Title: Practice Makes Perfect: A Smutlet in Three Parts

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Galadriel/Haldir

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. Any original ideas or characters contained are my own. My writing is not for monetary profit.

Practice Makes Perfect

(Part I)

Haldir was sure that there was trouble. Only rarely before had his Lady requested his immediate presence, and always, it had been for a matter of dire import requiring his personal attention. He was, after all, marchwarden, and as such, his duties were numerous. The tall elf strode quickly along the forest floor toward Caras Galadhon. He reached the largest mallorn and began to climb the long, winding stair up to the massive flet. The two wardens guarding the white doors to Galadriel's audience chamber, bowed to their captain as they opened the portal and ushered him in.

The White Lady, herself, sat casually at the head of the hall. Her dress surprised him so much that he stopped short. The shimmering white gown with deep décolletage revealed porcelain skin down, almost, to her navel. The translucent fabric clung to her soft, slender form, more than suggesting the contour of her lovely bosom. She reclined against the back of her chaise, legs crossed, bare feet showing from beneath her hem, arms folded lightly in her lap. She was coy as a doe, Haldir thought, a little warily. The thrill of the hunt stirred within him. Conflict also stirred. The rush he felt was incongruous with his concept of who and what she was to him.

She extended a willowy arm and beckoned him closer. He obeyed. When he reached the foot of the dais atop which she sat, he knelt, bowing his head. Already he could smell her. Her heady musk ignited his desire. From his low vantage, he could see one of her shapely calves up to the knee. He felt the blood stirring in his loins and fought to keep it down.

"I am at your service, my lady," he said quietly. She smiled.

"You may stand, Haldir," she purred. "Come. Sit by me," she continued, patting the chaise beside her. It was imprudent to disobey the softly glowing she-elf; so despite his reluctance, he climbed the few steps up to where she lounged and seated himself beside her. He stared straight ahead as she eyed him carnivorously. His obvious discomfort amused her.

"Your summons sounded urgent. Is there some emergency?" he asked, not meeting her predatory gaze. She did not answer him with words. Instead, she shifted position, leaning far forward so that her mouth was only inches from his ear. Her breath made his skin tingle. Slowly, her long slender fingers crept across the sumptuous upholstery and, finally, came to rest on his thigh. The muscle tensed reflexively beneath her palm. "My lady, please…," he whispered.

"Certainly," she grinned, running her hand quickly up and toward the inside of his thigh. He gasped sharply with both exhilaration and horror at the sensation and the sight of his queen's lovely hand crawling up his leg like a fire. Even the sound of the forest seemed to fade to absolute silence. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. When things began to move again, they did so rapidly. And when the sound returned,

"No!" he all but shouted. Her hand stopped to rest gently at the crook of his hip, but she did not recoil. He found himself panting as he turned to look, at last, into her sliver-blue eyes. She tried not to smile at the comical look of gaping shock on his face. She very nearly succeeded.

"Haldir," she said quietly, "how long have you been on the fence?" He opened his mouth a little wider to answer, but then realized that he could not remember the last time he had come in from the fence long enough to do more than restock his outpost home. He thought for a moment longer, but still could not remember.

"That doesn't explain…," he spoke cautiously. Galadriel interrupted him.

"And how long since you have been with a woman, my friend?" Again, he was unable to recall.

"I…I can't rightly say. I'm afraid I don't know," distress began to strain his voice. He was profoundly disturbed, not that he had gone without the pleasures of a partner for so long, but that he had not especially missed it. There were a few female wardens and he worked alongside them everyday. These women, though, were not available to him. They were his subordinates, and, therefore, off-limits. As though she had heard his thoughts, the White Lady asked,

"Have you never found a needful and willing warden to mate you?"

"No," he answered quietly.

"And why not?"

"They are under my command. I could never be sure they were not simply obeying me."

"I am not. You can be sure," she whispered. She leaned forward a bit further and ran her tongue up the back of his sensitive ear. His eyes rolled back and his lids fluttered involuntarily as he inhaled deeply, then sighed with pleasure. Her fingers began to tease the prominent bulge in his breeches.

"My lady, please," he pleaded.

"Call me by my name, Haldir." He took another deep breath, trying to calm himself, before continuing.

"Galadriel, please, why are you doing this?" He expected her to ignore his question and continue torturing him; but instead, she stopped.

"In truth?" she asked. He nodded. She sighed resignedly. "In truth, your brothers came to me several weeks ago. They are concerned about you. They say you've been unusually tense. Irritable even, though I suspect you haven't noticed." She paused. "I too have been a bit frustrated," she intoned confidentially, coquettishly lowering her eyes. "I thought that we might…ease our displeasure together," she drew out every word deliciously slowly.

Her voice, her aura put him at ease, soothed him. Still, she undeniably aroused him, as well. Her loamy scent permeated the air. Her ageless skin glowed vibrantly. Her white-blond hair fell loose about her, almost to the floor. His senses were alive with her. Suddenly, he began to feel the weight of those many years, so many decades, centuries even, of solitude. And in that time, never before had he been so sorely tempted or so deathly afraid of the consequences. Often he had thought of her in ways that he feared she would learn from what his face or his mind told her. Now that she was here, much as he had imagined in the long lonely nights, offering herself to him, he wanted her desperately. Yet he was unwilling to show himself to be too eager.

"And what of your lord? What of Celeborn?" he asked.

"He is none of your concern," she answered firmly.

"And my brothers?"

"They shall only know what you tell them. I trust to your discretion," she paused, lowering her eyes once more. She continued a little flatly, "You are, of course, also free to decline."

"No," said the marchwarden immediately. "Will you allow me the afternoon to prepare myself?" Galadriel nodded. "Thank you, my lady…Galadriel," he bowed. Graciously, he took her hand and kissed it softly. "Thank you."

"Come to me this evening at my chamber."

"I will." He stood, descended the steps and left her audience, smiling broadly.

END-Part I

AN: This was inspired by a Title Challenge at the Julie-Fianna Archive, a Yahoo Group