Her kiss had a hunger that had not been present the night before, a certainty that meant she had thought about what was going to happen in great detail. He felt her hands delicately unclasp the silver brooch that caught his robes at his throat, dropping the jewel to the ground before slowly searching over his collarbones, pushing the fabric away. His robes gapped down the center, and he realized he should feel exposed; the breeze toyed with the wool and he felt the cold, but the warmth of the elf in his arms took his mind off any discomfort.
She pushed him towards the watchmen's cot, still kissing him with a growing ferocity that he had not expected. He tripped ungracefully onto the mattress, and the fumble broke their kiss. He looked into her eyes as she rose above him, and he saw an almost predatory passion there.
Delicately, she pulled at the ribbons securing her dress, sliding it off one alabaster shoulder and then the other, her unblemished skin glowing with an unbidden light. Gandalf suddenly felt as if he was in the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong world; how on earth could this unearthly creature be standing in front of him, removing her dress inch by inch, an enchanting smile spreading slowly across her face as she saw his incredulous expression?
His eyes rolled back into his head as she bent her golden head to place a soft kiss on his lips. It was good it was so early in the day; he had a feeling they would be in the watchtower for a good long while.
They continued their trysts, exploring the lost and hidden places of Lothlorien. Gandalf had been in the wood for over two months, trying fruitlessly to make the most of his time there by observing the elves and their customs. However, the company of the lady of the wood interrupted his pursuits almost daily. He found himself unable to concentrate on the task at hand, waiting constantly for a tap at the door; a letter delivered by messenger; or a request through Haldir.
As time passed, Gandalf grew more and more uneasy with their situation. He knew, of course, that nothing could come of their relationship, and his mounting guilt at focusing so much time and effort on her was rubbing a sore spot in his mind.
It was not so much that he was intimidated by Celeborn or afraid of his return to Lorien. If anything, Galadriel had much more to lose if her husband were to find out about her infidelity.
The lovers had avoided the subject of her husband's inevitable return, tiptoeing around it the way a person avoids touching a bruise. Gandalf was not familiar with the ways of the elves, and had thought many a time that perhaps Galadriel had done this before—perhaps it was normal or at least unchallenged among those of the wood. She did not seem concerned in the least, and that made him feel even stranger about the whole situation.
You must speak to her, he told himself. You will not rest until you do.