Date: Wed, 14 Jul 2004 23:28:45 +0000
From: JC <little_demon203@hotmail.com>
Subject: Tales of Middle Earth: The deep breath before the plunge Chapter three

Tales of Middle Earth
The Deep Breath Before the Plunge
Chapter Three - Edoras

Same disclaimers as before - Lord of the Rings and Middle Earth are the
property of JRR Tolkein and New Line Cinema, and I have no connection with
either.
None of the characters described here are meant to besmirch the original and
much loved characters of Lord of the Rings, or imply anything about the
actors who played them in the movie trilogy.
If you are too young, or don't like gay stories, PLEASE GO ELSEWHERE, or
I'll get in trouble.
These stories contain scenes of gay sex without condoms or protection,
because it doesn't seem likely that condoms would exist in Middle Earth, or
STDs for that matter - don't try and copy these fictional characters -
always wear a condom during sex, the experience isn't worth the risk

Author's Notes:
I was much more impressed with the response this time round; five emails,
compared with last weeks one! I'd like to say thanks to all the guys who
have let me know that they liked the story so far (and all the response has
been positive!), I appreciate it greatly, and that my previous offer still
stands, any views that you have and that you feel I should be aware of, for
either encouragement or sadistic purposes, please don't hesitate, and that
the last five mails I received has made me even more anxious for news that
people are still reading!
Also I would like to give a forewarning that I could be getting a job at my
local cathedral soon, so don't be surprised if the stories become less
frequent, but PLEASE keep reading! I like this story too!
And also, that this story is the first involving one of my favourite
characters in Lotr, Eomer, and it has also been requested of me that this
story includes a rider of Rohan somewhere, and I have complied. And just
because I have used his character once here certainly doesn't mean I won't
use it again :-)

Anyway...

The climate in Rohan was unpredictable to say the least. When Eomer had set
out across the Riddermark, the sky above Edoras had seemed overcast from the
River Anduin as far west as Isengard. But as he rode back across the plains,
the cushioned interior of his warrior's helmet thudding against his skull as
he rode, Edoras in the distance, the clouds had parted, and Eomer was in a
much better mood than when he had left, as had been his intention. There had
been a time when Theoden, his uncle and king, and himself had sat for hours
talking over matters of state, accompanied by his cousin Theodred. That had
been when he was much younger. Now, the king was more inclined to attend to
the suggestions of Grima, Theoden's 'adviser'. Just thinking the name seemed
to make the sky darken to Eomer's eyes, his good temper receding slightly.
But he ignored the thought, telling himself that the interfering worm that
now resided in Meduseld was not worth his humour.
Nobody was riding with him today, as he had left without telling anyone,
wishing to be alone. The fact was that Eomer was lonely, and funnily enough,
being alone on the plains made him feel less alone than if he was in Edoras
surrounded by his subjects and family. Being around people just intensified
the feeling.
Eomer, despite his years as the king's trusted advisor, was still a young
man, barely 25, and he was still horny as fuck at times. This was easy to
relinquish, it was just a matter of slipping out of Edoras at night, riding
to the nearest village and find a married lass of easy virtue willing to
surrender herself to his impressive endowment for half an hour or less.
Nobody seemed to mind if the woman got pregnant by him; the husbands assumed
of course that the child was theirs, and were very happy to say the least.
Luckily, none of the women ever knew that he was a potential heir to the
throne of Rohan; he was careful to mask his identity, so that, if he did
become king one day, he would not be under the threat of opposition from
illegitimate children, of which he had now lost count. He didn't feel guilt
of remorse for his actions; the wenches had practically begged for him to
ravage them with his large manhood, and he knew that they had enjoyed every
second of it.
The truth of the matter was that Eomer simply pursued these loose women to
get his rocks of with something more than his right hand for a change.
Nobody knew that sleeping around in this manner, while not plaguing him with
guilt, just made him feel more and more alone. He didn't want a woman; he'd
realised this long ago. He much preferred the feeling of a man's body
between his loins, a man's muscular chest beneath his own (he always topped
during sex, man or woman), and the sound of a man's groans as their tight,
hot arses were stretched and pounded. Yes, that was how Eomer liked it.
But this kind of activity, while undeniably primal in instinct, and commonly
practiced amongst the men of Rohan, especially the soldiers and riders, was
still frowned upon by the rural society, and for a man of royal blood to
participate in man to man sex...he would never be able to show his face in
Edoras again if it got out. He had witnessed many a new, young rider being
instituted, watched the young butt filled with cock, occasionally with more
than one. But he never joined in. Therefore, with all his legendary sexual
prowess, his experience with men was extremely limited, for while the women
he fucked might not recognise him, the men of the country would instantly
identify the king's nephew in a sexually encounter, and the news would
inevitably spread that lord Eomer of Edoras enjoyed shafting fellow males,
at first only amongst the men, who would most likely follow him around,
hoping for a good Royal fuck, but then it would be revealed o the women as
well, possibly even, Valar forbid, the children. He would be disgraced in
the eyes of the king, even possibly in the eyes of his sister Eowyn, and his
life would be ruined, sent away to farm some distant dirt field, with all
the man sex he wanted on offer, but deprived of love. For that was what
Eomer craved during sex, that virtue-less women could never provide him
with. He had seen it in eyes of the four or five men he had had in his bed
over the years, even if only for a minute or two. They loved him.
Eomer's mind slipped back to the real world as he suddenly realised he was
less than a mile from the hill of Edoras, and put these thoughts also out of
his mind. But his mood had been darkened, not by anger, but by sadness by
the lack of acceptance in his own kingdom.
As he rode back up the hill to the stables, he met his cousin, Theodred and
they grinned at each other. Eomer's mood lightened again. While he didn't
think he could bring himself to fuck a member of his own family, even if
just a cousin, he could rely on Theodred for the best blowjobs and handjobs
this side of Minas Tirith. It was quite bizarre, yet somehow extremely
erotic, to see his young cousin's head or hand bouncing up and down on his
long shaft, and see the lad swallow his cum greedily, even sometimes licking
it off the wooden floor if he missed some. Eomer wasn't sure if this meant
that Theodred was gay, but he definitely seemed to enjoy giving head. And if
he was, Eomer chuckled grimly to think of the king's reaction to his own son
liking cock.
Theodred still couldn't provide him with what he wanted from a man, but
Eomer was grateful for the attention.

It was several hours later when Eomer's thought returned to this subject. He
stormed out of the Hall of Meduseld in what even he would describe as a
tantrum. He had just spent another afternoon in a battle of wills with Grima
Wormtongue, and, while he had tried not to let the king guess this, he had
felt a great desire to curse the detestable creature to the dungeons of
Barad-Dűr for the rest of eternity, but he knew his sire wouldn't have taken
kindly to that. The king had grown disturbingly fond of Wormtongue over the
last couple of months.
There was only one ale house in Edoras, and this was mostly occupied nightly
by Eomer's fellow Rohirrim, all getting drunk as sows and commencing
activities that would undoubtedly result in a heaving orgy before midnight,
which was why the pub was as far away from any house as possible, to keep
the wives from suspicion. Eomer had of course, never participated in these
almost nightly events, preferring for this reason to avoid the pub as much
as possible, but this evening he felt the need for something to loosen his
grip on reality for a short time, and a pint or two of ale or beer seemed
just the thing.
His need turned out to be justified, and in less than 45 minutes he was
sitting alone at the bar, his fourth pint of ale in front of him, already
half empty, his head in his hands, simply for support, lest his neck let him
down.
He was sitting just down the bar from a group of rowdy soldiers, all of them
obviously as drunk as could be before ten at night. He had been listening to
their loud talk of their own sexual ability and skill, and how they planned
to use it that night, either on their wives or each other, laughing at the
end of every sentence. Eomer sneered to himself at heir immature behaviour,
hoping that he had the sense that night to keep from descending into the
same state of loose tongue and mind. Deciding that it was getting a bit
late, and that he didn't really want to suffer the effects of another pint
of ale the next morning, he stood unsteadily from his bar stool and tried to
walk in a straight line to the door. As he passed the end of the bar, he
caught the words of the men.
"Hey now, any of you catch a glimpse of that new stable lad, eh?"
There was a suggestive bout of roaring and laughing from the others.
"Oh, yeah, I saw him I did!" another shouted above the din "A fair piece of
beef he was too!"
"Catch a good view of the backside on him?"
"Arms as thick as a horse's neck!"
"Face like an Elven prince!"
None of this would have mattered to Eomer had he been sober. But, as it
happened, he wasn't sober, and found himself very interested in the
conversation. He continued to totter towards the door like an old man
without a stick, but took in every word of the banter behind him. When he
reached the doors, the men finally noticed him and roared in his direction,
raising their pints in salute, but Eomer was already gone.
On his way back to his bed, he found his mind filled with images of what
this new stable boy could look like. Muscular, handsome, and naďve, the men
had seemed to think of him as, and Eomer found he could think of little
else, even the way home.
It came as a surprise, then, that he found himself at the bottom of the hill
upon which Meduseld was built, obviously going in completely the wrong
direction, but by this time he was too far-gone to care. There was nobody on
the paths or outside their houses, so there was nobody to embarrass himself
in front of.
This was his last clear memory of the night, before he felt himself drifting
off to sleep, reminding himself that he should never drink ale again.

The morning came at last. Everyone awoke quickly and went about their
business for the day, the men exhausted from their night of 'entertainment'
at the pub, but trying not to show it in front of their wives.
Eventually, Eomer awoke as well, the sunlight dancing across his face. He
opened his eyes and sat up. His head didn't hurt as much as he thought it
would, for which he was very grateful, but it was still enough to make him
feel dizzy as he sat up and took in his surroundings.
He was shocked to discover he was lying in straw, straw that gave off a
nasty smell as he moved. He could hear the sounds of horses, which was not
exactly what he would expect to hear waking up in his own bed. And the light
was wrong for him to be in Meduseld, too bright, and the air was too open
and fresh. He had spent the night in the stables.
He swore to himself and sank back into the straw. He was a complete idiot. A
complete idiot who obviously couldn't take a few pints of ale without being
practically flat on his face. Given the amount his fellow riders seemed able
to carry within themselves without falling asleep, this wasn't a home truth
he was comfortable with, and felt almost ashamed of himself.
It was then that he heard a sound other than the impatient stomping of
hooves from nearby, a sound of boots on wood, approaching him fast. He
looked around quickly for someplace to hide. If he were found here...he
shuddered at the thought. He would become the laughing stock of Edoras. The
taunts would go down of course after a while, but he would be forever known
as the lord who slept in the stable.
He saw a leather saddle lying unused on the ground and pulled it over
himself, not so that he was completely covered, just to keep him from being
noticed by whomever it was long enough to get away without making a fool of
himself. The steps drew closer and finally entered the stable door to his
right. He lifted the saddle off of his head an inch or two so that he could
see.
A pair of cloth wrapped leather boots walked past, followed by a cheerfully
whistled tune. Raising the saddle further, he just managed to glimpse a pair
of dark green baggy cloth breeches covering what looked like finely muscled
legs, which were tucked into the tops of the boots. Then the boots and the
legs were hidden by the wall of the stall he was lying in.
Eomer listened for another moment or two, as the sound of the boots grew
further away, and then stopped. He decided then that this was as good a time
as any to make a getaway. He threw off the saddle as quietly as he could,
and pulled himself up on the stall rail. His mind reeled, and he almost lost
his balance, but after he had stood still for about a minute, he pulled
himself the rest of the way up into a standing position.
He had thought, on waking, that his hangover hadn't been that bad. But
standing up seemed to bring it on full force, and when he took a step, he
felt as though he were on the deck of a ship. The floor and walls didn't
seem to want to stay still, and again he almost fell. He pulled himself
along by the stable wall, trying to get to the door. Four steps, five, six;
he was almost there. But less than three feet from the open door, he put his
hand out to support his weight, and found nothing. He took another step, and
felt his head hit the floor with a thud. He didn't hear the sound of a pair
of boots moving rapidly towards him across the stable, or the knees connect
with the floor near his head. All he heard was his loud heartbeat in his
ears and an automatic groaning sound coming from his throat. Then the pain
seemed to die out and he opened his eyes. The face he saw above him was
square and lightly bearded, but obviously much younger than Eomer himself.
Blue eyes, full lips, and long blonde hair that curled around the young
man's ears. Yet he couldn't be that young, for his chin was already covered
in thick light brown stubble.
"My lord," said a young, yet deep voice from above "My lord, are you
alright?"
"Water." He managed to grunt.  The face disappeared with a nod, and he saw a
tight butt clad in green material jog away from him and disappear from his
range of vision. When the man returned, Eomer was almost sitting up, feeling
his head, which was now only lightly throbbing as opposed to pounding as
though a dwarf were mining the inside of his skull. He took the flagon of
water from the handsome man, noting his strong hands, and drank most of it
in one gulp, and almost choked. After drinking the rest more slowly, he sat
the rest of the way up, using the young man's shoulder as a support. The
feeling of the bulging muscles beneath the loose white cotton shirt made him
stop for a moment or two. This man wasn't a rider. Sure, the riders of Rohan
were all well built, but they tended to be more streamlined. This was a lad
more accustomed to lifting and carrying than riding a horse. A stable lad.
At this thought, a memory of the previous night flashed through his mind.
"Who are you?" he asked gruffly, getting to his knees and pushing himself
up. The young man backed off slightly. He wasn't as tall as Eomer, reaching
just about up to the warrior's shoulders.
"I'm the new stable-keeper," he said, wiping his hands on his breeches "Káin
son of Kellermine, from West Folde, my Lord" he added with a bow of his
head.
Eomer gazed at the boy, his mind seeming to 'click'. This was the new stable
boy his men had been talking about so inappropriately the night before in
the pub. He could see what they meant. The boy could hardly be more than
seventeen years old, eighteen at most, yet he was probably more developed
than many of his men who were in their mid-20s, far too handsome to be
assigned to the stables.
"I am Eomer, nephew of the King." He said, simply for need of something to
say, since it was obvious that the lad knew exactly who he was. The boy
smiled, and shook his lord's hand.
Eomer continued to stare at Káin, even after they had stopped shaking hands.
He realised instantly that he desired the lad, the familiar contracting
feeling in his stomach alerting him that there would very soon be a familiar
swelling in his groin, but he didn't realise this. All he could focus on was
the details of the younger man's face, like the way his hair curled upwards
around his ears, and how the thick stubble covered the slow cleft in his
chin.

Káin himself was also studying Eomer's face, the sternness of his eyes, and
the strength of his jaw. But he very soon began to feel quite uncomfortable
under the almost scrutinising gaze of his lord marshal. He cast his eyes
down slightly, and found himself staring at the taller man's broad chest,
the light hairs showing above the open neck of his red shirt. He was now
also feeling the sensation in his stomach, the feeling that extended down to
the head of his cock. Feeling this, and growing more embarrassed, he looked
towards the floor, but something caught his gaze. His lord Eomer was wearing
a pair of loose brown trousers, and obviously nothing underneath, for a
large bulge was slowly extending down the man's left leg, that probably
wouldn't have been there if he was wearing underwear. His lord was getting
morning wood. This was such a strange thought that he almost laughed, but
managed to look up again, and saw Eomer looking down at himself, looking
horror-struck.

Eomer had seen the boy look down, first to his, Eomer's, chest, and then
down to his belt. He saw a slight smile cross his mouth, which was instantly
gone, and looked down himself. His face went bright red with embarrassment.
He would have run, had he not looked up at the lad in front of him, and
realised he was in a similar predicament. It was Káin's turn to turn red,
his skin now contrasting with the colour of his eyes and hair.
Eomer felt his already plumped cock swell even further, but not to full
hardness, although just enough to let Káin know that he liked what he saw.
Káin's cock looked about six inches long, semi-hard, but he couldn't tell
much else, and he found himself wanting to find out. He licked his lips, and
felt himself begin to burn with desire.

Káin saw the fire ignite in his lord's eyes at the sight of his half-hard
manhood through his breeches, and smiled back. He grabbed a hold of his
shirt, tucked into his breeches, and pulled it over his head, throwing it in
a nearby stall, his upper body on full display to the older man in front of
him, who now seemed to be drooling.

Eomer had a right to drool. The body displayed to him now was almost
perfection, worked up by hours of lifting bales of straw and tending to
horses in West Folde. He had a hugely muscular chest, with a light
spattering of short brown hair covering it and topped by small nipples, huge
shoulders, his thick neck seeming to join his head under his ears, huge arms
almost fifteen inches around, with his forearms covered in a smooth layer of
hair, and rock hard abdominal muscles, the lower two hidden by his belted
breeches. The lad flexed his muscles, making them stand out like a relief
map under his skin. Eomer was sure now that he was drooling, but the boy had
not finished yet. He untied his rope belt from his waist, untied the lace
fly of his breeches and dropped them to his ankles, pulling them over his
boots, and tossing them away to join his shirt in the nearby stall, the
white of his cotton 'short' underwear the only thing standing between his
cock and the air.

Káin wasn't entirely sure why he was doing this. Young as he was, he had had
experience with other men, much more than Eomer he was sure, but he had
never really felt the need to show off before. The men he had been with were
uncles and cousins, all of whom were almost as muscled as he was, more in
some cases. But this rider, while being very fit, was undoubtedly impressed
by what he saw, and it was nice to feel that.
Eomer now began to do the same. Káin watched as he too pulled of his shirt,
revealing his slim body, while not as defined as Káin's, which was more
furred, the hair on his chest extending down over his tight belly to a patch
on the small of his back. He was beefier than most riders, with a thick
lower body with barely an ounce of fat on it and broad shoulders. To Káin,
his body looked magnificent against the brown trousers he was wearing, now
tenting splendidly.

Káin slowly closed the gap between himself and Eomer, laying his hands on
the developed pectoral muscles, down his furry stomach, around his back and
under his trousers, squeezing the furred butt cheeks, which felt firm yet
soft, pulling both their bodies together.
Eomer was relishing in the feeling of the hot smooth body of the younger man
pressed against him, rubbing and teasing at the hairs, his large cock
rubbing against the firm ridged stomach, when Káin pushed himself up on his
toes and captured Eomer's mouth with his own, grabbing at his shoulders as
he shoved his tongue into his lord's mouth.
Eomer had never kissed a man before. He'd felt the desire to, whenever he'd
had the pleasure of bedding a man, but had never found the right way to
initiate it.
While he tongue wrestled with Eomer, Káin managed to get his hands further
down in the man's trousers, and pulled them down. He looked down, and was
greatly impressed. All the men in his family who he'd ever seen with their
pants down had had cocks about seven inches long, maybe seven and a half at
most. But the men of Edoras were obviously very well bred in the manhood
department. Eomer's cock was nine inches long and very thick, the biggest
cock he had ever seen, with low hanging balls swinging below.
Eomer saw the young man staring fixedly at his cock, and felt it swell
another half-inch with pride and lust. He knew perfectly well that he had
one of the biggest dicks in Rohan, with only the legendary king
Helm-Hammerhand being bigger, about eleven inches, according to legend. He
hoped the stable boy was impressed.

Káin grabbed a hold of Eomer's long thick shaft with his hand and began to
pump slowly. Eomer threw his head back and groaned at the ceiling, grabbing
hold of the side of a stall to keep his balance. This was better than being
drunk any day. He had to smother a yell when Káin got to his knees and took
his large mushroom head into his mouth ad began to lick around under the
foreskin. He then sank the whole length of it expertly into his mouth, his
chin resting on the big man's balls, his hands stroking his butt casually as
he began to move off slightly, only to have it shoved back down his gullet
with a thrust of Eomer's hips.
The third marshal of the Riddermark was now almost blind from pleasure; his
naked body heaving as the talented lad below him went to work, swallowing
his cock like a giant sausage. The feeling was too much for the older man to
take, and he began to roughly snap his hips backwards and forwards, fucking
the face of the lower-bred stable boy like it was the pussy of one of the
many, many wenches that had laid under him over the years, and the lad took
it gratefully.
It was less than two minutes until Eomer felt himself reach the edge. He was
enjoying it so much that he tried tensing his stomach muscles to try and
hold it back, but it just seemed to make it worse. He tried begging Káin to
stop, but the younger guy refused. It was at least one more minute before he
felt himself start shooting. His large ball-sack tightened suddenly, and he
felt his already oversized cock swell to its limits. Káin just sucked
harder, until finally, Eomer unloaded himself into his mouth.
Káin almost suffocated. Eomer was shooting so much cum into his mouth that
when he tried to hold it, he felt it almost go back up his throat and up his
nose, and the white cream was dribbling and spurting out around the older
man's cock before Káin had even had a chance to swallow.
Eomer felt himself shoot five, six, seven, in all, ten times before he ran
dry. His cock began to soften and he bent down, curving his body around the
lad's head.
Then he felt it. Guilt. He had disgraced himself.
With hardly a second glance at Káin, he pulled his flaccid cock away from
him, pulled up his trousers, and retrieved his shirt from the stall where he
had thrown it. Káin was looking at him with a confused expression, but Eomer
didn't want to care. Without a second glance at his young, yet competent
fuck-buddy, he practically ran out of the door. On the way out, he almost
knocked down the second marshal of the Rohirrim outside the door. The man
looked after his lord in surprise, and then looked back through the door. He
caught sight of that hunky new stable boy, wearing nothing but his underwear
and boots, with what looked suspiciously like cum smeared around his face,
and wearing a very upset expression. He chuckled to himself. Eomer, lord of
the Rohirrim, had just fucked and left a guy like that? He was still
laughing as he walked into the pub. In twenty seconds, the rest of the
Rohirrim knew everything.
Eomer laid on his bed a few minutes later, his mind consumed. He had just
had the best blowjob of his life, and yet he couldn't enjoy the memory. He
had always made sure that whoever he was, they didn't know who he was. But
this guy that had just sucked him off knew perfectly well who he was, and
any minute he could spread the news around Edoras faster than a flock of
crobaine.
But then he started to get sleepy. Having spent the night rolled up in hay,
he hadn't slept very well. His thought slipped back to Káin, the way his
muscles bulged, how sexy those white cotton underwear looked on him, and how
he had never gotten a good look at the younger guy's tackle, leaving plenty
of room for imagination. Eomer felt his manhood rise provocatively in his
loins, and he felt his skin begin to prickle with that sensation of
lust-filled hornyness he had felt just minutes before. He slid his hands
down his body, stopping to pinch his own nipples, making himself gasp in
pleasure, and then down his hairy belly to the root of his cock, rubbing his
hands up the long thick shaft and up to the head, the foreskin pulled back
down over the purple mushroom. He began to beat of slowly, sliding both his
hands leisurely up and down the veiny pole of flesh, occasionally stroking
his palms lovingly over the sensitive skin of the head, almost making him
cum each time.
When he finally lay back down, his half hard cock in his hands, and his
chest and stomach literally drenched from his latest orgasm, the last thing
he thought before he fell asleep, was that this had been a very satisfying
morning.

To be continued...

Well, that was certainly the least difficult chapter of Tales of Middle
Earth so far! This story WILL be concluded, don't worry, and there is still
plenty more stuff to come!
Keep reading!
JC