Chapter Text
Finding her had been difficult, and a slow consumption of his precious time.
But well worth the wait.
When he saw it, it reminded him of the first night the moon hung in the sky. It chilled him with the memory of the old world.
It’s her.
She was a silvery light in the darkness, shining brighter than every star.
He reached out with his shadows, slinking through the cracks where the glimmering shone the brightest.
Sauron lay in wait, leaning against a tree as the elf drank in her surroundings. She was as he imagined lately: in the flowing white gown, her hair fixed waves of gold. He crafted this image originally to remind her of Valinor and Finrod, but it was still to his liking. The elf was a heavenly creature, he thought, and her dressings should reflect that.
Her bright eyes finally caught sight of him and she leapt up from her seat on the rock.
“There is something different about you.” He noticed right away. “What is it?”
His question was quick; it was more of a demand, really. Perhaps it was not the best way to greet her, after all of this time, but he was genuinely taken aback. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time again, an unknown depth in her soul. The Dark Lord watched as a flash of realization crossed her porcelain features. Did she forget something? What could it be? Then her brow twitched.
“I will not let you torture me so,” she said, swiftly stepping back.
“Do you not like this memory?” Sauron asked. He looked around for a moment, admiring the shadowy grove. “I’m rather fond of it.”
Galadriel’s hands clenched into fists as he stood to his full height.
“Do you remember what I said to you here?” Sauron took a sauntering step into the thicket, hands clasped behind his back. She did not budge, eyes like daggers upon him. He smiled gently.
“Do you remember what you said to me?”
He thought it would be a nice reminder. This was when he first pictured her as his queen, after all.
"Why do you present yourself to me in this way?" Galadriel all but spat the words at him.
Sauron looked down to his chest, his palms open.
Then, with all the innocence he could muster, he looked back to her.
"As the man?"
She scowled at his casualty. He stood now in the simple blue tunic from her memory. (Sauron knew she liked that one.) Was it not comforting to see this rugged face again? It was that of Halbrand, who had saved her on the raft, who gave her cheeky smirks through the prison bars in Numenor. Her companion.
Her almost .
"As the friend I have lost," her lip quivered.
Sauron was shaking his head, bewilderment across
Halbrand's face. He approached her.
"You have not lost him."
His outstretched arms caused her to sink further into herself, shoulders hunched. The Maia was towering over the elf now. There had always been a height difference between them, but it was very noticeable when he was in control.
"Halbrand is a piece of who I am," the Dark Lord told her. “He always has been."
Galadriel searched the eyes above her frantically.
He made sure he was indistinguishable in features from the man she knew once: hazel eyes, gentle laugh lines, a shadowy scruff on a hard jaw.
“I can stay like this,” he assured her quietly. Would that appease her? An eternity with this human facade? Perhaps she wanted him to be her Beren all along. His suggestion did not put her at ease, as she stared up at him with displeasure.
The elf jutted her chin at him bravely, “You forget yourself. I know the stories of your past. The great deceiver. The murderer. ”
He had once said he never lied to her, and it was true.
There was a rather human urge to touch her boiling in him, to grab her flesh with his.
Patience, he thought, hardening his jaw.
“And yet, you draw nearer to me.”
Galadriel looked down, realizing she had closed more space between them in the grass.
“You could still call me Halbrand,” he reached out and stroked her silken hair with his hand. She flinched. “I’ll tell you all of my names. You can choose one.”
“You take me for a fool,” The elf batted his hand away. “I do not want you, no matter the name.”
Sauron laughed, the lines of Halbrand's face lighting up in delight. That was enough. Without warning, he grabbed her right wrist and pulled her against his chest. Her left arm became pressed to his sternum, fingers resting on his heart. He held her there, hot breath bating between them. Halbrand's eyes peered down at her, lustfully.
"Is that so?"
Galadriel grunted, unable to escape his hold on her. She wriggled like a clawed cat in his grip.
“Let go of me,” she demanded through gritted teeth.
“Why could I not find you?” He calmly asked, pressing his hips against her. “What is it you and Celebrimbor have done?”
Her fingers curled against his chest, clutching the fabric of his tunic as her breath steadied. A small smirk formed on Galadriel’s lips.
“You do not know,” she realized.
There was a shift in their dynamic as she seemed relieved. It was cruel, he thought. Not long ago, she had wanted to share everything with him. From the treacherous sea to the secrets of the elven forge, they had held onto each other - bound. Now she looked at him with anger. Now she spoke only in venom. Her dagger to his throat had felt better than this.
“And you say it is I who tortures you .” He said, more to himself than to her.
She was practically basking in it before him. Her sharp gaze penetrated his very being. Time for a change of plans.
“Well,” he took a wide step, forcing her back square against the nearest tree, “that can be arranged.”
Galadriel was not impressed.
“You do not think my enemies have tried to afflict me before?”
Enemies, she says.
“No, of course,” he agreed instantly. She was so beautiful, even in anger. Older than the moon, her looks were ancient and - in his opinion - unmatched. He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“But I doubt any have done this.”
He dove his free hand around her throat. Her fingers let go of his tunic and raced to grab it, but shock stopped her first.
In all of his guise as Halbrand, he never had managed to make it to this point. Now that the pleasantries were long gone, there was nothing stopping him. With haste, he craned down and trapped her lips in his. She did not refuse him, as she was too stunned.
Galadriel tasted like cold, sweet air from the very first morning. It chilled his bones and filled him with life anew. He pressed his lips harder, consuming her softness. Sauron was leaning into Galadriel, taking all of her space away. The elf managed to finally break the kiss, turning her head harshly to the side.
She muttered something in Elvish, darting her eyes away. It would burn if she looked at him.
Sauron knew her word meant something like uncouth or uncivil . He let go of her wrist with a deep huff, his chest rising and falling against hers.
“Do not lie,” he chided, letting his fingers slide down her clavicle. Her pulse thumped rapidly against his touch, neck widely exposed with her head turned. Warmth was igniting in his stomach, like the stoking of coals in a forge.
“Galadriel,” he traced her name with his lips on the white marble of her throat. Each syllable was a tender flutter of heat. His hand found the curve of her waist, and her whole frame tightened.
When she grabbed him by the hair, a smirk twisted his features. Now we are getting somewhere.
“Stop this…Sauron,” she demanded. The elf’s voice was fervent, despite her words. Hearing her say his name brought an innate desire to his mortal form. He lifted his head to find her eyes seering into him.
“That name’s just fine,” he teased.
“What do you gain from this?” Galadriel’s hand tightened on his scalp. His fingers began to spider along her hip, pulling and weaving the airy fabric of her gown up.
“I am so glad you asked,” the Dark Lord enthused. The trees in the thicket became violent with a sudden breeze. As she looked to the turbulent branches, he nudged his leg between her knees. Galadriel’s eyes widened when he snaked his hand into her skirts. It took him no time at all to find the feminine dip between her legs. He palmed it firmly as she looked at him in disbelief. A flush bloomed across the elf’s sharp cheeks.
“I gain the knowledge that this is for me ,” he hissed, fingers curling into her. “That from my touch, your wetness could launch a thousand ships.”
It was how he imagined liquid gold felt. A wild satisfaction swelled in Sauron - he was not going to be able to restrain his mortal suit much longer. Galadriel bucked in sensitivity against his toying.
“So this is to be the price,” her words were bitter, but her voice heady.
Or, you could confess the doings of Eregion , Sauron thought.
“Your desire is not a crime,” he said instead. He pushed his hardened crotch against her thigh. “Let me teach you.”
“Teach me?” She scoffed, her grip in his hair loosening. Below, she was blooming in his touch. Galadriel was a rose in the morning dew, and Sauron was pulling back her petals.
“Yes,” in a whisper, he guided the elf’s hand to his groin. If she wasn’t going to talk, he would figure her out from the inside. Sauron knew there was always a glint of darkness in her for Halbrand. Those glances at the Southlands camp had lingered on the man in ways a proper elf’s should not.
I felt it too, she had said.
“Tell me you do not want this,” the Dark Lord challenged, making sure she felt where the lacing of his britches started.
“I despise you,” she fired, her fingers gripping the laces. Sauron grinned. That’s not a no.
“Show me how much,” he bated, pressing his lips to her pointed ear. His human body vibrated with excitement as she furiously loosened his pants. Sauron’s fingers stopped their grazing of her as Galadriel finally got him exposed.
There was a moment of hesitation, a discord in them both as her hands froze on his thighs. The elf absorbed the sight of him in a way that confirmed Sauron’s suspicions: she’d definitely pictured him before. Roughly, he hiked up her skirts, and then pressed his forehead to hers. He ached against her hot core below. A heavy silence surrounded them.
“I…I am haunted by your very existence.” Galadriel confessed, a frightened sadness in her voice that neither of them expected.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
His rough smith’s hand lifted her thigh, giving a direct path for his manhood. A single tear sped down the elf’s cheek. Sauron steadied himself. Before making his final move, he gave her a wicked smile.
“ Good. ”