The Time Elanor Gamgee Had a Crush on Her Employer
A Lord of the Rings fanfic

Every night, when the light was dying, Queen Arwen would sit by her mirror in her suite of rooms and dismiss all her servants but one. Elanor of the Shire would pick up the brush, set a velvet-covered stool behind her chair, and brush the long dark hair flowing down Arwen's back. It felt smooth beneath her hand, untangled, but she gave it the one hundred strokes her mam had always said were due to ladies and hobbit girls with very curly hair.

Elanor liked to talk about the Shire, and the Queen liked to listen. Elanor hadn't ever thought to speak so freely, when she first met the Queen, but Arwen asked her night after night, and the stories started flowing, of her brothers and sisters, and the importance placed on silverware and the fair, of animal husbandry and laundry and all things unsuitable to a Queen's ear. Her hair was silky under Elanor's hands, and in the glass her eyes twinkled with delight.

'I feel like a right chump - a fool, a crass silly thing,' she said sometimes, and it was true at first, but Arwen wouldn't let it be true for long. She kissed Elanor's cheek like any high-born lady's, and laughed as merrily as a lass in her tweens. By the second month Elanor was madly in love and as tied up in knots as a hobbit could be.

One night she brushed once through the dark fall of the Queen's hair, then dropped the brush and hid her face in her hands. She stammered an apology and fled to her room, perhaps knowing that she would be followed. She had been a young hobbit with many suitors, after all, once upon a time in another lifetime. Arwen came to her and enfolded her in an embrace, and she sank gratefully and guiltily into her sweet-smelling bosom, but would not tell her the trouble no matter how the Queen entreated.

Arwen lifted up her face, instead, and kissed her, where the mouth meets the cheek, soft as a butterfly, electric like lightning. Elanor, feeling a mad rush of courage, put her arms around the Queen's neck and pulled her down for a kiss. She took her upper lip between her own, and it yielded, the Queen parted her lips, heaven on her tongue. Elanor shuddered, withdrew, and began weeping again.

'Shh,' said Arwen, and rocked her, once, twice. Then she lifted up Elanor's face once more and kissed her, divine and sweet, and whispered, 'Come into my bed tonight.'

It was impossible, but it was real, and the knowledge spread excitement through Elanor's body.

-

She comes to me, as I asked her, timid now in this bedroom she knows well, lovely and blushing. I loosen my robe, let it fall off my shoulders, disgard it on a chair. She looks up from the carpet, up and up, and her gaze leaves tingling desire in its wake. My lovely little lady, my Elanor, you are more tempting than you realize.

I go to her, for she will not move, and kneel before her. I touch her face, her neck, and she closes her eyes, not in fear now, I see, but in pleasure, and she does not resist when I undo the laces of her bodice. As I pull it off, she reacts at last, her hands (the tips of her fingers are always slightly worn, their touch like dry spidery kisses on my skin) staying mine, and she undoes her skirt, pulls off her chemise. Her breasts are white in contrast to the tan on her neck and shoulders, small and perfect and golden in the candlelight. I kiss them, and she sighs and bends, something desperate in her voice, almost like pain. I will cull it, I will transform it. I close my lips around a pink nipple and I hear her groan. I pull back, to savour her, to relax her, and to catch my breath, for she has taken it, this sweet girl.

'Will he not mind?' she says, and I laugh and shake my head. There are many ways to love, and many ways to be true, whatever the traditions of my people and hers may be.

'I am loyal and true to my King,' I say, and I run my fingers down her beautiful waist. 'No, he does not mind. Come to bed.'

I lead her to the bed, wide enough for ten of her, and as we lay down upon the mattress she lays aside her fear. She kisses me hungrily now, nibbling on my neck, and running those spider-kiss fingertips across my skin until I sweat and moan with desire. I stop her, turn her on her back, and repay her kisses, her caresses. I look up into her eyes, asking permission, and she nods, and I find her center with my finger, wet and warm like a summer night, and I find her pearl, and my lovely Elanor cries and bucks against my hand. I kiss her face, her neck, her lips as I move, careful, for she is small, and our spirits dance and tangle in the air. I feel them, and I see her desires as they form, and fulfill them, and stay them when necessary, until at last she is undone in sweetness.

She rests, moving close to sleep, and I hold her, my own body restless with desire, but my spirit is calm in love. I wanted this to be for her, but she wakes, turns, and I know the gift would not be complete without the gift of my own acquiescence, so I open my lap to her. She is clever and sweet, her tongue is small and sharp, and her spirit bright and merry again, at last, and shining with strength. She is beautiful, as the bright morning.

The first rays break in upon our joys, but still we keep the door bolted.