word to say.
Éomer tried to kiss him again, but this time Aragorn pulled away before their
lips met.
"I am your father's guest," he protested.
"So enjoy some fine Rohirric hospitality," Éomer said. His words were cheeky
but his voice quavered.
"I doubt your father would approve of... of this particular display..."
Éomer inched closer to Aragorn. "My father has no say in my life, after making
a fool of my mother with every tavern whore for the last five years."
"So you want me as a means of getting even with your father," Aragorn
concluded.
"Yes. But you are different from the men here."
"How different?" Aragorn now regretted his indulgent words. Remembering what he
had learned of the rather stern, if hypocritical, view of intimate relations
between males during his previous stay with the Rohirrim, he highly doubted
that Éomer had heard anything so neutral or kind in his life.
Éomer did not flinch from the question, however. "You'll be gone tomorrow. No
one will ever know."
Aragorn nodded. For a moment, he could see himself taking the boy tenderly, as
a compassionate act. He tried to shake the thought from his mind even as his
sex tingled.
"I sympathise with your quest, but I cannot," he forced himself to say. The
disappointment in Éomer's eyes threatened to break his heart. The boy pulled
back, eyes fixed on the ground.
"People say that I am fair," he whispered.
"I did not say you were not," Aragorn tried. "In fact you hold the promise of
becoming a very handsome man."
"But not enough for your tastes, obviously."
"Still drawing conclusions too fast. You know perfectly that it would be a sin
against all that's decent for me to take advantage of you."
"Take advantage?" Éomer asked raising his voice. "I am of age and offered
myself freely. Do not insult me. Simply admit that you don't want me." His rage
made him bold and Éomer leaned in again to fiercely kiss Aragorn. When they
broke the kiss, both slightly panted. "Or that you do want me," Éomer added
with a defiant glint in his eye. His fingers traced the bulge in Aragorn's
groin, sending a shiver through the ranger's body.
He did not repel Éomer fast enough, and the boy took the chance to steal
another kiss. His hands grew bold, and Aragorn found himself responding far
more enthusiastically than he should. It had been a long time since he had been
with someone. At length, he found the resolve to pull back.
"I have someone," he panted. "Would you want a man who did the same as your
father?"
Éomer's eyes darkened. "Will she ever know? I am not so young or foolish that I
do not understand there can be some leeway from the customs away from home.
Only he's not away from home. He's here right under my mother's eyes."
He gazed at Aragorn, waiting for an answer. Aragorn silently nodded, reclining
on the pillows. Éomer fell on him starved for contact, any touch that he could
have. He was hasty and somewhat clumsy in his caresses, but his hunger made up
for his lack of experience. Aragorn let him take the lead for a while,
savouring the feel of another's skin as layers of clothing were removed one
after another. When they were naked, he slowly rotated so that they lay side by
side and then he was on top of Éomer. He broke the kissing to look down on his
partner. Éomer was indeed handsome, and Aragorn told him so in a whisper. He
held the young man's head between his hands and leaned in for a deep kiss,
assuming complete dominance. Éomer looked at him surprised, but he was a quick
learner and soon he yielded to the kisses in perfect synchrony. Aragorn rubbed
their groins together, feeling Éomer's length turgid and hot beneath him. He
pressed down on the boy, sighing of pleasure as they acclimated each other's
body. Éomer kept touching him, but now he looked insecure. Aragorn decided he
did not want to know if it was his first time. Instead, he kissed Éomer's body,
showing him all the places that could bring pleasure. Éomer breathed heavily
and his hips undulated rhythmically beneath Aragorn. Taking pity on Éomer's
pleas, he quickly finished him with practiced moves of his callused hands.
As he lay down his head by Éomer's side, the boy looked at him with an
embarrassed expression. Aragorn smiled. "Don't worry," he said, tracing lazy
circles with his finger in the semen pools on Éomer's belly as he delicately
bit his ear. Éomer shuddered and his sex twitched, instantly coming to full-
bloom again.
Aragorn turned him on his side, spooning behind him. "Wait for a moment," he
instructed. He quickly fetched the jar of grease for leathers he had acquired
in the afternoon and brought it back with him. He quickly coated his shaft,
then started preparing Éomer. The boy flinched, confirming Aragorn's
impressions of his inexperience. He sighed, making an effort to pace himself,
and continued massaging Éomer until he was relaxed enough. He pressed closer,
replacing his fingers with his shaft. Éomer trembled slightly in his arms.
"Are you ready?" Aragorn asked, barely containing himself. Éomer pushed back in
reply.
Aragorn entered him slowly but steadily, feeling Éomer contracting more and
more around him, until he whimpered in pain.
"You have to relax," Aragorn said. He reached across and grabbed Éomer's
dwindling erection. He pumped hard on it, pushing slowly into Éomer, until he
was buried to the hilt and the boy moaned in pleasure under his hand. Then he
started moving more freely, never neglecting his partner, searching for the
place inside him that would bring him ecstasy. After a few tries, Éomer gasped,
encouraging Aragorn to repeat the movement. All pain forgotten, Éomer moved
with him, touching himself. Aragorn tried hard to make it last, delaying their
culmination over and over, but at last Éomer shuddered, surrendering to his
release. Aragorn stepped up his pace until he was moving frantically towards
his own climax. With a final howl he came inside Éomer and dropped to his side.
After a few moments he carefully separated their bodies. He should clean them
and cover them. Despite the heat of before he could already feel the night
chill cooling the sweat on their bodies. He was too tired and too satisfied to
do so, however, so he simply lay by Éomer's side.
A few hours later Aragorn woke, startled. He was cold and slightly sore. Éomer
still slept by his side, but he turned and squinted at Aragorn as he lift up
and searched for his clothes. Tiny fringes of pale light came through the seams
of the tent, announcing dawn. It was time to ride away. Éomer dressed silently
and found them some bread to break fast. Then he lead Aragorn to the fence
where his horse and the colts awaited.
"Are you planning to go all the way up north alone?" Éomer asked.
"A few of my men await me by the Dwimordene," Aragorn replied laconically.
"Travel safe. That is a dangerous place to be."
Aragorn did not bother in telling Éomer wrong. The night before everything had
made perfect sense, but today he felt slightly hungover and a lot guiltier than
he thought reasonable.
"You will be fine," he said to Éomer, more as an attempt to appease his own
conscience than to comfort the boy.
"I am fine," Éomer replied with a smile. "I just had the best Yule gift of my
life," he added cheekily.
Against his will Aragorn smiled. Éomer would be fine indeed, as soon as the
complicated years of youth went by, and time flew. He was certain that Éomer
would be a very fine man by the next time they met. He mounted Roheryn, took
the leads for the colts from Éomer's hand and set off in a light trot, never
looking back. Long after he was out of sight, he could feel Éomer's eyes
burning his back as he crossed the plain.
===============================================================================
"But there is something strange about you, Strider." He bent his clear bright
eyes again upon the Ranger. "That is no name for a Man that you give." The Two
Towers - J. R. R. Tolkien
Aragorn had spent the day puzzled. He did not expect Éomer to jump from the
saddle and greet him like a long-lost brother, but the man's complete
indifference to him was baffling. If he had not known better, he would have
sworn that indeed they had never met.
In the long hours after dark, he waited patiently for a chance of catching
Éomer alone. Too much was at stake for them to afford any dubious matters to
remain unsolved.
"Éomer... a word," he asked as soon as they were alone.
Éomer nodded.
"You have behaved as if we do not know each other... yet in your eyes I could
see a glint of recognition. But the men of the Mark do not deceive, so I am
left wondering what your heart harbours."
"I told no lie. I do not know you, in fact. I once was briefly acquainted with
a man named Strider, to whom I owe much, but to reveal that would entail
explanations that sooner or later would diverge from the truth. You once told
me I would grow to understand he need for subterfuge..."
Aragorn nodded. "True. So you hold me in no contempt?"
"No, not at all." Éomer grinned. "You still are the best Yule present I have
ever had."
Aragorn felt his cheeks grow hot.
"Worry not, my friend," Éomer said, patting his back. "Everything went for the
best."
 
Finis
December 2006
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