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Líriel loved Lindon. Oh, she had loved Gondolin, and she mourned the hidden city, even now in the Second Age. Lindon was her home now, and she loved how its paths meandered between forest and cliff. The domed buildings were half-hidden between the trees and it felt as though centuries had not been long enough to learn the secrets of this kingdom. There were few walls here, and fewer doors, and yet it felt safe, more a haven than Sirion, or the Isle of Balar.
It was the power of the High King that kept Lindon safe; of that, Líriel had no doubt. She knew that Gil-galad was a fearsome warrior and yet there was something gentle about his strength, something restorative and protective and magnificent.
Now, she gazed out over the sea as the sun began to set, sending rays of violent red and orange across the water and bathing all of Lindon in golden light.
“You know that this area is restricted for use by the High King, don’t you?”
“I did not, in fact, know that,” she said, arms wrapped around the book she was carrying, and she turned to face the guard who was warning her away from this peaceful place. “Perhaps the High King might invest in a sign?”
“It has not been necessary before now,” said the guard, who stood in the shadows beside the entrance to this courtyard, which was a semicircle at the edge of the cliff, with a clear view of the Great Tree, and of the sea beyond. “Usually, the closed gates at the bottom of the path deter visitors.”
“Oh, were they closed?” Líriel asked, feigning innocence.
“Very much so.” The guard moved out of the shadows and Líriel gasped. Tall and imposing, this Elf was no guard. She had assumed he was wearing armour because of how broad he had seemed, even in the shadows, but he was wearing robes of deep gold, that glinted in the dying light of day.
“High King!” Líriel hurriedly dropped into a curtsey, her arms still securing her book to her chest. Her cheeks were hot with embarrassment.
“Please,” said the High King, and he sounded unutterably kind. “It was an easy mistake to make.”
Líriel stood up, a little shakily, and pressed the back of her hand to her heated cheeks in turn. “Which one, High King? Trespassing on your private grounds, or mistaking you for a guard?”
The High King laughed quietly. “Well, I do not think you have come here with ill-intent, Lady–?”
“Oh! Líriel! Just Líriel, my name is Líriel.” She risked looking up at him and his dark eyes were warm and maybe a little amused.
“In that case,” said the High King. “My name is Ereinion Gil-galad.”
That startled a laugh out of her. “Oh, I am aware, High King.”
“Are you?” He gestured behind himself. “You seemed uncertain as to my identity a few moments ago.”
“I did not expect to see you–”
“In my own home?” asked the High King. “No, quite. An easy assumption to make.”
“You always seem so busy, High King, that I did not expect–” began Líriel before she paused. “Oh, you are teasing me.”
The High King leaned forward slightly and said, as though in the strictest confidence. “I am.”
Líriel could not keep from gazing up at him. He really was very tall, she thought. She could not have guessed whether he was as tall, or taller, than the Elf-lords of Gondolin because she had been a child when the city fell, and her uncle and his fellow warriors had seemed simply enormous to her, like towers, and spires, and great ageless trees. There was something vibrant about the High King, though. There was more humour than she had expected. He always seemed so serious from a distance, frowning more often than not. It was strange, Líriel thought, to see him up close, to see that he was no stranger to smiling. With a jolt, she realised that she had been about to reach out and touch his cheek, to trace the curve of that smile, and that would surely have been a grave trespass.
“Why are you here, Líriel?” The High King’s tone was still gentle, not at all interrogating. He just seemed curious.
Líriel gestured towards the edge of the courtyard. “The view, High King.” She flushed again. “And the quiet. There are few places in Lindon that are so peaceful, especially at this time of the evening.” At sunset, so many Elves gathered to gaze across the sea, whether they had ever seen the light of the Trees or not. The promise of a distant home called to them all.
“This isn’t your first time here, is it?”
Líriel looked down at her feet. “No, High King. I promise I did not know these were your private quarters when I happened upon them some months ago.”
“Months?” The High King looked astounded. “Have I really not been here by sunset for months?”
“So it would seem.” Líriel shot him a quick smile. She gestured to the sea, now a deep ruby beneath the last shards of violent sunset. “And this is what you have been missing, High King.”
He was silent for long enough for her to tear her gaze away from the sea and look at him. One side of his face was bathed in orange red light, like fire and blood, while the other side of his face was engulfed in shadows. Líriel swallowed hard, blinking the unwelcome vision away, and when she met his eyes, there was concern in their depths.
“Lady Líriel? Are you well?”
“A little overwhelmed,” she admitted. It was the truth, even if it didn’t tell the full story.
He raised his eyebrows. “Strange. You do not strike me as someone who is often overwhelmed.”
“That is what the head librarian says,” replied Líriel. She wrinkled her nose. “Although I don’t think she means it as a compliment.”
“And I do?”
“I think, High King, that you could not fail to be charming if you tried.”
The High King stared at her for a moment, for a cluster of too-fast heartbeats, and then he laughed. “I think I shall endeavour to return to my quarters for sunset more often.” His smile was radiant now and Líriel felt quite breathless at the sight of it. “The company has improved significantly since the last time I stood here.” He leaned in again, in that conspiratorial way. “My Herald was here, you see, and one of my commanders, and they could not agree on the colour of grass even if they were given decades to decide on it.”
Líriel laughed and, before she could talk herself out of it, she darted forward and raising herself up on tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to the High King’s cheek. Amazed at her own daring, she moved towards the path, away from the High King and her moment of bravery. Líriel turned to look over her shoulder when she reached the top step and the High King stood, still as a statue, but she was sure she could see the curve of a smile on his face.
—
The next day passed in a daze for Líriel. Her concentration wandered often enough that the deputy librarian in charge of her section just sighed and sent her away.
“We are clearly not going to get any work out of you today,” he said, a little disapprovingly. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day to–” He waved a hand. “–take care of whatever it is that has you flitting about like a butterfly?”
Líriel flushed a little, more annoyed with herself than embarrassed that she couldn’t keep her feelings entirely concealed. In truth, she didn’t quite know what her feelings were and it wasn’t as though she could tell anyone that she had met the High King, having essentially broken into his residence. She certainly couldn’t tell anyone that she kissed his cheek and then bravely ran away.
It was long before sunset when Líriel made her way to the courtyard. As she walked along the familiar path, she realised that it was entirely obvious that this was Gil-galad’s home. The closed gates were one such sign, along with the recurrence of his sigil on the paving stones, marking this area as different to the common areas in Lindon. She felt a little foolish as she walked up the gentle slope, marking each step as she went.
The sun was low in the sky but not nearly touching the horizon. Fortunately, she had a book with her and was quite happy to spend the last hour before sunset reading. There was still warmth in the air, and warmth in the flagstones beneath her feet. She turned into the courtyard, intending to settle by the base of the great tree at the very edge of the cliff when she realised she was not alone. Gil-galad was already here.
“Oh,” she breathed softly, but evidently loud enough for him to hear. He turned to look at her and he smiled.
“Welcome back, Lady Líriel,” he said.
She could scarcely hear him over the thundering of her own heartbeat. She had hope that he would be here but she hadn’t truly expected it. If anything, she had thought that the gate might be locked or that there might be an actual guard to guide her away.
“High King.” She tilted her head to the side. “Are you not being worked hard enough, that you can leave your council so early in the day?”
Gil-galad laughed. “In truth, I have not really been able to concentrate today. My Herald is vexed and my secretary is at his wits’ end.”
Líriel walked towards Gil-galad and she dipped her chin, smiling a little. “I think we suffer from the same ailment, High King. The deputy librarian sent me away because I was quite useless today.”
“Your librarian isn’t peredhil, is he?” asked Gil-galad, with evident amusement. “Because Elrond all but called me useless.”
Gil-galad held out his hand to her, and it seemed second nature to lay her hand in his. His palm was broad and warm and callused, like a warrior or a scribe. “I was hoping you would come back,” he said, softly.
“I was hoping you would be here,” replied Líriel. She knew she could not keep herself from blushing and hoped that Gil-galad would not draw too much attention to it.
“Tell me about yourself, Lady Líriel. Why have our paths not crossed before?”
“Perhaps because most trainee librarians do not seek refuge in your home,” she said before cursing herself for being too smart-mouthed. Thankfully, the High King appeared to think that she was amusing. “I am originally from Gondolin, High King. The House of Ecthelion. We fled to Sirion and– well.” She shrugged. It served no purpose to dwell on carnage and kinslaying.
“Did you always want to be a librarian?” asked Gil-galad. He looked genuinely interested but perhaps normal people were interesting to an Elf whose fate had been written in the stars; the son of a High King in times of war would, eventually, become High King.
Líriel shook her head. “No. When I was very small, I wanted to be a bard, and when I grew older I wanted to be a warrior, but that upset my mother too much.” Líriel forced a smile. “Perhaps if I had trained as a warrior, I might have saved her at Sirion.”
“Or,” said Gil-galad, his voice a little rough. “You might have died in Gondolin, or in Sirion.”
“You are a warrior, are you not?” With a slight flare of annoyance, Líriel withdrew her hand from his and placed it over her chest. “Why should I have to temper my warrior’s heart while the heroes of our Age give their lives for me? Why should I do any less than they do? Why should I risk nothing while they risk everything?”
“The heroes of the Age need something to defend,” said Gil-galad. Somehow, his tone was fierce without seeming less gentle, as though he was talking to a spooked horse. “Would you think the less of me if I said that sometimes it isn’t enough to know that one’s cause is just? That sometimes, one needs more motivation than righteousness? Sometimes, it is easier to fight when one has something to protect. A home, or a family–” He gestured at her, his lips quirking with amusement. “– a really good book?”
“I cannot think what would make me think less of you, High King. You already saved my life in Sirion. As far as I’m concerned, you can wage war over the poetry of Daeron and I will not judge you.”
Gil-galad grimaced slightly. “Oh, I don’t think Círdan would approve.”
“Not a fan?” asked Líriel.
“Something like that,” replied Gil-galad. “But enough of poetry.”
“Enough of poetry?” Líriel raised her eyebrows. “I thought poetry was central to a romantic encounter.” Eru, she could have clapped her hand over her mouth. The words just spilled out.
Gil-galad let out a strangled laugh, or cough, or some kind of mild choking event. “A romantic encounter? Is that what this is?”
Well, she might as well persevere. “I am not sure, High King. I have not had many of them myself. I thought perhaps you might know.”
The High King folded his arms, which had the effect of making him look even broader, the muscles of his arms pleasingly visible as they tugged against his sleeves. “Did you indeed? Tell me, Lady Líriel, did you come here in search of a romantic encounter?” He looked around. “Am I interrupting a romantic encounter?” He drew himself upright, and Líriel could only admire his stature.
Líriel buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t sure she had ever been so embarrassed in her entire life and that included a brief period as a child when she followed Lord Glorfindel everywhere because she was so enamoured by his hair. She let out an inarticulate moan and then started as a pair of large hands wrapped around her wrists, gently pulling her hands away from her face.
“I think I should just go back to my library,” she whispered. “And pretend this never happened.”
“Is that really what you want?” Gil-galad asked. He rubbed his thumbs gently over the insides of her wrists and she was painfully aware of the gentle touch, which seemed to send tremors over her whole body.
Líriel shook her head. “I would rather not forget you, High King.” She bit her lip and looked down for a moment. “In fact, I do believe I would like to get to know you better.”
“Ah,” said Gil-galad, and he lifted one hand to cup Líriel’s cheek and she raised her eyes to meet his intent gaze. “There you are, you shameless little creature.”
She leaned into his touch; she couldn’t help it, just as she couldn’t help turning slightly to press a kiss to his palm. Gil-galad might think her shameless but she had never been so daring in her life. Wordlessly, they moved as one to look out over the sea, to watch the sun slowly set and to listen to the hymns of the Elves of Lindon.
–
Líriel’s encounters with the High King, romantic or otherwise, were rare. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that she was the only person to make demands of his time, although she liked to think that her demands were more welcome than most. Their touches became less fleeting, more lingering.
On one occasion, Líriel was walking along one of the winding outdoor corridors of Lindon, leading from the library to one of the refectories, and she found herself tugged into an alcove, hidden from passers-by. Fortunately, she had the composure to make no greater sound than a gasp of surprise, which was quickly smothered by a gentle kiss.
“High King!” she murmured, winding her arms around Gil-galad’s neck. “You are being very forward.” She leaned in to kiss him, unable to hide her own hunger. There was something addictive about him, about this. Líriel did not think it was the secrecy that drove her desire. She was drawn to Gil-galad in the day and the night, whether sunlight gleamed off his golden robes or starlight reflected in his eyes. With his powerful arms around her, she could be anywhere; in this secret alcove or in the middle of his council chambers and she really didn’t care where she was, or who knew, as long as she was with him.
“I was thinking about you,” he whispered, between kisses. “So I needed to find you.”
She tilted her head so that he could kiss her throat, the side of her neck. “Well, High King, you have found me.” She lifted her hand to bury her fingers in his hair, guiding him up to kiss her mouth again.
Suddenly, he froze against her.
“– almost sure he came this way,” said a voice.
“He did leave rather abruptly–”
“He’d want to know that Commander Galadriel has returned.”
Líriel let out a little grunt as Gil-galad slumped against her, his shoulders drooping in defeat.
“No rest for the wicked,” he sighed into her ear, before catching her earlobe gently between his teeth.
It was with the greatest effort that Líriel only sighed her pleasure, turning her face towards his to get lost in another lingering kiss.
“I suspect I will miss tonight’s sunset,” he murmured, almost soundlessly. “Come to my bedchambers–”
Líriel pulled back a little to look at him. Gil-galad’’s expression was sincere and almost pleading. There was no order in his tone, no expectation to be obeyed. “I will do my best,” she said, her thoughts already turning to how she might pass through the pathways to the High King’s residence unseen.
Gil-galad slipped away first; for a large Elf, and the most recognisable Elf in Lindon, he was capable of moving relatively unseen when the mood took him. It appeared that the mood did not take him often, however. As Líriel smoothed down her gown and hair with slightly trembling hands, she considered that the High King, in general, liked to be seen. When she felt a little more settled, she arose and made her way sedately to the refectory for lunch.
“You look rather flushed, my dear,” said Núneth. “I bet I know why.”
Líriel stared at the cook, who was ladling a rich broth into a large bowl before laying thick hunks of bread on top. “You…do?”
“Oh yes. You got caught up in one of your books again, didn’t you?” Núneth nodded at the book tucked under Líriel’s arm. “A good one, is it?”
Líriel laughed, more out of surprise than anything. “Oh yes. Quite– gripping.”
Núneth gasped and Líriel turned towards the door to see what the commotion was. As one, the current occupants of the refectory dropped into curtseys or bows, including Líriel, although she was a little later in sinking down, terrified that she would spill her broth.
“High King!” said Núneth. “What a surprise. I thought you had quite forgotten that mealtimes existed.”
Líriel carefully rose to her feet, and chanced a look at Gil-galad, who wore an amused smile. “Why, Núneth, I can assure you when my council meetings run into lunch, and through lunch, I think of nothing but your kitchens.”
“Do take a seat, High King. My staff will bring your food.”
Gil-galad inclined his head in acknowledgement and moved to the nearest empty table. Líriel recognised the Commander of the Northern Armies as she passed; everyone knew of Lady Galadriel, of course. She radiated power that eclipsed Gil-galad’s own might, and yet he did not seem in the least bit threatened or cowed. Lord Elrond smiled at Líriel as he passed; she knew the High King’s herald well enough. Unlike his liege lord, he seemed to know where the library was, and the purpose it served. There were others Líriel didn’t recognise, warriors and advisors and the beautiful lords and ladies of court. Suddenly, she felt quite inadequate, in thinking she could ever hope to move in the High King’s orbit for long.
Flushing, she bowed her head and found a seat at a half-full table at the far wall.
“He’s even taller up close!” said one of the soldiers at her table. One of the junior librarians looked positively overcome.
“He’s so–”
“Do you think he will remain unmarried for long?” asked a trainee apothecary, who rested her chin on her hand and gazed across the refectory to where Gil-galad was deep in conversation with Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel. Líriel thought the conversation looked rather friendly and she found that she was rather pleased to see it; she knew enough by now to understand that they could be fractious company and she certainly knew enough to understand that GIl-galad was likely no innocent in their arguments.
“He’s been unmarried for this long,” said the librarian.
“Perhaps he just hasn’t met the right person,” said the soldier, raising her chin as she stared across the room. Líriel was suddenly fascinated by her broth. She really would have to thank Núneth again.
“Who do you think is the right person for the High King?” asked the apothecary, giving voice to a question that had occurred to Líriel on more than on.
“A fellow warrior, I am sure of it,” said the soldier. Líriel glanced at her. Although she probably wasn’t as tall as Líriel, she looked powerful and she was certainly beautiful, with clouds of golden hair. “No one understands war like another soldier. He will need that common ground.”
“He is a great healer,” said the apothecary. She was slight, with midnight-dark hair and although her hairstyle was severe, it served only to draw attention to her exquisite bone structure. “Perhaps he seeks someone of similar gifts.”
“There’s no way he’d want a librarian,” said the librarian, chewing noisily on some bread. “Does he even like books?” Líriel smoothed her hands over her skirts, and tucked her hair behind her ears. She stood up and carried her bowl over to the serving table, and she thanked Núneth profusely. Núneth simply laughed.
“Next time, come to mealtime before you get lost in a book, Líriel,” she said, kindly.
“I’ll do my best not to get so distracted again.”
Líriel had to walk past the High King’s table to the doorway. The conversation was lively but Líriel could still pick out the High King’s low chuckle. She couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder as she left, and she saw the High King, leaning close to the Lady of the Court opposite him, as though sharing some confidence.
Oh, Líriel thought. No. She would not go to the High King’s chambers tonight. She would find a new vantage point for sunset and she would return to her quiet life, and she would wait until the call to travel west became too strong to ignore.
–
Days passed, and they were interminable, even for an immortal for whom days had little more meaning than months in the life of a mortal. Líriel volunteered for more work in the library, helping with transcribing ancient scrolls and working in the archives and taking on any tasks that took her into the quietest parts of the library at Lindon.
On one evening, as she ignored the call of the sunset and the song of the stars, as her candles guttered low, Líriel laboured over a Telerin translation. Most of the other librarians and archivists had long since departed for their evening meal but she was determined to remain. Staying busy seemed to be the best cure for a mildly bruised heart. She suspected her ego might take a little longer to recover.
“So this is where you’re hiding.”
Líriel jumped and looked towards the doorway of her quiet office.
“Lord Elrond?” She lurched to her feet. “What brings you here?” She couldn’t imagine that there hadn’t been a single other librarian to help him between the front doors and this room, buried as it was in a distant corridor.
“Curiosity, mostly,” said Lord Elrond. He leaned against the door frame. “And also to find out what it is that the High King said to cause such offence.”
Líriel opened her mouth and then closed it again.
“Oh, there’s no need to spare his feelings. I assume he didn’t spare yours.”
“Do you often have to make this visit, Lord Elrond?” asked Líriel. “To soothe the High King’s would-be paramours?” It made a certain amount of sense, in a way.
Lord Elrond frowned. “Why, no. I can’t say that this situation has ever arisen before. The High King has never acknowledged a romantic prospect to me in his life.” He inclined his head. “With good reason, I am sure.”
“Yes,” said Gil-galad, emerging from behind Lord Elrond. “Because you would never let me hear the end of it. It is enough that I have my Council making regular inquiries about my marital intentions. I do not need your particular brand of encouragement.” Líriel froze where she was, staring at the High King. He was wearing muted colours this evening, a relatively simple tunic and breeches, which, unfortunately, did not make him any less imposing. “Líriel, I am sorry. Whatever it is I did or said – and the Half-Elf is right, I invariably say something – was it when I asked you to come to my chambers? Yes, that was badly done of me–”
To Líriel’s utter shock, the High King sank to his knees in front of her, clasping her hands in his. She looked down at him and then to the empty doorway, where Lord Elrond was no longer to be seen.
“Líriel, please forgive me–”
“High King,” Líriel started.
“Ereinion,” said GIl-galad gently.
Líriel extricated one of her hands to place it on his cheek. She looked into his eyes. “High King. You have done nothing wrong. You are the best of kings, and the best of Elves. It is me, I promise you.”
“You?” asked Gil-galad, and he sounded faintly scandalised. “I cannot imagine you said something regrettable–” He paused for a moment. “No, I very much can, but I can assure you that you didn’t.”
“What I mean, High King–”
“Ereinion–”
“– I came to the conclusion that perhaps I am not the right person for you.”
Gil-galad stared up at her, and his brow creased. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to explain your reasoning.”
“I am a librarian.”
“Yes.”
“Quite a junior librarian.”
Gil-galad looked up at her expectantly.
“And you are High King.”
“Yes.”
“Of the Noldor in Middle Earth.”
Gil-galad nodded encouragingly.
“Do you not want a warrior for a lover? Or– or a healer?”
Rising to his feet, Gil-galad lifted his hands to cup her face. “Have we not already spoken of your warrior’s heart? Do you not think that you have brought me a measure of peace, a measure of healing, in our time together?”
“Oh,” Líriel whispered. “You’re good.” She shook her head slightly, still within his gentle hold. “And I am an idiot.”
“Now, on that we cannot agree. You are one of the most intelligent people I know,” said Gil-galad. “And certainly the most beautiful.” He clicked his tongue. “A rather heady combination. It’s little wonder I never stood a chance.”
Líriel rested her hands on his chest. “Well, at least we can agree that I have been foolish.”
“If it would not cause offence, I can perhaps agree a little.” Gil-galad moved closer. “Perhaps, next time, you might talk to me about any reservations you have?” He wrapped his arms around her so that she was pressed against him, and she ran her palms up his chest, to rest on his shoulders.
“I have a reservation, High King,” she whispered.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I have a reservation about the fact that you are not currently kissing me.”
Gil-galad smiled, and obliged.
–
The next time Líriel happened to be in the same refectory at the same time as the High King, she was sitting at a long table on her own, thoroughly engrossed in a book she had found while searching for an ancient Telerin reference scroll. She became aware that the room had fallen entirely silent and, when she looked up, the High King was standing at her table.
“Are you waiting for anyone?” he asked. “Or may I–?”
Líriel swallowed and hurriedly closed her book. “Oh, by all means, High King. Are the Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel not with you?”
“Alas, they are quite engrossed in arguing a tiny point of strategy and I, for one, do not wish to risk Núneth’s wrath too often or she will send over cold food for days on end.”
“I am amazed that the High King stands for such impudence,” said Líriel.
“I have, alas, become accustomed to a certain amount of audacity in my life.”
Líriel laughed, sure that she was blushing, which was an impulse she rather disliked, even if it always brought a smile to Gil-galad’s face. If he was aware that the refectory remained remarkably hushed and that there was a great deal of attention on them, he did not acknowledge it.
“Tell me, Lady Líriel, what book has you so absorbed that you are lost to your surroundings?”
“I am not lost to you,” she said, rather pertly, and she heard someone at a nearby table gasp. “And it is an intriguing book about the wildlife of Taniquetil–”
Gil-galad stared at her. “You are quite the enigma. This is what captures your imagination?”
“A great many things capture my imagination, High King,” she said. She took a sip of wine from her goblet. “But very few things retain it.”
“Well, that sounds like a challenge, Lady Líriel.” Gil-galad leaned closer and said, softly enough that only the most blatant of eavesdroppers could possibly hear. “And I shall do my utmost to rise to it.”
Her cheeks flaming now, she was sure of it, Líriel got to her feet. “I see your companions have called a truce, High King. I had best return to the library so that I will be finished by sunset.”
He knew, of course he knew precisely what she meant and she saw his slight smile as he turned to greet Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel.
Sure enough, the afternoon passed with painful slowness, and Líriel was careful not to rush out of the library too obviously. She returned to her own, rather simple quarters, and changed into one of her nicer gowns. It was a deep green that complimented her auburn hair. She removed the pins that had held her hair in an untidy bun for the day, and then brushed her waist-length hair to gleaming, although there was little she could do about the waves, and loose tendrils. She did not bother with jewellery because she cared little for it and possessed very little, and she did not bother with shoes because it was still warm enough in the evenings to walk barefoot in Lindon.
Gil-galad was waiting when she entered the courtyard that she had begun to think of as theirs. He didn’t turn to look at her, his gaze already fixed on the horizon, but he closed his hand around hers when she came to stand next to him, and voices from below began to rise in song.
The sun began its slow path beneath the horizon, Arien returning to her rest for the evening before Tirion began his chase and Telimektar strode across the night skies.
Líriel followed Gil-galad as he gently tugged her along by the hand, down a covered walkway that led to his private chambers. Her heart was pounding but she looked around curiously as they passed through a small anteroom into a large dining room. In the centre, there was a long table, larger even than the communal tables in the refectories and, at one end, there were two places set, illuminated by candles.
“Tell me, High King,” said Líriel sitting down on the chair that Gil-galad pulled out for her, to the right of the head of the table. “Have you appeased Núneth sufficiently or are we to eat cold leftovers from lunch?”
Gil-galad chuckled and lifted the covering from the largest platter. “No, I think I am firmly in her good books,” he said, as he began to serve up warm vegetables and meat and bread. “Elrond on the other hand–”
“Oh, I cannot believe that Lord Elrond would be capable of annoying Núneth,” said Líriel.
“You and he share a similar affliction.” Gil-galad sat down at the head of the table. “You both have a tendency to fall into books to the exclusion of all else, including mealtimes and, as I recall from when he was a youngling, bedtimes.”
Líriel laughed. “I was similar as an Elfling,” she admitted. “My mother had to remove all candles from my bedroom to keep me from staying up too late reading.”
“Did it work?” asked Gil-galad.
“Alas, no. I simply dragged my blanket and my book to the top of the stairs and read by the light of the hallway candles. My father had to carry me back to bed regularly after I had fallen asleep there.”
Gil-galad laughed and it was a delightfully warm sound that washed over Líriel like a particularly beautiful piece of music. She couldn’t keep from reaching out to cover his hand with her own and his answering smile took her breath away.
They did not hurry through their meal but Líriel did not think she was imagining a certain impatience on both their parts. Gil-galad was growing visibly restless until, at last, his fingers tightened on her wrist.
“Líriel, I must ask–” He frowned a little, clearly contemplating his words. “I do not want to presume, or to compel you in any way, but–” He took a deep breath. “Would you stay with me, tonight?”
Líriel gazed at Gil-galad before realising she had remained silent for a heartbeat too long. “Oh, of course. Yes, yes, please.” She put her napkin on the table and stood up, and Gil-galad looked up at her, a little stunned. “You would not keep me waiting now, High King, would you?”
He stood up too, keeping a firm hold on her hand. “You do know you will have to call me Ereinion eventually, don’t you?” He sounded exasperated, but fond.
“I will perhaps need to build up to it,” Líriel said, laughing up at him.
“Well, we can certainly work on that,” Gil-galad said and, with no warning, he wrapped one arm around her and dipped her back to kiss her more thoroughly than he had in days. The kiss muffled her shriek and she threw her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life, and perhaps for dearest love, if she felt remotely inclined to think more deeply on the emotions coursing through her.
Before she quite knew what was happening, Líriel felt herself being lifted up. She kicked out briefly before instinctively wrapping her legs around Gil-galad’s waist. It felt safe to anchor herself against him, and it felt incredibly reckless to press herself so close.
“Líriel,” Gil-galad murmured, tracing soft kisses over her cheek to her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “Say my name.”
“High King,” she said, and then she cried out as he dropped her. She landed, rather unexpectedly, on a large bed. Gil-galad’s large bed, she supposed. Dimly aware that it was also the most comfortable bed she had ever encountered, Líriel’s heart began to pound as Gil-galad sat on the side of the bed, and leaned down to kiss her.
“Say my name, Líriel,” he repeated.
She smiled up at him, trembling a little as she raised a hand to stroke his cheek. “High King,” she said. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
Gil-galad smiled, and there was something in that smile that snatched Líriel’s breath away. A certain wickedness stirred in his gaze and, before Líriel quite knew what was happening, Gil-galad had moved to the end of the bed and taken a firm grip of her ankles. She gazed down her body at him, entirely unable to look away from his face. His smile grew even more devilish as he moved towards her, slowly pushing her skirt up and letting his thumbs glide over the insides of her legs. Líriel shivered under the touch, and feels both pliant beneath his touch and more tense than she has ever felt in her life.
“Tell me, Líriel,” murmured Gil-galad, and he pressed a kiss to the inside of one of her knees. “Have you ever done this before?”
She let out a breathless laugh. “I have not, High King.” She squealed as her teeth closed gently over the flesh of her thigh.
“Say my name,” he said, and this time it was a growl, and somehow her skirts were up by her waist and his breath was hot against her skin. Before she quite knew what he was doing, he moved so his mouth was between her legs.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh!” She threw her arm up to cover her eyes. “I think I’ve read about this.”
Gil-galad let out an inarticulate sound that rather resembled disbelief and then all thoughts fled Líriel’s mind as his tongue intruded between her folds in an intensely intimate caress. His lips brushed over her clitoris and then he sucked lightly. Líriel was not unfamiliar with the area but one’s own fingers were entirely different to the skilled mouth of a High King. She bucked against him and could feel his chuckle as he lowered both hands to grip her hips, holding her still. She moved her own hand, the one not covering her eyes, and groped until her fingers could tangle in his hair.
Without her realising immediately, he moved one of his hands and soon his fingers joined his mouth, the intrusion unfamiliar but Líriel parted her legs more, inarticulate in her need for Gil-galad to keep doing whatever it was he was doing.
“Oh,” she said again, as his tongue did something particularly clever, sending shudders through her body. She felt as though she was chasing something just out of reach, her whole body straining towards it and then Gil-galad did something else with his lips, he hummed or he sighed and her back arched, like a bowstring or a harpstring, and her heels pressed against Gil-galad’s spine and she cried out his name.
Moments passed, as she struggled to catch her breath. She had the strangest feeling that she might have fallen asleep for a few seconds because when she was fully aware of her surroundings again, Gil-galad’s head was resting on her stomach and he was rubbing gentle circles on her hip with his damp fingers.
“You really did make me work for it, my love,” he murmured.
“Mmm, Ereinion,” Líriel said, exerting what strength she had to pull him up, so his body covered hers and so she could whisper against his mouth. “Say my name?”
His laugh seemed loud in the peace of his bedchamber and they kissed, Líriel realising with a jolt that what she could taste on his lips was herself.
“Tell me, Líriel,” he asked, dragging his thumb along her lower lip. “What else have you– read about?”
“I think,” Líriel sighed. “I think books may have fallen a little short–” She placed her hand on his chest, hooking a finger between two buttons. “Or perhaps you have exceeded my expectations.” Biting her lip, Líriel worked on unbuttoning Gil-galad’s tunic. He shrugged it off over his shoulders and made quick work of his undershirt, revealing such an expanse of smooth golden skin that Líriel lost her breath again. She reached up, moving the heels of her hands over his broad shoulders and then she loosely clasped his upper arms. It was almost bewildering how big he was. Ereinion GIl-galad always seemed larger than life but here, in this bed, he seemed even more solid, and real, and strong.
Líriel was so busy admiring his bulk, and his power, that she didn’t notice for a moment that he had divested himself of his breeches and boots and now he was naked above her. She curled one hand around the back of his neck and reached down to unlace the front of her dress and his grin was appreciative. Líriel could not have said where this courage came from. For all that she was not backward about coming forward in conversation with others, she had never thought that she would be so assertive in an area about which she knew almost nothing. She sat up enough so that her dress fell loose over her shoulders and Gi-galad helped her to pull it down. He dragged it right down over her hips and down her legs before dropping it off the side of the bed, and then she lay naked in front of him.
Líriel was not afraid. It was an odd thing to realise, after what they had already done, but she knew that she trusted Gil-galad. More than that, she knew that she wanted him and so she reached for him. She could not tear her eyes away from his; there was no humour in his expression right now, just a raw need that matched her own.
“Líriel,” he said, his voice gravelly now. “I want you. I want to have you.”
She nodded, yes, yes, of course he could have her. Didn’t he already have her in every way that mattered?
They kissed again, languorously but no less passionately, and he reached down to part her legs, to push his fingers into her again. She was still so wet that there was little resistance and Gil-galad groaned wordlessly against her throat. The slight friction was still enough to make her jerk against his hand.
She kissed his temple, and whispered. “Aren’t you going to have me, High King?”
He growled, which should not have delighted her as much as it did, but when he looked up at her, he was smiling, his gaze hooded. He settled himself over her, resting most of his weight on his elbow beside her head. They were nose to nose, and Líriel had to close her eyes because he was too close to look at. She sought out his lips with her own and they barely kissed, simply breathing against each other. Líriel felt Gil-galad moving, felt as he pushed her thigh up and out a little, felt as the large, blunt head of him nudged against her entrance. She thought she was ready, she had thought that she was ready but he was so big, it seemed impossible and yet, and yet, he pushed in, slow and true. There was certainly pain, but it was so fleeting that she might have imagined it, driven away by the foreign sensation of inexplicable, inexorable fullness. Her mouth dropped open and she gasped against him, a low groan of pleasure and pain escaping from her throat.
“Líriel–” Gil-galad gasped, and she knew that he was holding himself carefully, so as not to hurt her.
She chewed her lip, the sharp pain of her own teeth bringing her back to herself, and she let herself smile slowly. “High King.”
His laughter was little more than a huff of air but he began to move, shallowly at first, and slowly. Time became liquid, and formless, as Líriel clung to him, burying her face against his shoulder, relishing the heat of him on top of her and inside her, ripples of pleasure beginning to build again. Her gasps became louder, and more frequent, and she had the distinct impression that Gil-galad was holding himself back, waiting for something, and she turned her face against his throat and murmured, “Please, Ereinion.”
That seemed to spur something on inside him as he started to thrust more deeply, more powerfully, moving her up the bed until she was pressed against the mountain of pillows at the head of the bed. Somehow, and she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it, he lifted her clean off the bed. They were still joined but now he was on his knees, holding her up, and she briefly flailed her arms before wrapping them around his neck. In this position, she was looking down at him, her sweat damp hair clinging to her forehead, to her cheeks, to the back of her neck, and he was thrusting up into her, impossibly deep, given the angle. Her knees were clamped against his hips, and her spine arched, and she pressed close to him, her breasts against his chest, and she stared down at him in gasping wonder, tumbling ever closer to another climax. They came together, and Líriel could only fleetingly wonder how he had managed such a thing before her mind was overtaken with crashing waves of pleasure.
This time, when she came to, she was lying on top of Gil-galad, her cheek against his chest, his heartbeat strong beneath her ear. She stretched and he mumbled something against the top of her head, his fingers curling over her hip. Líriel felt a little wobbly, as she raised herself up to rest her hands on his chest.
He smiled lazily and reached up to rub his knuckles over her cheek. “What’s this smile, hm?”
“Oh,” Líriel said. “I just– I think I’ve finally found something better than books.”
She laid her head back down on his chest, her cheek pressed against the firm warmth of his skin and, so gradually, she fell asleep to the sound of his laughter and the gentle sensation of his fingers carding through her hair.
—
The next morning, Líriel didn’t immediately remember where she was, although the light in Gil-galad’s bedchamber was different. Here, at the highest point of Lindon, the sunlight seemed to shine stronger, and more pure.
Líriel stirred, still in Gil-galad’s arms. She smiled against his chest, and, after a moment, she pressed a mischievous kiss to the skin over his breastbone and was gratified when he huffed out a breathless chuckle.
“Good morning, my Lady Líriel,” he murmured.
She shifted to lie fully on top of him, her legs tangled with his, and she luxuriated in the sensation of so much skin against hers. He lifted his hands to cup her jaw and he kissed her so sweetly.
“Good morning, High King,” she said, drinking in the sight of his handsome face and strong features.
“Do you believe it now?” he asked. “That you might be the right person for me?”
Her cheeks heated and she bit down on her lower lip briefly. “I might be beginning to believe, Ereinion.”