Griffndor's Request: Eomer/Hector
Aug. 20th, 2008 12:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jaye_voyRequest from: Griffndor
Prompt: Eomer/Hector
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.
Feedback: Always welcome, positive or negative.
Archiving: Not without permission.
***
Was this Elysium? Hector rose from the embrace of furs to set bare feet firm upon soft grass, turning slowly as he surveyed this unfamiliar territory. Trees, slim-trunked and in full leaf, discussed the breeze in whispers as a nearby stream added its chatter to the songs of unseen birds. It was not the rolling sound of the waves he had known since before his birth, but it was...peaceful.
A flash of bright gold had him tensing, reaching for the sword that was not at his side. Instead a huntsman’s knife hung from the belt of his kilt, and he spied bows and arrows just out of reach, brown leather of the quivers matching the sandals resting beside it. Along with strange garments he did not recognize.
The flare of light resolved into the tumble of golden locks adorning a muscled back. "Achilles?" Hector knew not how he felt at the sudden appearance of his enemy---his killer.
But as the man turned he knew this was not Agamemnon's champion. For this stranger, though well-formed and strongly built, had a face he had never glimpsed before. Full lips framed by a mustache and short beard, straight brows drawn into a puzzled frown above eyes as green and golden as the sunlit glade.
"Nay." The man spoke with a pleasing timbre and a hint of wonder as he stared at his own spread hands as if he didn't know his own flesh. "I am Éomer, a rider of the Mark---" Sharp gaze took in all that Hector was in a glance. "Called Rohan in the Southern lands."
Hector let his hand drift from the hilt of the knife, for his instincts told him this was no brigand. "I know it not, Éomer of Rohan, but I welcome you just the same. I am Hector of Troy."
Éomer nodded a greeting. He found the situation more than passing strange. Not since a toddler had he walked about in naught but a belted wrap of linen, and never in strange footwear that left toes and ankles vulnerable to all attack.
Yet he had not scrambled for the knife at his belt or the pile of---thank Bema---familiar gear not far from where this Hector stood. At first glance he had thought the man a Numénor, but Hector’s eyes were as dark as tilled earth, with a matching beard and fall of curls framing his well-formed features. The combination was somehow...warmer...than the coloring that oft marked the elite of Gondor.
And Troy was no Southron realm, that much Éomer did know, from battling the forces of Umbar, Khand and Harad throughout his long reign. So long...
He looked at his hands again, seeing anew the unmarred skin that denied the scores of years that had passed since the prime of his manhood. He shook his head, looking to his companion in this mystery. “Are we in Troy? I confess I understand not how I came to be in this place.”
“No...we are not in Troy.” Of that Hector was certain---the salt tang of every breath he’d known did not scent the air here. Wherever *here* may be. Yet despite the strangeness of his circumstances, he was not raging against the gods’ caprice as he once might have done. Hector drifted closer to Éomer, chiding fingers that wanted to learn the texture of that golden mane. How could he have such thoughts when Andromache still owned his heart? “What do you remember?”
The frown deepened on Éomer’s face, and Hector pondered rubbing his thumb over the groove that formed between Éomer’s brows. But then the wonder returned. “I was an old, old man...” The bright sudden blaze of Éomer’s grin granted him a beauty that rivaled Apollo’s. “Yet still the best horseman on the plains.”
Éomer sighed. “I had lived long, and well. Guided my people as best I could in my cousin’s stead. Been gifted with the love of Lothiriel---" From the way Éomer’s voice caressed the name Hector knew the lady still dwelled in Éomer’s heart. “And children, my own and the generations that followed.”
Those green-gold eyes held a ring of brown, when viewed this close. They captured Hector as surely as one of Medusa’s snake-haired glances as Éomer said, “I was dying...I died. And then I was here...with you.”
Éomer whirled and paced the confines of the glade, hands knotted behind his back as he sought to bring order to his thoughts. “It is said not even the Istari know the fate of men’s souls. I had thought to be sent to the hall of my forefathers---"
He stopped short, dismay a sudden clench of his guts. “To see once more all those who had left me behind.” His arms loosened as he blinked away the mist threatening his gaze as he stared at Hector, somehow not ashamed at the sight of pity---nay, sympathy---softening the dark brown eyes. “Why am I here? Have I failed in my duty, to be denied the company of those I have so long yearned to see once more?”
“Nay!” Hector had no means of knowing, yet he could not believe Éomer had fallen short of the gods’ demands. He stepped forward and clasped comforting hands about Éomer’s shoulders. “The Fates determine our course, and I cannot doubt you sailed yours to its best end.”
A sudden possibility entered his thoughts, and Hector wondered if Athena herself had whispered wisdom into his ear. “Perhaps it is that you are also waiting...for your Lothiriel?”
Éomer’s body eased as the possibility washed across him. He found his own hands rising to cover Hector’s upon him, pressed gratitude and ignored a shiver at the warmth and strength of Hector’s grasp. Warrior’s comfort had been denied him since he’d been granted command of an éored, so very long ago. “That may be. For more than threescore years Lothiriel has been at my side...it is fitting we take the next step together.”
He stared into the dark eyes so close to his. “And as greatly as I wish to see her and my family again, I cannot want to pull Lothiriel from life a day sooner than the Valar decree.” And he could not deny that Hector stirred him in ways he had thought long buried beneath duty and the love of his wife and queen.
Hector swallowed at the press of Éomer’s palms against his own hands, at the feel of warm skin over a strong frame under his fingers. It had been so long since he’d touched...known the touch of another warrior. “My beloved Andromache had our babe at her breast when I left the mortal world. I can only hope her crossing is delayed until our son is grown strong and sure in his manhood.”
Somehow he knew his family would survive, even if Troy did not, and it was a comfort he found eased the sting of his own failure in combat against the demi-god Achilles. All grief was fading from his thoughts the longer he spent in the presence of this enchanting warrior from another realm.
He slid one hand free to cup Éomer’s jaw, thumb caressing the full lips that he ached to explore with his own. Hector took a breath. "Would you here dwell with me...until our women come to claim us for the next part of our journey?"
This time Éomer’s smile was as slow and warm as sunrise. Then Éomer’s arms wrapped around Hector’s waist as he closed the distance to press lips to lips and seal this bargain between them.
And Hector knew, this was Elysium.
Prompt: Eomer/Hector
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.
Feedback: Always welcome, positive or negative.
Archiving: Not without permission.
***
Was this Elysium? Hector rose from the embrace of furs to set bare feet firm upon soft grass, turning slowly as he surveyed this unfamiliar territory. Trees, slim-trunked and in full leaf, discussed the breeze in whispers as a nearby stream added its chatter to the songs of unseen birds. It was not the rolling sound of the waves he had known since before his birth, but it was...peaceful.
A flash of bright gold had him tensing, reaching for the sword that was not at his side. Instead a huntsman’s knife hung from the belt of his kilt, and he spied bows and arrows just out of reach, brown leather of the quivers matching the sandals resting beside it. Along with strange garments he did not recognize.
The flare of light resolved into the tumble of golden locks adorning a muscled back. "Achilles?" Hector knew not how he felt at the sudden appearance of his enemy---his killer.
But as the man turned he knew this was not Agamemnon's champion. For this stranger, though well-formed and strongly built, had a face he had never glimpsed before. Full lips framed by a mustache and short beard, straight brows drawn into a puzzled frown above eyes as green and golden as the sunlit glade.
"Nay." The man spoke with a pleasing timbre and a hint of wonder as he stared at his own spread hands as if he didn't know his own flesh. "I am Éomer, a rider of the Mark---" Sharp gaze took in all that Hector was in a glance. "Called Rohan in the Southern lands."
Hector let his hand drift from the hilt of the knife, for his instincts told him this was no brigand. "I know it not, Éomer of Rohan, but I welcome you just the same. I am Hector of Troy."
Éomer nodded a greeting. He found the situation more than passing strange. Not since a toddler had he walked about in naught but a belted wrap of linen, and never in strange footwear that left toes and ankles vulnerable to all attack.
Yet he had not scrambled for the knife at his belt or the pile of---thank Bema---familiar gear not far from where this Hector stood. At first glance he had thought the man a Numénor, but Hector’s eyes were as dark as tilled earth, with a matching beard and fall of curls framing his well-formed features. The combination was somehow...warmer...than the coloring that oft marked the elite of Gondor.
And Troy was no Southron realm, that much Éomer did know, from battling the forces of Umbar, Khand and Harad throughout his long reign. So long...
He looked at his hands again, seeing anew the unmarred skin that denied the scores of years that had passed since the prime of his manhood. He shook his head, looking to his companion in this mystery. “Are we in Troy? I confess I understand not how I came to be in this place.”
“No...we are not in Troy.” Of that Hector was certain---the salt tang of every breath he’d known did not scent the air here. Wherever *here* may be. Yet despite the strangeness of his circumstances, he was not raging against the gods’ caprice as he once might have done. Hector drifted closer to Éomer, chiding fingers that wanted to learn the texture of that golden mane. How could he have such thoughts when Andromache still owned his heart? “What do you remember?”
The frown deepened on Éomer’s face, and Hector pondered rubbing his thumb over the groove that formed between Éomer’s brows. But then the wonder returned. “I was an old, old man...” The bright sudden blaze of Éomer’s grin granted him a beauty that rivaled Apollo’s. “Yet still the best horseman on the plains.”
Éomer sighed. “I had lived long, and well. Guided my people as best I could in my cousin’s stead. Been gifted with the love of Lothiriel---" From the way Éomer’s voice caressed the name Hector knew the lady still dwelled in Éomer’s heart. “And children, my own and the generations that followed.”
Those green-gold eyes held a ring of brown, when viewed this close. They captured Hector as surely as one of Medusa’s snake-haired glances as Éomer said, “I was dying...I died. And then I was here...with you.”
Éomer whirled and paced the confines of the glade, hands knotted behind his back as he sought to bring order to his thoughts. “It is said not even the Istari know the fate of men’s souls. I had thought to be sent to the hall of my forefathers---"
He stopped short, dismay a sudden clench of his guts. “To see once more all those who had left me behind.” His arms loosened as he blinked away the mist threatening his gaze as he stared at Hector, somehow not ashamed at the sight of pity---nay, sympathy---softening the dark brown eyes. “Why am I here? Have I failed in my duty, to be denied the company of those I have so long yearned to see once more?”
“Nay!” Hector had no means of knowing, yet he could not believe Éomer had fallen short of the gods’ demands. He stepped forward and clasped comforting hands about Éomer’s shoulders. “The Fates determine our course, and I cannot doubt you sailed yours to its best end.”
A sudden possibility entered his thoughts, and Hector wondered if Athena herself had whispered wisdom into his ear. “Perhaps it is that you are also waiting...for your Lothiriel?”
Éomer’s body eased as the possibility washed across him. He found his own hands rising to cover Hector’s upon him, pressed gratitude and ignored a shiver at the warmth and strength of Hector’s grasp. Warrior’s comfort had been denied him since he’d been granted command of an éored, so very long ago. “That may be. For more than threescore years Lothiriel has been at my side...it is fitting we take the next step together.”
He stared into the dark eyes so close to his. “And as greatly as I wish to see her and my family again, I cannot want to pull Lothiriel from life a day sooner than the Valar decree.” And he could not deny that Hector stirred him in ways he had thought long buried beneath duty and the love of his wife and queen.
Hector swallowed at the press of Éomer’s palms against his own hands, at the feel of warm skin over a strong frame under his fingers. It had been so long since he’d touched...known the touch of another warrior. “My beloved Andromache had our babe at her breast when I left the mortal world. I can only hope her crossing is delayed until our son is grown strong and sure in his manhood.”
Somehow he knew his family would survive, even if Troy did not, and it was a comfort he found eased the sting of his own failure in combat against the demi-god Achilles. All grief was fading from his thoughts the longer he spent in the presence of this enchanting warrior from another realm.
He slid one hand free to cup Éomer’s jaw, thumb caressing the full lips that he ached to explore with his own. Hector took a breath. "Would you here dwell with me...until our women come to claim us for the next part of our journey?"
This time Éomer’s smile was as slow and warm as sunrise. Then Éomer’s arms wrapped around Hector’s waist as he closed the distance to press lips to lips and seal this bargain between them.
And Hector knew, this was Elysium.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-20 02:13 pm (UTC)It is an unusual pairing but they are favorites of mine and I have never read another drabble, ficlet or story with them as the pairing so thank you once again, I enjoyed it very much.
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