Chapter Text
It was late when the door opened and Celebrimbor entered his chambers, looking exhausted and smelling of forge-fire. His face was lined with ash and sweat but he smiled to see Galadriel at his table, waiting for him with a cold plate of food.
"You are late for dinner." She quipped, waving her hand at the table. "I almost ate yours."
He shrugged his shoulders, "There was much to do today in the forge."
"And surely there were others to do it, come sit down and eat, you look exhausted."
He waved her off, "I'm not hungry, I ate while we worked. I think I will just take a bath and rest."
Galadriel frowned. "We? You are only supposed to be supervising."
"I am, I am. It's- sometimes the newer smiths need a little help. They're inexperienced and-"
"Celebrimbor."
"What?" His voice held an edge.
Galadriel paused, taking a moment to take him in. He looked exhausted under the grime from the forge. She suddenly wondered if he had been sleeping at all lately. She had been enjoying staying in his rooms, his steady presence keeping her nightmares at bay. Perhaps her presence hadn't been doing the same for him. She had never been described as steady, or comforting, or any of the other dozen things she liked about Celebrimbor.
"It's the only thing I can do to fix- to help repair what I did." He said it quietly, with an air of resignation that cut straight into her heart.
Galadriel's shoulders dropped. She wanted to protest- to say that he didn't need to do anything, that it hadn't been his fault- but the words wouldn't come. They were both where they were because of mistakes they made, however much they had been influenced. And there was no one in Lindon who was a finer smith- or teacher- than Celebrimbor.
"Why don't you take a bath? I can get some more food for us, or wine?"
Celebrimbor smiled tiredly. "That sounds lovely."
Celebrimbor returned from the bath looking clean, but no less exhausted. He was wearing only a long green dressing gown, belted at the waist. His hair dripped onto the shoulders. Galadriel couldn't remember a time when she had seen him less put together- besides his time with the healers he had always worn heavy robes and rarely had a hair out of place. Even in the heat of the forge, he had always somehow managed to look elegant. Now he simply looked tired and stiff. She clicked her tongue.
He looked up at her questioningly. "Did I miss a spot?" His tone was teasing, but there was a tightness around his eyes that spoke of pain.
"Is this the first day you have actually worked yourself?"
"No, not the first. I did work a little too hard today, perhaps. But tempering is a delicate process-"
"Would you like a massage?" She cut him off before he can launch into the lecture on metals and tempering that she knew had been coming.
He looks at her, surprised. "What?"
"A massage. When I began to learn the sword, my brother taught me how to loosen the muscles that I had used, so they wouldn't be so stiff and painful the next day. You have used muscles that are no longer used to the work. I can't promise you won't be sore tomorrow, but-" she shrugs one shoulder, "it might help."
"I- yes, that- that would be nice. Thank you." He rises from the table. "How do you want me?"
"Just on this couch would work. I can sit on the back and get your shoulders."
He sits down and she climbs up behind him, grateful that he is tall, so she won't have to bend down to reach.
"Does the King know you climb all over his furniture like a squirrel?"
"No, but I doubt he would be surprised. Lean back a little and relax."
He leans back against her, but his posture is still stiff. She sighs. "Cel, this is never going to work if you sit there like a board. Why don't you tell me about what you were doing in the forge today while I work?"
He leans further back and relaxes a little before launching into his explanation easily- it really had been on the tip of his tongue earlier. She smiles at the thought and lets her mind wander as she begins to work her hands into the muscles of his shoulders and upper back. She shouldn't be so surprised to find out large they are, or how tight. He has been in the forge since he was strong enough to lift a hammer. She has to shift and use leverage on some of the knots. Whenever she does, he stops talking for a moment and then resumes when she releases. His voice is lighter now, and he occasionally chuckles when relating a particularly funny story from the last few weeks. It is obvious that he has already gained a new following of smiths in Lindon- she thinks there must be greater understanding between craftsman than between soldiers. Or perhaps it is just him. She has never gathered people to her the way Celebrimbor does so naturally; ever since revealing Halbrand's true identity she is more likely to clear a room by entering it than receive a friendly greeting.
Galadriel turns her attention to his neck, concentrating on the tight muscles. It takes her a moment to notice that he has stopped talking. She slows, and then stops, resting her hands on his neck.
After a moment he asks, "Are you finished? Am I cured?"
She snorts. "Hardly, I doubt any healer has a cure for what you have. But I have done all I can in this position. Let me get down, I have to do your chest."
She swings her leg over him and slides gracefully off of the back of the couch to sit next to Celebrimbor. He leans back, looking relaxed but a little apprehensive.
"Will this part be painful?" he asks.
"No more than your back."
"Ah."
Galadriel winces. "It's not supposed to be painful, you just have so many knots. I can try to be more gentle."
He smiles at her. "No, better to get it over with. I really do feel a lot better." He leans back further, resting his arms along the back of the low couch. "Alright, have at me."
Galadriel ignores the way her heartbeat quickens as the top of the dressing gown pulls open further, exposing his chest. She moves closer and presses her hands against his pectoral.
The muscles of his chest are as tight as his back and neck were, and before long she is rising to half standing, trying to get the right angle as she forces the muscles to loosen. Celebrimbor has closed his eyes, grimacing every now and again but saying nothing. Every time she releases an area, he sighs in relief so she keeps going. She is nearly done when she finds a knot that she can't quite get the right angle to press on. She shifts one way and then another, snorting in frustration.
Suddenly Celebrimbor moves, bringing his hands up to her hips and lifting her easily so she is straddling his lap. She freezes and he opens one eye to look at her.
"I thought it would be easier to reach this way. You seemed to be struggling." His tone is too casual.
"I was not struggling, you are just tall." She doesn't meet his eyes, but that leaves her looking at his chest. His partially bare chest. The muscles ripple as he takes his hands from her waist and lays them carefully back where they had been.
"Perhaps you are just short."
It shakes her from her reverie and she snorts, getting back to her work. It really is easier in this position.
"I find my height is an advantage on the battlefield, sometimes."
"I can imagine. Your foes must have to bend over to reach you."
She swats his chest and he laughs. She raises a hand for another smack but he catches her wrists, moving faster than she expected.
She meets his eyes and they are full of laughter. "Come now, don't undo all your hard work."
"You're insufferable."
"And yet, you suffer me."
"And you suffer me." She says quietly.
He releases her wrists and raises a hand to cup her cheek. "It is hardly suffering." She finds herself lost in his eyes for a moment. There is so much contained in his words, his touch. Galadriel finds her gaze dropping to his mouth, her body leaning forward, closing the distance.
His lips are warm and soft. She gasps when his hand winds into her hair, his other arm coming up around her back and pulling her tighter against him. He uses the moment to slide his tongue into her mouth, curling against hers. His mouth is hot and wet, and she presses into him, reveling in the feeling of his broad chest and strong arms. His mouth moves against hers like it was made to do so.
It's the best kiss Galadriel has had in a long time. The thought brings her up short and she freezes. Celebrimbor pulls back.
"I'm sorry," Galadriel says, scrambling off of his lap.
"Don't be." His tone is mild, light.
She can't look at him. Shame is curling through her gut. He is her friend- her friend. She knew she would hurt him.
"Galadriel." Her name in his soft tone stops her spiraling. "Come back and sit down. Just to talk." His voice is still soft, but slightly wry at the end. He pats the couch next to him.
She sits, risks a glance at him. He is failing to suppress a smile of fond affection. "You always were too jumpy." He says.
"Celebrimbor, I shouldn't- I didn't think-"
He cuts her off with a raised hand. "There is no need for dramatics. It was a kiss, a rather nice one before you ran away, but only a kiss."
A fantastic kiss, her mind supplies.
"Galadriel, it was bound to happen eventually. It does not have to mean anything."
She turns and looks at her friend, shame forgotten.
"What? Did you think I had saved myself in hopes you would one day return my affections?"
"No, that would be-"
"You did!" He laughs at that- truly laughs- and Galadriel finds herself joining in and they collapse against the back of the couch unable to look each other in the eye without reigniting their laughter. After a while he calms himself and wipes his eyes.
"Thank you for that, it's been a while." He gets up and goes to the table, grabbing two wine glasses and the pitcher and bringing them to the table beside the small couch. He pours for them and then returns to his seat next to her, sipping his wine.
"So," she says, "Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, breaker of hearts. How did I miss that?"
"I would assume you were off at war somewhere or other. And hardly- I doubt I have broken any hearts. But I have lived my life."
"Anyone I know?"
Celebrimbor blushes slightly, "You know some of them."
"Some? How many have there been?" She nearly spills her wine.
He waves his hand. "More than a handful, but I'll say no more. Suffice it to say that I am no shy virgin, and you need not feel guilt for kissing me. Or for enjoying it." His eyes sparkle with mirth.
It is Galadriel's turn to blush.
"So," he says, "Have I completely ruined your romantic vision of me?"
"It was clearly a false vision to begin with."
He shrugs. "Ah, well the most romantic visions usually are." He finishes his wine and sets down the glass, stretching. "You know, I think your massage has cured me. I feel much better. Or perhaps it was the kiss. One can never be sure of these things."
She grabs a pillow from the couch and swings it at him, hitting him square in the stomach.
"I am never going to hear the end of this from you, am I?"
"Well, if you have certainly found a way to silence me, should you ever need to use it."
He dodges the pillow this time with a laugh.