Zeal

Canon-compliant.  How Galadriel ended up married to Celeborn.  He had no say in the matter.  I never use Galadriel's name, because at this point she is not called Galadriel and has no Sindarin name.  I guess the name Celeborn gives her is technically Telerin, but he's related to the Teleri, so I'll just leave it at that.  I will say that in this story (clearly) Celeborn is a sinda and not a teler.  He was not born in Valinor, in other words (and he and Galadriel are not second cousins).  Takes place in the First Age before Thingol discovers what happened at Alqualondë.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the Silmarillion and Lord of the Rings

Pairings: Celeborn x Galadriel

Characters: Celeborn, Galadriel, Finrod (mentions of Thingol, the Valar, Finarfin, the Finarfinions and other random elves)

Warning: canon-compliant, stalking, obsessive behavior, blatant allusions to seduction, intoxication and premarital sex/sexual themes, could be considered non-con, the betrothal is sort of non-con, too

Song: Run the World

Words: 1,908
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zeal (noun): eagerness and argent interest in pursuit of something: fervor
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/zeal

Every time he turned around, she was there.

Silver and golden, more brilliant than Ithil and Anor combined, more heavenly than all the stars blanketing the sky, more mysterious than any shadow, more intense than the heated eyes of the King himself.  She was always there, with her frozen gaze and smile-less face, angelic and breathtakingly empty.

Peering around corners in the dark.  Watching him in the gardens from beyond the arms of trees.  Standing on the balconies overlooking the forest, a star watching over the earth.

And always--always--her eyes were settled upon his form, trailing after him as he took his evening stroll amongst the shadows of the towering trees, watching him as he walked down the hallways, eyeing him as he carefully cut his venison into precise little squares and thoroughly chewed every single bite.  Never once did he ever see her look away.

As if every movement of his body somehow offended her perfect, glittering world.  As if his very existence somehow interfered with her reality, somehow turned her universe on its side and left it intolerable to her delicate sensibilities.

On and on for days, she glared, colder than the frigid wasteland of Helcaraxë.  It sent shivers down his spine, the feeling of ice stabbing between his rigid shoulders, burning on his flesh beneath the layers of his robes.

Quite frankly, it was frightening.  She was terrifying.  And she hated him.

Truly hated him.

---

This evening, however, was a rare evening in which he did not look over his shoulder to see the golden-haired angel staring at him from the shadows.  Across the table, her brother was sipping leisurely from a goblet and looking as though he wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his bedchambers and sleep for a decade or five.  Celeborn knew exactly how the other man felt.

"You look tired."

The silver prince looked up over the table at his Noldorin companion. "Excuse me?"

Finrod sent him a sharp look and pursed his lips tautly.  "You look like you have spent a week with the forces of Angband on your heels, Celeborn, my friend."

He felt that way as well.  Tired, his limbs aching fiercely with imaginary strain, fatigue sinking its teeth into his alcohol-drenched mind.  Looking up at his companion, Celeborn frowned, his brows furrowing in worry.  Without thought, he uttered the first coherent message that reached his mouth. "I think your sister hates me."

Golden eyebrows rose imperiously, incredulously. "What gave you that impression, friend?"

Was it not obvious? "Every time I see her, she stares, as though...  I think... Well, I believe I may have done something to offend her."

They stared at each other for a long while, Finrod's blue eyes narrowing with calculation, washing over his face in burning waves, almost as intimidating as his younger sister's.  The prince fought back the urge to flush an unflattering red color and look away from that piercing, knowing gaze.

"I think she likes you."

What?

Startled, he stared at the older elf.  "She glares at me whenever she sees me, as though I have committed the greatest of faux pas!  As though I were a bug crawling on the ground before her unsullied white slippers!"

"Worry not.  Her zeal is part of her natural charm," Finrod informed him.  And then the golden noldo smiled. "She is most assuredly is fond of you."

How did he reach such a conclusion?  That is illogical!  Celeborn shook his head and downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, feeling his head spin slightly.  Then he turned.

And there she was, draped in white and staring at him from the doorway, a goblet cradled between her slender white palms.  As soon as he looked, she stepped forward, and he could not help but watch the swaying movement of curvaceous hips beneath lace and silk as the foreign, glowing beauty crossed the rooms in long strides.  Elegant.  Entrancing.

Her long, graceful movements slowed, and she halted beside Celeborn, her gaze firmly fixed upon his face.  The prince felt himself begin to shrink back in his seat, and it was only sheer force of will and a healthy dose of pride that kept his back from bowing beneath the weight of her intensity.  Again, he wondered if Finrod was merely delusional about the true nature of his younger sister, because Celeborn could have sworn it was hatred that gleamed like stars in those frozen blue eyes.

"Would you like more wine, my lord?" she asked, and her voice shuddered through him like a wave of golden heat and ice, a chill running down his spine.

"O-of course," he stammered in reply, and found himself ashamed to lose control in such a manner before a woman of such high breeding, whether she was the most glorious and terrifying creature he had ever seen or no.

But then she held out her goblet to his lips.  Was it poisoned?  Would she attempt to kill him with her own brother as witness?

"Will you not drink, my lord?" Her voice captured and held him suspended in light. "Celeborn?"

Had his name always sounded so wonderful, so exquisitely perfect?  Helplessly, his eyes found her pale rose lips, focusing on their movements, on the soft flesh, the fuller upper lip, the gentle, warm glisten as they parted to breathe, to speak.

Without thought, he drank, his eyes never leaving her.  The wine could have been vinegar for all he was aware of its rich taste.  He was drunk of something else.

And then she was gone.

What happened?

He looked to Finrod, only to find the noldo smirking at him slightly, cradling his goblet just as before, amusement evident in every line of his body. "You see, friend?  She likes you."

---

She still followed him.  Now that he watched, he could tell it was not mere coincidence which entwined their paths so often and so tightly.  It was with purpose that she stepped outside when he passed to "breathe fresh air" or stood and decided to wonder in the woods during his evening walks "to connect with nature".

Celeborn was beginning to wonder if she was waiting for the opportune moment to stab him in the back and drag his corpse off into the darkness to feast upon his flesh and blood.

Do not be ridiculous, he would tell himself.  But then he would see her in all her glory, eyes half-hooded and ringed in golden lashes, following him steadily without blinking, a statue, unreadable, unmovable, a mountain built of soft rosy skin and an unbreakable spirit.

"I did not expect to find you here, my lord."

Shocked, he almost toppled from where he sat on a bench in the gardens.  The smell of night and spring was in the air, and he could not believe that he had allowed the peacefulness and the sweet scent of blossoms to carry him so far from reality that he did not see the approach of the star that was this infuriating, frightening, amazing woman.

"I did not expect to see you here, either, my lady" was all he could think to say.

Without further comment, she bent and sat beside him, just beyond touching, but so close that he could feel the heat of her body.  Strange.  He had always imagined that she would radiate cool poise and nonchalance, but it seemed that she took more after Anor than Ithil.  The golden crown upon her head was radiant, almost creating sunlight of its own accord and casting it warmly down upon his skin.  If only her eyes would light up to match perhaps he would not feel like a rabbit beneath the fierce gaze of a hungry falcon.

They watched each other silently, Celeborn itching to stand and flee but knowing that his pride as a prince and a man would never allow him to retreat from a woman, even one such as she.  Instead, he tried to focus anywhere but her eyes and breasts, somewhere in between, like on her creamy, swanlike throat or plump lips or the golden curls spilling down her shoulders to her shapely hips and--

Not a direction he wanted to go.

"Marry me, Lord Celeborn."

Of course, my-- What?

He must have said it aloud, must have been gaping in a most obscene manner like an open-mouthed fish on dry land, but she said nothing of his expression, merely stared deeply into his eyes, as if she could connect their souls through sheer force of will. "I want you to marry me, Lord Celeborn."

No, he apparently had not dreamed those words.  They were real.  Terribly real.

"We do not even know each other, my lady."

She frowned softly and gave him a piercing and annoyed look, as if to silently reprimand him for being so concerned with inconsequential details.  As if men and women who barely knew each other's names married all the time. "Perhaps you are right.  Come and take dinner with me in my rooms, and we shall discuss our marriage afterwards."

Come and take dinner with me in my rooms... Had he just been propositioned by a Noldorin princess?  By this haughty woman?  Dazed, Celeborn could do naught but stare.

For the first time she touched him, her white hand a searing presence on his elbow, guiding him upwards and almost lifting him aloft as if on wings.  Without effort, she steered him forth like a mariner steers his ship, and Celeborn was helpless to fight the tides of her zeal.  He was cornered and struck silent with shock.

When he recovered, they were already being served roast and rich red wine within the fine comforts of her guest quarters, her large and soft bed curtained with velvet but a few feet away, rumpled from where she had assumedly slept the night before.  And she seemed not the least embarrassed to have a man witness the insides of the chambers where she had probably only that morning walked in nothing but a thin shift to bathe, her naked body nearly uncovered.  The very thought left Celeborn stuttering and flushing like a stripling instead of a seasoned prince.

She gave him more wine, and he drank eagerly beneath her heavy gaze.

By the end of dinner, he thought he might have kissed her and spoken every thought he had ever had of her lips and hair.  Might have called her Alatáriel and whispered drunkenly that she was the most divine creature he had ever laid eyes upon, but he was not entirely certain of the last part, or what may or may not have come after.

By the end of the night they were engaged.

In the morning, they woke up together, and she was wearing only a shift.  Her body was pressed against his in the most ludicrously, unseemly, wonderful manner.

And for the life of him, the Prince of Doriath could not remember what had happened to him.

Only that, the very same morning, Finrod Felagund had laughed. "I told you, Prince Celeborn, my sister is very fond of you.  Once she sets her mind to something, it cannot be changed, not by her father, nor her brothers, nor her king, nor even the Valar themselves.  It is part of her womanly charm."

Womanly charm indeed.  Celeborn could only nod and agree.
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Because it is my firm belief that Galadriel is the most frightening woman ever and that Celeborn must have balls of mithril to somehow put up with her and her overwhelming feminism.  I know people always whine about how male-oriented Tolkien's stories are, but Galadriel is like the ultimate feminist, a girl amongst men, and she doesn't let anyone walk all over her.  She's kickass and awesome, even though she can be kind of creepy sometimes.

So anyway, my sister randomly flipped to a page of the Silmarillion, and Galadriel's name was the first word on that page, so that was who I was to write about today.  And that was at, like 8:30, so this idea came relatively quickly afterwards.  And it's long.  The stories that are less metaphorical and more literal are always longer LOL.  Was listening to Run the World (Girls) by Beyoncé.  It fits Galadriel so well.  She runs her universe with a steel fist, and Eru forbid someone should dare to try and stop her.  They better be wearing a mithril jockstrap if they want children afterwards.

Celeborn and Galadriel by ~liga-marta on dA, because they're pretty.  And because I honestly hate the actor that plays Celeborn in Lord of the Rings.  Sorry.

That's all.