Six nights earlier...

"Galadriel, if you do not allow me to get out of this bed, I will...I'll..." Halbrand's ire faltered as he caught himself just in time.

His Elven companion, thankfully, interpreted his verbal fumble as a bluff. "Or you will what ?" she demanded in that imperious tone of hers, her nose and chin lifted ever so slightly in the air as she towered over him.

Halbrand ran his tongue over his teeth and eyed her. He decided, after a moment, that she wasn't quite ready for the truth. "I will do something you don't like," he growled.

"Something such as...?" she narrowed her ice-colored eyes at him.

He shrugged and offered nothing more than a small, coy smile. The image that flashed again through his mind was nothing unusual to him, but he suspected that until he'd fully revealed the extent of Galadriel's own base desires, she'd think him a degenerate for even daring to imagine such a thing. That thing being her pressed against the wall, her skirts rucked up to her waist, and her pale, delicate skin reddening with every heavy imprint of his hand.

The very thought of such activity made his member stir in interest, and Halbrand decided it was time to move the conversation along. There would be a time and a place for him to reveal to her just how much even their contentious bantering made him ache for her, but now was neither. He sat up straight in the bed and swung his legs over the side of it, his defiant gaze never breaking hers as he moved. The look she gave him was positively sour.

"Threatening me with your stupidity is hardly a challenge." Halbrand hadn't thought it possible for her to sound even more of a haughty Elf than she was, but here they were. "I've grown quite accustomed to you vexing me at every possible turn."

"And yet," Halbrand snapped back smartly as he leaned over and cast about for his boots. "I still get a rise out of you."

She huffed in indignation but said nothing more. Sensing that he had won this round, Halbrand fished his boots out from under the cot and made quick work of shoving his bare feet into them. Not the most ideal situation, but it seemed the healers had taken it upon themselves to whisk away the clothes he'd arrived in, presumably to wash them. They hadn't reappeared, however, and Halbrand figured Galadriel was fortunate he'd been granted modesty with a pair of borrowed small clothes and trousers.

"I am sick of laying on my back and I am bored out of my mind," he declared into the silence. "Surely there's somewhere else I can eat," he stood up and motioned to the silver tray Galadriel still held in her hands. "Outside, perhaps? I long for fresh air about as much as I long for solid food."

He meaningfully eyed the tray's arrangement of delicately sliced meats and precisely quartered cheeses. There were several other items on the tray that he wasn't entirely certain about - mostly green and leafy-looking things - but at this point, he'd take a sailor's hardtack rations if it meant not having to drink another meal.

"There is a small garden down the hallway where the healers allow their patients to sit. Fresh air does have its own regenerative -" Galadriel stopped midsentence when Halbrand crowded her and slipped his hands over hers.

The second he touched her, he felt the joints of her fingers stiffen around the handles of the tray. He looked down at where they met with amusement. The great Commander had such a grip on that poor serving dish that Halbrand had the rather entertaining thought that she might break it.

"Excellent," he purred and curled his fingers over the sensitive underside of each wrist. "Now why don't you let me take my dinner?"

He leaned into her as he said that and let his gaze meander across her lips, down her neck, and over the gentle swell of her breasts. He felt her grip loosen and she all but shoved the tray into his chest. Halbrand lifted his eyes at the same seductive pace and allowed one corner of his mouth to curl upward in a smirk. The crimson color of her cheeks and the fact that she suddenly couldn't meet his gaze told him that she fully understood his double meaning.

"Very well then," she relinquished the tray and gathered her skirts. "I will leave you to that."

Galadriel moved as if to leave him and Halbrand swiftly snaked a hand out to grab her elbow as she passed. She stopped, her back proud and straight, and she still wouldn't turn her head to look at him. But, she made no move to break away from him either, and Halbrand recognized that as the opportunity that it was.

"I thought a kiss would lead to more between us," he bent his head down and murmured against her delicately tipped ear. It bloomed a dainty pink beneath his breath. "Did I mistake your meaning?"

"What meaning did you take from it?" she whispered back, her eyes lowered and turned away.

Halbrand chose his words carefully. "That we would...bed each other." He put a subtle emphasis on "bed" and was rewarded when she gave him a skittish glance from out of the corner of her eye.

"You did not mistake my meaning," her throat moved as she swallowed and Halbrand's gaze lingered on the side of her neck where he knew her life's pulse beat just beneath the skin.

"Then why run from me?" he lowered his face even more and brushed that fluttering pulse with his bearded jaw.

The shiver that went through her was not subtle and Halbrand knew in the depths of his tattered, compromised soul that it cost her a bit of her pride for him to even see that. He rewarded her for it by letting her go, by giving her the choice to stay or flee.

He did not move away from her, however, and in doing so only gave her the illusion of a choice. Was it truly a choice when he tried to manipulate it with each pass of his breath against her cheek?

"Men, it would seem," now it sounded like she chose her words with care. "Do not go about wooing in the same ways that Elves do. I am...not used to your forwardness, that is all."

Halbrand wouldn't have picked the word "wooing" to describe what he was doing to her, but he wisely kept that cultural nuance to himself. Instead, he nuzzled her ear with the faintest of passes, then straightened to give her space.

"Do you dislike it?"

"I..." she gave him another guarded glance out of the corner of her eye. "I do not dislike it entirely."

Halbrand chuckled, the sound of it rolling up from deep within his chest. Deciding he'd had his fun for the moment, he stepped around her and headed for the chamber door.

"Come eat with me," he tossed the invitation over his shoulder.

"Halbrand." Something in the way she said his name made him stop and turn slightly toward her, one eyebrow raised in silent question. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

The bemused expression on her fair face told him that a flippant answer wasn't in his best interest. He looked around the room dutifully, then down at the tray in his hands, then back at her. His brows furrowed in genuine confusion.

"No."

Now she just looked exasperated and it took her few silent, frustrated gestures toward him for she could find the wherewithal to spit out, "Your tunic, Halbrand."

He smiled slyly but scanned the room one more time - just to be sure. "Do you see a spare tunic in here?"

Her blush deepened and he couldn't help the mischievous widening of his smile.

"It is not...customary...for Elven men to wander the halls," she fumbled over her words in her embarrassment. "Ah, half-dressed."

"Good thing I'm not an Elven man, then," Halbrand answered cheerfully.

He then stepped boldly past the doorframe, into the glistening marble hallway beyond, and heard her actually sputter behind him.

"Will you at least attempt decency?" her hiss was much closer than he had expected and he glanced behind him to see her coming after him with drop sleeves and skirts swishing about her in righteous indignation.

Halbrand paused just long enough for her to catch up, then considered the tray he held for just a moment. He selected a shiny, black pitted olive and popped it into his mouth - taking sly note of the way her eyes flickered briefly to his mouth as his lips closed around said olive.

Oh yes, he thought smugly to himself. He was going to devour her, and he was going to do so tonight.

"What's the point?" he continued the banter with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

That, too, arrested her gaze. If he'd had any doubt that she was curious about laying with a Man - with him - the current tension between them settled that for him. She wanted him, even if she wasn't sure how to show it, or even accept it.

"You are a king." He really thought she was going to stamp her foot at that pronouncement.

"Huh," he lifted another olive to his mouth. "Don't have a throne or a crown, last time I checked. Pretty sure I don't have to act like one until I actually am one."

He licked some of the juice from the olive off of his thumb before he chewed it, and that seemed to fluster her more than anything else he'd done. Galadriel was speechless and wide-eyed, and while she tried to hide behind the familiar shield of Elven propriety, her eyes were riveted on his mouth.

They stood there in silence for a handful of heartbeats. Then Halbrand made a show of looking around.

"So...where would that garden be, exactly?"

She gave him a look that would have likely withered lesser men, then marched past him with all of the martial dignity that she could muster. Halbrand smirked at her back and strolled after her, content to give her the lead for a little while longer. They didn't go far - a one-minute walk down the corridor, if anything - before she stopped at a row of high, graceful arches, and threw a hand out toward the night just beyond them.

"Fresh air," she said tightly. "As you wished."

Halbrand slid by her and made no effort whatsoever to hide the fact that he did so just to brush her skirts with his legs and make her back bump into one of the archway columns. He meandered into a lush, if small, garden and turned his head up to consider the stars above. After a few good lungfuls of the flower-scented air, he tilted his head to the side just enough to give her a glance.

"Join me?"

"There is a feast with the High King," she turned as if to go and he had to smother a scowl. "I...I should be there. My absence will no doubt be noted."

"You just rode at a full gallop without stopping for six days, with a gravely wounded Man at your side," Halbrand countered dryly. "I'm sure you can be forgiven for blaming your absence on exhaustion."

"You would have me lie? To my King?" her eyes flashed and she looked genuinely affronted at the suggestion.

Halbrand just picked up a piece of cheese and shrugged again. "Depends on which king we're talkin' 'bout here," he drawled in his thickest Southlander accent.

She gave him the sort of stern look that only a woman used to command and obedience could give. He slipped the bit of cheese past his lips, utterly unfazed.

"I speak of the one who does not claim his title only when it suits him," Galadriel's tone was downright frosty.

"I meant no offense," Halbrand tried a different approach and feigned contrition. "Please," he tilted his head toward a far and rather bushy corner. "I don't care what reason you give, be it the truth or an excuse. But I rather think I'll be better company and you'll enjoy yourself far more out here than in some fancy feast." He took a few teasing steps back and held up the tray with both hands in silent temptation. "I'll even share."

Galadriel considered the contents of the tray with a faint frown, before lifting her eyes to search his. "Are you not hungry?"

Clearly, she thought the tray held only enough to sate Halbrand's appetite and not hers as well. And, to be fair, she'd seen him eat and she wasn't wrong. A light repast like this wasn't going to fill him up for long and especially not if it was halved.

Still, the food was just a means to an end for him. A way to quiet his growling stomach and to tempt her into soft, quiet darkness.

"Oh, I am," he slyly twisted both her meaning and the corners of his lips. "But not so much for this," he lifted the tray one last time.

She hesitated, warring silently with herself, but as he had hoped, the unspoken promise wrapped up in his words intrigued her. The Elven woman gave him a puzzled look...then stepped into the garden towards him. Halbrand continued to walk slowly backwards as if his gaze was a line reeling her in. They didn't stop until they were in that far corner, hidden behind the fronds of some exotic bush and a gentle gloaming.

He did not press her, not right away, in any event. They sat down next to each other on a low cushioned bench, their knees nearly brushing one another. Halbrand balanced the tray across his thighs and she joined him, picking what she wanted with a care and fastidiousness that kept bringing to mind the first time he'd ever handed her food. She'd all but shoveled that watery soup into her mouth.

She pretended to be an entirely different animal, Halbrand thought as they shared a companionable silence. But he'd seen the wildness in her and her current daintiness was maddening. He bided his time, however, and ate in a somewhat polite fashion himself.

Until they got to the little bowl of dessert. The slices of green fruit were soft and sweet with juice, mixed with honey and rosewater. There was a small fork tucked beneath the bowl, but Halbrand pretended to miss it. He was running out of patience and fruit, as lovely as it was, was not the taste he wanted on his tongue.

Galadriel reached innocently for the dish and Halbrand hid a smirk as he slid it smoothly beyond the initial reach of her fingers. She frowned and looked up at him, her expression a mixture of disapproval and annoyance.

"Halbrand -" she began, her tone sharp.

He silenced her with a finger pressed gently against her lips. A move that caught her off guard, if her startled eyes and faint flush were anything to go by.

"Humor me."

It was not a request, and he could tell by the peevish twist of her lips beneath the pads of his fingers that she knew it. Still, she stayed still and watched him, silent and curious in spite of herself. Such temperance deserved a reward he thought, and he lifted a piece of that dripping, honeyed fruit to her lips. His silent offering seemed to offend her, as her spine stiffened and her jaw got that stubborn set to it that told him he'd misstepped.

He waited for a few seconds, the offer still standing. But when she didn't move a muscle, he finally shrugged.

"More for me, then."

He ate what was left in the bowl with slow, calculated care. Piece after piece of fruit disappeared behind his teeth. With each bite, he sucked juice off his fingers and licked what sugary tracks of rosewater and honey dribbled down into his palm. He was almost done with the bowl, his chin and lips wet from the luscious dessert, when he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall behind them. He sucked the fruit from between his fingers and groaned decadently in appreciation for the burst of flavors that filled his mouth with each slow bite.

That, it seemed - the sound of his pleasure - finally undid her.

"Halbrand!" Galadriel snapped, all patience stripped from her tone. "Must you be so obscene ?"

He cracked open one eye and gave her a somulent, sultry look. "What would be obscene, my dear Galadriel, is me eating you."

If he didn't know that it would break the spell he was weaving, Halbrand would have laughed at the way her mouth opened and closed several times without a single word coming out. He opened both eyes and fixed her with a predatory stare that brought the blush out in her cheeks and ears.

She finally managed to sputter, "What...what do you mean by that?"

"By what?" he purposefully played dumb, just to watch the color creep down her throat and disappear beneath the modest neckline of her dark blue dress.

"By...by... eat ?"

He would have teased her, but there was a hint of innocent uncertainty in her voice that made him sit up and eye her with concern.

"Have you never been kissed between your thighs?" he asked bluntly.

There really wasn't any other way he could think of asking that, not without being utterly crass.

"I...I..." Even with his attempt at respectable language, he'd left her speechless.

"I'll take that as a no," he tried, rather unsuccessfully, not to smirk.

"What...why..." she shook her head as if to steady herself and squared her shoulders stubbornly, clearly determined to find the center he'd so thoroughly thrown her off of. "That sounds disgusting. Why would you ever do such a thing?"

"Because," the Man explained patiently, even though he hardened between his own thighs. "That is one of the most pleasurable experiences you can have...if done right."

"If done right?" she echoed, her eyes narrowing.

Halbrand gave her his best, most toothy smile. "I've charmed the court of Numenor, after all, with this tongue. It can be equally clever when applied to...other pursuits."

Galadriel sniffed daintily and turned away from him with all the slow grandeur her rearing could grant her. "I think you give that tongue of yours far too much credit."

Halbrand paused just long enough to set the now empty tray on the ground, as far away from them as his arm could reach. Then, without warning or request for permission, he grabbed Galadriel by the waist and dragged her into his lap.

"Then I suppose I'll have to remind you of its talents," he growled.

He surged up in his seat to meet her lips, which had parted in surprise. Before she could take another breath, before she could close her mouth, before she could push him away, Halbrand fisted one hand in her long, loose hair, and forced her to bend to his will.

Though force was, perhaps, too strong a word. Force would imply that she fought, which Galadriel most certainly did not. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and cupped her jaw with his other hand to hold her in place. She could push away when he allowed it, and not a second sooner.

The small, needy whimper that she made into his mouth before meeting his tongue with her own, spurred him onward. One hot, open-mouthed kiss slipped into another, then into another, then into yet another again. Once he was certain that she wouldn't pull away, Halbrand let go of her hair and face and began touching her anywhere he pleased. He ran a wide hand across her arching back, smoothed both his palms over her hips, and dragged his fingers over the sides of her breasts. She made another little noise at that, and his hands fell to cup both her cheeks and press her firmly against the now-solid ridge of his desire.

"Halbrand!" she jerked away from his kiss and gasped at the intimate contact.

Her hands, which had gripped his shoulders as if they were her only anchor in the storm of her own rising passions, slid down across his naked chest. She pressed one hand to his sternum, while the other drifted uncertainly down his stomach. She stopped just short of his pants and looked down between them, as if uncertain, as if to consider her next move. He put a hand over hers in silent denial.

"Tomorrow night may well be another story, but for tonight, I think any...especially vigorous movement on my part should be avoided. I am not a gentle man, Galadriel. Elven men may be gentle and chivalrous, but that is not me," he pulled her hand away from his stomach and lifted it so he could nip at the underside of her wrist. "I'm a smith," he breathed across her skin, reveling in the soft mewl that she tried so hard to swallow. "When I strike, I strike hard."

"Then," she fought to find words, her voice tight and wispy. "What is it you want with me tonight?"

Halbrand let his hands speak for him at first, as he cupped her breasts and kneaded them possessively. Galadriel's hands went back to the steadying strength of his shoulders and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He grinned at her as he then dragged his hands, hot and heavy, down her stomach, and grabbed fistfuls of her billowing skirt. "I already told you," he purred as he bared her legs one firm tug upward at a time. "I want to taste you."

She frowned and shook her head, a rejection clearly poised on her lips. Halbrand gave her no time to voice it.

Galadriel was strong, but her warrior's instincts were no match against his forged muscle. Halbrand slid out from under her and was kneeling on the ground in front of her before she could catch up with him. Pleasure had rattled her awareness, and desire had made her reflexes languid. He used that to his advantage as he pushed up her skirts.

"Halbrand!" she grasped for control, both hands coming down to push against him. "Not here!"

He ignored her. When she tried to close her legs, he grabbed her thighs and jerked them apart. This unbalanced her and her hands let go of his hair long enough to find her purchase on the slippery cushion beneath her. She wasn't wearing any small clothes - a detail Halbrand tucked away to tease her about later - and he took full advantage of that and her unsettled seat. He surged powerfully forward, her legs spread far apart to accommodate the width of his shoulders, and nudged her lips open with nose and tongue. Galadriel made some sort of noise above him, most likely one of denial, but it died the instant he wrapped his lips around the very center of her and sucked.

He heard her slap a hand over her mouth to muffle a cry. Her body writhed beneath his hands and her thighs quivered with each pass of his tongue. Her breathing grew heavy, almost erratic, and her other hand tangled itself in his hair. She was quiet though, and Halbrand wanted more, wanted to hear her as he unraveled her, wanted her to hear herself and know that he, and he alone, could strip her so thoroughly of her treasured self-control.

"Put your hands on the bench," he lifted his head just long enough to issue his order and to give her a piercing look meant to ensure her obedience.

Galadriel, of course, offered at least a token resistance.

"Please," she panted, her eyelids heavy and her chest heaving. "Not here."

"Hands. On. The. Bench," he repeated himself, slowly and firmly, with all of his ageless knowledge of dominance behind each word.

Galadriel put both of her trembling hands on the cushion. Halbrand flashed her his teeth in a smile that was more warning than not.

"Wise of you to listen," he murmured, before bending back to his task.

A task, he realized after a minute or two, that had turned into a battle of the wills. He tilted his head, mouth and tongue still working away at her, and looked up at her. She had her bottom lip between her teeth, her head thrown back, and her eyes squeezed shut. Halbrand growled in displeasure. He would hear her come undone.

Help, it turned out, came from a very unlikely source. He had just decided that perhaps his assault needed the addition of a finger or two curling up inside of her when her whole body stiffened and her palms returned to his forehead in an attempt to push him away.

"Someone's coming!" she panted, eyes wide in alarm.

Halbrand focused on his own human hearing and was able to pick out the heavy tread of boots. A guard, then. Who likely wouldn't give the garden more than a cursory glance. He was quite confident that as long as she didn't scream his name the moment the guard passed by, they'd go undetected.

"Well then," he lifted his mouth long enough to whisper against her wet, flushed skin. "I suppose you should put your hands back on the cushion and hurry this along."

He could feel her confusion, even as she obeyed and placed her hands back where they belonged - out of the way and compliant. Halbrand noted how easily she gave in to his will. It would seem that when the proud Commander of the Northern Armies had a tongue between her legs, she was willing to do as she was told. And with that thought, Halbrand spread her legs obscenely wide and resumed his assault with increased vigor.

This time, however, he wasn't teasing. Not that he'd been teasing much to begin with - he'd been, if anything, quite direct in his pursuit of her pleasure. With the steadily approaching tread of boots, however, he began a steady, pulsing suckle with his lips and teeth that he was quite certain Galadriel couldn't resist for long.

She tried so hard to swallow her cry of release when she finally came apart. It hadn't taken him but a handful of seconds to pull that from her once he'd doubled down on his efforts. Her whole body bowed beneath his hands, his mouth, as her pleasure shook her. She managed to temper the volume of her short, sharp gasps, but she couldn't muffle them completely. Not with her hands fisted into the cushion. Halbrand took pity on her and pressed a hand firmly over her mouth as he continued to lick her through to her completion. Truth be told, he didn't relish the idea of being found in this position by an Elven guard. Not that he had any shame whatsoever about what he'd just done, but he knew Galadriel would be utterly mortified and humiliation was best saved for someone he intended to kill, not bed.

Only when the last of her tremors subsided, did Halbrand lift his head and drop his hand. Galadriel looked down at him as if dazed, speechless yet again. He held her heavy-lidded gaze as he licked his lips, then ran the back of his hand across his mouth. He remained kneeling as the guard moved by, but pulled her skirts back down - just in case. Not that anyone with half their physical senses wouldn't be able to tell what it was they'd been up to...though, perhaps not, he reflected, given her unfamiliarity with such a carnal act.

Once he was sure they were safe again, Halbrand sat up on his knees and pressed himself one last time between her parted, covered legs. He cupped her jaw and drew her to him, swallowing her gasp when he kissed her fully, the tongue he slipped into her mouth curling and twisting the same as it had between her thighs.

"Now that you know what you taste like," he murmured against her lips when he finally pulled back. "Do you still think that what I've just done is disgusting?"

"N-no," something shifted in her eyes as she spoke that one little word - a shattering of pride, he thought in smug and silent triumph.

"You taste like honey. I look forward to feasting on you again."

He kissed her cheek gently, almost sweetly, as he pushed himself to his feet. Halbrand reached out and took her chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting her head back so she could watch as he drank in the sight of her.

Breathless.

Disheveled.

Wanton.

You're mine, Galadriel, he thought.

Outloud, he said instead, "Goodnight...Commander."

He brushed his thumb across her swollen lips one last time, before taking a step back. Then he bowed his head to her and offered her one last, teasing smile before he left.

He slept well that night, dreamless, save for the echoing memory of his plundering.