The Huntsman and the Lady by Sulriel

Galadriel lost her train of thought as the silver-haired huntsman entered the hall, crossed the floor in great strides and spoke familiarly with the king.  Her mouth hung open and she snapped it shut.

Melian waited, curious.

Berries, she'd been asking about the breeding of berries for tarts and how it differed now, with the rising and setting of Arien's vessel rather than waxing and waning of the Trees.

He was magnificent.  Even waiting, standing still beside Elwe, his energy filled the room between them.  His broad shoulders stretched the cloth of the simple tunic he wore, strapped between them a longbow – as long and strong as Finwë's had been.  She'd never thought to see its like again.  He stepped to lean forward, a dust-crusted boot resting on the intricately carved dais bulged his thigh through fitted leggings as he motioned his hands along with his words.  Strong, elegant hands.

He laughed.  It was a deep heady sound, without guile or pretense and it tickled low in her belly.  Elwe clapped him on the back as he rose, motioning in their direction.

Galadriel's cheeks heated when Melian touched her elbow.  "Come."

Galadriel had no choice but to walk beside the lady.  The huntsman's bright eyes pinned her, piercing her with an intensity that sent her heart racing like a doe through the woods.  She was used to running to what she wanted, not from anything.

"Lord Celeborn, my brother's son's son."  Elwe indicated the wild huntsman with a wave of his hand, then Galadriel with the other.  "The Lady Galadriel, the daughter of my brother's daughter and Finwë's youngest son…"

Elwe said more, but his words faded as Celeborn stepped forward, took her hand and bowed over it.  When he rose to face her, he was all she knew.  The light in his eyes, as he stood, plucked at her tightening nipples.  The heat of his calloused fingertips on her palm melted through her, taking her breath and tingling up between her thighs.

"Lady."

The sound of his voice coiled through her even as it brushed warm across her ears; he'd forgotten to let go her hand.  Had he tensed, in response to their touch, as she had?

Galadriel tugged her hand away; his tightened imperceptibly before he released her.  He lowered his lids, slightly, politely, breaking their silent, heated exchange.

A subtle curl tilted up one corner of his lips as he turned back to Elwe.

That smile.  Burgeoning anger replaced the spiraling in her gut.  She had too many brothers not to recognize that smug look of arrogant self-satisfaction.  The fool thought she was attracted to him; that she'd wait eagerly for his attentions; that she'd breathlessly agree to dance attendance on him; that her beauty would grace his arm at the next social.  He had her already counted and bagged and awaiting his pleasure.

She had put down the highest lords of West when they babbled on about her beauty; she refused to suffer conceit from this rustic hunt-stained Moriquendi.

She'd crossed the Helcaraxë with such pain and loss – what had he ever known tucked away here behind Melian's girdle in Elwe's protected grotto?  She meant to rule her own lands, to care for her own people, and she certainly didn't need some son of a brother's son to drag her down.

Elwe was speaking again, and so she forced a smile and focused her attention back on the king.  He was looking at her expectantly and so she smiled and nodded.

"Very well, then."  Elwe took Melian's hand.  "We'll see you two at the evening meal."

Celeborn bowed his silver head in a respectful nod as his king and queen walked away, before he turned back to her. 

"Well done, lady – "

Subtly served him well, but she refused it.  " – well, what?"

He was slow to hide his smile.  What did it mean that her spark of temper amused him?

"Well…"  He spoke slowly like so many of these cave-dwellers and she had to fight the image of the flow of rich, dark honey dribbled up her belly and between her breasts.  Her breasts felt heavy and tender under his gaze.

"… so you have procured your escort for the day.  How can I best serve you?"

The possibilities churned in her head.  She had wanted to see the baths, but she wasn't going to ask it of him.  Not after that smirk earlier.  The gardens brought to mind the possibility of intimate groves, the ongoing stonework – the delicate touch of his hands…  She felt her cheeks heating.  Even the kitchens brought the thought of his long fingers slipping a tart between her lips.

He waited, intolerably patient.  There had been a time in her life when she'd known patience.  She had used her allotment in the ice.

"It was generous of you to give up your afternoon for me," she said.

His lips tightened.  "My pleasure."

She couldn’t decide, from his tone, if it was or it wasn't.

"You had plans.  I’m sorry," she answered.

"Does the lady hunt?"

Again, there was more in what he didn't say.  He thought her brothers provided for her?

"She does."

He smiled then, a smile that matched his laugh.  She could come to like that smile.  "Then would you care to hunt with me in our woods?"  His glance flickered over her gown as if he wished to remove it.  He guessed right that she didn't have suitable dress to follow a hunt.  She didn't want to admit it to him, that she hadn't brought a suede tunic and leggings to change into.  She tried to push away the imagined sensation of silk slipping down her back and off her hips and thighs to puddle on the floor around her.

"The gardens then."  He offered his arm.

She fought the temptation to strike his arm away.  How dare he presume to guess her thoughts and make choices for her!

"No."  She opened her mouth to claim the hunt, but the thought of him arranging for her clothing closed it.

He raised a finger to shush her when she opened it again and she only stared at him in shocked silence.  No one had ever, ever, done that to her.

"I will surprise you."

She found she couldn't deny the smile that came through in his eyes.

#

He led her to the kitchens where he procured a basket, and then took her a long meandering way through the caverns, past the gardens, through the steaming baths full of scantily dressed Sindar mingled with a smattering of decadent unclad Avari; and down a little used tunnel that brought them up and out of Menegroth into a wild wood of old growth choked in vines.  They followed a winding single track so long her curiosity turned to dismay until a final turn put them out into a meadow that defied description.

It was rough and rocky and wild with brambles.  She felt it was wrong, somehow, to be delighted with such disorder.

She turned and found Celeborn stood too close to her.  She squared her shoulders and raised her chin.  Of all the arrogance – "If you brought me all this way to steal a kiss – "

He shushed her again, this time with his finger touched to her lips.  And in her shock she let him.  The smile she expected didn't come.  He twined a lock of her hair around his finger, but then dropped it as he looked into her eyes.

"I didn't bring you all this way for a kiss."

When he turned away, she felt as if he'd dropped her off a precipice and so she only stood and watched as he set out their meal.

"…we were expected back…" she finally said.  She'd never stammered or stuttered or been so uncertain in her life, and she didn't like it one bit.  Her cheeks heated as confusion and discomfort fueled her anger.

He shrugged and motioned her to come sit beside him.  "They'll know you're safe with me."

Where did he find such unshakable arrogant confidence? 

"What of my brothers?"

"Your brothers can't find us."  He flashed her a dangerous, wicked grin and again motioned her to come.

She fought the urge to turn and look down the path behind her … to turn and run back down the path.  But she was no coward, and he was a lord of this land, in spite of his common Avari woods-rat dress; and she'd been entrusted to his care by Elwe himself.

Celeborn arranged their meal on the blanket and when he waved her over again, she came and sat beside him.  He filled a wine glass and handed it to her.

"Your brothers claim you are looking for a land of your own.  Will you take your people south?"

"I wish to learn more of the land before I choose."  She answered carefully, unsure if she should be flattered or offended that he wished to talk politics rather than try to kiss her.  Not that she would let him kiss her, but she had expected him to try.

"What of the people?"  He studied his glass rather then her expression as he asked and so it was unclear to her if he asked a real question or if he mocked her.

She drained her glass and tipped it upside down on the blanket beside the bottle.  She was done.  She'd been entertained by this intriguing local and found him to be pretty, but otherwise nothing but an arrogant simpleton.  He seemed to lack simple manners and knowledge of courtly protocol.  After her long journey to Menegroth, instead of a grand feast in the great hall itself, he'd traipsed her through the woods to rough seclusion.  And then declined to try to kiss her.  Her cheeks flamed at the thought.  He kept her so off-balance she couldn't even maintain a simple conversation.  It was uncivilized to meander then leap from one discussion to another and she realized now what Finwë, Olwe and Ingwe had chosen to leave behind. 

She'd have to speak to Melian privately to avoid being placed in Celeborn's care again.

"My mother's people hold the lands south of here," he continued.  "They'll be close-minded to those returned from the West."

That subtle smile again.  What did it mean past the heat tingling down from between her thighs?

"Is that a warning or a threat?"  She fixed him with her most intimidating gaze.  The one she'd used when Fëanor himself asked for strands of her hair.

Celeborn leaned in to tangle his long fingers in her long loose curls.  "It is an offer."

Galadriel struggled to breathe with him so close – as if he somehow took all her air.  An offer?  An offer!  Of what?  She gasped a breath only to be filled with the essence of all that was him and these dark, wild, dangerous, exciting lands.  He assumed too much.

She slapped his hand away.  She meant to be a queen and had no interest in a rustic huntsman's teachings of the wild.  The tingle of the smack in her palm burned and excited her and she snatched her hand closed.  How did he do that?

The flash in his eyes as he lowered his lids, and the twitch in his cheek told her he wasn't unaffected.  She bit her lip before she scoffed at his promise that he hadn't brought her here to steal a kiss.  He shifted his position on the blanket, easing a bend in the long bulge rising from between his legs.

Galadriel shot to her feet.  A lord didn't expose a lady to such things!  He rose more slowly to stand beside her.  She pointedly looked away.

"Galadriel?"  He seemed genuinely confused and resigned.  She should have known better than to walk out with a provincial.  He'd been appointed her care by his king she reminded herself.  She struggled to rein in her temper and offense.

"I'm ready to return now," she said.

Silence.  She finally turned back to him.  Magnificent echoed in her mind before she yanked her gaze back up to his face

"Would you have me pretend I find you unappealing?"

No, of course, she wouldn't want that.  "It is what a highborn lord would do," she answered.

"The people whose land you dream to rule are not shy about such things."

"I'm not shy."  She wasn't.  Not at all.  But swimming with her brothers and cousins shriveled and flopping was a far cry from this hard wild hunter she faced.  "I swim with my brothers all the time."

That smile quirked the corner of his lips before he suppressed it.  "Then swim with me."

With those simple words, he went much too far in issuing challenge to her.  He all but called her a liar.  He implied she was nothing but talk and dreams without substance.  He expressed doubt as to her courage, her strength of will and her worthiness to step forward to rule her own land.  She would show him.  She would show him all her courage and glory and let his great hard length bobble up against his belly and do her homage with its aching need of her until the spring water of his pond shriveled it to a dangle.  And when he was good and ready to escort her home, without the kiss he claimed he hadn't brought her here for, she would be done with him and his arrogance.

She fumbled with her laces before she remembered this gown required a maid to undo the intricate ties in the back.  But Celeborn was already there with his strong fingers tickling as they brushed the bare skin of her back and his warm wine-scented breath tingling over her cheek.  She caught the gown before it fell and turned to face him. 

A mistake.

"The ladies of my mother's people braid their hair before they swim."

She nodded.  Another mistake.  He stood so close before her that with every breath she breathed him in, his scent of the rich earth, green woods and the heat of the brilliant new sun.  His arms flexed and corded around her as he combed her hair back with his fingers to gather it in three thick bundles and braid it by feel down her back.  He had to step closer to her; close enough she tasted the tension in him.  When she turned her head her lips brushed his chest where his tunic fell open and his breath hitched when she licked her lips.  His shaft brushed the backs of her arms where she held her dress up.  Brushed and pressed lightly against her.  As light as such a hard thing could be.

"Celeborn."  She meant to chastise him but it came out with a pleading tone.  Her knees melted and trembled and when she pulled away, she stumbled back and her gown slipped down.  The evening's air tickled on her bare skin, chill and heated at the same time.

He caught her as she tugged her gown up, and he steadied her on her feet, a pained, amused look on his face.

"Do your people swim with their gowns on?"

He'd shamed and embarrassed her again.  How?  When he stood fully clothed before her. 

"Do yours?"  Her worse mistake yet.

She backed a step when he pulled his tunic off over his head.  Flexed and corded, hard lean muscle.  This was no lord of leisure who played at sculpting his body or hunted for sport.  This was no lean survivor of the ice.  This was a body that lived off the land, worked hard and scarred.  The arms and back of a bowman, a swordsman, the legs of a hunter who chased his prey through the woods.  Her chest ached and she gasped a breath. 

He'd finally found his manners; he politely pretended not to notice her distress as he unlaced his leggings and stepped out of them.

No, no.  Oh no.  He hadn't brought that to try to steal a kiss from her.  She wrenched her gaze away, to glare into the woods.  She was not so innocent.  What was wrong with her?  She struggled to remember the lords who she'd allowed to press their cause.  Their dry, hesitant lips; their pathetic show of apology for brushing against her in their excitement.  Their fugitive glances at her father and brothers.

There was no apology in Celeborn.  No shame, no hesitance.  No sense of propriety in that broad tip with its glistening wet bead.  Moisture filled her and ran down from the curls at her thighs before she could dismiss the thoughts.

The water splashed behind her.  The pond.  The fresh spring would chill his ardor.  They could swim and return refreshed to the caves.  Galadriel tossed back her heavy braid, stepped out of her gown and folded it neatly before she walked, proudly, shoulders back, down to the edge of the water.  Her nipples ached from his unabashed stare, it seemed she could feel his thoughts cup her heavy breasts and hold them.  Her curls tingled with the thought of his fingers stroking through them the way they'd brushed through her long hair before he finished her braid.  It was all she could do not to cup her own breasts to comfort them for the lack of his touch. 

His arm moved; his hand played slowly beneath the water, clear enough she could see he stroked himself.

Shameless!  Yet her cousins did the same, on the bank in the sunshine after an exhausting swim.  She'd never thought ill of them.  Yet, at the time, it had only seemed casual and absentminded play.  She'd seen none of this single-minded intensity Celeborn displayed.

Cousins.  Kinsmen.  Celeborn was her kinsman as well, her cousin, as Elwe introduced him.  Distant, but the relation was there.  She was only being silly … why?  Elwe had deemed him a safe escort.  Celeborn hadn't actually been rude, he'd only unsettled her with his strange, foreign ways when certainly he only tried to comfort her by introducing her to the ways of his own people.  There had been no courting, no fancy words, no mention of vows or the exchange of gifts.  He'd certainly shown no violence toward her – such things were unheard of.  She'd misjudged him and would make amends.

She took a breath, prepared for the shock of the cold when she stepped into the water and exhaled it in a great gust.

Celeborn, the rude clout, laughed out loud at her shock.  

The water was as soft and warm as a baby's toddy.

She dove in to surface near him; when she splashed up she grabbed his shoulders and pushed him under.  He came up with his arms locked around her waist, bands of folded steel – still hot from the forge.  He gasped for air, his lips brushed her breast.  Her hands tangled in the wet silver silk of his hair; her body ached and screamed and burned and trembled as he waited there, his hot breath rasping her nipple.

With all of a hunter's steady patience, he suckled the edge of her breast.  Rabid heat fired through her.  His heart pounded against her belly, his thick length pressed hard up along her thigh, its broad tip teasing the curls at her lips.

Galadriel's heart pound so hard it left her mindless and dizzy.  She twisted in his arms – wanting him – wanting away – she clenched her fists in his hair and held him to her breasts.  He pulled her nipple between his teeth, with nips and nibbles. 

She ground her hips against his belly, her center seeking the heavy shaft that teased her entrance.  He groaned and tightened one arm around her, releasing the other one only to bring his hand up between them.  Celeborn's finger's tangled in her curls then brushed between her slick lips.  She curled her body, trying to sink down on him, seeking pressure, release – she didn't know… …only that she must fill the screaming aching emptiness he'd created in her.  Celeborn tensed and growled a foul-sounding curse and wrenched her away from him.

He pushed her away and turned and faced the far shore.  Tight, tense.  "Leave," he said.

Leave?  Leave?  Leave the water, dress and walk back down the trail?  She couldn't even stand.

"Go on," he snarled.  He spun around to face her when she stayed still, then he advanced on her, dark and threatening.  "You push me too far.  I won't take a virgin lover.  Now go."

Galadriel gathered the fragments of her being, catching her swirling thoughts and patching them together.  She dredged courage up from behind herself and stiffened her back.  She wanted to blink and shake her head but refused to give him the satisfaction.  She wanted to sit down and cry and scream, she wanted to cup her own breasts and hold them warm and tight and roll her nipples between her fingers to try to ease their ache.  She wanted to slip her fingers… no, she wanted him, she wanted him inside her… coherent thought failed her.  Did he think her not good enough?  Inexperienced?  Did she fail some test in some way?

Slowly, so very slowly, what they had done, what they had almost done, what he had said sank in. 

"Did… did you expect I was not?"

It struck her that nothing had been said of vows, nothing was yet being said.

He stared at her for a long while.  "Your brothers are not," he finally said.

They weren't?  "Orodreth is married…"  Her mind balked when she considered the others.

He pursed his lips and shrugged.

"You…" She snapped her mouth shut before she made a fool … made more of a fool of herself.  "You brought me up here because you thought…"  She didn't have words for the concept of intimacy without bonds.

Celeborn grimaced.  "No, Galadriel.  I only brought you here for the seclusion so that if you were amiable we would be uninterrupted."  He glared at her as if offended that she would be offended.

She opened her mouth and then shut it.

"You leapt on me, if you recall."  He pointed to the center of the pond behind them.  "You mounted me and meant to ride – "

"Enough."  Her belly still quivered for his touch and she fought to make her voice stern.  Walk away her common sense echoed in the far distant reaches of her mind.  She'd walked away from the Valar and walked over the grinding ice – for what, to continue being a slave to their restrictions and ideals?

No.  She'd returned to this wild land of her forefathers so that she could make her own choices, so that she wouldn't be bound by other's thoughts and ways and unfathomable decisions.

She raised her chin, letting him have no doubt of her offense as she waved her own hand to the abandoned center of the pond.  "Do you think I don't know my own mind and body?"  She spoke in her haughtiest and most arrogant tone.

A flash of surprise crossed Celeborn's face and tickled in her belly.

"Your king," she sneered, "put you in my service, did he not?"

"He did, my lady."  Celeborn bowed.  He might have appeared contrite if he'd managed to hide his smile.  "And I have been a poor servant to leave the lady in distress."

He strode toward her as he spoke and scooped her up to carry her out of the water – the air chilled her where it touched her bare skin, where his skin touched hers seemed fevered – and deposited her on their blanket on her back, bracing on his hands and knees over her.  Her heartbeat rushed in her ears; he made her dizzy.  She thought the water that dripped from him should sizzle when it touched her skin.

What was he waiting for?

"This is common… among your people?" she whispered.

"Mmmm."  Celeborn lowered his head to nuzzle between her breasts. 

She thought he murmured something about his mother's people.

"But what of Melian and – "

He nipped her and slipped a finger up her thigh and between her slick lips to circle her nub.  "What about Melian?"  A second finger joined the first one.  Incredible, delicious pressure and longing burst between her thighs. 

Coils of pleasure spiraled up in her.  Why was he talking about Melian?  Her hips rose – he was giving her more than she'd ever known she wanted, but it wasn't enough.

Wait.  "Wait."

He sighed and sat back.  "Wait, what?"  He licked her juices from the tips of his fingers.  His nostrils flared as he fixed her with a heated stare.

"Elwe and Melian uphold the ways of the Valar."

Celeborn grimaced again.  "Yes, they do."  He sighed, resting his sticky fingers high on her thighs.  "The Nandor and Laiquendi are divided.  The Avari," he shrugged, "life is shorter and more precious in the wilds.  They share their pleasure without bonds."  He traced his hand back up her thighs and through her tight curls to dabble his fingers until they were wet and slick and brought them up to paint her lips and touch her tongue with the taste of herself.  "Did you come here to rule under the laws of the Valar?"

She'd never imagined such a thing.  Of course, she had – she'd seen her fathers stallions lick and nip the mares to test their readiness before they mounted.  Heat flooded her with the thought and she opened her lips, drawing Celeborn's fingers in between them for a better taste of her own sweet juices.

His eyes deepened and darkened – he tensed and quivered against her and she ran her hands down his sides, down his hard thighs and back up to take his shaft in hand.  He sucked in a breath and held it as she explored him.  She shifted and sat so up so she could cup his heavy sac in her hands before she tickled up his shaft to close both hands around him.  How could he be so hard and strong and velvet at the same time?  When she leaned down and licked the glistening drop from his broad head, thick and woodland sweet, he groaned and grabbed at her arms… but he just held her – just held her and held his breath while she licked and nipped and nuzzled him the way he'd done her breasts.  She took a deep breath of uniquely him and held it as her own body surged with heat and tension.  The scent and taste of him filled her with moisture and empty, aching need.

When she hesitated, he lifted her and laid her beneath him, parting her knees with his. 

He leaned down to her.  "I'll have a kiss now," he whispered. 

Galadriel reached up and wrapped her arms around, pulling Celeborn down to her, testing, tasting his lips and his tongue.  As she opened to him, he pressed his broad tip into her, just parting her curls, and resting – hard, hot and pulsing – asking a final time before he pierced her barrier and when she pulled him to her, he pressed in, shaking as if he held a great weight.  Hot and hard - he stretched her inside until she thought she would burst.  She held still with an intensity of wonderment, savoring just having him in her.

Sweat dripped from his forehead and ran down her temple as he slowly filled her in ways she hadn't know were empty.  He finally gasped her name and thrust completely in, fulfilling her, withdrew and thrust again, and again.  The delicious fullness between her legs and up inside her threatened to burst through her mind.  Taking her, claiming her in ancient ways as he moved in her, sending hard ripples of pleasure from her center in strong sweeping waves that melted her bones.  He moved slowly at first, soft, subtle movements that teased her until she arched up beneath him.  Her hips rose to meet him, her body clenched around him, holding and demanding all that he was, as she gave herself fully to him.  For all her dreams of rule, for all her anger at his arrogance, she found exotic delight in yielding completely and giving herself up to him while he was completely hers, giving himself to her, bursting in great pulsing, pounding waves as she rode the answering waves of pleasure that racked through her and sent her soaring.

Celeborn collapsed on her and she took his weight gladly, but he wrapped her in his arms and rolled with her so she rested atop him as the world slowly came back to her.  Her heart slowed, and her breathing.  He reached out to snatch the edge of the blanket and wrap them together in it.  He tucked her tenderly against him so her head rested on his shoulder.  He pressed her with tender kisses but when she looked up, he frowned.

"Are you unhappy?"  Her heart stuttered with the thought.  She'd feared to see the smug self-satisfaction that would have cut her to the core, but this sober, serious look frightened her in a deeply uneasy way.

He shook his head.  "I only wish now that I had wrested vows from you beforehand, but there will be time for that when we will."  His hand moved up to cup her breast.  "And we will not suffer the waiting during our engagement."

Galadriel bit her lip to keep from snapping or laughing.  Arrogance, your name is Celeborn.  …after all they had just shared, by her choice, when she had invited him in – and with his seed still warm on her thighs… to think of all the great lords of Valinor she'd turned away, only to have this arrogant fool of a huntsman entice her to flaunt her customs then decide they would marry without asking if she wished to exchange the vows.

I will surprise you.  He had certainly done that.  She stretched up alongside him, rubbing her thigh on his thickening shaft and tilted her lips up to his.  She liked this wild, lawless land, she had decided, and having escaped the Valar she was unready to bind herself elsewhere.  Perhaps she would take the vows with him, but not yet