He bent down smoothly, and then rose over her, his eyes fluttering, but the
light in them glowing and warm. He bit his lip, in ecstasy. A soft growling
sound came from his throat, a sign of pleasure, fierce pleasure. He moved
slowly, his body rocking in a soft rhythm, deep, deep inside her. Galadriel
could not speak. Her eyes were filled with tears, and pleasure mixed with
gentle pain. She held on to him tightly, not ever wanting to let him go.
He was beautiful in the midnight air, that hard beauty, his aquiline
features now more stern, as he moved with a purpose. He was like a large
cat. She pressed herself closer, and closed her eyes, and let his warmth
take her. She felt so safe with him.
Annatar sighted, and lay back on the pillows, pulling Galadriel with him gently, and covering them both in the woolen quilt. The window was opened, and he could feel the breath of night air pouring in, and see the blue stars sparkling in the sky above. He lay and watched them, the sweat on his brow turning cold. Galadriel slumbered on his shoulder, her long golden eyelashes, and her marvelous hair in disarray around him. He fingered it, satisfied.
****************
He had wanted her, genuinely, but the thought that had moved him to be so polite to her, so openly nice, so pleasing, to ask her to dance at all the dances, to sit next to her during the dinners, to speak to her in half-lit hallways and to leave roses on her doorstep every morning, the thought was one of treachery. And of malice. He, Sauron the Great, would have this Noldo queen, and make her his, and after he's had his way with her, he would reveal to her, and to all the others, who he was. And what was his for the taking. He knew that the revelation alone would break her heart. But to mock her and destroy her was his intent.
Was. It was what he began with. And he succeeded pretty well. Galadriel complied with the scheme, unaware of the malice in his moves. She was delighted by his gifts, by his attention, by his humor, by his charm. He took her for long walks, told her of lands far away, lied of the future he desired. She was fascinated.
It did not take long for them to come together. It was a rainy night, they were walking back from the study, where they had had some wine. He took her hand at the leaving, before her chambers, and kissed it, and pressed it to his heart. He said " I had another marvelous evening, my lady. I shall cherish the memory of you until breakfast tomorrow. 7:30? We can then go for a short stroll."
She laughed, and looked at him fondly, and then came a bit closer. " I cannot wait till the morning then" She said, smiling up at him, and he took her other hand, holding them both now, and pulling her near. He kissed them , gazing into her eyes all the time. There was mirth there, and such light. Her face was beautiful, the long golden hair framing it. She was small and fragile, a delicate flower, scented on peaches. He pulled her into an embrace.
They stood there for a while. The hall was dark, and the open terrace next to it made it chill and damp. Sauron listened to the fall of the rain, the lightning flaring above occasionally, and the howling of wolves on the hills far off. His wolves. He thought of them, for a moment, the wet animals in the dark, cold storm. He would be running with them now, a wolf himself, if he had no other plans, more malicious and cunning in design. His was a fierce disposition, and a drive to override all obstacles.
Galadriel embraced him, a warm, soft sensation. He looked down at her, and made for one of his most charming smiles, but than she said something he would remember in many years to come: "Do you hear the wolves?"
He nodded, surprised. She had a manner of saying things he could not expect anyone to. It had been so on their first meeting, and then ever since. And he could never really trace what she was thinking off, or how precisely she felt.
She went on " They howl so! But they seem content. Perhaps they like this storm, and the cold. I deem they do. Their fur is long, and they do not fear the wet or the chill. They are free, running wild in the night. Eyes ablaze. I know, Annatar, I shall dream tonight I am running with a pack, in the night."
He looked at her, thoroughly amazed. Her eyes were dim, as if she was recalling something. Fear overtook him suddenly. Fear of being found out, of her slipping from his grip, just now, now that he was so close, almost tasting the victory over her mind, and her heart. Fear of the other elves, of a sudden voice asking him to reveal himself, or a battle, and his leaving: too soon, much too soon before his plans had reached their maturity.
The rings had not yet been forged.
"Rubbish, my dear" He said, in a soothing manner, as he kissed the top of her head.
There were no sounds, and after a while he was convinced they were indeed alone in that corridor by the terrace, in the dark.
He brought her closer into an embrace. She had put her head onto his chest, and was now gazing into the falling rain beyond the terrace.
"There is nothing good of running with wolves" He said softly, thinking to himself.
" Nay. " She responded. "But the terrace is open. I suppose they would not dare come this close, or jump on it, but I always half expect a pack to come in the night, and burst my doors open. And the wind, and the rain and the pack of wolves will come flying into my rooms, and I shall sit up in my bed, and scream."
Her voice was distant, and afraid, and her eyes, as he looked down into them, frightened and opened wide. She bowed her head, and placed it on his chest again, closing her eyes now. She felt small in his arms.
He comforted her, using an even softer voice. " I shall hear, and come running. And shall slay them all, and close the doors. You need not even get up." It was his best attempt to sound carefree and sympathetic. He assumed this was something an elven Lord of good breeding would say to a frightened Lady, in the middle of the night. Galadriel winced.
He looked down at her, smiling, but she did not return it.
"The night is cold. You would not hear, I think. No, I do not look at you for rescue, Lord Annatar. If the pack comes, I shall have to face it alone. But I know, I know, I shall meet with these wolves ere my stay here is ended. And there will be rain. And blood in the darkness." Her voice was soft, but stern and powerful. She knew it was a prophecy, what she had just said. How odd it all seemed, for she had ever expected that the man she loved would be someone to walk her paths with her. Annatar was not it. He would not be there, in the chilling night, when she fought the pack.
She felt she could cry, then, for she saw it all full well. And the light in Annatar's eyes spoke to her, if his voice was ever soft. That light, the unquenching glow, was the same glow she had seen in the face of a wolf, many years ago. A glow she would never forget. And it stared down at her now, from the face of the most charming man.
How do you love something you fear?
Sauron did not know what to say. The eyes looking up at him were thoughtful, and Galadriel seemed to be remembering something. Attempting to impress her, the wise lady of the Noldo, with cheap jokes, and ready made romance was useless, he had found. She only smiled or laughed when he told her something genuine, a real story, or a real concern. He could be graceful, and sweet, and she responded to his shows of affection, seeming in fact starved for such things at times, but not to false words. He felt her shiver next to him, so he held her tightly, subconsciously not wanting her to be cold.
She felt so fragile in his arms.
He was pensive now. She was aware, he suddenly realized, that she could not trust him, or expect his aid. She was not giving herself to him, and this bothered him. It had been his plan to make her dependent, to take her completely, and then drop her, and mock her, and destroy her. But Galadriel had spoken: in the night, she would stand to his pack alone, knowing it beforehand.
He began to rock her softly, thinking of this. It took courage, he knew, to stand alone in the dark. He knew it all too well.
And he told her so. Then she looked up, and there was a light in her eyes. "Will you be alone tonight, Lord Annatar, in this rain and fog, and the dreary darkness?" She asked, her voice clear and piercing.
"I will" he responded softly, gazing into the light of her face.
" Do you want that? Or do you prefer company?" It was an odd question, and he did not answer immediately. She went on. "Let's not speak of the night and the wolves. Let's sleep, and have breakfast tomorrow together."
Her voice was now soft, and the glow around her warm. He pulled her close, feeling her body next to his. She was slender, her small waist easily fitting the grasp of his strong arm. He pulled her closer still, until he felt her whole against him. Suddenly, he ached to have her. His manhood began to stir painfully, and his eyes took a dark shade.
She gazed up, lost in his eyes. They became private storms, and she did not know what he was thinking. But the hand around her waist felt so strong, his chest heaving next to her comforting, and he was warm, warm as always, and she did not want to be by herself, in the huge cold room that was given to her.
Annatar was a storm, she knew. He had the eyes of the wolves she feared. And his manner was odd, and unbeknownst to him, dangerous. There were those, among the elves, that feared him. He would look, at times, as a dark wizard, his eyebrows meshing together, his eyes in that black blaze, his lips curled in mockery and treachery. And yet when he smiled, the world smiled, for its most beautiful son, and for the fire that was in him.
What would it be to have the storm for herself, if only for a while? He was so exquisite, as a dangerous ride, as a wild flame, as the feeling of bitter and sweet.
"Come with me." She said " I need someone who can light a good fire."
She had led him to her chambers, not without feeling odd. She had never done that before, had a Lord stay over. Always very private, she had maintained a distance from everyone. But Annatar was different, and although she did not feel safe with him, that night, for some reason, she yearned to feel him next to her, and to have that blazing fire consume her. He suited her, tall and dark and moody. And yet as they walked into her rooms, it was odd. She suddenly felt frightened of what he could do. Annatars eyes sparkled, and a smile played on his lips.
Mine for the taking, he thought, the feeling of the wolf pack around him.
He went to the fireplace, and surely, soon enough, a merry flame lit, and the room grew aglow. The light of the candles mixed with the fire's flames, and there was a woody scent stemming from the fireplace. Galadriel went to the room next to that one, while he took a seat before the fire, opening a bottle she had pointed to previously. The wine was good, rich, red and delightful. He took a glass, and drank it all almost in a gulp. Saying one was going to charm a woman into compliance was one thing, doing so another. He did not want to admit this to himself, but he was frightened. Frightened of his ownmanner. He should not be too hasty. Or too uncaring. Or overtly sensitive. He should sway her into wanting more and yet use her enough to make it hurt later, and to make her forever ashamed.
These thoughts and plans slowly dissipated as she emerged from the room, dressed in a flowing satin gown. Her hair was down, rich and beautiful, as a golden cloak, and a soft smile floated on her lips. They were wet and glistening, rosy and inviting, and she sat next to him, in the armchair, and smiled. He handed her a cup, without a word, and felt foolish, and insecure. What was he doing? Tricking elven lords into believing he was one of them was one thing. Convincing a woman to love him was another.
Yet she needed no conviction. She slid over to him herself, after drinking the wine, and kissed him softly on the lips. This was enough for Sauron, since the nervousness had made him upset and eager. She was tender and warm next to him, and as he placed his arms around her again, she sank into the kiss. It was softer than any before, and he opened his mouth, letting their tongues caress, something he hadn't done before.
Days later, Sauron could not explain that night to himself. They had certainly not reached such a level of intimacy before that, that she would simply invite him to her room, and then proceed to wildly love him. He had thought that it would take a long time, many, many months, perhaps years of courting, before such a thing might happen. And yet he had to admit to himself. Galadriel was no elven princess. She was a queen, and of a mighty will.
It had happened so suddenly.. And then his own feelings and actions. He had let it all take him, and he did not really know what he was doing. But once they lay in her bed, warm beneath the sheets, all he remembered were her eyes, the merry fire blazing next to them, her body next to his, so close, so inviting, so pleasant. It was all too natural, they seemed to know what the other wanted. He had taken her then, over and over. He could not stop himself, and all he wished for was for time to stand still, for them to remain like that, alone, in the warm room, in the glow of the fire, forever. For all past to be erased, and for him to be just hers. He was grateful, in a way.
Galadriel had not sleep that night, but lay next to him, exhausted, and sleepy, and happy. She caressed him softly, and talked gently to him, and they drank the rest of the wine, and kissed. They went for breakfast together, and he could not take his eyes of her. And then for the stroll, and he found himself holding her to him, as they went into parts of the gardens where there were no others.
Later that day, in the mines, he though of it with a sensation of victory: she had been his. Not as he thought, but perhaps even more so. All night he spent in her, with her, and he remembered her moans with triumph as he worked on the steaming iron. He smiled in mockery, and it was cruel. Yet that night, after the work was done, he came to her again, and he was pulled into her warmth.
It had been perhaps better then the first night: they laid in bed, he smoking a pipe, and she stroking him, pampering him, and they talked for long, in soft voices. He felt he could just relax, and let go, for her voice was soothing, and the nights they spet together conformable.
Annatar sighted, and lay back on the pillows, pulling Galadriel with him gently, and covering them both in the woolen quilt. The window was opened, and he could feel the breath of night air pouring in, and see the blue stars sparkling in the sky above. He lay and watched them, the sweat on his brow turning cold. Galadriel slumbered on his shoulder, her long golden eyelashes, and her marvelous hair in disarray around him. He fingered it, satisfied.
****************
He had wanted her, genuinely, but the thought that had moved him to be so polite to her, so openly nice, so pleasing, to ask her to dance at all the dances, to sit next to her during the dinners, to speak to her in half-lit hallways and to leave roses on her doorstep every morning, the thought was one of treachery. And of malice. He, Sauron the Great, would have this Noldo queen, and make her his, and after he's had his way with her, he would reveal to her, and to all the others, who he was. And what was his for the taking. He knew that the revelation alone would break her heart. But to mock her and destroy her was his intent.
Was. It was what he began with. And he succeeded pretty well. Galadriel complied with the scheme, unaware of the malice in his moves. She was delighted by his gifts, by his attention, by his humor, by his charm. He took her for long walks, told her of lands far away, lied of the future he desired. She was fascinated.
It did not take long for them to come together. It was a rainy night, they were walking back from the study, where they had had some wine. He took her hand at the leaving, before her chambers, and kissed it, and pressed it to his heart. He said " I had another marvelous evening, my lady. I shall cherish the memory of you until breakfast tomorrow. 7:30? We can then go for a short stroll."
She laughed, and looked at him fondly, and then came a bit closer. " I cannot wait till the morning then" She said, smiling up at him, and he took her other hand, holding them both now, and pulling her near. He kissed them , gazing into her eyes all the time. There was mirth there, and such light. Her face was beautiful, the long golden hair framing it. She was small and fragile, a delicate flower, scented on peaches. He pulled her into an embrace.
They stood there for a while. The hall was dark, and the open terrace next to it made it chill and damp. Sauron listened to the fall of the rain, the lightning flaring above occasionally, and the howling of wolves on the hills far off. His wolves. He thought of them, for a moment, the wet animals in the dark, cold storm. He would be running with them now, a wolf himself, if he had no other plans, more malicious and cunning in design. His was a fierce disposition, and a drive to override all obstacles.
Galadriel embraced him, a warm, soft sensation. He looked down at her, and made for one of his most charming smiles, but than she said something he would remember in many years to come: "Do you hear the wolves?"
He nodded, surprised. She had a manner of saying things he could not expect anyone to. It had been so on their first meeting, and then ever since. And he could never really trace what she was thinking off, or how precisely she felt.
She went on " They howl so! But they seem content. Perhaps they like this storm, and the cold. I deem they do. Their fur is long, and they do not fear the wet or the chill. They are free, running wild in the night. Eyes ablaze. I know, Annatar, I shall dream tonight I am running with a pack, in the night."
He looked at her, thoroughly amazed. Her eyes were dim, as if she was recalling something. Fear overtook him suddenly. Fear of being found out, of her slipping from his grip, just now, now that he was so close, almost tasting the victory over her mind, and her heart. Fear of the other elves, of a sudden voice asking him to reveal himself, or a battle, and his leaving: too soon, much too soon before his plans had reached their maturity.
The rings had not yet been forged.
"Rubbish, my dear" He said, in a soothing manner, as he kissed the top of her head.
There were no sounds, and after a while he was convinced they were indeed alone in that corridor by the terrace, in the dark.
He brought her closer into an embrace. She had put her head onto his chest, and was now gazing into the falling rain beyond the terrace.
"There is nothing good of running with wolves" He said softly, thinking to himself.
" Nay. " She responded. "But the terrace is open. I suppose they would not dare come this close, or jump on it, but I always half expect a pack to come in the night, and burst my doors open. And the wind, and the rain and the pack of wolves will come flying into my rooms, and I shall sit up in my bed, and scream."
Her voice was distant, and afraid, and her eyes, as he looked down into them, frightened and opened wide. She bowed her head, and placed it on his chest again, closing her eyes now. She felt small in his arms.
He comforted her, using an even softer voice. " I shall hear, and come running. And shall slay them all, and close the doors. You need not even get up." It was his best attempt to sound carefree and sympathetic. He assumed this was something an elven Lord of good breeding would say to a frightened Lady, in the middle of the night. Galadriel winced.
He looked down at her, smiling, but she did not return it.
"The night is cold. You would not hear, I think. No, I do not look at you for rescue, Lord Annatar. If the pack comes, I shall have to face it alone. But I know, I know, I shall meet with these wolves ere my stay here is ended. And there will be rain. And blood in the darkness." Her voice was soft, but stern and powerful. She knew it was a prophecy, what she had just said. How odd it all seemed, for she had ever expected that the man she loved would be someone to walk her paths with her. Annatar was not it. He would not be there, in the chilling night, when she fought the pack.
She felt she could cry, then, for she saw it all full well. And the light in Annatar's eyes spoke to her, if his voice was ever soft. That light, the unquenching glow, was the same glow she had seen in the face of a wolf, many years ago. A glow she would never forget. And it stared down at her now, from the face of the most charming man.
How do you love something you fear?
Sauron did not know what to say. The eyes looking up at him were thoughtful, and Galadriel seemed to be remembering something. Attempting to impress her, the wise lady of the Noldo, with cheap jokes, and ready made romance was useless, he had found. She only smiled or laughed when he told her something genuine, a real story, or a real concern. He could be graceful, and sweet, and she responded to his shows of affection, seeming in fact starved for such things at times, but not to false words. He felt her shiver next to him, so he held her tightly, subconsciously not wanting her to be cold.
She felt so fragile in his arms.
He was pensive now. She was aware, he suddenly realized, that she could not trust him, or expect his aid. She was not giving herself to him, and this bothered him. It had been his plan to make her dependent, to take her completely, and then drop her, and mock her, and destroy her. But Galadriel had spoken: in the night, she would stand to his pack alone, knowing it beforehand.
He began to rock her softly, thinking of this. It took courage, he knew, to stand alone in the dark. He knew it all too well.
And he told her so. Then she looked up, and there was a light in her eyes. "Will you be alone tonight, Lord Annatar, in this rain and fog, and the dreary darkness?" She asked, her voice clear and piercing.
"I will" he responded softly, gazing into the light of her face.
" Do you want that? Or do you prefer company?" It was an odd question, and he did not answer immediately. She went on. "Let's not speak of the night and the wolves. Let's sleep, and have breakfast tomorrow together."
Her voice was now soft, and the glow around her warm. He pulled her close, feeling her body next to his. She was slender, her small waist easily fitting the grasp of his strong arm. He pulled her closer still, until he felt her whole against him. Suddenly, he ached to have her. His manhood began to stir painfully, and his eyes took a dark shade.
She gazed up, lost in his eyes. They became private storms, and she did not know what he was thinking. But the hand around her waist felt so strong, his chest heaving next to her comforting, and he was warm, warm as always, and she did not want to be by herself, in the huge cold room that was given to her.
Annatar was a storm, she knew. He had the eyes of the wolves she feared. And his manner was odd, and unbeknownst to him, dangerous. There were those, among the elves, that feared him. He would look, at times, as a dark wizard, his eyebrows meshing together, his eyes in that black blaze, his lips curled in mockery and treachery. And yet when he smiled, the world smiled, for its most beautiful son, and for the fire that was in him.
What would it be to have the storm for herself, if only for a while? He was so exquisite, as a dangerous ride, as a wild flame, as the feeling of bitter and sweet.
"Come with me." She said " I need someone who can light a good fire."
She had led him to her chambers, not without feeling odd. She had never done that before, had a Lord stay over. Always very private, she had maintained a distance from everyone. But Annatar was different, and although she did not feel safe with him, that night, for some reason, she yearned to feel him next to her, and to have that blazing fire consume her. He suited her, tall and dark and moody. And yet as they walked into her rooms, it was odd. She suddenly felt frightened of what he could do. Annatars eyes sparkled, and a smile played on his lips.
Mine for the taking, he thought, the feeling of the wolf pack around him.
He went to the fireplace, and surely, soon enough, a merry flame lit, and the room grew aglow. The light of the candles mixed with the fire's flames, and there was a woody scent stemming from the fireplace. Galadriel went to the room next to that one, while he took a seat before the fire, opening a bottle she had pointed to previously. The wine was good, rich, red and delightful. He took a glass, and drank it all almost in a gulp. Saying one was going to charm a woman into compliance was one thing, doing so another. He did not want to admit this to himself, but he was frightened. Frightened of his ownmanner. He should not be too hasty. Or too uncaring. Or overtly sensitive. He should sway her into wanting more and yet use her enough to make it hurt later, and to make her forever ashamed.
These thoughts and plans slowly dissipated as she emerged from the room, dressed in a flowing satin gown. Her hair was down, rich and beautiful, as a golden cloak, and a soft smile floated on her lips. They were wet and glistening, rosy and inviting, and she sat next to him, in the armchair, and smiled. He handed her a cup, without a word, and felt foolish, and insecure. What was he doing? Tricking elven lords into believing he was one of them was one thing. Convincing a woman to love him was another.
Yet she needed no conviction. She slid over to him herself, after drinking the wine, and kissed him softly on the lips. This was enough for Sauron, since the nervousness had made him upset and eager. She was tender and warm next to him, and as he placed his arms around her again, she sank into the kiss. It was softer than any before, and he opened his mouth, letting their tongues caress, something he hadn't done before.
Days later, Sauron could not explain that night to himself. They had certainly not reached such a level of intimacy before that, that she would simply invite him to her room, and then proceed to wildly love him. He had thought that it would take a long time, many, many months, perhaps years of courting, before such a thing might happen. And yet he had to admit to himself. Galadriel was no elven princess. She was a queen, and of a mighty will.
It had happened so suddenly.. And then his own feelings and actions. He had let it all take him, and he did not really know what he was doing. But once they lay in her bed, warm beneath the sheets, all he remembered were her eyes, the merry fire blazing next to them, her body next to his, so close, so inviting, so pleasant. It was all too natural, they seemed to know what the other wanted. He had taken her then, over and over. He could not stop himself, and all he wished for was for time to stand still, for them to remain like that, alone, in the warm room, in the glow of the fire, forever. For all past to be erased, and for him to be just hers. He was grateful, in a way.
Galadriel had not sleep that night, but lay next to him, exhausted, and sleepy, and happy. She caressed him softly, and talked gently to him, and they drank the rest of the wine, and kissed. They went for breakfast together, and he could not take his eyes of her. And then for the stroll, and he found himself holding her to him, as they went into parts of the gardens where there were no others.
Later that day, in the mines, he though of it with a sensation of victory: she had been his. Not as he thought, but perhaps even more so. All night he spent in her, with her, and he remembered her moans with triumph as he worked on the steaming iron. He smiled in mockery, and it was cruel. Yet that night, after the work was done, he came to her again, and he was pulled into her warmth.
It had been perhaps better then the first night: they laid in bed, he smoking a pipe, and she stroking him, pampering him, and they talked for long, in soft voices. He felt he could just relax, and let go, for her voice was soothing, and the nights they spet together conformable.