Title & Chapter Number: Circles and Rings: Part 1, 5/?
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I couldn't even begin to claim ownership of any of the wonders of Middle Earth. I've borrowed them for some personal edification, and to get to know a few of the inhabitants better, but they aren't mine. No copyright infringement is intended. All content and original characters are the intellectual copyright of the author.
2nd Disclaimer: I don't speak elven; I wish I did. Therefore I claim no accuracy of the words and phrases I've used. What I've used, I pieced together using Dragon Flame, which can be found HERE.
Also, much of my understanding of things Elvish and Middle Earthen have come from many hours perusing The Encyclopedia of Arda
Warnings: None
Betas: Gypsy
Cast: Gil-galad/OFC
Timeline: Takes place before the Last Alliance and makes no reference to any events Tolkien wrote of.
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: Every course of action, every path chosen, affects the course of history, and, sometimes, changes otherwise unchangeable events.
Notes: My apologies for any errors; I'd be happy to work on rectifying them (within the framework of the story) if anyone can point such errors out to me!
Special Thanks to: Char for her beta help and all of the elven research she did and passed my way, not to mention the plot bunnies she kept throwing in my path. Also to Gypsy for her beta help, as well as a jolly good game of Grope-the-Elves. Elvish used: Arwen en amin--My lady. Heruamin--My lord.
What in the name of the Valar was she doing?
The question that had plagued Mithluin all evening hit her even more strongly now as she stood alone in the hall, awaiting the judgment of approaching footsteps.
Having wanted to be pleasing, she had taken a leisurely lounge in the bath, cleansing away the sand and sea salt from every crevice of her body that it had found its way into. Eruiel had assisted in washing her hair and had been candidly forthcoming about such things as the King's favorite scents, his preferences in food and drink, and the colors he seemed to find most pleasing. It seemed not so odd to Mithluin that Eruiel should know these things; Eruiel might not have attended the King directly, but when one spent decades serving the house, they learned such details about the master who employed them. She was also the only one to question about these things, so Mithluin was grateful that Eruiel was willing to share that knowledge.
She was also grateful that the handmaiden did not ask why she sought such knowledge. There were other, more personal, but equally as pressing questions that Mithluin had wanted to ask, but she had been unable to think of any way to do so without raising other questions, or without making herself look like a fool.
Of course, after she had gotten out of the bath and slipped on the near sheer gown of royal blue silk, the very color Eruiel had mentioned as likely the King's favorite, Mithluin wondered if the servant knew more of Mithluin's intentions than she was letting on. She had brought the gown for Mithluin's use without any prompting and she had placed several different bottles of perfume upon the table as well. Still Eruiel said nothing as she flitted in and out of the room, going about her duties in silence, so precisely what she knew was her secret.
Mithluin had sat upon the stool and gazed at herself in the mirror while the servants took away the bath water and brought dinner to her and Eruiel towel-dried her hair. The gown, held by tiny silver clasps at the shoulders, was beautiful, more voluminous and flowing than anything she was used to wearing; it gave her an ethereal appearance, as though she had no form or shape of her own save for arms and head. She liked the affect of it and it seemed Eruiel did too, since Mithluin caught her smiling at her in the mirror more than once.
"You are beautiful, arwenamin. Any elf would think so."
Puzzled, Mithluin looked at the handmaiden but Eruiel only smiled innocently so she dismissed the comment.
It did not matter what any other elf thought of her. She only wanted Gil-galad's approval.
Then she sent all of the servants away and had dined alone on bread and cheese and wine laced with peppermint, a touch that made her smile. None of the staff, not even Eruiel, could possibly have known of her fondness for it, unless the High King had instructed them, and that he would extend such thoughtfulness to her had made her feel quite certain about her plan.
Eruiel had come back then, both to build up the fire for the night and to take away the meal tray. She seemed intent upon lingering, tending the lamps, straightening the dressing table, seeing to the day's soiled laundry.anything to remain in the room it seemed to Mithluin.
She had found it necessary to feign fatigue and then sleep before Eruiel would leave her alone.
Much later, long after Eruiel had left her rooms at last, when it seemed likely that the rest of the household slept, Mithluin had risen from the bed and stopped long enough to brush out her now dry hair. The hearth fire had died a little but the room was still comfortably warm, despite the open window at the other side of the room. With a careful check of the corridor, making certain that no one was about, she left the warmth for the chill of the hall and carefully closed the door behind her. The blue gown pooled about her feet and rustled delicately as she moved.
Again she stopped, though this time it was because she realized she did not know her way. With a small pouting frown, she closed her eyes. She tried to focus as Tawen had taught her but it was difficult to do when her heart was thundering beneath her breast. Still her thoughts, allow the power of his aura guide her. The gift had brought her as far as Mithlond. There was no reason it should not be able to lead her directly to him now, if she could only calm herself.
But she could not bring serenity to her inner self and so, with a sigh of aggravation, she turned to her right. Going left would take her to the stairs, and that would take her back to the various public areas and meeting rooms. It was logic that pulled her to the right, past several other silent doors, along the dark unfamiliar corridor, her heart now moving into her throat with every step she took.
Question after question plagued her, fought to cause her to abandon this nonsense. What if she were wrong? What if he truly did not want her as she wanted him? What if she were only a daughter to him, albeit a much loved daughter? What would she do when she reached his room? What did she know about the path she had undertaken? Would he laugh at her inexperience? Be offended? Belittle and condemn her for her actions, thoughts, and desires?
Would her efforts win her nothing more than his anger and hatred? Would he send her away from him forever?
Such thoughts did little to calm her. Each question caused her footsteps to slow until it seemed she was barely moving. She was nearing a junction in the corridor and would have to decide which path to take, but her delicate ears heard footsteps approaching from the passage to the right. Two sets and soft Elvish voices. She froze. Sentries. It must be. There couldn't be anyone else awake at this hour, roaming the corridors of the palace. It had not occurred to her that there might be guards about, protecting the King, keeping those within these walls safe from harm. She could ask one of them directions, perhaps, but they might presume she was here to cause injury to Gil-galad and then this night would spin horribly out of control.
Flashes of such scenarios flicked through her mind, tumbling in rapid succession. What had been nervousness before had grown into complete panic. Her pounding heart had increased its speed, now fueled by terror, and her breathing came in short labored gasps. The thought hammered her again, 'what am I doing' as the urge to flee took hold. But her limbs felt too weak and too heavy all at once and all she could do was stare in the direction of the approaching footsteps.
Two men rounded the corner, the familiar dour face of Melandur and another she seemed to recognize from another place and time but could not immediately name. Any faint hopes she had entertained of asking for directions disappeared abruptly, for there was no way she would ask such a thing from the King's steward. As far as she could tell, that elf didn't seem to like her much.
Both of them stared at her, startled to find anyone in the hall, but Melandur was the first to speak as he looked her over skeptically. "My lady? Is there something."
"Te'Valishar." Mithluin barely managed to squeak out the words before her shortness of breath pulled her down into a faint. She slumped to the floor, her head hitting the marble with a resounding thud.
The elf with Melandur reached her first and gingerly lifted her head to search for injury. His hands were calloused but his fingers were tender as he touched her.
"Stay with her, Celrohir, whilst I fetch the King." The dark haired elf called Celrohir cast the departing steward a sharp glance but did as he was told.as he had been planning to do in the first place. The steward certainly knew little about medicine and it had been obvious to Celrohir that Melandur had misgivings about this woman. She had gained no serious injury in her fall, only a lump upon her head; he suspected she would wake soon enough and would have quite a headache when she did. He picked her up gently and stood still, waiting for his King to join him, to instruct him.
She was beautiful, this one. And powerful. It took him some moments to place her face, but when he did, he smiled to himself. He had not ever expected to see her in Mithlond, but that she was here did much to explain the King's recent distraction. He hid the smile quickly, however, when Gil-galad stormed around the corner, followed by his steward who was hurrying to keep up. Celrohir did not miss the cold flash of anger the King threw his way, nor did he fail to recognize it for what it was.
"What has happened?" the King barked. He was dressed as they had just left him, in his white tunic and dark blue leggings but no shoes; the tunic was askew so Celrohir guessed that the King had jut been preparing for bed. He had come within touching distance, but refrained from touching her. His eyes never left her, however, other than to flick up at Celrohir looking for the desired answer.
"She has only fainted, heruamin," Celrohir replied, "and has hit her head upon the floor. It would seem our appearance here startled her."
"She spoke of you before she." started Melandur, but Gil-galad cut him short.
"Bring her." The King began stalking back towards his rooms, the tension in his movements revealing his state of mind.
"To your chamber, heruamin?" As soon as the words were spoken, Melandur wished he could take them back. But he knew little of this woman, only that she had placed some sort of spell over the normally focused, rational High King. Since her arrival last evening, Gil-galad had been behaving most unlike himself. This was not a good thing. Her presence here might be innocent, or she might be here to hurt him, and it was his duty to find out, and to prevent any harm to the King.
Eyes narrowed as he turned back to glare at his steward, Gil-galad only barely managed to avoid the string of curses that lay upon his tongue. That only happened because he saw the same question in Celrohir's eyes.though without the sense of suspicion and caution that Melandur bore. The tallest of the three elves was more concerned with propriety then with any imagined harm she could cause, and Gil-galad knew he was right.
Taking an unconscious maiden, especially this one, to his chamber would be a bad idea. Particularly since he knew that, if she awoke and found herself in his bed, however innocent the circumstances, she would be furious with him.
It was better to take her to her own room.
He swept past Celrohir and marched down the corridor in the direction of the Blue Room; Celrohir was right behind him with Mithluin still in his arms and Melandur brought up the rear, likely wringing his hands though the King did not bother to look. Gil-galad opened the door and allowed the two men to pass, his actions abrupt and angry, and he rocked on his heels, with his arms crossed before his chest, as Celrohir lay her upon her bed and checked her head once more, listening to her breathing and feeling for her pulse. Melandur stayed in the doorway.
"She will be well," the tall elf said as he straightened. "Her gifts will see to that. There is nothing any of us can do for her but let her sleep." His voice trailed off as he watched the various bursts of emotion play across the King's face. "Someone should stay with, however, to be certain that."
"I will fetch Eruiel." Melandur spoke hastily, but his words were downtrodden by the King's voice.
"I will stay with her."
Hiding his smug grin, Celrohir felt her forehead lightly and looked to see that she was comfortable as he asked, "Are you sure, heruamin? I can stay, if you wish, or else allow Melandur to bring."
"I said, I will stay," Gil-galad snapped, seeing the mirth on Celrohir's face only after the words were spoken. It sapped some of his annoyance. "Melandur?"
"Heruamin?" The steward was clearly not pleased with the choice and looked resigned to whatever the King was about to request of him.
"I will remain with her until she awakens. I do not want anyone to disturb her, is that understood? Please alert Eruiel to this as well."
With a sigh, Melandur replied, "Yes, heruamin." He quietly retreated from the room.
Celrohir was not far behind him, but he was stopped by Gil-galad's hand upon his shoulder. Their eyes met, speaking in silence.
"You are certain she will be."
Celrohir clasped his hand over the King's. Not many would do that, but Celrohir held no fear of Gil-galad. "I sense no trace of poison or illness. A faint is hardly fatal. With you here, how could she not be?"
"I don't know, mellonamin.I have failed her before.too many times."
"Then perhaps it is time to stop failing."
The taller elf smiled at the tormented expression on his King's face as Gil-galad moved to the bedside. Celrohir remained long enough to place another log upon the fire before sliding quietly from the room.
Afraid to touch her, Gil-galad searched the pillow for any hint of blood. There was none, which relieved his mind somewhat. He did not doubt Celrohir's medical expertise, but the doubts still plagued her. He did not want to lose her, especially to death. He pulled the stool from the dressing table to the bedside and situated it so that he could sit and see her fully.
Why had she been in the hall? That she had been seeking him seemed logical, for there was no other reason for her to have been at that end of the corridor. Perhaps she had been coming to bid him farewell at last.but no, he thought, glancing at the azure gown she wore. She was not dressed for travel. He scowled slightly and studied her attire more closely. He did not recognize the dress and could not recall having ever given her a gown of such expense. For most of her life, there had been no need for one, and she would have found it impractical. It was the same cobalt blue she had worn last night, HIS blue. The blue of the sea, the blue of his eyes, the blue of his standard. He touched a bit of the fabric that spread across the mattress. Yes, definitely silk. Too thin for traveling and, he mused, barely suitable for public appearances. This was a thing for privacy and, dare he think it, intimacy.
He blinked, startled with himself for daring to consider such a thing, and pushed the thought from his mind. If she had been searching for him at all it was because she had been unable to sleep, had been restless, or had been in search of familiar company, of which she had little here in Mithlond.
The thought may have been banished to the furthest recesses of his mind but he continued his visual appraisal of her since it was now safe enough to do so. There were no prying eyes of advisors to disapprove and he did not have to worry about offending her or being caught in some compromising position by her ice blue eyes. But studying her form, noting the gentle swell of her small breasts as she breathed, the way the blue fabric fell across her body and pooled in a seductive V between her thighs, only fueled the urge to touch her, an urge he believed best left unanswered.
Perturbed, he shifted the stool so that he could lean his back and head against the wall and watch her sleep, daydreaming of the many days and nights over the long decades when he had wished he could watch her sleep, when he had longed to lull her to sleep with his arms about her, his voice singing softly in her ear.
Those dreams were dead, or at least dying. The chance for those wishes fell away beneath the ever-encroaching call to war.
He reached for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers, and held it to his lips. "I am sorry," he whispered, tears falling silently from beneath closed lashes. There was much to be sorry for, but here in the silence was likely the only time he would have the nerve to say it.
The brush of softness upon the back of her hand, followed by a whispered apology and the tickle of moisture upon that same skin was enough to lift Mithluin from unconsciousness to waking, yet it took her some seconds to open her eyes. It took her longer still to determine where she was when she did open them. The only light in the room was the glow of the fire on the hearth, and a gentle breeze crept in through the open windows. The movement of lips upon her hand again, and yet another sprinkle of dampness, confused her. Her first thought was Tawen, which she knew to be impossible as soon as she thought it. Eruiel, then, she decided, but the hand that held hers was rough and strong. Not a lady's hand at all. She turned her face to see the dark head bent over her hand, the heavier, more masculine frame slumped against the wall. In her surprise, her breath caught and her hand involuntarily tried to clench.
He looked at her, his blue eyes awhirl with a wash of emotion too strong to allow him to speak. Neither moved. Both were too afraid that to do or say anything would cause the other to pull free and neither wanted that. But it was Mithluin who, despite her inexperience, recognized the fear in his eyes, a fear that seemed even deeper then her own. Whatever the next step was to be, it would have to be hers. She could not help but wonder why he was afraid, however. He was older, wiser, worldlier, and other than the recent incident at her home, she could think of nothing she had ever done that should cause him to fear her.
When she shifted up onto her elbow, he began to release her hand and the fear in his eyes burned brighter. She recognized it then, and nearly laughed, not doing so only because that would have spoiled the mood and driven him away from her. He was afraid that she did not want him. He was afraid of losing her, the woman who had spent nearly fifty years waiting for him. That was what she found funny. There was something else, as well, but she did not recognize it. She could do nothing with that, but his baser fears she could confront.
She held his hand firmly, gripping it so that he could not pull free without force, and very slowly she pushed up from her elbow, her eyes never leaving his. Inch by inch, she moved her face closer to his, until their noses almost touched.
Gil-galad realized he wasn't breathing when the ache grew tighter within his chest. He could not control the tremors wracking his body, but he knew, from the hand clutching his own, that he was not alone in trembling. His eyes drank hers in as she moved closer and he knew full well that she could see the fear burning in him. If she could also sense the desire beneath it, he was not certain, for he was working very hard to control it. Without that control, he would have pulled her into his arms and had her upon the bed the instant she had opened her eyes.
She kept inching closer. He struggled to understand why. Had he been wrong about her? Did she still want him as she once had? Was it only his foolishness keeping them apart? There was nothing in her eyes that he recognized, only a sense of calm, of conviction, and sincerity. That confused him, and just as her nose touched his, he flinched and began to back away.
"Mith." he started, only to be silenced by her finger upon his lips. He gasped and shivered at the sensation, the breath he had been holding rushing out of him in one burst.
His gaze flicked down towards her mouth as she whispered, "Tell me no, heruamin, and I will go."
Some part of his mind, the corner that still heard the Seer's words, bid her to stop, bid him not to do anything he would later to regret, but that small voice could barely be detected over the thundering of his heart as it screamed out for the very thing it had sought for so long. He did not want her to go. That much was a certainty. And though the fear remained, something telling him that this path would only lead to pain, it was now being rapidly replaced by the surge of desire building within him. Nearly five decades was far too long to have waited for this moment.
A small smile crept across Mithluin's face accompanied by an embarrassed flicker in her eyes and blush upon her cheeks. She took his silence to be approval. He watched her eyes, fascinated by both her innocence and the underlying aggression, and when his lips parted involuntarily, she closed the distance and placed her lips to his.
The stiffness in his body, as well as the remaining fear, melted instantly at the shy taste of her. Peppermint and honey, a cordial sweeter and more refreshing than any he had ever tasted. Collapsing against her with a moan, he gave up the fight he had made for so long. He drew her against his chest, tight in his arms, and found himself resting upon her as their bodies sank into the down-filled bed. He tensed momentarily, afraid to crush her, but when he broke the kiss and tried to shift his weight from her she arched against him, seeking the intimate contact, and held his head in both hands as she pulled his mouth back to hers.
He chose to fulfill the request but his body could not relax with hers moving subtly beneath him. The yearnings to hold her, to taste her mouth, were at last satisfied, a delirious dream that he had stopped believing would ever be realized. Her breasts pushed tight against his chest, she had unconsciously entwined her legs with his, and her fingers were gently working their way through his dark unbraided hair. When they casually brushed the tips of his ears, he gasped again.
"A'maelamin," he hissed into her mouth.
It was her turn to recoil, pulling her hand away quickly. She broke the kiss enough to look at him with uncertainty. He had thought at first that the fault was his, that he had misspoken, but such was not the case. She was afraid she had done something wrong, afraid she had hurt him or displeased him; he knew that by the tears that began to pool in the corners of her eyes.
"Ssh," he whispered, planting a gentle kiss upon her chin and moving one hand from behind her back to touch the side of her face. "You have done nothing wrong. It was." He ran a fingertip over the edge of her ear but she did not react as he had hoped. She did not look relieved, but rather confused, so he tried a smile and kissed her lips gently. "Ah well, not all of us react the same."
Something changed in her eyes, a bloom of understanding as she trailed her fingers up the side of his neck and then, very hesitantly, touched his ear once again. When it elicited the same hissing gasp and shudder of pleasure, she giggled. He looked at her with an arched eyebrow.
"It appears you have a weak spot, te."
"Gil-galad.please." he interrupted her quietly, with pleading in his eyes and voice. "We have been.that.for too long. Here, in this place, I want only to be Gil-galad, unless." He drew back to look into her eyes, the earlier fear trying to grab at his throat. "Is this only because I am your."
"It has nothing to do with your title," she replied, once more stroking the tip of his ear. He moved his hand as though to stop her, but the movement was aborted and he groaned, eyes rolling back and closing as he gave in to enjoying the sensation. "You have never really been king to me anyhow." The mirth in her voice and the cessation of her touch on his ear made him open his eyes to see the amusement on her face.
"No," he agreed, "I don't believe I have been. And you." He deftly caught her hand as she tried to touch his ear again. Placing a kiss on the inside of her wrist, swirling his tongue across the fragrant skin there, he chuckled as she shivered. "I am sure you have one or two weak spots of your own, arwenamin, and I mean to find them."
"It is about time you chose to do so, heruamin," she giggled. He looked at her with amazement and when she let out a burst of laughter, he did too.
He pulled her into his embrace again and rolled onto his back so that she was on top of him now. Her hands were free to tease his ear tips as the kiss resumed, and the result of the kiss and the constant assault upon those particular erogenous zones was the ever hardening of his manhood as it crushed against her thigh. He was swiftly losing himself to the need for her, but this was all happening too fast. Yes, his body demanded release for the half a century of torment he had forced upon it, but he knew well enough that this was her first time and he wanted it to be perfect. He had thought that their first time together would be long and slow and easy, not fueled by animalistic passion and need. He had to give her every reason to want to come back for more.
Nay, he thought as she sat up, one knee planted on each side of him such that the throbbing in his groin was now pressed against the hidden places between her legs, with only the fabric of clothes between them. He did not want her to have to come back for more. He never wanted her to leave him.
Battle worn hands pulled her dress free so that he could touch her knees. Slowly, not wanting to frighten her, he slid his hands up her thighs, relishing the feel of her skin. Without prompting, she maneuvered the blue silk free to pull it up and over her head. Now she sat astride him with nothing to keep his hands from her skin. For a woman unskilled in the acts of lovemaking, she seemingly held little fear of it, or him, or was merely comfortable enough with herself to be so bold. She was leading him; he would follow her anywhere. She was giving him the access to her body he had long dreamed of, and from the heat in her eyes, he understood now that she had never stopped longing for him either.
He still sensed some embarrassed awkwardness about her, however, so as he worked his hands cautiously higher, over the gentle curve of her hips, he murmured, "Not even the Valar could be so beautiful."
She giggled again, but the sound gave way to a gasp as his roaming hands worked up her body and his thumbs brushed against the sides of her small breasts. With a satisfied smile, he cupped them in his hands and circled the pale pink nipples with his fingertips. When her head fell back and she uttered a long sigh, he wiggled into a sitting position and said, "I told you there would be places all your own."
Since he had to use his hands to sit up, it had meant removing them from her breasts. She grabbed his wrists and looked at him with hungry fire. "Don't go," she breathed.
Sitting now, he smiled, feeling a rush of warmth in his core at her words. "Fear not, A'maelamin. I have no desire or wish to be anywhere but here with you. However," his voice was muffled by fabric as he pulled his tunic over his head, "It seems only fair to be rid of this." From the way her eyes dilated, he presumed she approved of his actions. With trembling hands, she touched his chest, her palms flat against him, seemingly afraid to touch him. Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her to him and nuzzled her neck. "I want to feel your skin against mine," he murmured.
Head once more falling back at the touch of his lips and tongue on the skin below her ear and the press of her nipples against his skin, afraid that she was dreaming once more, she managed a breathy, "yes."
She did not know what she had expected him to feel like as her hands played along the contours of his shoulders and back. Rough and hard, perhaps, as a man of battle should be. She had tended many wounded men, after all, and was no stranger to the masculine physique. But while his muscles were indeed hard beneath the skin, that very skin was delightedly smooth and soft. The feel of him made her tremble and the way he worked his mouth upon her neck and down to her shoulder was drawing it's own shivers of delight from her. This was sweeter than any dream.
Some part of her understood that his mouth was working its way to the breasts his hands had abandoned, but still she was not prepared for the feel of the warmth of his mouth as he drew the first nipple into his mouth. He toyed with the other with his fingers, imitating the workings of his tongue and lips until both nipples were small and hardened.
When he traded sides, she whimpered. She would have said his name, but she found speech difficult through quickened breathing. There was an ache forming between her thighs, and a dampness that she had only ever known when dreaming of the elf now teasing her senses. She did not know for certain what the feelings meant, did not know what she was wanting so intensely, but when she brought her hands up to his shoulders, and then touched his ears once again, both at once, he bucked against her, the hardness of his manhood meeting the welcomed resistance of her body, she groaned. Something about the feel of him against her felt right, filled that ache, however briefly, and as she crushed herself against him, she understood only that this was what she wanted.
Gil-galad growled as she continued to writhe against his hardness. There was little control left in him now, and what there was, was being stripped away by the dampness of her seeping through his light leggings. With one hand behind her head, he brought her mouth back to his and kissed her as he moved them both out of their current position. He broke the kiss and stood up on shaky legs.
Reaching for him, lost without his skin against hers, Mithluin started to speak. The words did not come, but this time it was only because she understood what he was doing now. He tugged the leggings free and threw them across the stool where he had previously been sitting, and then he came once more back to the bed.
"Wait," she whispered hoarsely, keeping him at arms length as he knelt upon the mattress. There was no fear in her, only the desire to visually appraise him as he had done with her. He allowed it, even though the need for her was growing unbearable. The slow path of her eyes down his smooth chest, his taught stomach, then finally to his manhood brought forth an even stronger wave of desire, causing his arousal to twitch and weep before her.
Perhaps that was what she had wanted, as she then held her hand out to him and pulled him back into a kiss. As he held her now, she was trembling even more intensely than she had been, and he asked, "A'maelamin? Are you."
"I am.I." Her hands had slid down over his buttocks and stopped abruptly. She met his gaze, her ice blue eyes dark and stormy with desire. "I do not know what I want, but I want." "Hush." It was a gentle command, followed by an even gentler kiss. "Do you trust me?"
It was a double-edged question. In his mind, she had no reason to trust him after the way he had treated her for so many years. He wanted to know not only if she trusted him to continue, but also if she trusted him at all. In her eyes he saw that she understood this, so when she nodded her head and whispered, "Yes, Gil-galad, I trust you," his heart leapt with gratitude and he had to close his eyes and hold her tight until the tears in his eyes had subsided. All the while she held him, her hands roaming across his backside, her hips occasionally thrusting against his of their own accord, touches that both comforted and aroused him.
Eventually her movements rekindled his need and he crawled to his knees and positioned himself to kneeling between her thighs. She watched him with wide eyes, understanding the mechanics of the forthcoming act but nothing more. She thought he might simply thrust into her, as she had seen animals do in the wild, but instead he rested upon his knees and heels, eyes never leaving hers, and carefully ran his thumb over the opening between her thighs. She twitched and gasped as he touched her swollen place. That, she had not expected. He paused but did not remove his thumb.
"Did I."
She pushed against him in response, and began to writhe in earnest as he resumed his actions. Her hands sought for something to clutch, but he was beyond her grasp and she whimpered in annoyance. He reached for her hand with his free one and was surprised by the strength of her hold on him.
Watching the flush that was spreading across her body, feeling the pump of her hips against his hands, Gil-galad was well on his way to losing the last bit of patience. He knew that once he was actually within her, this particular joining would be short-lived. She was wet with desire, and wanting more of him than she'd had thus far. He could smell it in the air, the scent of her arousal, and hear it in her short ragged breaths. He also sensed that she was getting quite near her own peak, and he wanted desperately to be within her when that moment came.
"Mithluin," he whispered, trying to free his hand from hers. "A'maelamin, please.my hand."
Reluctantly she let him go and watched him maneuver himself closer to her. The head of his member, slick with his own fluids, pressed against her, but did not enter as he guided it with his hand. All the while, his thumb had not stopped its sweet torment.
Wondering what he was waiting for, why he hesitated, she squirmed, trying to memorize the feel of his hardness against her softness. He seemed determined to avoid that, however, as he kept tilting his hips back so to lessen the contact. She growled in frustration and glared at him.
"Since this is your first.I am told there could be pain." he said, sounding very much like he was making some sort of apology. He did not want to hurt her ever again, even in this small way, and so he wanted to be slow and gentle. It shocked him, therefore, when she uttered another growl and in one swift movement, buried him deep within her.
Both froze, she from the short flash of pain and he from surprise and the sudden ecstasy of the joining. Eventually, when there was no pain upon her face and only desire in her eyes, she reached for him. She tightened her inner muscles around him, making the passage even smaller and more pleasurable for him and moved her hips again, garnishing both the sensation within and without as his thumb once more rubbed her nub. Though he wanted to lie with her, hold her as he came, she had not had her pleasure yet, and he wanted, needed, to see her face in that moment. "Not yet. There will be time enough for that later." He did offer his hand once more, however, certain as she clung to it, that come morning there would be several bruises upon it.
He tried to match the thrust of his hips with the pulse of hers against his hand, but he was too close for that, and so he stopped moving long enough to tend to her pleasure center, while still remaining within her. Only when her body began to tighten and coil, and the low moans and gasps became whimpers and soft cries, did he again turn to his own needs as well, ever watching the enjoyment upon her face.
The crude stories she had heard from her the men she had tended through the years about the act of joining were nothing compared to the sheer pleasure building within her body. If anything, compared to this moment, they had been repulsive. She wondered if this delight she felt was, in any small way, what Gil-galad had been feeling when she had stroked his ears. She did know, however, from the intensity upon his face, from the sheen of sweat upon his brow as he moved within her channel, that whatever she was feeling was very close to what he was experiencing now. And that thought, the notion that she could share such joy with him, that she could make him happy at last, was enough to send her over the edge. The heat and pressure in her center gave way to a brilliant explosion of sensation that left her numb to nearly everything except the rapture of it. Only the increase of Gil-galad's tempo kept her grounded in the here and now, and when, with his own guttural growl, the movement of his body became centered into the throbbing of his member at her very core, she tugged on his hand, pulling his full weight down upon her.
He was gasping, trembling, and still thrusting minutely into her channel as she held him. He was also, she noted, weeping against the crook of her neck, his face buried where she could not see his tears. But she knew they were there and it puzzled her. Had she disappointed him somehow? Wrapping her legs about him, she pressed her mouth against his ear and ran her tongue along its point. He groaned and shuddered.
"Gil-galad," she murmured, more to speak his name for the first time than to get his attention. "A'maelamin." His grip around her tightened and a loud sob broke free. Not tears of sorrow, she knew that then. With a small sigh of contentment, she kissed his ear and smiled.
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