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“Will you not speak of it, Galadriel?” Elrond pleaded, watching her pace the length of her chambers. “This is the third night that has been spent thusly.”
“I am sorry to have woken you,” she bit out, sharp eyes piercing him.
He tilted his head to look down at her and gave her a stern look. “That is not what I meant, and you know it.”
Galadriel seemed to wilt, then, her expression crumpling.
Three nights had passed since Halbrand had fled Ost-in-Edhil in the wake of Galadriel’s discovery, and while Elrond was sure that she was embarrassed — being tricked by a low-Man for an Elf of her age was humiliating — he knew there must be more to it.
It was not humiliation that woke her screaming from her dreams.
It was not humiliation that made her pace the halls under the moonlight, muttering under her breath.
It was not humiliation that dimmed her light.
“I am sorry,” she said, catching him by surprise, as she paused before the fire. “I have been unworthy in my temper.”
“What happened, Galadriel? With Halbrand?”
She flinched when she heard his name, a barely perceptible in the firelight, but undeniable all the same. “Nothing—”
“Do not lie to me!” He interrupted, voice rising, and sighed, immediately regretting allowing his own temper to rise. Giving her an apologetic look, he shut the door to her chambers. “Galadriel, you have been out of sorts for days now. You wake screaming from nightmares, and then find no rest during the day. I am your friend, Galadriel. Please, let me help,” he bid her.
“There is no King of the Southlands,” she began, the words barely whispered. “It was a lie.”
That much he had surmised when he found the record of lineage in the water, but he did not interrupt her to tell her so. It could not merely be the lie that troubled her, no matter how close she had grown to the Man.
“He… used me, to gain power over the people of the Southlands, and to gain access to Celebrimbor. And when I found him out—”
“He harmed you?” Elrond asked, stepping forward to appraise her before he could stop himself. He had found her in the water, roused her before she drowned, but he still did not know how it came to pass. She had told no one, and would not submit herself to an artificer for healing.
Galadriel hesitated for a moment, shaking her head. “Not physically, though…” she rubbed her wrist, tugging the sleeve of her gown over her knuckles.
He caught her hand and rolled back the sleeve before she could protest, and inspected bruises around her wrist. Halbrand had grabbed her, then, and held her. Not an easy feat for a Man to overcome Elven strength, let alone Galadriel herself. Anger rose within him, righteous and hot. “What else?” he asked, struggling to keep his tone level. He would go to the artificers himself and ask for ointment for the bruises if she would not.
“I cannot speak of it,” she said, shaking her head, as tears began to well in her eyes. “Not yet. Please, do not make me.”
“I can make you do nothing, Galadriel,” he reminded her, hoping to cajole a smile from her. “No one can. But I would offer you comfort, if I may?” He would do anything to ease her pain, if he could.
She embraced him then, stepping into his arms with a grateful, watery smile.
“I cannot escape him, Elrond,” she murmured after a long moment, tears staining his shirt. “My dreams become nightmares, and I cannot sleep. And when I am awake, I am haunted by him.”
“Let me guard your dreams, then,” he offered, holding her close. He was greatly disturbed by her fear. In all the years he had known her, he had never seen her truly afraid. Not like this. “I will stand at your door.”
Galadriel swallowed and nodded, offering him a weak smile, before peeling back the covers of her bed and climbing beneath the sheets. She lay awake for a long while, staring dully at the canopy above the bed, but eventually drifted off to sleep. Elrond, as promised, remained steadfast at her door, and resolved himself to a long night. In time, though, the nightmares did return. She could not have been sleeping for more than an hour or two when they came.
A whimper had barely escaped her lips before Elrond was moving to her side, and by the time he reached her they had come in force, leaving her thrashing beneath the sheets.
“Galadriel,” he called out to her, and took her by the shoulders to gently wake her. “Galadriel!”
She woke, her eyes flying open, and clung to him, fingers fisting in his shirt. “Elrond?”
“It’s me,” he assured her and rubbed soothing circles on her back.
Galadriel sank against him, visibly relieved.
“Are you… are you certain you cannot speak to me of them?” he asked her again, his voice whisper soft. His presence alone was clearly not enough to ward her dreams. She needed to talk about them.
“You will think differently of me if I do,” she murmured, holding him more tightly.
“I could not—”
“You will,” she insisted, and sniffled. “And I cannot bear that now. Not now.”
“There must be something we can do,” Elrond insisted, frustrated by her refusal. He had already sworn not to doubt her again. That she seemed insistent that he would turn his back on her again for whatever error she had made with Halbrand was deeply concerning.
“The worst of it…” she began, hesitating. ‘The nightmares do not begin as such. They begin as a memory. Not an unpleasant one. And then they change…”
“What memory?” he pressed.
Her eyes squeezed shut. “When the battle is over, and the fire that carried you through it has dimmed, there is an vast emptiness that fills you. All the injures you may have sustained, all the weight of what just occurred, hit you. And in that moment you feel entirely alone. In the aftermath of the battle in the Southlands, I was sitting with the weight of it all. The first moment I truly had to reflect on everything. Halbrand found me, and sat with me in silence. He…” she paused, sucking in a staggered breath. “He understood me, in that moment. One of the only — the few — who could.” The admission was a painful one, though Elrond did not understand why.
“And…?” he prompted her to continue.
“He kissed me,” she admitted, the words whispered in an air of quiet shame.
Elrond struggled to keep his own countenance neutral. “And you?”
“I did not reject him.”
He swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat, and tried to manage the jealousy burning in his gut. For centuries, he had called her his truest friend. For centuries more, he had loved her in silence. Out of respect for her grief he had said nothing. Had accepted that there would never be more than friendship between them.
“So many years I spent hunting Sauron, driven by vengeance and anger. I felt… so alone, and to meet another who I thought shared my pain… who understood me…”
“You are not alone, Galadriel,” he said, frowning. “I am here.” He always had been.
Except—
Guilt gnawed at him. He had not, in truth. Like Gil-galad, he had not believed her fear that evil had returned to Middle-earth. He had not supported her as he ought have. And in refusing to believe her, he had made her feel alone in the world once more. Had driven her into the arms of a Man — and a charlatan at that.
“I thought… for a time… that I might know love again,” she rasped, eyes squeezing shut as tears rolled down her cheeks. “And n-now that I know— it is the last memory I have of love and it is tainted now!”
“It need not be,” Elrond said, the offer falling from his mouth before he could stop them. His heart skipped a beat.
“What?” she asked, astonished, and frowned.
“It need not be your last memory of love,” he repeated, mustering the courage to continue even as words began to fail him. He had spent decades in his role as herald to the High King, and centuries loving her, and neither one had prepared him for this moment. “If you wish it.”
Her lips parted in surprise, confusion flickering over her face for a moment, disbelief in her eyes. “Elrond—”
Courage faltering, he kissed her, stealing the denial from her parted lips. He kissed her gently, cradling her face between his hands even as he wiped the tears from her cheeks. Every second was bittersweet agony; the fulfillment of years of longing, and yet blighted by the circumstance. Breaking their kiss, he pressed his forehead to hers, not quite daring to yet meet her eyes. “You have never not been loved, Galadriel. Do not ever think otherwise.”
“Elrond—”
“I apologize for my forwardness,” he said, beginning to withdraw, still avoiding her gaze. He could not bear to see the rejection or pity that was sure to be in her eyes. “But please know I meant every word. Friend or otherwise.”
A warm hand on his cheek halted his retreat, and when he dared look up at her there was neither pity nor rejection to be found. Cautious hope, and a touch of disbelief that he was sure was a reflection from his own eyes, shone from her gaze as she leaned forward to close the gap between them, and pressed a gentle, searching kiss to his mouth.
Hesitant, he opened his mouth and drew her in for a deeper kiss, his hand sliding to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her own hands were not idle, and slid from his face to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck and bring him closer still. He groaned against her mouth, fighting the rising surge of desire that threatened to consume him. It was impossible. And yet, here they were. They parted after a long moment, breathing heavily.
“Galadriel—” he rasped, struggling to articulate everything he wanted to say.
She kissed him again hungrier than before, and drew him over her as she reclined on the bed. He followed, obedient and unwilling to be parted from her, and climbed over her, his knees parting her thighs. Her fingers tugged at the ties of his shirt and then, once loosened, at the shirt itself until he brought it over his head, breaking their kiss for a scant few seconds. Her hands eagerly wandered the expanse of his bare skin, from his navel to his chest, where one rested over his pounding heart. He stole another hard kiss from her mouth before moving to her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. Her nails raked gently against his scalp as she panted, tilting her head back to give him better access to her throat, and held him close.
The hand resting on his heart trailed down his side to grasp for the hem of her gown and pulled it up between them. He did not hesitate to help her, using his own hands to pull the gown over her head until she was bare beneath him. Pressing a reverant kiss between her breasts, his hand trailed down her belly to her thighs and slipped between them. She shuddered beneath him and looked at him wide-eyed, her lips rosy and red from being so thoroughly kissed. He met her gaze as he slid his long fingers between her folds and relished the heavy hitch in her breath, how hungry her eyes appeared as he pressed the first finger inside as she clung to him.
Her back arched beneath him and brought her breast tantalizingly close to his mouth, too close to go ignored, and as he pressed his second finger inside her he sealed his mouth over her breast. She writhed beneath him, hips rolling against his fingers, and clung to his shoulders.
“More, Elrond, please,” she pleaded, moaning.
Elrond sucked her nipple until it grew firm and soothed it with his tongue, and with her ardent plea happily switched to the other, adding a third finger to stretch her wide. He twisted his fingers, curling them inside her until she was thrusting against his hand.
“Elrond, Elrond, Elrond,” she chanted, the syllables of his name slurring together as she came hard and sent a flood of arousal dripping down the rings on his fingers. He worked her through it, thumb working her sensitive pearl until she collapsed beneath him, her hips twitching.
Elrond struggled to rein in his pride. It was a heady feeling, seeing her come undone beneath him, by him. More satisfying than anything he had ever known, in fact. He released her breast and left a trail of kisses up her throat until he could claim her mouth once more. She kissed him eagerly, teeth nipping at his lower lip, and grinned slyly at him — his only warning, before her legs closed around him and with a sharp tug pulled him beneath her.
She sat astride him, bare and joyful in a way he had never seen her, her hair glimmering silver and gold in the firelight, unbound curls draped over one shoulder.
Elrond stilled, tongue-tied at the sight of her.
He could not fathom a more beautiful sight in Middle-earth, or out of it.
She inched back along his thighs and set her hands to work on the ties of his breeches. When they were loose enough she tugged them down his legs and discard them behind her on the floor. Settling between his legs, he had only a moment to conceptualize what she intended to do, and no chance to offer any kind of protest or alternative when her mouth was on him.
He gasped, fisting his hands in the sheets beside him, and bit down hard on his tongue to stop himself from coming then. He was more than ready. Watching her come undone beneath him could have been enough, if he hadn’t been distracted by extending her own pleasure.
“Gal—” her name stuck in his throat as she took him deeper in her mouth, his cock sliding far enough down to make her choke. Still, she didn’t retreat but held him there for a long moment, her throat constricting and pulsing around him, and then pulled off to suckle on the head, tongue stroking the slit.
“I’m unaccustomed to you being at a loss for words, Elrond,” she said, pausing in her ministrations to grin wickedly at him.
Elrond opened his mouth to reply and choked on his words again as she took him down her throat to the hilt once more, her nose buried in the dark curls at his base, and set a hard pace. He panted, forgetting his intended reply altogether, and tried to focus on not spending himself prematurely. Tentative, he brought shaking hand to her head and carded his fingers through her hair. Softer than silk and more luminsecent than starlight, the strands slipped through his fingers like water. She let out a pleased hum around his cock and inclined her head, pressing it once more into his hand.
Transfixed, he smoothed her hair away from her face and stroked her cheek, eventually weaving his fingers through her curls to grasp the back of her head and guide her into a rhythm of his choosing. From the first inkling of pressure, she relaxed, submitting herself wholly to his guidance. His blood grew hotter with the thought as he began to thrust into her mouth, her wide eyes meeting his own.
“Enough,” he croaked after a long moment, pulling her off him. His cock stood at attention, arousal leaking from the tip as saliva dripped down his shaft.
Galadriel frowned, appearing hesitant and uncertain for the first time. “Elrond, are you—
He sat up and seized her by her shoulders, flipping them with practiced ease, and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth, assuaging her concern. “Not like that,” he murmured against her lips, holding her face in his hands to kiss her breathless and then moving to her neck, his cock twitching between them.
Understanding dawned on her face and she smiled, nuzzling against him as he sucked a bruise into the side of her neck. She raised her legs, thighs squeezing his hips, and pulled him firmly against her. Reaching between them, she took his cock in hand once more and guided it between her folds, rubbing it between them to gather the slick arousal dripping out of her. Setting it at her entrance with one hand, the other crept around his hip to grab his ass.
“Á mitta sa!” She demanded, squirming beneath him.
If Elrond were not so desperate himself, he would have made her beg for it. To submit to his pace entirely. But he was not in such a different position as she, and would find time to make that a reality later.
He pressed inside her slowly, giving her a moment to adjust. Though he’d used three of his fingers to prepare her, it was still a tight fit, and he had no desire to hurt her.
She seemed to hold her breath as he entered her, not daring to even gasp until he was half-way seated. “More,” she rasped, squeezing his ass to pull him closer.
Elrond obeyed, taking hold of the underside of her thigh and pressing it back against her to spread her wider. He pushed forward until he was fully seated within her, settling for a moment in the warm sheathe of her cunt, and then withdrew half-way again before thrusting back in. His cock, now coated in her slick arousal, glided more easily inside, and drew a loud moan from Galadriel’s lips.
She tried to muffle it, hastily stuffing a fistful of sheets in her mouth, but couldn’t manage to stifle it entirely. If there were servants in the halls, they surely heard her. He half-hoped they did.
Elrond set a steady pace of short, purposeful thrusts, reveling in the way her shoulders shook and her breasts bounced, in the ecstasy on her face. The Galadriel laying beneath him had no troubled thoughts plaguing her now, or nightmares haunting her. She appeared as vibrant and joyful as any Elf maiden he had met and, more than just for the sake of stroking his own pride, he felt an inexplicable certainty that he would do whatever was necessary to see it again. And again, and again. No matter what might come.
He pulled the sheet from her mouth and pinned her wrists beside her head, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth. “Let me hear you,” he bid her, turning his head so his ear was pressed close to her mouth. “You need not stifle yourself from me, Galadriel. Not ever. Not for anything.” He released her wrists and threaded their fingers together, still keeping her hands pinned beside her head.
Elrond slowed his thrusts and switched to a longer, slower stroke, and enjoyed the immediate reward of hearing a low whine directly in his ear, his name murmured in a nonsensical string of commands and requests. Compliments, too, followed, on his length and girth, and Elrond tucked them away for later, when she might need reminding.
“Faster,” she pleaded, pressing earnest kisses against his jaw.
“Soon,” he agreed, intently focused on the exquisite feeling of her cunt swallowing his cock inch by inch. He withdrew until only the head remained within her, and then drove inside her with a powerful thrust, relishing the way her breath stopped short.
“Again,” she breathed, swallowing heavily.
He obeyed, withdrawing and snapping his hips hard enough to make the frame beneath them groan.
She cried out, back arching beneath him, her eyes fluttering. “Again, again, again,” she pleaded, and Elrond again obeyed, working up to a faster pace despite the length of his strokes, and quickly felt his own climax approaching. He’d held it off twice and would not be able to do so again, and as his own pleasure crashed into him he continued working the pearl between her folds and thrusting through it, trying not to lose rhythm, until he felt her own climax roll through her.
He collapsed on top of her, deft fingers continuing to work her through it until he felt her thighs relax and twitch, pulled her into his arms beneath the sheets, cradling her close.
After several moments of warm, comfortable silence, he dared to try and speak — hoping against hope his words wouldn’t fail him. “I can guard your dreams much better from here, I think,” he teased her quietly, hoping against hope that she would not cast him out now. They would need to talk in the morning. But for now, at least until the morning, Elrond could pretend there was nothing complicated about their situation.
Galadriel said nothing aloud but nuzzled against him, tucking her head beneath his chin.
“Nothing to say?” he probed again, pleased but nervous by her silence. “I’m unaccustomed to you being at a loss for words. You certainly seemed to have plenty earlier. What was it, the length of my—”
She pinched the skin on his side hard, and cracked an eye to peer up at him. “Are you always this talkative after? Because if you’re going to keep me awake with your chatter, I might suggest a better use for your mouth.”
Elrond licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “If that’s what you wish,” he said, eyes glinting in the firelight.
“Sleep first,” Galadriel said, considering him for a long moment, and rearranged his arms around her, nudging her knee between his thighs. “We can revisit it in the morning.”
“In the morning, our day will begin in earnest,” he reminded her, somewhat hesitant to bring any reminder of the outside world into their shared moment of quietude.
“All the better reason to begin it in such a pleasant way,” she murmured drowsily, pressing a gentle kiss above his heart and all but promising that this — whatever this was — was more than a moment of comfort, and would last at least until tomorrow. “Sleep, Elrond, and join me in my dreams.”
“As you wish.”
She was already in his.