The Touch Of Galadriel Lotr Ch 02

Synopsis:

A Lord of the Rings erotica. Sequel to the Touch of Galadriel. Galadriel fulfills a young pirate's desires for one night. But he finds that his adventure is not yet over.

Author's Note:

I welcome any feedback you may have. Enjoy!

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THE TOUCH OF GALADRIEL: CHAPTER 2

Section I.

A temperate wind breezed by Ashenar's unshaven cheek as he awoke and found himself in bed alone. His bed sheets were so soft and silken against his rugged skin that he swore he had died and passed on. But when he sat up and glimpsed the rising sun to the east through an ivy lattice, and he caught a whiff of

lembas

and Elven grapes arranged on a night table to his immediate left, he entertained the possibility that he was not so dead as he thought.

The next thing he noticed was a palpable soreness in his muscles, from his neck to his ankles. His escape from his former pirate allies and the subsequent voyage to the Grey Havens had been taxing both physically and mentally, so an aching body did not surprise him. But when he realized that his loins were aching as well, all the memories of what had transpired the night before came rushing back in a torrent.

"Child of Men. Are you awakened?"

She timid voice came from across the room by a pair of marble statues wrapped with ivy. A woman clad entirely in white robes stepped forth, a hood obscuring her pale, pink-lipped face. Ribbons of jet-black hair tumbled down over her chest.

"Yes, I--" Ashenar started, his morning voice deep as a drum. "I am now. What happened?"

"You passed out during the ceremony. My Lady Galadriel, she--ah--" The young Elven woman blushed. "She mounted you during the final half of the ceremony. You climaxed your sixth, then you fainted soon after. Lady Galadriel bade us assist, and that is when we brought you back. You have been sleeping in this tower ever since."

"I-I see... thank you."

Ashenar scratched his head, compelled to determine whether all of his masculine bits were still intact. But with the "young" woman staring at him by the foot of his bed, he thought better of it. That is when he craned his head just so, and he glimpsed the Elf's familiar blue eyes among her curtain of black hair.

"Oh!" Ashenar's eyes widened in recognition. "You're Galadriel's handmaiden Olviel, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am..." She replied quietly.

"You... washed me yesterday. With Urthiel, I believe."

"Yes, I did."

"Well, thank you. I... admittedly misjudged my ability to keep up with Lady Galadriel."

She shook her head. "No, I am certain my Lady does not blame you. As a child of Men, you are as... virile as they come. But time moves differently for us. And many do not know it, but Lady Galadriel has powers that even those among Elvenkind have little knowledge."

"Powers?"

Olviel hesitated, as if uncertain whether she should speak of it.

"My-my Lady is the Keeper of

Nenya, the Ring of Water.

By its innate powers to slow time, both you and Lady Galadriel remained engaged in the chamber for over sixteen hours."

"What?!" Ashenar was flabbergasted.

"Olviel!"

The young woman jumped. A powerful voice bellowed in the hall behind her. Like lightning, Olviel the Handmaiden bolted swiftly back against the wall, becoming as a statue against the archway. From the entrance of the chamber stepped a tall man in a green-silver circlet. His cascading, blond hair tumbled down his robes, his locks combed back to expose pale roots on his wrinkled forehead. His shoulders were as broad as the horizon, from which his long robe and mantle flowed and dragged along the floor behind him. His face was stern and his lips pursed with concern, yet the number of wrinkles on his face was countable on both hands. Despite his obvious age (as far as Elves were concerned) he commanded an aura of eternal youthfulness, profound wisdom, and dignified maturity that Ashenar would never hope to see in himself. If a King of Men had stopped aging in his 50s and become immortal, this Elven Lord is what he might have become.

"Olviel," he bellowed, stepping down the stairwell. "You overstep. You were to break his fast and no more."

"My deepest apologies, my Lord Celeborn. I did not mean--"

"That is all. Leave us."

Olviel gulped, and with a brief curtsy she left the chamber the way Celeborn had come, her feet nary making a sound as she scurried away.

For a moment, the two men stared at each other from across the bed. This was Celeborn, the Lord of Lothlórien, Galadriel's husband, and the man who Ashenar had rescued from captivity along with his daughter Celebrian. For a man who had been chained and starved for ten days, Celeborn appeared remarkably healthy. But the gratitude that Ashenar expected did not seem to be there.

"Is something the matter? Are you not hungry?" He asked brusquely. "It is

lembas

. Elven bread. And grapes from our orchards. They will cleanse you and restore your vitality."

"Yes, I will have them," Ashenar replied. "You look much better, Lord Celeborn."

Having been raised in less noble circles, Ashenar wasn't quite certain whether he should address Celeborn as "Lord" or "My Lord". But it was better to be safe than sorry, Ashenar decided.

"Elven nourishment works quickly," Celeborn said. "But I assure you that, emotionally-speaking, I have some healing still to be done."

"I understand, milord."

"And so I must offer my gratitude, Child of Men, Ashenard--"

"That's Ashenar, milord."

Celeborn winced.

"--Ashenar," he corrected. "And I must thank you for rescuing our dearest daughter Celebrian from a fate worse than death. I freely admit that you are an example for all Men to follow."

"Thank you."

"But I am given to understand that my wife Galadriel--"

Ashenar's heart skipped a beat.

"--has already given you her 'gratitude'. I am aware that she and you, under the watch of her handmaidens, engaged in certain sacred ceremonies in the water chambers of the Havens. Ceremonies that are reserved solely for Elvenkind who are betrothed."

Ashenar broke out into a cold sweat. Had he done something illegal, he thought? Were Galadriel and Celeborn not of "one mind" as she had said? It was Galadriel who insisted on his "gift", not he. Was it such a crime to indulge in that gift? Was Ashenar to apologize?

"L-Lord Celeborn... I--"

"Elves are long-lived, child of Men. Among all races, we are the least sexually active. We do not birth new life indiscriminately as you do, so I do not expect you to understand. The last time Galadriel and I bedded one another was 85 years ago. And I am admittedly chagrinned that, after all this time, she has been satisfied by a mere

mortal

."

His eyes narrowed with what Ashenar could only describe as restrained contempt.

"I find myself--" Celeborn paced. "--in an awkward position in which I owe my life to a man I would rather see disappear from my sight. To a man my wife has apparently taken a liking to. But in my mind, you are nothing more than a trifle. A toy. A deplorable heap of man flesh who gives my wife a satisfaction that--I am ashamed to say--I alone have not been able to give."

With that, Celeborn took a deep breath. Ashenar felt compelled to offer apology, but perhaps no apology would ever suffice.

"This being said, I have a message for you from Galadriel. She has told me to inform you that she apologizes for--" He grimaced. "--for pushing you too

hard

last night. She regrets that she misjudged your 'ability' and that you passed out. She would like to fulfill her end of the bargain properly."

"I-I see..." Ashenar furrowed his brow in confusion even as his heart rejoiced at the prospect.

"Frankly," Celeborn continued. "To bed my wife for any length of time should have been enough for you. I suspect that she now desires you. Perhaps even more than you do her. In any case, the excitement of last night's ceremony rekindled a modicum of my wife's dormant desire. And as a result, she has asked me to bed tonight. I have accepted." His expression eased. "For this, I cannot bear hatred toward you. I will have you attend tonight's ceremony--"

"Oh!" Ashenar opened his mouth.

"--But lest you misunderstand, you will be of the audience only.

Not

a participant. Is that clear, child of Men?"

Ashenar gulped, feeling a strange mixture of uncertainty and disappointment in his heart. Despite the comfortable bedding, Ashenar once again felt like a demon in a holy land.

"Yes, Lord Celeborn. I will be there."

The grapes were sweet, and the

lembas

bread nourishing. When Celeborn finally left his bedchamber and Ashenar partook of the Elven breakfast, he felt his strength rapidly returning. And the excitement he felt one day before finally began to manifest again. Despite Celeborn's sentiments, the young man was elated that Galadriel actually desired him.

For Ashenar, the sun would set as quickly as it had risen.

Section II.

"Ashenar, don't dawdle! We'll be late!"

"My apologies!!"

The day had come and gone. The sky had turned from a cloudy blue to an inky black, and the great moon rose like a giant blue lamp among a sea of milky stars. The Elves of the Grey Havens were uncharacteristically moved to action, ever so much more than usual, as they lit every torch and every lamp in every road and bridge of the city. The misty fog had inexplicably dissolved on this night. And Ashenar was surprised to find that the "ceremony" between Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel was not nearly as private a rendezvous as he was first lead to believe. Nay, it was the opposite.

The red-haired Urthiel who bathed him the night before was assigned as his personal escort for the duration of his visit. Ashenar strolled beside her down the cobblestone path with a procession of other Elves. Instead of armor, Urthiel was dressed in green robes of woven gossamer, trimmed with red and silver lace. A circlet of gold rested upon her elven ears. She briskly walked along, carrying a flaming lantern before her, just as all the other Elves in the procession did. In the flickering light, Ashenar thought her remarkably beautiful.

"I don't understand," Ashenar spoke. "I thought the ceremony would be a private one. This looks like--"

"--a celebration, Ashenar," Urthiel replied. "For the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien to bed one another is a rare, momentous occasion. As Elves, we are compelled to watch as the love of our Lord and Lady manifests in this manner. They are not so insecure as to hide it. And we are not so insensitive as to look away."

"So it seems. Will the ceremony be like last night?"

"In some ways. The Waterfall Chamber is a place for recently wed couples of the Grey Havens to consummate their love for the first time, among other things. It is also simply a private place with few eyes."

"Why did Galadriel bring me there?"

"Tradition," she said simply, gazing straight ahead. "It is the way of the Elves. Though I surmise that she also wanted her union with you to remain out of the public eye."

"Hm..."

"It would be problematic, you understand."

The cobblestone road curved until it led to a marble arch at the base of a white tower. Elvish carvings were etched into every brick, forming a glimmering mural that could barely be discerned in the flickering light. Robed statues clutching blazing braziers stood at the entrance like silent sentinels. At the top of the monument was a roaring flame so bright that the structure could have been mistaken for a lighthouse. And for all Ashenar knew, that's exactly what it was.

Inside of the tower was a small amphitheater of sorts. Rings of circular steps surrounded an open dais, the center of which was a raised platform festively draped with all manner of colored silks, rugs and pillows. Large candles were placed in every corner.

The audience was far larger than expected. Scores of elves stood around, watching and waiting for this mysterious ceremony to begin. For once, Ashenar was happy to know that he would not be the one to strip down and fornicate in front of rows and rows of mumbling strangers.

Urthiel stood beside him in the fourth row, hanging her lamp on a nearby pillar.

"What will happen now?" Ashenar whispered while attempting to peer over the heads of the people in the next row.

"Now we will wait," Urthiel replied. "Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel are being prepared."

"Surely we won't be here for sixteen hours?"

"I very much doubt it."

"Why?"

"Shh! No more questions!"

All of a sudden, the crowd grew silent when a pair of bells rang out from beyond the audience. From one end of the stage the crowd parted like a sea of robes, and from it approached a tall man with a crown on his head--Lord Celeborn. His jaw was heavy and sharp, his glare stern, but he conducted himself with a poise matched only by his wife.

Galadriel, the Lady of Lothlórien, approached from the opposite end with her two handmaidens at her side, holding the hem of her flowing veil. She was just as beautiful as she was the last night, Ashenar thought, and for a moment a flash of jealousy lanced through his heart when he remembered that Celeborn, not himself, would be her partner on this night.

A moment later, an Elven man stepped into the circle and sang while strumming a golden harp. Ashenar could not understand his Elvish, but his voice was entrancing nonetheless.

"Let rúatan ar fíriel, our héru ar héri, tán- us i depth -o their mel. Tán- us i kal -o i atta trees. Let -yes bloom. Let -yes lóte,"

he sang.

"W-what did he say?" Ashenar whispered.

Urthiel did not answer. Ashenar could only assume it wasn't important.

The man with the harp strummed a few moments more before disappearing back into the audience. Galadriel and Celeborn stepped up to one another, gazing into each other's eyes as the braziers crackled around them. She met him with a smile before Celeborn brushed her tresses of wavy, golden hair behind her ear, then he held her smooth cheek and embraced it in his palms. His other hand reached around her torso and undid the laces of her white robe, one by one. The small of Galadriel's back revealed itself, inch by inch, as the garment unraveled. Even Ashenar--who had already lain with her--was mesmerized when the last of Galadriel's trappings tumbled to the floor in a heap, leaving her supple, naked figure for all to see, from her slender shoulders to her lissome bottom.

She too reached around and undressed Celeborn. The torches flickered as a chill wind blew through the tower, but Galadriel barely shivered as she undid his laces. And when his robes too dropped to the floor, revealing a lean, hairless frame of corded muscle and fair skin, they both gazed upon each other's nakedness as they hadn't done in decades.

Then, a handmaiden approached with a silver platter upon which was a familiar red fruit. With little fanfare, Galadriel picked up the fruit and plopped it in her mouth. Standing on the tips of her toes, she kissed him deeply, passing the fruit into his mouth with a dancing tongue.

Thus far, Ashenar observed that this ceremony was not so different from his own encounter with her.

"That looks like the fruit she gave me before," Ashenar whispered to Urthiel.

"It is, but there's more to it. This is a contest. Look--they're passing it between them. Whoever's mouth it should burst is the one who takes the submissive position. See--"

All of a sudden, among their frolicking, snaking tongues, the red fruit burst in the bite of Galadriel. Its voluminous, red juice dripped down her chin, staining her ample bosom. She licked her lips, blushing fiercely like a virgin doe, even as her handmaidens came to wipe her mouth.

"I daresay Lord Celeborn should be happy," Urthiel commented.

"Why?" Ashenar asked.

"Some circles say that Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel have a strained relationship. The Lady of Lothlórien's power, influence, and beauty are immense. She has no equal, including her husband. It is believed Lord Celeborn is frustrated that his name is never spoken in the same breath as Lady Galadriel's. He bears pride only as her husband, but not much else."

"But I thought they were of one mind? She said as much."

"Mm, while I'm sure the Lord and Lady love each other dearly, Lord Celeborn himself has relatively few opportunities to demonstrate his dominance. This ceremony is one of the few ways he can."

No sooner had Urthiel said so when a handmaiden approached Celeborn and presented to him a small, unassuming object. Ashenar stood on his toes, peering over myriad heads. Squinting, he glimpsed the object--a small, flowering branch of scarlet flowers. But on closer inspection, Ashenar was alarmed to find that the branch was also peppered with dozens of razor-sharp thorns.

Galadriel shut her eyes and awaited his treatment. Celeborn elegantly took the flowery branch and lay it upon his wife's forehead. With a gentle hand, he passed the branch of thorns over Galadriel's countenance, brushing the tip of her nose, skimming her quivering lips, and barely grazing her chin. Further and further down he brought it, brushing across her sharp clavicle, upon the stiff peaks of her breasts, and over her navel. Despite having done it so softly as to leave no mark on her immaculate skin, Galadriel was left breathless.

And when Celeborn finally passed the thorned branch over the tousled mound of her womanhood, Galadriel jumped. The dichotomy of the silky petals and the piercing thorns between her sensitive folds had apparently been enough, and Ashenar thought he saw a glimmer of her arousal coat the branch.

Ashenar stole a glance at Urthiel; she had gone silent as well, eyes transfixed

Not a minute later, the branch that was betwixt Galadriel's thighs was given to the audience and passed around to touch and admire. And Ashenar, although only mildly interested in the branch itself and how sharp its thorns were, could only assume that there was no end to the strange and exotic practices of these people.

At last, Celeborn bade Galadriel kneel before him. The Lady of Lothlórien knelt down to her knees and came to face to face with the manhood of her stolid husband. Without another word, she clasped his shaft between her thumb and forefinger, then proceeded to cup his tender sacks. Licking her lips, she suckled at his orbs lovingly, taking each one into her mouth. The sounds of her suckling echoed in the chamber as the audience watched on. But Celeborn seemed unperturbed even as his erection gradually began to throb and expand to a prodigious length.

Galadriel withdrew from his testes. Aligning his half-erect manhood with her open mouth, she lolled her tongue and repeatedly lapped his frenulum, as if knowing exactly what it was that would undo him. Her tongue writhed and snaked under and all around, digging deeply into his sensitive foreskin, then suckling, pulling, and stretching it, until Celeborn finally clenched his fists and grit his teeth as his glans finally engorged into a dark maroon shade. His erection pointed obscenely at the face his wife, a manifestation of pride and joy that she brought him this far.

Satisfied, she then smiled and took his entire length in her mouth. Every ridge and vein disappeared past her lips as she held his thighs and engulfed him whole into her throat. Celeborn began to sweat as she repeatedly bobbed her head up and down on his length. And before long, even he could not stifle his gasps.

Ashenar continued to watch despite feeling a measure of jealousy. The sensation of Galadriel's mouth on his manhood from last night still lingered on his mind, and even he could feel himself stiffening under his robes.

"It's not quite so straightforward as it seems." Urthiel leaned into his ear. "The Lady is preparing him, but she is also attempting to regain control. Should Lord Celeborn climax here, he will relinquish dominance and Galadriel will lead the ceremony."