Practice Makes Perfect

(Part II)

Opening the door raised an impressive cloud of dust. Haldir's face contorted with the hot, dry sting of an impending sneeze. When the cloud settled and he could see in properly, he was appalled at the state of his apartment in Caras Galadhon. Cobwebs abounded. There was a thick, furry coat of dust on all his possessions. He sighed. It had been a long time.

His bow and quiver he leaned by the door, shutting it behind him. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light inside. If this night is to be a glorious one, he thought, then a bath is the first thing. He removed his tunic and hung it on a peg by the door. As he crossed the main room to the bathroom, he shed his clothing. By the time he reached the chest by the bathroom door, he was utterly naked. He opened the large trunk which, though grubby on the outside, contained clean towels and robes. He chose his favorite long, grey, silk robe—a far cry from his usual coarse working clothes. That and a large towel, he draped over his arm and entered the bathroom.

Barrels in the canopy caught rainwater. The sun heated it in the day. And with the pull of a lever, Haldir brought it sluicing down into his bathing tub. The water was not exquisitely hot, but warm enough to steam. It had been so long since Haldir had bathed anywhere other than the icy Celebrant. Hot water seemed to him delightfully frivolous. As the water ran, Haldir trudged from the bathroom to the kitchen.

He took a bottle from the wine rack and opened it skillfully. From a cupboard above the washbasin, he removed a crystal wineglass, much more delicate than his usual ceramic mug, and filled it almost right up to the brim, creating from the light that flickered behind it, a jewel of deepest crimson. He inhaled its bouquet with relish. He took a sip. The saure libation piqued his taste buds. Though it was a sweet drink, it burned pleasantly down his throat eliciting a guttural groan of enjoyment. In one hand, he carried his glass by the rim and in the other he carried the bottle by the neck as he sauntered back to his bath, altogether more contented that when he had left.

Once the tub was full, he stepped in. He sat and leaned back, resting his broad, sinewy shoulders and back against the inclined rear wall of the tub. For a while, he simply relaxed, sipping wine. His skin began to tingle pleasantly as the alcohol took effect. He rested his glass by the bottle on the stand beside him and submerged. When he resurfaced, he procured a lump of soap from the toiletry cabinet by the tub and proceeded to scrub himself briskly. The water turned milky quickly, obscuring his body beneath it.

Clean at last, the elf reclined once more, taking up his glass again. He quickly drained it. Then, he took up the bottle…

Feeling thoroughly more presentable after his soak and more well prepared after his drink, clad all in grey silk, the marchwarden made his way toward his destination. His feet carried him toward the heart of the treetop city with little guidance from his wandering mind. His feet knew the way. Haldir had dined here with his Lord and Lady sometimes, when his duties permitted.

His mind was elsewhere. Since his encounter with Galadriel, he had been unable to reconcile his two opposing feelings on the subject. A part of him was exalted. It was true that he had not lain with a woman in at least two centuries, if his final reckoning was, indeed, correct. He was delighted that she had chosen him. That part, which was a bit more primal than he generally cared to acknowledge, was nearly frenzied with unbridled, animal lust. In fact, his lust was a fierce animal. Her first touch had awakened it. And now, it clawed and gnawed at him from within. That part was the one that seemed to be in control of his feet.

The other part of him was horrified. Her willingness to take him into her marriage bed dismayed him. As did his own complicity. This other part, which was a bit more sanctimonious than he generally cared to acknowledge, berated him for his lack of self-restraint. A lack he was now quite confident would eventually get him into trouble. The idea that this might be a trap, a test of his loyalty rather than of hers had certainly occurred to him. This part, he had almost completely managed to drink into submission.

And then he was at her door. The moment of decision seemed to stretch out before him. If he meant to decline her generous offer and return to his post, this was his last opportunity. But what a generous offer it was. He stood there, mulling. Then he had knocked, and it was too late.

"Come in," he heard. With his ears or his mind, he wasn't sure. Either way, he obeyed. He opened the door only enough to admit his lithe form and shut it soundlessly behind him. The sight that greeted him was nothing he would have imagined in even his most creative fantasies. The Lady of the Golden Wood stood before him. Her long, palest gold hair cascaded down over her shoulders, covering her breasts. Her skin, which previously had seemed to glow from within, now also twinkled like the face of the night sky in the bluish faerielights.

Sliver and gold were the dwarves' weaknesses. The elves, though, found endless fascination in the shining depths of jewels. As he drew nearer, Haldir realized that it was not her skin that sparkled, but the intricate web of mithril and diamonds she wore. The garment, if it could be called such, was masterfully crafted. Each diamond was uniquely cut to best show its fire. It could only have been a product of Durin's folk, he was sure.

The marchwarden speechlessly admired his queen. Her every minute movement, even that of her breathing, caused the stones to flash brilliantly. Haldir was so mesmerized by their beauty that he barely noticed her otherwise absolute nudity. She was unsurprised. Celeborn had had a similar response when she'd first donned it for him after he'd commissioned it from Moria.

Gradually, though, Haldir did become aware of her body beneath. If all women, the thought, were as beautiful as she, he could not have foregone them so long.

"Wine?" she asked cordially, making her graceful way to the table. Soft light danced over her alluring form. He could only stare, transfixed. She took his silence in the affirmative and poured two glasses of claret so rich that he needed only to smell it to taste it and only to taste it to know it was the finest wine he would ever encounter. She smiled warmly, indulgently as she padded across the room, holding the glass out to him. He took it. The wine was, indeed, the finest he had ever tasted.

Now that she was so close, he suddenly felt a bit overdressed. Drink had also warmed him past the point of comfort. He undid the toggle highest at his throat.

"Please. Make yourself comfortable," she smiled radiantly. He returned it, a little nervously, and took another large sip before he began to unfasten his robe.

"I am at your service," he said, mantle open from neck to hem. Galadriel surveyed him appraisingly. Her eyes moved over his broad, strong chest, down his taught belly, over his jutting hips, and down his well-muscled legs. She was pleased with her choice.

Gently, she set her glass and his on a nearby table. Then, she took a step toward him. She was so close. He could feel the heat of her body, feel her energy connecting with his own, encompassing them both. Long fingers stroked his chest. Silk caressed his golden skin as she pushed the robe from his shoulders. It fell like a shadow from him. He stood tall and proud before her, an Adonis, presenting himself for her inspection. She drew nearer still.

"My service? No," she whispered, her voice sultry in his ear. "This night is for you, Haldir. You must tell me what you desire." He was, again, rendered speechless.

"Galadriel, I…I cannot. Already, I owe you too much," he said.

"You owe me nothing," she said with a hint of annoyance

"Please, my lady I desire nothing more than to serve you."

"No," she said simply. Contempt was etched on her face. A lesser elf would have quailed under such a look. It awakened in him something akin to defiance. But her silver-blue eyes told a different tale. There, for a moment, Haldir thought he saw a flicker of pleading. Yes, that was it. Her eyes implored him. At last, he understood. The marchwarden drew himself up importantly. His eyes and voice, among other things, hardened. When he spoke, it was with an authoritative, even menacing growl.

"I will not tolerate insubordination, woman."

She was pleased…very pleased. Her eyes sparkled more brilliantly than did any of the magnificent jewels she wore. He was relieved when she smiled. That answer had been the right one.

"I will have you," he rumbled fiercely, stepping toe to toe with her. Tall as she was, he towered over her. Galadriel had long since wiped the gleeful smile from her face and replaced it with an insolent smirk.

"Will you?" Her haughty disdain was convincing. "And if I refuse?"

"I will take you."

"Then take me. If you can," she purred. She turned from him, leaving him intrigued, momentarily perplexed, and quite naked. He watched her gloriously bejeweled haunches sway as she walked away. The sight of her lovely back sent a curious thrill through him. Hot, predatory lust coursed through him. It ached within him, slavering to be released. He longed to rush her back, bear her to the ground, and possess her. Instead, he appreciated the view for a moment longer as he gulped the remainder of his excellent glass of wine, then strode after his quarry.

A/N: Here's Part II…to be presented in its entirety at and in my livejournal