The Huntsman and the Lady by Sulriel

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Chapter 1

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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."