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For Rubynye - from AngieT
Posting on behalf of angiet:

For Rubynye
Title: Celebration.
Rating: PG18
Pairing: Frodo/Eomer
Author: Angie T
No ownership, no profit etc.
Thanks to Maura for the Beta

Apology: I misread my briefing for the Secret Santa challenge. I got the Frodo (or other hobbit – what - there are OTHER hobbits?), post-Quest celebrating, and a Big Man. But I did not read the list of Big Men well enough and got at cross purposes with wanting to write a certain little used pairing which I have not attempted before but which attracts me.

There was soft golden light through the window. It crawled up and across the Ringbearer’s pillow to finger caress dark curls before touching the pale face.

The figure sitting at the hobbit’s bedside got up and went to draw the curtain to shield him from the light. For a moment he paused, looking out onto the gardens of the houses of healing, until a small sound called his attention back to the room and its occupant.

“What time is it?” enquired the soft voice.

“About mid-afternoon.” The man returned to the bed and helped Frodo to sit up, offering a glass of cordial Aragorn had left on the bedside stand.

The man felt the tremble in the frail body as Frodo tried to support himself on his elbows but ended up leaning into the supporting arms instead.

Frodo sipped and then leant back with a sigh of weariness. “Will I ever feel strong again?”

“You will,” replied the man. “The Lord Aragorn said you could sit up this evening and attend the banquet for a while.”

“It seems there is a banquet each night.”

“The people have much to celebrate.”

The man reached to prop an extra pillow at Frodo’s back when the hobbit moved restlessly. “Could you draw the curtain back again please?” he asked.

“I am sorry I disturbed you, “ the man apologised.

“You didn’t. I was already waking up. I would like to see the sunlight though. I seem to have been in the dark for so long.”

The man opened the curtain and let the light back in. For someone so tall he was very graceful. A long braid of blond hair swung with his movements. Frodo blinked a little but also smiled faintly. “So warm,” he murmured.

“Shall I fetch anyone for you?” asked the man, seeming somewhat ill at ease in the sickroom. “Samwise is sleeping but I think Meriadoc and Peregrin are still around.”

“Are you always so formal?”

He smiled. “ My sister is recovering here; she is irked at the inactivity and is helping out as she can. She suggested I could do the same. It was suggested you were doing so well even I could not hinder your recovery. But as yet I do not know your ways, thought I have one of your kin in my service.”

“There must be so many in need of care, many worse off than I.”

“But few so dear to the Lord Aragorn,” Eomer smiled again.

“Forgive me, my lord; I do not know your name. Though I guess my kin you speak of is Merry, and so you must be the Lord Eomer?”

“I am Eomer of Rohan; the Lady Eowyn is my sister.”

“You are one of the Horse-lords?” Frodo looked in interest at the tall man with his long blond hair partly tied back in a leather clasp. He was a little intimidating, being tall even for a man. His face was stern and strong, but also kind, and his eyes were gentle.

Eomer smiled to be so frankly appraised, and Frodo blushed. “Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my manners. I have not met many men.”

“Nor I many hobbits – thought my sister sings high praise of her friend and battle companion Meriadoc.”

Frodo smiled. “That sounds strange.” He shifted again on his sheets. “So, my lord, are you hear to entertain me? I should dearly love to hear some of the lore of your people, but I can read that in a book.”

Eomer laughed. “Indeed you cannot, for Rohan has no books.”

Frodo gaped somewhat. “How strange.”

“As your endless books and scrolls seem strange to us. Language is meant to be spoken and stories remembered, not written down to gather dust so people can forget about it.”

“My cousin Bilbo would have something to say about that. There was never a dusty book in his library.” Frodo sat up a little further and Eomer was back at his side supporting him once more. The man came to sit on the side of the bed and Frodo found himself half reclining against a broad thigh. Silence hung between them for a stretch of time as they looked at each other, the small, delicate-looking hobbit with his dark curls, and the tall strong man with his long blond hair.

The sun on Eomer’s back was strong and hot and he felt a prickle beneath his tunic. Without thinking he reached out a hand and traced the graceful curve of the pointed ear which peeked out from sleep tousled curls.

Frodo giggled. “That tickles.”

“Forgive me,” Eomer bowed his head. “I must seem fearfully rude to you. I have never seen a creature like you. I have seen elves but you are not like them.”

“What am I like?” Frodo smiled, he was warming to this young man.

“Beautiful,” Eomer said without thought. “So small and perfect.”

It was Frodo’s turn now to bow his head and into his line of sight came the bandage-wrapped hand which rested above the covers. “I am not perfect,” Frodo replied. “I have many weaknesses.” He was not thinking of the physical mutilation that was the outward indicator of his weakness. But before he could go far down that road, a large hand took up both of his so much smaller ones.

“Aragorn said if you wished you could sit outdoors. This room has a private balcony.”

“I should like that.” Frodo moved back the bed covers and made to swing his legs over the side of the bed but Eomer forestalled him and picked the hobbit up as thought he were but a feather’s weight, which no doubt he seemed to be.

Frodo gave out a startled little squeak as he was swung up and carried swiftly across the room. Indeed there was a small balcony beyond the window and on it a low bench covered with a fur. Onto this Eomer sat settled Frodo. “From here you can see the preparations for celebration.”

Frodo looked out. At first the view made him a little dizzy, it was so far up. Once he got used to it, though, he could see into the streets and courtyards of the city around them. Flags and bunting had been hung out, a little incongruous against the patches of fallen stonework and the gaping holes in the sides of some of the buildings, but a hopeful sight nonetheless. Lanterns were being hung out on long poles or strung on ropes between the buildings against the coming of the night.

“There is something beautiful about this city,” Frodo spoke almost to himself.

“It is not what I am used to,” said Eomer. “I am used to being able to look out over the plains and see endless grasslands before me, not all this stonework. We work not with stone to make our halls and homes. This all seems strange to me.”

“I come from a green country too,” Frodo said. “Small hills and rolling meadows; little streams.”

“I should like to see your country,” Eomer said. The man moved to sit by Frodo’s side. “And I should like to show you the Halls of my country.”

Frodo turned his gaze from the city and looked at the man next to him. There was so much youth and strength here. He reached out and touched the material over his chest feeling the strong heartbeat beneath.

“Who are you?” the hobbit asked.

“I told you I am Eomer of Rohan…”

“No, who are you to have this effect upon me? Is it just that you are so full of life when I thought mine was over? You make me feel…. feel…”

A large hand covered his. Frodo looked up into the face; yes, the eyes were gentle, but there was passion behind them too and Frodo felt his heart thud.

“I am one who would offer you comfort.” A warm rough hand cupped Frodo’s chin.

“And if I want more than comfort?”

“I cannot say what tomorrow will bring but I can offer you myself.”

Frodo was scrambling up onto his knees to reach for Eomer. He felt a sudden surge of strength and energy such as he had not felt in a long time. The last few months had been just a battle to survive, no - not even that, just a struggle to continue. He had not felt anything outside of the Ring’s influence for so long, and now it felt as thought he were coming alive once more.

His mouth was crushed beneath a much larger one. The rough facial hair would irritate his skin later but he did not care about that now. He grasped at this offered life with both hands. Large hands were on his body and he was conscious of wearing only a nightshirt, and feeling that that was too much. He was also aware that they were out in the open and though their balcony was not overlooked, he felt a thrill of exposure. He almost laughed out loud; what had happened to the modest Frodo Baggins of Bag End? He felt like a mushroom-thieving tween again, trysting with a playmate behind a haystack.

He felt rather than heard Eomer gasp. The fur was knocked from the bench to fall to the floor and Frodo found himself following it to lie spread on the cool softness. His nightshirt was pulled aside and his body was covered with all the textures of Eomer; skin, clothing and hair. A belt buckle dug into Frodo’s thigh and he yelped slightly. Then Eomer was kneeling over him pulling aside clothing and exposing himself to Frodo’s breathless, delighted gaze.

“You are magnificent!”

Eomer laughed. “You make me sound like one of my stallions.”

“I have not seen your stallions but I could not imagine a more magnificent sight. Come to me.” Frodo opened his arms and Eomer went to him willingly.

“What madness is this?” the Horse-lord gasped between devouring kisses.

“Life,” Frodo replied. “A celebration of life!”

the end