Hope Enduring

Hope Enduring

Disclaimers: Tolkien and his estate own Middle-earth and all its inhabitants. Only Angelleth is mine.

Rating: NC-17.

Summary: Decisions to be made; chances to be taken; futures to be decided. Gil-galad/OFC.

Thato Rto Rose Red for betaing this.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY NEMIS!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Gil-galad cast a covert glance at the lady sitting across the table from him and smiled. Angelleth was laughing at some tale Elrond had told her, probably of one of his attempts to woo the Lady Celebrían. Her thick dark hair was tumbling round her shoulders in untamable waves. The High King admired her hearty laugh, but did not allow his gaze to linger for too long.

"What does Elrond speak of, my lady?" he inquired in a voice which was perhaps a touch too jovial for the solemn occasion, determined as he was to play the part which fate had allotted him to the full. "What new folly has the pup committed in his quest for the hand of the fair daughter of a fair mother?"

The Peredhil pretended to be affronted, but even his grave eyes danced with amusement.

"He sent her a letter which Celeborn intercepted. He has been telling me of the rather … interesting missive which he received from that lord." Angelleth laid one hand on his velvet-clad arm and Gil-galad felt a faint shiver run though him.

"And what has the Lady Celebrían to say to this?"

"She merely laughs at me, nothing more." Elrond blushed deeply and Angelleth pinched the king’s arm through the heavy drapery.

"My liege, should you not be discussing tactics?"

"Over the finest fruits of Imladris’ harvest?" Gil-galad gestured to the contents of the table. "I would not dare to insult Elrond so."

"Yet you are content to insult him by ruminating on his ability to court a certain maiden?" Angelleth’s tone was light and teasing.

"But of course, my lady." Deciding that this was not the night to hide behind cautious propriety, Gil-galad lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed it. Despite a distinct flush tingeing her cheeks, Angelleth appeared unfazed as her fingertips lightly brushed his lower lip, drawing an answering blush from him. "Is he not my vice-regent?"

"And do you see this as the prerogative of a king?"

"Nay." Gil-galad glanced across at the peredhel who was currently being relentlessly cross-questioned by Glorfindel. "’Tis the prerogative of old and close friends."

Angelleth noticed rather belatedly that he had not withdrawn his hand, but rather moved it to cradle her cheek.

"Ereinion-nîn." She turned her face into his grasp, shivering ever so slightly as the callused ball of his thumb caressed her cheek. "Not here; not now: your poor beleaguered kinsman will notice any moment."

"Let him notice, it is not as if he does not already know of the attachment we have already formed," Gil-galad muttered, carelessly brushing her plate out of the way so he could lean closer. "Let the world say what it will, for it matters not to me. "

"You are a fool." Angelleth smirked at the surprised look on Gil-galad’s face. "But it is your foolishness which makes you so endearing."

‘If you change your mind, there is a less foolish alternative over there," he teased.

"Hmmm," she pretended to consider. "’Tis tempting, but I think that the vice-regent is already spoken for."

Gil-galad tightened his grip on her hand.

"Then I suppose that you will have to tolerate my foibles, as you have for so long."

‘As I have," she echoed. "And as I shall."

For the rest of the evening, that exchange, short though it was, resonated in Gil-galad’s mind. The love between them had long endured, but, sensing some terrible darkness in his future, he had rebuffed her offers to bind herself to him, in body and spirit. But now, as the shadows drew in and he faced battle on the morrow, even the slightest token of love seemed to call out to him to forsake all other considerations and slake his thirst with her…

And so with a grim face he mingled among the nervous crowds thronging Imladris.

~*~

With a final sympathetic smile, Elrond bowed and left his foster-father in the hallway. Gil-galad slipped though the door and was arrested by the sight of his armour shimmering in the soft light of the room. The burnished glare of the metal under the candles, the heavy folds of blue cloth, all made the situation so very real. He would march out to war as his forefathers had before him, as Fingon had to the Nirnaeth Arnoeliad, the banner of his house proud above his head and legions behind him. The question which haunted him was whether he, like they, would perish. The odds, he thought with a grimace, where definitely against him.

Striding over to the suit of armour, he stood regarding it for many long minutes, unconsciouputtputting one hand to his neck, where Vilya had once hung on a sturdy chain. Normally he did not miss it, feeling as he did that the Ring of Air must pass to Elrond, but today he yearned for the solid thrum of power.

Gazing almost unseeing at the mail shirt spread across the chair, Gil-galad let his thoughts wander back across the years to the many defeats he had endured and the many fruitless victories, which had only seemed to bring grief after a fleeting moment of elation. He remembered the fall of kingdoms, and the fires of Sirion burning blood red in the night sky; the War of Wrath and the rejoicing which followed it; and then the slow stubborn resurgence of the darkness.

Thus it was, caught up in melancholy reflections, that he did not hear the footsteps approach down the corridor, pause on the threshold and pad across the smooth wood of the floor. The first sign he had was when a pair of small hands began to knead his stiff shoulders, working at the knots of tension. Turning his head slightly, Gil-galad leaned into Angelleth’s touch.

As he relaxed under her ministrations, Angelleth took the opportunity to divest him of the trappings of his office. Lifting the crown from his brow, her fingers smoothed the furrows that had formed on his forehead. Without taking her eyes from him, she reached out and placed the mithril circlet on a low table. Only then as she began to slip the heavy velvet robes from his shoulders did he turn fully into her embrace, bringing one hand up to rest in the middle of her back.

"Angelleth," he breathed before he bent his head and kissed her chastely on her brow. "I assure you that I am capable of undressing myself."

"Indeed?" she said tartly. "I had thought that you were going to stand there all night, transfixed by your own gloomy thoughts. Now, stop getting in my way, Ereinion. These robes cannot be at all comfortable."

Hearing the rippling undercurrent of tenderness, Ereinion submitted to her. In truth, he felt the heavy folds of cloth weighing him down with all the burdens set upon him, almost as if he could not remove them himself. As the sombre blue velvet fell to the floor, leaving him clad only in simple trousers and tunic in muted colours, he felt relieved, as if for a few short hours he might escape all that they signified, and simply be.

"There. Is that not better?" Angelleth surveyed him with satisfaction.

"Indeed." He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, stretching his arms above his head. "I must offer you my thanks, my lady."

"No thanks are needed. I merely do not wish to wake on the morrow to find you bellowing at Elrond because you have mislaid Aeglos because you were unable to sleep. This seemed to be the best way to save myself."

Perhaps it was fear – perhaps it was the crackling tension that hung between them in the room – but Ereinion found her remarks extraordinarily amusing. He began to chuckle, at first softly then harder and harder until his vision was blurred and his head ached with laughter. Amidst her own relieved giggles, Angelleth came to sit beside him, and began to unravel the braids which framed his fair face.

Ereinion lolled his head back into her hands, and did not notice the slight tremor of nerves that passed through them. He was soothed, contentment flooding through him … until she closed the gap between their bodies and, her dark hair veiling his face, bent her head to kiss the tip of his ear.

Still shuddering from the first coruscating shock that had sped through him, he fumbled blindly for the nape of her neck, drawing her round so that he might embrace her as he had done so many times before. There was something indefinably different this time as his tongue slipped into her mouth, something livid and wild, free and untrammeled. This went beyond all the borders of propriety into a realm the High King had not dared even to think of.

Fighting the urge to subsume his entire being in this act, to sink into her welcoming arms and be lost entirely, he pulled back, shaking his head.

"Nay, my lady, we cannot do this."

"Why not?"

"Because, my lady, it is not done."

"Has it ever occurred to you that I do not give a fig what is done or not. And why will you not call me by my name as you usually do?" Angelleth leaned forward and fiddled with one of the buttons of his tunic, trailing her fingers across the material.

"If I call you by your name, I may forget myself," he admitted.

"Then forget yourself, dear Ereinion, star-lover," she breathed.

‘I cannot. This is not the time. A great shadow passes across the land, and who knows what may come of us who ride into the darkness. I would not be so selfish as to bind any to me when I do not know what the future may bring. Thus, we cannot do this; you cannot be mine."

"But I can and I will. I would bind myself to you … now."

"This is not possible. It would be unforgivable of me to do this. I would not place this burden upon you. If anything were to happen to me…"

Angelleth quieted him with a finger pressed to his lips. Ereinion could barely suppress the urge to nibble at the smooth skin of that digit as he stared up at her with grim eyes.

"Nothing will happen to you," she whispered fiercely, her eyes flashing.

He made an incoherent sound of protest at her stubborn words.

"What?"

He gently moved her hand aside, keeping it clasped in his own and fiddling tenderly with her long fingers.

"We cannot know that. Dark is the path we tread and dark the doom that awaits us. To what fate I march none among us knows. Can you not see that it is because of this, and for the love I bear you, that I say you nay?" Despite his rigid control, his voice broke.

"Nevertheless." Angelleth leaned in, deliberately brushing her breasts against his thinly clad chest. "This does not sway my choice, for I am resolute. I would be yours and have you be mine, Ereinion Gil-galad."

"Now?" The last tendrils of judgement sed aed around Ereinion, but he found that he could not grasp them, allured as he was by the subtle scent drifting from her hair.

"Now … without rings or witnesses, without ceremony or titles … just you and I, as if there were no crown and no dark lord."

Ereinion swallowed in a futile attempt to alleviate the lump in his throat. Images flashed before his eyes … an elf-maiden laughing in the midst of a feast at Lindon, her dark hair flowing unbraided over her shoulders, her head cast back … nearly concussing her a score of weeks later when he had thrown a tome across the library in frustration, not realising that there was anyone else there … myriad triumphs and disasters … petty fears and the inexorable approach of war … the first time he had kissed her. He had arrived back three days late from a patrol, sweaty and muddied, his arm in a sling. Angelleth had thrown herself at his bruised form, not mindful of his dented armour, and kissed him soundly, scolding him all the time for his foolishness.

Smiling slightly at the memory, he looped one strand of her hair around his finger, and drew her close, one broad hand cupping her face.

"Then I would wed you, Angelleth, if you are certain that you want me…"

She kissed him. ‘Yes."

Rising slowly, he drew her to her feet beside him.

"Let the Valar bear witness that we are now bound together, come what may."

"And I pray for Elbereth’s blessing upon our union," she responded.

Still holding her hands lightly, Ereinion pressed an almost sacramental kiss to her lips, savouring this fleeting moment when the world seemed to narrow down to the two of them, standing in a pool of candlelight, locked together.

Withdrawing slightly, he released his grip on her and slid his hands down her body to encircle her slim waist awkwardly. He toyed with the stays on the back of her dress, finding that his long fingers were trembling uncontrollably, and that he could no more undress her than he could leave. Tracing one of the swirls of embroidery which adorned her gown, he realised that Angelleth was shivering. He took a small step back, although he could not relinquish all contact.

"’Tis ridiculous. I … I have held you, even undressed you before, but…"

"Never to this end," she finished.

Staring at each other, they were both overcome with the absurdity of the situation and burst into nervous laughter. Smothering her giggles, Angelleth reached up and ran one hand through his dark tresses.

"’Tis merely you and I, melethron-nîn. Of what are we afraid?" Her nails flitted over the sensitive point of his ear and Ereinion hissed with pleasure, his eyes darkening to the shade of the twilight.

"You are wiser than I, melethril." Resolutely quashing the irrational uncertainty that had flooded through him, he concentrated on the sensuous velvet beneath his fingertips and the way she leant into his caress.

Ereinion dipped his head and kissed Angelleth, his tongue skimming across her lips until she submitted to the lust rising within her and parted them slightly. As he explored her mouth, her tongue darted into his own, tasting the sweetness of the wine mingled with muskiness. Unconsciously, he pressed her closer, eager to further this exploration. As she responded he felt desire grow within him, a kindled fire which he feared could not be quenched by one night alone and might burn him into cinders in the interminable months of waiting.

Emboldened by the way Angelleth’s hands played with the hem of his tunic, he skillfully worked at the lacings of her gown, sliding his hands underneath the heavy material to glide across her skin as he did so. Her happy sigh as the velvet finally parted deepened as Ereinion’s mouth descended to her collarbone, placing the lightest of kisses on the slightly freckled skin, tasting the sweet perfumed oil with which she had adorned herself. Tauntingly slowly, he progressed lower, allowing his hands to wander across her back in languid circles.

Just as Angelleth was on the brink of crying out in a fashion which would certainly raise all of Imladris, so exasperated was she at this torment, Ereinion took pity on her and his teeth grazed one nipple with utmost caution. When she bunched her hands into his black hair and pulled him closer, he grinned wickedly up at her and suckled deeply, his fingers kneading the other nipple into painful hardness. Angelleth muffled her moan by pressing a kiss to the crown of his head and arched against him, feeling the hardness of his erection grind into her stomach. The entirety of Middle-earth narrowed down to the sensations which his mouth and hands, calloused from years of holding Aeglos, were wringing from her. She trailed one hand across his buttocks, feeling the muscles ripple beneath her touch, but something was not right…

Insistent hands tugged at Ereinion’s shoulders. With one last tender flicker of his tongue, he lifted his head.

"What is amiss, my lady wife? Do I not please you?"

"You please me far too much, my lord husband." Fire danced in her eyes and her voice was low and husky with arousal. "That being the case, I find that you are wearing far too many clothes."

"If I permit you to rectify the situation, may I do the same in regard to your apparel?" he asked with mock solemnity.

"Indeed you may."

With one practised movement, he had found the stays and pulled them loose. The dress, slipping from her shoulders, pooled at her feet. Ereinion caught his breath, as the dull ache which beat in his groin sharpened.

Stepping closer once more he submitted to Angelleth’s ministrations, but found such proximity impossible to resist. She found her progress interrupted by a series of kisses spiraling up her arm, trailing blistering heat in their wake.

"Ereinion," she whispered, her fingers losing their purchase on the tiny buttons. "Ai, Ereinion, why do they make these things with so many buttons?"

"I believe my robe-makers understand that I do not desire to expose myself in council," he smiled.

"I would not mind if you did."

"You flatter me, my lady wife, but I have no wish to be thus in the presence of Oropher of Greenwood the Great." He did not cease his exploration of the tender skin of her t.

"I understand how you might find that distasteful." Angelleth tried to keep hold of the last frayed fragments of her composure, and failed dismally. "But now the time for words is over, meleth-nîn. Are there not better uses for your mouth?"

As she finally mastered the fastenings, Ereinion bowled her backwards onto the bed, a wolfish gleam in his eyes which was usually reserved for political victories. Lying side by side, Angelleth managed to manoeuvre him free of his tunic and reached down to work the laces that secured his breeches. He bit his lip as her quaking fingers touched the burning skin of his erection.

Viscerally aware of his reaction, Angelleth’s eyes widened. With tentative determination she reached down and grasped him firmly. Through her other hand, resting on his biceps, she could feel his pulse beating frantically, like the drums of war which would be heard in a few short hours. Glancing up, she saw that his blue eyes were so dilated that they seemed to be pools of inky black. Excited by his excitement, she began to move her hand with smooth strokes, encompassing every inch of him, lingering on the ridge of skin.

Swallowing to suppress her nerves, Angelleth leant down and skimmed her tongue across the head of his arousal, cooling and exacerbating his heat at once. As she lingered on the ridge of skin along his length, strong hands grasped her shoulders and rolled her onto her back.

"Halt, Angelleth-nîn. Not like this … not tonight. I have better plans for you."

"I suppose it is the prerogative of the High King to order me to do what he wishes."

"That still rankles?" Ereinion drew back and frowned down at her.

"What?" she laughed bitterly. "Why would I not want to be called a cheap doxy who would flutter her skirts at everyone from Ingwë to the lowliest Edain peasant? Is that not what every maiden aspires to, to be thought of as a petty harlot who drapes her longings for power in the guise of lust?"

Much to her shame tears had started in her eyes at the sudden reminder of old humiliations.

"Hush, my love." Ereinion gathered her close, his sure touch quelling her tears almost before they started. "This night is not for the memory of past ills or of the folly of others."

With a very unladylike sniff Angelleth nodded, and her husband returned to the far more pleasant duties of the flesh, his hands teasing her body into readiness, drawing a sweet melody from her as from a musical instrument. As her sighs grew more intense, her breathing more ragged, he moved lower and lower, first his hands then his fine moutssinssing across her over-sensitized skin. Just when she thought that there coue noe no greater pleasure in all Arda, Ereinion’s touch slid lower, gliding across her centre with surprising delicacy.

Overcome, Angelleth pushed up into his hand, all rational thought sped away.

"Erei…"

Plying her clitoris with his thumb, he eased one finger into her damp depths, establishing a steady rhythm. As a second digit joined the first, swift waves of sensation built up and up, obliterating everything else. With a gasp, Angelleth clenched around his fingers, surrendering to the sensation.

Once she had recovered her breath and sense, she smiled at Ereinion.

"Herven." The single word was at once a benediction, a caress and an invitation. Accepting all the melded emotions, he slid up to face her. Kissing her passionately on the lips, he braced himself on his forearms, and lowered himself until the tip of his arousal rested against her. With a slow, tender smile, she assented and he drove into her, burying himself deeply.

Waiting until she was comfortable, he pulled out, relishing the delicious friction of flesh against flesh, the entrancing tightness of her which almost overcame his control.

"Do not fear, meleth-nîn. I am ready," Angelleth whispered against his lips, raising her hips to meet his thrusts.

Abandoning everything else, Ereinion lost himself in the rhythm, his dark hair flowing across his shoulders and onto hers like the waterfalls of the hidden valley. Kissing her fiercely, one hand reaching up to cup her face and the other once more seeking out her clitoris to push her over the edge, he gave into the roar of blood through his veins. With one last powerful motion, he allowed delirious pleasure to wash over him, as she too, felt its pulsing. Together, they collapsed to the sheets, exhausted as much by the tumultuous emotion of the occasion asthe the physical exertion..

Long into the small hours of the morning they lay together, Ereinion’s head cradled on her stomach, her fingers combing his dark hair unceasingly, talking of everything and nothing, refusing to contemplate the darkness. Thus it was that Angelleth fell asleep, lulled by the silken strands of black hair beneath her fingers and his breathing, which was so steady that it seemed immutable.

But when she woke, it was to find that she lay alone in the bed, while the High King moved silently around the room, donning his armour with a stern expression on his face.

"Ereinion." She lifted her head to stare into his shadowed eyes. "You are up already."

"We must leave in an hour… I did not wish to wake you." Crossing the room with one long stride, he kissed her gently."Will you bid me farewell?"

‘Aye, here I will." She recognized the break in her voice. "I dare not do so outside, for then I might be tempted to follow you."

"Do not." His usually solemn face became as dark as the grave at the very idea. "Do not even mention it."

"I shall say no more." The burnished metal burnt coldly against her skin, even through the rumpled sheets which were wrapped round her. Nevertheless, she leant in, eager to drink up every last moment of his presence.

"Be not foolishly rash," she begged, although her eyeasheashed fiercely. "Do not seek death out. Middle-earth needs you; I need you."

He pressed a sombre kiss to her brow.

"I swear I shall not."

Ereinion paused, and then drew the signet ring from his left hand.

"We do not need any frippery jewels to bind our souls together, yet I ask that you bear this as a token of our attachment." He pressed the ring, bearing the arms of the House of Fingolfin, into her palm.

"I shall." She struggled for words as she pushed the ring onto her finger. "Come back to me."

"If the Valar wish it, I will."

With a final hurried kiss and a flurry of his blue cloak, Ereinion Gil-galad was gone, leaving her to the echoing silence of melancholy

Angelleth burrowed into the pillows, pulling the sheets over her head until she was completely enveloped in the scent of him, the residual warmth of his body. Slowly, she lifted her right hand to her face, examining the burnished mithril with tear-blurred eyes. The crest seemed to burn itself into her memory, signifying all the dangers which now lay before her beloved, the crushing weight of destiny now resting on his broad shoulders. With a sob, she curled into a tight ball, clutching her hand to her chest.

&que sae safe, meleth-nîn," she pleaded, "for I know not how I would live without you. Even these next months will be an agony, having been what I have been to you, and known what I have known. Be safe."

But even her fevered prayers could not assuage the fear lancing through her.