Just One More Night

by Aevia Greenleaf (Aevianya)

Summary:

Halbrand dipped his head, and Galadriel’s heart jumped in anticipation, but his lips only grazed her cheek. “You’re the one who said ours was no chance meeting. We were brought together for a reason.”

“We should stay focused on the difficult journey ahead,” she whispered. “Distractions during the upcoming battle could be fatal.” This venture was only an expedition but would likely turn into something much deadlier.

“That is tomorrow’s concern, which I will treat with utmost seriousness and urgency,” Halbrand vowed. “But what of tonight?” He asked in a low voice, his lips hovering just above hers.

Galadriel could hardly breathe. And could think of no more excuses to not reach for what her heart greatly desired.

Notes:

This story begins towards the end of The Rings of Power season 1 episode 5, before Halbrand (Sauron/Mairon) and Galadriel leave for the expedition to Middle Earth.

Thank you Sammybunny711 for being my beta-reader and cheerleader! Go read her lovely, fluffy, and angsty Saurondriel fic here!

Chapter 1: Complete Bliss

Galadriel had not slept all night. She had attempted to rest, but her mind refused. Instead she spent hours turning over and over every word of the argument she had exchanged with Halbrand the night before. 

She could only hope he had taken her apology to heart and had some modicum of trust for her belief in him.

Ever since he first pulled her from the Sundering Seas, Galadriel had sensed the pain and rage simmering beneath his guarded demeanor. For a man, it was remarkable how keenly he perceived her in return. But the more Halbrand revealed about himself, and all that Sauron and the orcs had cost him, the more she understood him. They were alike in their anguish and in what they had lost.

Only Halbrand needed a push to reach for the courage to fight back as she had been doing for so long—and compassion for his suffering so that he could leave behind the regrets that bound him in fear and shame.

Galadriel was truly sorry for having hurt him, for not finding a way forward without using him as he had her. But she could not just apologize and leave him be. She could not leave him to a false peace.

Because it was not peace he would find on this isolated island. Not when there was still a chance to save his people and lands from further devastation.

She had to believe this was true for Halbrand because she also wanted it to be true for her.

It could not be too late for either of them to make things right.

And it was not only because she shared Halbrand’s grief. Beneath all his sorrow and guilt, she felt his desire to atone, to mend what had been broken.

Still, Galadriel did not know what to expect when Halbrand appeared before the Queen Regent under her summons. 

Galadriel’s heart raced at the thought of her plans falling to ruin. But strangely, also at the thought of never seeing Halbrand again. She hardly knew him. He likely hated her for ruining his own plans. But something about Halbrand’s presence had dulled the sharp ache of loneliness that clawed at her spirit even long before her closest friends had forced her into exile.

Galadriel received her own summons from the Queen Regent early in the morning. She wasted no time arriving in the council hall before sunrise as Míriel had requested. There was nothing left for her to do but hope Halbrand would also appear.

Elendil stood by Míriel and gave Galadriel a kind nod as she entered. They exchanged morning greetings. Before long, Pharazôn joined, and they were all waiting for the anticipated last member of the meeting to arrive.

A morning sea breeze whipped through the sheer curtains along the open walls of the hall. Streaks of red and orange painted the sky, preceding the rising sun that had not yet crept over the horizon. It would any moment now. Galadriel’s stomach twisted in knots.

“I trust Lord Halbrand has had enough time to appreciate the risk I am willing to take for his people,” Míriel said, her eyes going from Galadriel to the entryway of the hall. The Queen Regent still doubted Galadriel. She could not blame her.

Fortunately, she was saved from answering because moments later, a guard opened the door. Halbrand stepped through. 

Galadriel had to stop herself from frowning at his disheveled appearance. He wore the same tunic and smith’s apron from the day before, his hair barely combed through. Perhaps he had found sleep no easier than she, but he should have tidied himself for the council meeting.

Or maybe he had not made a decision until her guard came to fetch him.

Watching him approach, Galadriel was determined to appear confident, but his reserved demeanor gave her no comfort. His eyes did not glance her way once, so she forced her own gaze from his figure. 

Halbrand had already betrayed her once, all so he could toil away in a forge, hiding from the forces that had brought them together to defeat great evil.

And after how she had used him in return, she would not be surprised if he chose to throw her to the wolves. If he refused to join the mission, what could Míriel do but blame Galadriel for conspiracy and deception?

She scanned the hall for exits and impromptu weapons. The Queen Regent’s guards would not underestimate her again. Nor could she count on Míriel’s mercy to give her leave from the island a second time. In a minute or two, Galadriel would have her king and an army, or she would be utterly alone. Again.

“Your majesty,” Halbrand greeted Míriel, just as Galadriel started determining how she would climb down the tower's outer walls. “Please pardon my appearance. I took my bed late and awoke early to work on an important project before our departure.”

Our departure. He had said the words so casually that it took Galadriel a moment to process their meaning.

The Queen Regent smiled, and Galadriel could see the relief coursing through the woman as her shoulders relaxed. “Lord Halbrand of the Southlands, I am most pleased to hear of your preparations for our mission. We shall depart tomorrow morning after a procession through the city. Elendil shall connect you with the palace armorer so you may make landfall in a manner befitting your station.”

Halbrand offered his deep gratitude while Galadriel noted Pharazôn’s disappointed sigh of resignation.

As Míriel dived into further details for the mission ahead, Galadriel struggled to keep her gaze from Halbrand. When she finally looked at him, he watched her with a smug gleam in his eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. He had enjoyed making her worry about his decision.

She wanted to wipe the sly smile from his face. She wanted to grab him and—

“Galadriel,” Halbrand greeted cheerfully as if they had not spent the past couple of days at war with each other. “If you can find the time, please come by the forge before the day ends. I want to show you something before we depart in the morning.”

Galadriel tried to imagine what he wanted to show her. She would not put it past Halbrand to give her more grief before they left. But instead of openly challenging him, she smiled at him. “Of course, once all preparations are in order.”

After Míriel and the council ironed out the order of events for departure, Galadriel found the day passed quickly. She was grateful. While moved by the Queen Regent’s honor, Galadriel was eager to return to the hunt for Sauron. 

She was not yet ready to face the High King or her best friend. But that would not happen until after she had helped Halbrand retake the Southlands. Ereinion and Elrond could no longer deny Sauron’s return after Galadriel laid waste to one of his orc armies. 

Perhaps she would finally find Sauron himself. There was still the dilemma of how to defeat him. Her dearest brother had tried and failed.

Galadriel stopped herself from following the trail of thought before old doubts could settle in her mind. She was grateful for the excuse to visit Halbrand once evening fell. Surely, whatever mischief he was up to would prove a helpful distraction.

She found him alone in the forge, sweeping the floor of all things. The other smiths were absent, likely joining the festivities across the city to celebrate tomorrow’s departure of the Queen Regent and her troops. “I hear the Forge Master is quite sorry to see you go. Captain Elendil mentioned that his praises of your craft have already spread far.”

Halbrand set aside the broom and glanced her way before shrugging. “You could say I grew up in my father’s forge. One of the first things he taught me was how to swing a hammer.”

“Your father was a smith?” Galadriel asked, touched that Halbrand was opening himself to her. It made sense, considering his skill with a sword. She still knew so little of his past except that it haunted him. 

“The best there ever was,” Halbrand boasted with a small smile. “But I could never measure up.” His gaze landed on the flickering fire, casting shadows across his face. His smile was gone. “Maybe one day I will create something he would truly admire.”

Galadriel stepped forward and put her hand on Halbrand’s arm, seeking to offer him assurance. “I have no doubt your father would be proud of your choice today. Upon landfall, you will renew hope for your people.” She dared not ask what had become of Halbrand’s father or kingship. It was clear Halbrand had lost all whom he loved, or he would not have been on that raft alone, running away.

“I wish it were true,” Halbrand replied, facing her. He looked down where Galadriel’s hand touched his arm.

Galadriel wondered if it was too much for the human in his vulnerable state. But before she could remove her hand, Halbrand placed his own on hers. “Never once in my life have I felt seen for all of which I am capable—until last night, when you told me there was still a path down which I could earn lasting peace. Despite all I’ve done,” he added, his voice heavy with regret.

Their eyes met, and Galadriel felt as if Halbrand’s piercing gaze could see into the very depths of her soul. She could say the same about how he made her feel but was reluctant to admit that a human she knew for such a short time seemed to understand her better than her dearest friend. 

He gazed at her as if entranced. Galadriel could not explain the way her body seemed to hum with warmth in response. She wanted to blame the heat from the forge, but she had felt the same when Halbrand pulled her close to return Finrod’s dagger.

“Maybe your father had a hard time expressing it, but I am certain he was proud of you,” Galadriel encouraged, redirecting the conversation with a smile and taking back her hand. Needing to look anywhere but at Halbrand, she made herself admire the blade lying across the nearby table.

After a beat, she could hear him swish the broom for a couple of minutes before she heard the creak of a closet door opening and closing. “Truthfully,” he finally replied, “he was generous with his praise of my craft, of everyone who studied under him. But it was the way he always harped on and on about how I was duty-bound when what I truly wanted was freedom. I could never be myself if I wanted him to accept me.”

Galadriel felt a pang of sympathy. “I understand of what you speak. My father loved me dearly, but I know it broke his heart when I left home.” She reached for the sword’s pommel, ran her fingers over its ridges and dips, then down the smooth grip.

“Why did you leave home?” Halbrand had moved beside her again, and she could feel his gaze studying her.

There were many answers, and Galadriel considered which to give him. “I wanted to explore and find land for a dominion of my own.” It was true, but the words felt hollow. She had revealed her inner darkness to Halbrand just the night before. Why hide it now? “But mostly, it was because it no longer felt like home. A great evil destroyed the two trees of light that shone long before the sun and the moon.  With their light gone, so was the peace from within.”

Picking up the sword, Galadriel admired how it shined against the forge’s flame. She remembered when she and her brothers had crafted their first blades in their secret forge, weary of the growing animosity between their uncles. “The great evil then murdered my grandfather, and that was when many of my kin and I could no longer stand idle. My three brothers and I all decided to leave. My father pleaded with us to stay and live in peace. But he could not persuade even Finrod, who would leave behind his beloved, to remain.”

“He was the brother from whom you inherited your blade?” Halbrand asked, his voice soft.

“Yes,” she breathed out, grief still squeezing her lungs. “He was the oldest of us. He did not have a vengeful bone in his body, but he would not be separated from us, our other brothers and I, and his many friends who were determined to leave. In the end, my father traveled with us for a short time before—”

Anger burned through Galadriel as she recalled the bloody fight between her uncle’s followers and her mother’s kin. She moved the sword in the same upward warning slash she had used against her cousin before he could strike a killing blow upon an injured elf only trying to prevent the theft of his ship. Her cousin had begrudgingly relented, but he had already slain many others.

“Even before we left the shores of Aman, I finally learned firsthand the horrors of fighting that before had only been tales of my ancestors and never elf against elf,” she admitted to Halbrand. “My uncle Fëanor, his long-darkened heart compounded by grief and greed, led his followers to attack my mother’s people. He coveted their ships. He killed for their ships.” Even now, sorrow washed over Galadriel. And shame. She had never personally told anyone before what had happened, not the darker details. 

“I was with my family in the rear of the last host to leave our home, led by my uncle Fingolfin, who was nobler than my uncle Fëanor. Finrod and I hastened to the harbor when we saw the fighting from afar. But we were too late to save more than a few lives.” Galadriel cut through the air again, one, two, three strikes against her long-gone cousins and their friends. “While set against my uncle Fëanor, most of us were determined to continue to Middle-earth. That’s when my father let us go and turned back home.” 

“A few lives saved is more than none,” Halbrand countered. “And they were the first of many, I’m sure.”

With a deep exhale, Galadriel turned to place the sword back on the table.

“No,” Halbrand held up his hand. “It’s for you.”

She tilted her head, confused. “Míriel’s armorer will provide me with a sword at first light tomorrow.”

“But that sword won’t match your armor.” A sly smile crept across Halbrand’s lips like he had a secret he could not wait to share.

“I will be content with whatever her armorer can find to spare. I have won us an army. I thought it prudent to give the Queen a respite from my demands… for now,” she added with a small smile. She could not help but be pleased with how her plans had all come together.

Halbrand let out a snort of amusement. “Well, I decided you shouldn’t settle for plated scraps when you ride against the orcs.” He held out a hand towards the stairway across the room. “Lead the way, my lady.”

Galadriel sent him a look of suspicion. He was up to mischief, after all. But she did not mind indulging him, considering he would soon risk everything at her insistence.

Up the stone stairs, she saw a hallway of doors, rooms for storage, or smiths who did not have abodes in the city, she assumed. “First on the right,” Halbrand instructed as he ascended the stairs behind her.

She pushed open the door to a small, unassuming room. The small bed was neatly made, and the armoire was closed, concealing whatever few possessions Halbrand had claimed in the past couple of weeks.

But what shocked Galadriel was the suit of armor with chainmail skirt and accents set upon an armor stand. The polished metal glistened in the room’s lantern light. 

Interestingly, it did not stand tall enough for Halbrand himself. No, even at a glance, she could tell it was made for her smaller figure.

“The Royal Seamstress was kind enough to give me your measurements after I petitioned for the bid to craft your armor,” Halbrand shared. She could hear the grin on his face without even turning around.

Míriel’s royal seamstress had taken Galadriel’s measurements the first day she arrived in Numenor. It was not as if Galadriel could refuse the gowns offered when she had only the sea-soaked shift on her back to her name.

“This should have taken you weeks, months even. How have you made such fine armor in less than… what, ten days?” Galadriel glanced back at the smith, who was grinning ear to ear.

“The chainmail was mostly repurposed,” he offered as an explanation.

Galadriel’s eyebrows arched in disbelief. He had to have started on his own before any bid was put out, considering it was not long ago the Queen Regent almost sent her away on a ship without more than food and water rations for the sea voyage. 

“I’ve had trouble sleeping…” He added with a shrug.

“Halbrand.”

He sighed. “When I first stepped into this forge, I was against joining your fight.”

“Our fight,” she corrected him.

“Yes, well, before you so effectively badgered me into agreement—“

“I did not—” she tried to interrupt, but he ignored her.

“And after you used me to persuade the Queen to champion your cause,” he pressed on.

Galadriel took a step forward into Halbrand’s personal space. “After you betrayed me for a guild crest.” Since first calling him out, Galadriel understood why he took the opportunity. Every time she watched him swing a hammer, she could not help but notice how it was a natural extension of his arm.

Yet she still felt the sting of betrayal. 

He did not try to avoid her commanding gaze, and Galadriel was surprised to see a softness in his own. “I knew you would overcome such a setback, and I was right.”

“You’re telling me you continued crafting a set of armor for me after that tantrum you threw when we first had this argument—when you told me to find someone else to crown and let me think all my plans had been for nothing.” She glared at him.

He chuckled. “Well, I did take a break to watch you put those young soldiers in their place. They were not more than children with play swords that you danced around with ease.”

“Be kind,” Galadriel chastised, even as the anger drained from her blood, quelled by the amusement in Halbrand’s voice. “They are brave and noble. Tomorrow, they go to war for you and your people.”

“When I first stepped into that forge,” he retreaded, “I planned to stay. Yet I was plagued by thoughts of your imminent departure to face our enemy alone. While I did wish to stay here in peace, I couldn’t stop…” He sighed and cast his gaze away. “Thinking of you—how it was a pity you would not stay here on this wondrous island with me.”

Something tightened in Galadriel’s chest.

“The least I could do was ensure you rode to battle in armor worthy of your station as commander,” he continued, “not ugly spare parts that would be hastily altered to fit you poorly.”

She glanced over at the suit of armor. She did not have to study it long to determine it was beautifully made. It reminded her of the armor she had forged with her brothers in Valinor.

“You told me you would find us an army,” he continued. “I may have given you a difficult time, but I knew you wouldn’t rest until you marched into the Southlands with an army behind you. With or without me, I couldn’t let you go in shoddy armor scraps.”

Galadriel reached for Halbrand’s arm before she could stop herself. Why could she not keep her hands off him? “Thank you. It will be the most beautiful armor I have ever worn. And I first left home wearing armor forged under the tutelage of Aulë himself. He would be most impressed by your craft.”

He gave her no dismissive shrug this time. A small but genuine smile painted his lips, and light twinkled in his eyes she had never noticed before.

“I wanted to give you something in return for the great gift of hope you gave me.”

“When did I give you hope?” She asked. If she was honest, she knew she had been demanding of Halbrand since they first met. He was being far too kind to her after everything.

“On the raft, when the storm raged about us, you reached out your hand, asked for mine.” As he spoke, Halbrand took her hand from his arm. He held it in his, still warm from a long day of labor. “You commanded me to bind myself to you.”

Galadriel frowned. “If you had, we would have both drowned.”

Halbrand shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. I had selfishly rejected your demand to fight for my people. I only wanted to run away and hide. You saw I did nothing to help my companions against the sea monster. Yet still, you determined something in me worth saving.”

“You’re the one who saved me,” she insisted, remembering the relief and gratitude she felt when Halbrand’s strong arms pulled her to the surface. Before that moment, she had seen him as a lost and helpless human, but he risked his mortal life for hers. Did he not understand the significance of his choice? “At great risk to yourself,” she added.

“Something told me I simply could not let you go, irritatingly nosy and pushy as you are,” he smirked. 

Galadriel wanted to scowl, but she did not miss how his smirk quickly faded into something more sincere. She wondered if he realized how he moved his thumb in small circles around the palm of her hand. 

“I have long been afraid of… many things,” he added quietly. “But I’m not anymore. Not if I’ll have you by my side.” 

Galadriel could hear the truth in his words. It was not fair to hold back her own. “Knowing I am no longer alone in this fight means everything to me,” she admitted, her head spinning at how vulnerable she felt. 

Halbrand glanced down at their hands and did not cease the comforting movement of his thumb. Warmth flickered through Galadriel’s blood. “I have not saved even a few lives. I have only…” He swallowed, “ended them,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “I would like to change that.”

“You will. We will. Together,” she promised.

Halbrand’s gaze lifted to meet hers. “What you said about us being brought together by something greater than destiny, I’m starting to believe it.”

She believed the same, even more so than when she first proclaimed their connection aloud. Words did not seem enough to explain the depth of her feelings. Her gaze flitted down to Halbrand’s lips, but before she could give into the compulsion, Halbrand moved first.

His mouth covered hers in a searing kiss. Galadriel gasped, her heart thumping as dizzying elation filled her chest. Halbrand started to pull back, but she could not let him go now.

She grabbed his shoulder and pushed up on her toes to press her lips firmly against his. 

Halbrand breathed in sharply through his nose and wrapped an arm around her to pull her closer. His lips moved against Galadriel’s with a fiery hunger. She felt the same hunger coursing through her bones so strongly it frightened her.

Her lips parted as an invitation. Halbrand responded eagerly, their teeth clacking before his tongue swept inside, exploring, tasting as their hot breaths mingled. She pushed his tongue out with her own, then gently nipped at his bottom lip. He responded with a low growl, sending a warm shiver along Galadriel’s spine.

Halbrand’s hands glided down the sides of her torso. She leaned up further into his towering figure. Then his hands moved lower and suddenly lifted her off the ground. Without a second thought, she wrapped her legs around his waist. She immediately took advantage of the closeness to tangle her fingers into his hair and press a long, deep kiss against his mouth that left them both gasping.

As they continued battling with lips, tongue, and teeth, he maneuvered them until he pinned Galadriel against the wall. His body, solid and hot as a furnace, pressed against hers, stirring a yearning deep in her belly. 

Then Halbrand pressed open-mouth kisses along her jaw, down her neck, alighting her every nerve ending on fire. “Halbrand,” she moaned when he started to kiss and nip at the sensitive skin in the crook of her neck. Pleasure coursed through her body, from where he suckled at her neck down to her toes.

Galadriel tightened her hand in Halbrand’s hair. Heat pooled between her thighs. A need to reach into Halbrand’s mind with her own grew stronger and stronger, to bring them together as one, body and spirit.

Her body had only once before, long ago, responded like this to another. She did not recall it had been as demanding, as all-consuming a compulsion to lose herself to another until there was no telling where she began and he ended. How could she possibly feel like this?

That was when reality broke through Galadriel’s haze of desire.

“Wait,” she gasped against Halbrand’s lips. “I… I cannot do this,” she sputtered out, staring at his chest as it rose and fell. It was not truly what she wanted to say. But how could she go down this path?

Halbrand pulled back and cupped her face with a soft touch. “Galadriel?” She looked up to find his eyes searching hers with concern. 

She must have looked mortified because he carefully placed her back on the ground. Yet he stayed before her, his hands gliding up and down her arms as if he could not resist keeping her close. “Is this about the elf custom of marriage?” He asked in a hesitant voice. “Because I do not expect—“

“I already have a husband,” she said in a rush of words. That seemed to stun Halbrand. His hands stilled but did not leave her arms. He stared at her as if waiting for her to take back what she had said.

“I mean…” she was not used to fumbling for what to say, but she could barely comprehend what she was feeling and struggled to make sense of the clashing emotions gripping her heart. “He is long dead,” she admitted in a whisper. “But that is not necessarily the end of a marriage, not for elves. One day, he may be back in his body made anew, awaiting my return to Valinor.”

“He may?” Halbrand asked, patience in his voice, although it did not entirely mask his hurt. He seemed to have no intention of assuming anymore than she told him. He did not want to let her go. That only made it harder for Galadriel to think clearly.

She frowned as she turned Halbrand’s small question around in her mind. She tried not to think of Celeborn often. It was too painful because there was a slight chance she would never see him again. “There is no certainty,” she admitted, her heart hurting as she revisited a truth she could not often bear to face. “Some elves are too weary or sad to ever leave the Hall of Mandos, a place of waiting and healing for us if we die.” Galadriel did not personally know many elves who had come from the Hall of Mandos. She was born in Valinor where no elves died until the day her grandfather was slain by Morgoth.

“So, one day long from now, you may see your husband again?” Halbrand asked in a careful, gentle voice. “I would not dream of leaving a scar upon your heart. I am, but a low man, and I will be long gone by then. And for me, it will be permanent, as that is the way for men. Therefore, I would not interfere with any such reunion.”

Galadriel smiled sadly. “You will be long gone, but I will remain with the world until its very end. And already it is plain to me that our parting one day will be…” She swallowed before repeating his words back to him. “A scar upon my heart.”

Something soft and sweet shone in Halbrand’s eyes. It was not lost on him that she had all but declared her affection for him. Galadriel perceived too easily it was not something he had experienced before and she wished to give him her affection openly and fully. But then she thought of her grandfather who loved twice. His love was true both times, she believed. But his choices had brought strife and sorrow to his children and his children’s children. Was such not an ill omen of loving more than once? Galadriel knew of no other elves who had dared.

Yet, there was no choice to be made about her feelings. She could not deny that her intense longing for Halbrand was beyond her control. She could not deny the pull between Halbrand’s spirit and her own.

He had been quiet momentarily as if weighing what to say next. Finally, he gathered Galadriel’s hands with his. “If I am one day to be a scar for you, could I not also be a memory of a little happiness?” His eyes glistened with a deep vulnerability that she had not imagined him capable. He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed the back of each in turn. 

“A memory of a little pleasure?” He asked, regathering his confidence as he kissed her inner wrist. He then kissed her other wrist. She was grateful for her gown’s long sleeves hiding the goosebumps on her skin.

“Of a blissful moment of peace before plunging into yet another battle?” Halbrand bent to press a chaste kiss where her neck and shoulder met, his hands finding their way back to her waist. 

Galadriel wanted everything Halbrand described and more. Why was she holding herself back?

“What about that woman you fancy?” She asked, even though that was not a genuine concern of hers. She needed more time to think.

“Who?” Halbrand asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“The one that landed you behind bars.”

He laughed. “I may have twisted my words a little. I wasn’t referring to a woman… exactly.” His gaze swept from the crown of her head and down her figure, then back up. “Rather the most stubborn, demanding…” He smirked before continuing. “The fiercest, most beautiful, most luminous elf I have ever laid eyes upon.”

Halbrand dipped his head, and Galadriel’s heart jumped in anticipation, but his lips only grazed her cheek. “You’re the one who said ours was no chance meeting. We were brought together for a reason.”

“We should stay focused on the difficult journey ahead,” she whispered. “Distractions during the upcoming battle could be fatal.” This venture was only an expedition but would likely turn into something much deadlier.

“That is tomorrow’s concern, which I will treat with utmost seriousness and urgency,” Halbrand vowed. “But what of tonight?” He asked in a low voice, his lips hovering just above hers. 

Galadriel could hardly breathe. And could think of no more excuses to not reach for what her heart greatly desired.

She leaned up to close the distance, kissing Halbrand long and hard. Immediately, he responded to her kiss, arms wrapping around her, pulling her close.

It was not close enough. She ran her fingers through his hair, then tugged him further down. Only when desperate for a breath did they part a hair’s breadth, a beat barely passing before their lips crashed back together.

When that was not enough, Galadriel pushed her tongue past Halbrand’s lips, eager to taste him. To try and satisfy her desire to consume him.

His tongue greeted hers, then pushed into her mouth. Galadriel could not stop herself from reflexively sucking on his tongue, as if she could somehow possibly take him deeper into herself. 

Halbrand groaned into her mouth, and she thought she felt him tremble. His reaction stoked the fire of desire burning through her into an inferno.

As she wondered how else she could affect him, his lips wandered along her jaw, his beard scratching at her skin in a pleasant way. He stopped where her dress covered her shoulder, but before he could return to her lips, she tugged the top of the sleeve down. 

He immediately acquiesced, kissing her shoulder, then along her collarbone. Then his gaze wandered to her other shoulder. Galadriel nodded and he pulled down the fabric so he could place warm, wet kisses on the exposed skin. It was her turn to shudder with pleasure.

Needing him closer still, she gestured towards the bed. Surprised, He raised a brow, but blazing desire took over his expression when she tugged him down. With a passionate kiss, he pressed her upper body against the mattress, his hands running through her hair, down the curve of her neck, and across her shoulders.

That’s when Galadriel could no longer stand the leather of his fingerless gauntlets. She pulled at one and Halbrand held his hand out so she could more easily take it off. Once his hands were bare, she brought one to her chest. 

She thought he would touch her over the fabric first, but he immediately attempted to wrestle the fabric down. The outer cloth corset fit her tightly, but it did not take him long to free her right breast from its confines.

He stared down at her as if enchanted, his thumb expertly working her nipple to a hard peak. Galadriel fought against a sudden flit of nerves as she realized Halbrand really knew what he was doing, while she had some knowledge but little experience. She and Celeborn had not had many opportunities to be together before the war tore them apart. And they had both been inexperienced and Celeborn shy, so they had taken it slow exploring each other.

But before Galadriel could worry too much about disappointing Halbrand, his hot, wet mouth closed around her breast. She gasped at the sensation, at the frenzy sparking in her blood. His tongue flicked against her nipple while he gently massaged her other breast with his hand. 

“Halbrand,” she moaned, squeezing her thighs together to try and relieve the growing need she felt, but it only increased with every lick and suck and gentle nip from Halbrand’s mouth. 

“Galadriel,” he answered, in a voice she could only describe as a cross between worshipful and hungry. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her, like he wanted to devour her as he pulled down the other side of her corset to free her breast. He did indeed take her in his mouth again, giving her left breast the same treatment he had given the right.

She could not help but arch into him while twisting her fingers in his hair. He slowly kissed her chest and neck until he met her lips again while gradually maneuvering his body over hers. His arms and legs framed her own, but he kept some distance between their hips.

“Is this about the elf custom of marriage?” He had asked. “Because I do not expect—“

Gripping the back of his head, Galadriel pulled Halbrand down for a passionate kiss. When they broke for air, she reached a hand to tug at the belt holding the smithing apron to his body. He grinned above her and sat up to remove the offending leather garment. Next, he removed his boots, followed by her own.

Then he rolled back onto her, this time allowing his weight to sink against her body. “Is this what you wish to feel, Galadriel?” He rocked his hips against hers. Even through their layers of clothing, she could feel his hardness. “My desire for you,” he whispered in a low voice against the shell of her ear, grinding against her.

She took in a sharp breath, his movements causing friction against the most sensitive part of her body. While she needed more, she was not sure how she would handle it, every inch of her already aflame with desire.

But she had no intention of stopping Halbrand as his hand again found her breast. He continued to rock against her as he rolled her hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His lips and tongue found their way to the sensitive skin behind her earlobe. Overwhelmed, she squeezed his head between her chin and shoulder.

He brought a firm hand to her jaw, turning her head so he could continue his ministrations until she was squirming beneath him, little moans and gasps slipping past her lips. He pulled back to look down at her, a wicked grin of self-satisfaction on his face as he rocked his hips against hers with more pressure.

Through her haze of pleasure, Galadriel thought it only fair Halbrand also felt her need for him. She looked down between them and reached for his hand. He stopped his movements, lifting himself up but not away. She pulled aside the aquamarine skirts to her dress and touched the waistband of her white trousers underneath.

She did not have to say a word. He took over, rolling the material down her legs, kissing her skin as he exposed it bit by bit. He made quick work of her undergarment without any hesitance. Galadriel found herself blushing, overwhelmed by his devoted attention. Where was the scoundrel she met on the raft?

As his hands and lips wandered back up her legs, her heart raced, in both anticipation and a sudden awareness of vulnerability. She ached for more, and not just in the physical sense. She wanted to know Halbrand’s innermost thoughts. She wanted to tell him her own. But she did not want to scare him away. She had to control herself.

“Galadriel,” Halbrand’s voice was gentle. She could feel his fingers threading through the hair framing the right side of her face. He hovered above her again.

She locked eyes with him and watched the lantern light dance in his darkened gaze. His hand wandered down her body, between her legs. He cupped her warmth, then dragged one of his fingers up her slit. He groaned and tilted his body to one side so he could look down at her. Galadriel could barely breathe as he delicately brushed his finger through her again. 

He held up the finger, glistening even in the dim lantern light. The little pleased look he sent her quickened her pulse, and she gasped when his finger slipped again between her slick folds. 

He pushed his finger inside, and Galadriel’s hand flew forward to grab his shoulder, needing something solid to hold. She caught the corners of his mouth turn up before he began to thrust his finger in and out of her. 

She bucked up against his hand on instinct, feeling a dire need for more. Halbrand chuckled softly. “So impatient,” he tsked, but he added a second finger and pushed deep inside her. Galadriel wanted to argue, but only a breathy “oh” passed her lips. 

He pulled out his fingers all too quickly, and she whined at the loss. But he replaced them with his thumb, dipping into her wetness, then up her slit until he brushed against a bundle of nerves that made her breath hitch. Then he pushed his fingers back inside her and resumed their thrusting.

Her breath went shallow as his thumb circled over and over the little nub. “Hal-Halbrand,” she muttered, on the verge of telling him it was too much. But she never, ever wanted him to stop, even as something almost unbearably hot coiled low in her belly, and her limbs started to tense.

“So sensitive,” he murmured, slowing but not stopping his movements. “Relax into the pleasure,” he encouraged. “Then when it peaks, it will be all the more…” He looked at her as if captivated. “Consuming.”

Galadriel could not imagine what could possibly feel more all-consuming than the current thrum of pleasure rolling through her with every thrust of his fingers, every brush of his thumb. 

He was not even inside her yet with what he concealed in his trousers. Yet she had never felt this inflamed when she laid with Celeborn. 

She briefly succeeded in relaxing her limbs, but then Halbrand bent his head to capture her nearer breast in his mouth and suck. A hot wave of stimulation made her dizzy. She grasped at his hair, torn between pulling him off or begging him to never stop.

He moaned around her breast and started moving his fingers a little faster, his thumb a little firmer.

Her whole body was growing too heated and felt as if it was about to burst. She could not relax any part of herself if she tried. Her mind was overcome with only the feeling of Halbrand’s fingers, lips, tongue… 

“Halbrand,” she cried out in a strained voice. “I-I-“ cannot bear it she meant to say, but she could not catch her breath as her whole being reached for relief that felt just out of reach. Until the impossibly tight ache in her lower belly suddenly, finally, exploded. 

Waves of blinding pleasure crashed over Galadriel. Her whole body trembled out of her control, curling into Halbrand. 

His fingers slowed as her inner walls gripped them tight. He kept circling his thumb over her swollen bud, slow and steady, as wave after wave rocked through her. 

Soon it became truly too much and she twisted under him, pushing his hand away. As she took a heaving breath, Halbrand peppered her forehead, her cheeks, her shoulder with kisses.

“What—“ She gasped as he nuzzled into her neck, the scratching of his beard triggering another aftershock of delight coursing through her. “What did you do to me?”

Halbrand leaned back, propped on an arm, a curious smirk on his face. His free hand ran up and down her curled thigh with a featherlight touch. “Do you mean to tell me that Galadriel of the Noldor, Commander of the Northern Armies—“

“Halbrand,” she warned, incredulous he would tease her in her vulnerable state. Why had she even admitted her shock? She was not accustomed to being caught off guard nor likely to admit when she did realize a personal lack of… knowledge. But Halbrand was quickly breaking down her carefully laid defenses.

His smile softened. “When you laid with your husband, do you not remember near the end how he would lose control and tremble inside you?”

Galadriel scrunched her nose, wishing he had said anything else. She did not want to think of Celeborn at this moment. “Elven memories do not fade,” she admitted, only briefly allowing one to come into her mind. Halbrand was right. She promptly pushed the memory away.

“Well, now you know what that’s like. I brought you to the highest precipice of arousal,” Halbrand said, finally answering her actual question as his hand wandered from her thigh to her backside. He pressed his fingertips into her skin, gently massaging as they moved closer and closer to the apex where her legs met. She clenched her thighs in anticipation, but he stopped and dragged his fingers back to her thigh. “So that you would experience utmost pleasure on your way down.”

Galadriel had gathered as much, but to hear Halbrand describe his intent inflamed the desire simmering just under her skin.

She pulled Halbrand down for a bruising kiss, then snaked her other hand between them. She tugged up on his tunic, until it was out of the way for her to find the waistband of his trousers. She edged it down slightly, then looked up at him for help.

He immediately acquiesced, stripping the clothing away and letting it fall crumbled at the edge of the bed. His long tunic still hid him from Galadriel, but as soon as he lay next to her, she slipped her hand under to feel him.

Halbrand gasped at her touch, his eyes locking on hers. She ghosted her hand up and down his velvety smooth length. His essence leaked from the tip and she gathered it in her fingers. Her hand glided back down. Halbrand jerked against her.
      
Just touching him was not enough. She wanted to see him. She needed him nearer. She needed him inside her.

She started to pull up his tunic, and he removed it, leaving himself completely bare before her.

Her eyes swept down the expanse of his toned torso. She reached out a hand and brushed her fingers across his chest. When her gaze dropped lower, Galadriel could not help but stare down at his swollen length. She did not realize humans could be so well endowed and wondered how it would fit.

She did not want to wait long to find out, not only her body but her spirit aching to intertwine with his. She lay back, her legs falling apart as she looked up at Halbrand expectantly.

He faltered, opening and closing his mouth. 

Something painful twisted in Galadriel’s gut, and she pulled her legs to her stomach, suddenly feeling exposed. “Do you…” she stumbled over the words, fearing she miscalculated, “Not wish to feel the same… with me?” She added, both afraid she had offended him, pushing for too much too fast and that he did not want to be with her in such a complete way. 

“Galadriel,” Halbrand lay down and pulled her flush against him. “I wish nothing more. I just thought that since you’re an elf—“

“Oh, we will not say the vows,” she rushed to reassure him, recalling how he had started expressing concern for elven customs earlier. She was not even sure what would happen if they said Eru’s name, considering she had rejected the Valar’s grace and forgiveness thrice. And there was still the matter of Celeborn, but she had no space in her thoughts for that right now.

“This won’t offend the gods?” Halbrand asked.

It was always interesting to hear humans refer to the Valar as gods. Galadriel knew there was only the One, but she understood why the Valar and even the Maiar could seem like gods to mortals. 

“They have little concern for the affairs of Middle-earth,” she admitted, something cutting deep in her spirit. Though she had been confident in her decision to leave Valinor, Galadriel could never fully forsake her reverence for the Valar. She carried their many lessons with her always.

“Galadriel,” Halbrand said softly, caressing her upper arm and bringing her back to the present. “I meant what I said about wanting to be a memory of happiness and pleasure." He searched her eyes with a caring gaze. “But I don’t want to leave too deep a scar.”

She realized what he was talking about. He was concerned that their joining without vows, without any promise of commitment, would burden her elven spirit. What he did not know was that it was already too late. 

Before he first kissed her, she was overwhelmed by their connection, already overcome by a longing for Halbrand in every sense of the word, even though it had taken her time to realize. But she would not admit this aloud and make it his burden, too. She was determined that at least one would remain without such a scar.

And from what she understood of humans, Halbrand could move on if he so chose, as she imagined he had done at least once before in his short life, considering how expertly he had made her fall apart. 

“I know what I want,” Galadriel cupped Halbrand’s face. “For tonight,” she added, hoping to relieve him of future pressure despite her being an elf. “If only, if it is what you want too,” she said, letting her hand fall to his bare chest. She splayed out her fingers and caressed his soft skin with her thumb.

Halbrand pressed a bruising kiss to her lips, reigniting the fire in her blood. “I want you, all of you,” he murmured against her lips. 

Her heart thundering in her chest, Galadriel parted her legs. She watched with rapture as Halbrand took his length in hand.

“Tell me what you want,” he requested as he stroked himself.

“I have,” she bit out, the ache of her need clawing inside her belly.

Halbrand reached down a hand between Galadriel’s legs and dipped two fingers inside her. “I want you to say it, Galadriel,” he commanded, pushing in a third finger. 

“I want… you to feel the… pleasure you gave me,” Galadriel managed between gasps as he thrust with all three fingers, stretching her wide. “For us to feel it… together.” She was greatly considering how she might torture him in return one day.

“How?” Halbrand asked, pulling out his fingers. He lowered his body closer to hers and dragged the head of his length through her soaking wet slit, letting it brush against her sensitive bud.

Galadriel swallowed a whimper. “I want you inside me,” she demanded. The corners of Halbrand’s mouth tilted up, and with a firm thrust, he buried himself inside her.

Galadriel’s eyes went wide as she cried out, feeling as if all air was pushed from her lungs. Halbrand did not move further but brought a gentle hand to caress her cheek and kiss her sweetly.

She took a ragged breath and allowed herself to take in the burn as his girth stretched her more than seemed possible, pleasure and pain both coursing through her. Halbrand’s lips had moved to the spot below her ear and Galadriel writhed under him. He kept kissing her until most of the tension had left her limbs. 

Then he pulled out partially and thrust back in, slow and gentle, his eyes on hers as if checking to make sure she was okay. It was not long before the pain mostly faded and pleasure came to the forefront with every thrust. 

Yet Galadriel still needed Halbrad closer. She reached an arm around to pull his weight on her. He moved inside her a little harder, a little faster, grunting every time he filled her to the brim.

“You feel like divinity itself,” Halbrand gasped into her ear. Galadriel whimpered as he rocked into her particularly hard.

Then he grabbed her leg and moved it over his shoulder. She wondered why, but his next thrust was her answer as he plowed into her deeper than before. The head of him hit a spot deep inside that made her toes curl. “Halbrand,” she moaned, grasping at his arm.

His hips snapped against her increasingly fast, hitting the sensitive spot over and over. Every thrust sent a shudder through her body. Galadriel felt a tightening similar to before coiling in her belly. 

Chasing the feeling, she raised her hips to meet Halbrand’s thrusts. He groaned in response, then suddenly slowed his rhythm, setting a more languid pace. Galadriel could not stop the whine that passed her lips. 

“Patience, Galadriel,” he turned to place an open-mouth kiss on her leg hooked over his shoulder. 

She did not take well to receiving orders from anyone, but then she remembered this may be the one and only night they ever had together. The thought alone clawed at her heart. She should not go there now, not when this moment would be over all too quickly.

Galadriel loosened her grip on Halbrand’s arm, pulled his hand close, and kissed his knuckles. He brushed his thumb across her lips. A compulsion came over her to open her mouth and suck in his thumb. Halbrand took in a sharp breath and bucked hard against her. 

They continued this way for a while, his hips snapping against her in time with his thumb moving in and out of her mouth. She occasionally grazed the digit with her teeth, then soothed it with her tongue, delighting in every grunt that came from Halbrand’s lips in response.

Eventually, he took out his thumb to adjust his thrusts to hit the sweet spot within her again. Galadriel let her gaze fall between them, watching in wonder as his massive girth disappeared inside her.

He slowed the next thrust, pulling out almost completely before sinking back into her warmth. Galadriel could feel his gaze on her face as she watched him repeatedly impale her. “Look how perfectly we fit together—as if we were made for each other,” Halbrand said. 

His words pulled at something deep in Galadriel, that longing she had for something more but was desperately trying to suppress. It could not be. For many reasons. But why did his words sound so right? Why did this intimacy between them make her feel so complete? How was she supposed to let him go after tonight?

Her eyes flickered up to meet Halbrand’s. She lost herself in his gaze, in the mesmerized way he took her in as if nothing else mattered. Her blood ran hot, and her chest heaved, but she felt a strange sense of peace that had long evaded her. It was as if only she and Halbrand existed in all the world.

His hips gradually built to an unrelenting tempo, tearing a string of gasps and moans from her lips. Yes, a perfect fit, she dared only think to herself. Anquantaina almarë. She could not say aloud how she felt complete bliss. Her feelings were too deep and true, and she did not know if his more serious words had been more than passion-induced adulation.

As he pounded into her again and again, each time hitting that sensitive spot, her muscles tightened, and the fire in her abdomen burned with the need for release. She could not stop herself from digging her nails into Halbrand’s flesh. If she had not survived her first fall from the precipice of utmost pleasure, she would think she was about to meet her end. 

“Galadriel, look at me,” Halbrand crooned, even as his body trembled. He was nearly at the precipice himself. She could feel how he fought to hold back until she was about to fall apart.

Galadriel locked eyes with Halbrand. The naked, blazing desire she saw in his gaze, as if not only enraptured but enamored, sent her crashing over the edge.

She could not breathe, but she whispered Halbrand’s name in her mind, over and over as pleasure hot as lightning stuck through her shaking limbs. He became frantic above her, pounding into her until his hips stuttered. With a choked groan, he emptied himself inside her.

As his warm essence flooded her, more tremors of delirious delight made her back arch. Her legs tensed so hard they hurt. Halbrand collapsed over her, and Galadriel relished the weight of his pleasure-addled body.

But all too quickly, he pulled out of her and rolled off to the side. Panic darted through her mind. No, do not leave me. Not yet.

Then his arms were around her, pulling her flush to his chest. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said in a low lilt, kissing the side of her temple. Galadriel froze, realizing her thoughts had spilled into Halbrand’s mind.

“My apologies. I did not intend to breach your mind,” she said, undecided whether she was more mortified that he heard her thoughts or that she had so completely lost control. It was dangerous how easily she dropped her guard with Halbrand. 

He continued to kiss along her hairline. “I do not mind,” he murmured, then sucked on her earlobe, triggering an aftershock through Galadriel’s body that made her shudder. 

With a finger on her chin, he guided her to look at him, then pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Would you teach me?” He asked. His fingers reached for some of the strands of hair framing her face.

Galadriel tried to calm her breathing, but her chest still heaved from their exertions. “Ósanwe is an inherent ability for all beings of spirit, including man.”

“Ósanwe,” Halbrand repeated with a little smile on his lips. 

She could not tell if he was making fun of her, but she continued. She took pride in her knowledge and practice of ósanwe, though she used it seldom and carefully these days. “One can think their thoughts into the mind of another, but only if their mind is open to you.”

Galadriel had not been careful. If she had slipped into Halbrand’s mind so easily, it meant she had unintentionally opened her own to him. She swiftly shut it now, terrified by how her mind and body yielded under him so willingly.

“It is quite intimate,” Halbrand said, and Galadriel could not help but watch how his chest rose and fell, shining with a gleam of sweat. 

“Mmmm,” she hummed. “It is useful. Maybe we can practice another time.” She let herself more fully sink into his embrace against the furnace of his body. While she had to be more careful in many ways, she did not want this moment to end. The night was not over yet.

“We will have plenty of time on the journey to Middle-earth,” Halbrand said, combing his fingers through her hair, letting it fall, then grasping for more. 

Galadriel found the gentle tugging strangely soothing. “I will be training the troops daily, and we will both be busy in strategy meetings with the Queen Regent and Captain Elendil. But we should be able to find some time. It could prove helpful on the battlefield,” she admitted. “As long as practice does not prove too distracting,” she added, eyeing Halbrand, but he did not seem to notice as she caught him mid-yawn. “Come sunrise, we must—“

“Stay focused on the journey ahead. I have not forgotten, elf” he promised with a kiss on her brow. Then, he rested his head back, still holding her tight. His eyes closed, and Galadriel realized how tired she, too, felt.

The last time she was even close to this bodily tired was after she swam for days in the Sundering Seas, weathered a storm, and then nearly drowned. It was dangerous to sleep deeply, for she did not like to be caught by anyone in such a vulnerable state. She often got by on brief fits of rest. But there was something about Halbrand’s slow, even breathing and the warmth of his body next to hers that made her feel… safe. 

It cannot be, she reminded herself. But then she thought again of how he had looked at her—something far beyond physical desire, beyond friendship. Could the affection in his gaze have been true? Or was he merely infatuated, as humans could sometimes be? 

Galadriel’s mother had once told her that she would need only look in her beloved’s eyes, and they would both know they were meant for each other. She thought that was what she had felt when she met Celeborn. She had trusted him immediately. He had felt the same, and that was all they needed. They loved each other dearly, but it had never felt so… passionate as she had just experienced with Halbrand, as she still felt swirling through her heart as she watched him sleep.

Yet, for all she thought she perceived of Halbrand, another side of him seemed to evade her. He still guarded himself to her. As she did, or tried to, to him.

It cannot be. 

But just for this one night, she could let herself rest. She could relish the feeling of his arms around her. She could, as he had requested, let him be a little memory of happiness and peace for her to recall during whatever dark times lay ahead. 

Notes:

Thank you for reading! I adore these two so much! This was intended to be a one-shot to get this idea out of my system before I dove into a longer Saurondriel fic that begins before the Darkening of Valinor, but this has taken on a life of its own and will have multiple chapters now. I'm mostly done with the second and outlining more, but I'm not sure yet how many chapters it will be.

Here's a little appendix for references from Tolkien's works:

Halbrand's father "the smith" - Sauron, originally named Mairon, was a Maia associated with Aulë of the Valar who was also known as "the Great Smith." During the creation of the world he was responsible for the mountains, rocks, gems, minerals, and much more. He also created the dwarves. Mairon was an apprentice under Aulë before his corruption by Melkor/Morgoth.

Eru Ilúvatar - "The One"/God who created first the Valar and the Maiar, then eventually "his children" the elves and men. He also adopted the dwarves created by Aulë and gave them life.

Valar - The most powerful spirits who shaped and ruled the world at Eru's will. They can take physical form and many live in Valinor. Melkor/Morgoth was the most powerful. He fell to darkness and corrupted many Maiar to join him, including Sauron and the balrogs.

Maiar - Powerful spirits under the Valar that include some who followed Melkor such as Sauron, the balrogs. Other well known Maiar include the Istari/Wizards.

Galadriel's brothers - While the show only mentions Finrod, in Tolkien's writings, Galadriel has three brothers. Finrod is the eldest, followed by Angrod and Aegnor. Galadriel is the youngest.

Kinslaying at Alqualondë - When the Noldor leave Valinor, the first host lead by Galadriel's uncle Feanor (Celebrimbor's grandfather), attacks and kills many Teleri elves (Galadriel is Teleri on her mother's side) for their ships to make their journey to Middle-earth more feasible. Many Noldor including Galadriel and Finrod were opposed to this, but while some turned back to Valinor such as their father, they continued on to Middle-earth though set against their violent and greedy uncle.

Elven marriage - While elven marriage can include the exchanging of rings and celebrations, the only two requirements for marriage are the saying of vows including Eru's name and consummation.

"She had rejected the Valar’s grace and forgiveness thrice" - The Noldor who continue to Middle-earth, rejecting a chance to turn around and be forgiven after the kinslaying, have a ban laid upon them. After the defeat of Morgoth, the ban is lifted, but Galadriel rejects this to stay in Middle-earth. The third time refers to in season 1 episode 1 when she jumps from the ship bound for Valinor. This elf will not go home until Sauron is defeated.

Chapter 2: Unbearable Longing

Summary:

For the first few weeks aboard the Queen Regent's flagship, Galadriel and Halbrand do not say a word to each other about what happened the night before they set sail. Anytime they are left alone together, Galadriel quickly vanishes. Until one night, she knocks on the door to Halbrand's cabin.

Notes:

Wow, thank you everyone for reading, commenting on, and leaving kudos for the first chapter! It made my week to know you're enjoying the start of this idea I had for these two. I'm excited to share more of the story with you!

Thank you dearly to Sammybunny711 for being my amazing beta-reader and for all your encouragement for this story!

This chapter is from Sauron/Halbrand's POV. You will notice that in his mind, he refers to himself as Mairon, his original name that you've likely seen in other fics and Tolkien's writings.

Mairon - Sauron/Halbrand’s first name before being ensnared by Melkor. Mairon means “the admirable” and that is how refers to himself in his mind, at least for now. Sauron means “the abhorred,” and he was given this name upon the discovery of his evil deeds done as a servant of Melkor/Morgoth.

More descriptions of Tolkien references can be found in the appendix in end notes.

Mairon treaded through a dark forest. Thick clouds concealed the stars and moon above. But he could not stop. He could not rest until he found… What was he searching for? How had he arrived here?

Then he saw a light amongst the trees, glowing softly through the fog. The light called to something deep inside him, and his feet led him towards it without another thought.

The fog dispersed, and the trees opened to a cliffside littered with large stones from ancient structures long crumbled. 

He finally found the source of light standing at the cliff’s edge. She was more beautiful than Telperion. More radiant than Laurelin.

Beyond her was a black abyss.

“There you are,” Mairon said, relief spreading through his chest. Galadriel smiled at him and held out her hand.

He grasped it and reeled her in for a tight embrace, away from the darkness looming behind her. He would have to be more careful and keep her close. He couldn’t lose her again.

But as soon as she embraced him in return, she gasped and jerked out of his hold as if burned. Raw fear gnawed at Mairon’s insides as he looked her over for injury.

A spot of blood had blossomed above her heart, spreading like a flower opening its many petals, dripping a vibrant red onto her white gown. Galadriel watched in quiet shock as the wound blackened. Dark veins extended from the center of the wound, smoking and sizzling as if on fire. She looked up at Mairon with horror. With heartbreak.

Something in his chest shattered. He could not let this happen. He had to save her, to heal her. But when Mairon reached for Galadriel, her features hardened with hatred. She took a step back. Then, she fell out of his reach into the void of darkness.

Mairon’s eyes flew open, his heart racing, an unfamiliar wetness in his eyes.

Beside him, Galadriel stirred. Mairon held his breath, but she only nuzzled closer to his warmth and continued sleeping.

Her chest, pale and unmarred, rose and fell steadily. Still, he couldn’t resist reaching out with a feather-light touch to assure himself that the flesh over her collarbone remained unbroken. His fingers brushed over skin smooth as silk. He pulled back before the temptation could overcome him to explore further.

He thought of how her breasts fit perfectly under his hands. He could still hear the sweet echoes of her breathy moans when he had taken her in his mouth, and she had arched against him.

He wanted to sear into his memory the desperate way she clutched him as she fell apart so beautifully under his touch, her mouth open, her eyes wide, her whole body shaking like a leaf in the wind.

The awe in her gaze had been most thrilling. Pride was not enough to describe how he felt, knowing he caused Galadriel to lose all control of her body for the first time in her life.

“What did you do to me?”

The real question was, what had she done to him?

Mairon could not remember the last time he had fallen into a proper slumber. The human fana he wore did tire, but he could resist by spending a little power or recovering with a brief rest.

He hadn’t even meant to sleep, only pretending at first while resisting his urges to discover yet another way to make Galadriel tremble under his touch. 

Mairon now understood why Tulkas had slept so deeply after his wedding night. 

In all Mairon’s past explorations of carnal pleasure, he had not felt so affected within his very spirit as he did by Galadriel. 

He felt a deep desire to possess her, to never let her go.

It was madness.

He should take her brother’s dagger from where it lay among her discarded white trousers and slit her throat. Before she did the same to him. And she would, once she knew who he was.

Then, he would be free of the hold she had on him.

But he could not reach for the knife. The thought of holding it to her flesh made his insides turn. His nightmare washed over him again, the sight of blood blooming from her chest, and he shuddered. 

What had Galadriel done to him?

He was no elf designed by Eru to be compelled to an eternity of commitment after consummation. 

Yet Galadriel dominated Mairon’s every thought from the moment he first saw her in the waves of the Sundering Seas. And now, he felt an absurd desire to cleave to her side, to bind their two spirits as one.

It had to be the elf’s fault, her thoughts spilling into his mind and beguiling him.

He cursed himself for inviting her over to see the armor. She didn’t even need to know he had made it. The palace armorer offered to have it retrieved and delivered to her in the morning.

But he had not thought the night would go as far as it did. Though he had noticed how she blushed under his attention more than once, he thought her ire for him was far more significant. He thought her elven sensibilities would restrain any stirring she felt.

Considering she had a husband, it was nearly impossible for her even to be attracted to him. Only nearly. Elves were not easily swayed by lust and often loved only once in their entire life. But Mairon, having endured countless of Melkor’s many hateful rants about the Noldor, knew that Galadriel herself only existed because her grandfather loved twice.

Not that what Galadriel felt for Mairon could be sincere love. He knew he was unlovable. And that truth would only be compounded when she learned his true identity.

He shouldn’t have let any of this happen.

He could blame her advances. The way she reached for his arm not once but twice struck sparks of desire within him.

He could blame the way her stormy blue eyes held him spellbound. She had been the one to stare at his lips.

But he had kissed her. Even after she stopped them, he helped her through all her doubts until she kissed him again, which resulted in her leading him to the bed and his hand to her slender waist.

He should have resisted going further after pushing her over the edge of pleasure the first time. He had tried with a couple of excuses that were valid in their own right, but masking the true reason he hesitated to go further. It was not as if he could reveal he was a Maia.

But the way she didn’t care what the Valar thought about them being together only inflamed Mairon’s arousal. 

Galadriel reached for what she wanted. How could he not do the same?

And he did want her, in every way possible.

But now he would have to face the consequences. He had lain with another, risking binding himself to the human fana he wore. 

At least he had enough sense to slip into her mind and determine she had no intention of conceiving a child. If that happened, he would have no hope of casting away his fana when needed. He would be utterly dependent on it and restricted more deeply by the inconvenient needs of man.

The ease with which he had just slept troubled him enough. Ever since taking on his human fana, he had occasionally indulged in food and drink. But that affected him far less than all he had just experienced with Galadriel.

He could easily reject the offer of the finest wine or delicacies. But he did not know if he could resist the elf if they were alone again.

His cock hardened between his legs, his balls tensing as he imagined plowing back into her warm, wet cunt.

Mairon ground his teeth and reached for the wool blanket to cover them both.

No, he had to resist her. Every time they lay together would only weaken him further, and she would eventually notice him breaching her mind to ensure she still had no thoughts of progeny.

Despite everything, he was pleased at his success sneaking into her mind. She had been so overwhelmed with pleasure that she had not noticed how she dropped her walls to him. She even apologized for her thoughts pushing into his mind.

However, he would have to be cautious. If she probed his thoughts with intent, this would all end.

But he should want that—to be free of her.

The elf had destroyed his chance for peace in Númenor all so she could drag him back into war, back into blood, violence, and despair. 

She hated him with her whole being and had devoted her life to destroying his.

Yet she had truly given him hope on that raft. He could still feel the firm way her spirit reached for his when she asked him to bind himself to her. 

Never had he felt so seen as when Galadriel told him that she understood his pain and believed he could make amends for all he had done wrong.

While he had been careful with his choice of words, he told her far more than he intended to about his regrets.

The way she had opened to him in return stirred something inside him. Like him, she knew what it was like to be dismissed, betrayed, and utterly alone. He almost wanted her to succeed in her mission to prove wrong all those who had turned their backs on her.

But her success would be his undoing.

The mere recognition of these thoughts entering his mind proved how dangerous Galadriel was. 

Would she even give him a chance to heal Middle-earth if she knew who he was?

He did not know. He could not risk finding out. 

Hopefully, she would be too focused on the upcoming fight for the Southlands to pay him any mind. After all, as she had implied, their coupling would be just the one night. 

But she was an elf, and he could sense how she yearned for him, even though she danced around saying as much. How would she handle the strong pull between them when she awoke?

He had felt her shutting her mind to him when she realized her mistake. But it would take her considerable effort to keep her mind closed after how she had opened herself to him, mind and body.

And Mairon couldn’t excuse away their connection as merely a convenience to her and her quest for vengeance. 

He had heard her chant Halbrand in her mind over and over.

He had heard her thoughts. 

Anquantaina almarë.

Gasping and quivering beneath him, she felt complete bliss. 

She also felt fear at the strength of her feelings for him. And fear that his feelings did not run so deep. That even if they did, there was far too much between them for it to ever become something.

He had felt her panic when he pulled out of her quickly. It had only been because he was overstimulated in his body and overwhelmed in his mind. With the final act of their consummation, a bone-deep yearning for Galadriel had squeezed Mairon’s lungs.

When he heard her loudest thoughts, her fear he was abandoning her as soon as the deed was done, he couldn’t stop himself if he wanted as he reached to gather her in his arms and reassure her. 

It had been foolish to ask her to teach him ósanwe. He couldn’t resist, amused by the irony that he had communicated that way since Eru created him. 

He could feign ignorance to an extent, but if Galadriel truly attempted to tutor him, it would be difficult to keep her out of his mind.

Mairon would have to hope the ship would be too crowded and loud for them to have any alone time. That they would both be too busy with drills and preparation. Once they made landfall, their mission would consume them all the more.

Besides, he was not the human fana he wore. He was a powerful Maia. He could and would resist the elf. Never mind how his cock throbbed with need even now as Galadriel shifted against him.

In this form, he had no desire for anyone before meeting her, so he could surely overcome his body’s cravings with his strong will.

Galadriel moved again, stretched out an arm.

He quickly closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. The thought of meeting her waking gaze suddenly terrified Mairon. 

It would be easier this way if he were still asleep. After all, Halbrand was a human and needed more rest. Dawn was still a couple of hours away.

He could feel the elf sit up. He heard her take in a deep, pondering breath. She lifted the blanket to cover his bare shoulders, then slipped out of the bed.

The loss of her warmth left an ache in Mairon’s chest. He listened keenly to Galadriel’s every move, trying to picture her as she straightened out her dress and pulled on her trousers and boots.

Did the marks he made with lips and teeth still show on her pale skin, or had her elven anatomy already faded away any remnants of their exchanged passions?

The ache in him widened as she walked to the door, but she changed her mind for some reason. He could feel her come close again, but he didn’t dare reach out. He knew better than to try and slip into her mind now.

So he wasn’t prepared when he felt her soft lips press to his cheek. The small, sweet gesture stunned him more than anything she had done or said so far. 

He had never been so confounded in his life.

He turned under the blanket as if she had disturbed his slumber, hoping to distract her elven ears from how his heart pounded under his ribs.

She must’ve started holding her breath as he couldn’t hear her but felt a painful tug at his spirit as she stepped away again and then out the door. 

Finally, Mairon opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling, his heart still racing.

One question kept repeating in his mind. What had Galadriel done to him?

 

---

Mairon delivered the armor to the palace, hoping he would catch a glimpse of Galadriel amidst her preparations. But he was quickly swept up by attendants making a fuss over his appearance, which was “unacceptable” for the departing processional through the city.

After soaking in a tub of steaming hot water, one attendant combed through his hair while another helped him dress in scaly Númenórean armor and a dark green cape. He played his part as a humble, reluctant heir to a faraway throne, offering his gratitude.

He could hardly believe that Galadriel had decided he was heir to the Southlands. All based on the little royal crest he had stolen from Diarmid.

It hadn’t been his intention to use the pouch for himself, but he thought it could be helpful if he ever wanted the people of the Southlands under his thrall as they had once been under Melkor’s. With the crest, Mairon could raise a king loyal to him. But Galadriel had put him on a path towards that kingship himself. 

Mairon didn’t particularly care about ruling a small kingdom of low men. But it could prove a useful base to expand his dominion until it covered all Middle-earth. And why not begin with a people already long broken during Melkor’s reign and further tormented by Adar and his children?

More importantly, Mairon could establish a stronghold around Orodruin and, as he had long desired, build a grand forge over its fires.

After, of course, they drove out the orcs. Mairon hoped he could be the one to put a blade through Adar’s gut. The traitor wouldn’t recognize Mairon in his human fana, but he would whisper in the Moriondor’s ear as he slowly bled out. He would die knowing that Sauron got his revenge.

Then Mairon could truly begin anew his quest to heal Middle-earth.

He had meant what he said to Galadriel, about no longer being afraid with her by his side. Her determination, her courage, and, most of all, her light inspired him to reach for all he had given up on.

But how long before she abandoned him? Would she take her leave as soon as the Southlands were secure and Halbrand was formally appointed king? If he could even keep his identity from her for that long.

Whenever she left him it would be for the best, he reminded himself. 

Mairon continued to look out for Galadriel all morning. When he finally saw her stepping onto the Queen Regent’s flagship, his breath caught in his lungs. Strands of her golden hair danced in the sea breeze. The armor he had forged for her shined in the sunlight but not as brightly as her face, resplendent with pride.

All the soldiers looked upon her with awe, and Mairon understood why they had been chosen amongst the volunteers. They still held the elves with wonder and respect, not the envy Mairon had sensed in the Chancellor and many others in Armenelos.

Something swelled in Mairon’s chest as Galadriel crossed the ship’s bow, her eyes on him alone. Then she held out her hand to him, just as she had on that raft. He grasped her arm. Her lips hinted at a smile, and he couldn’t stop the one that broke across his face. 

Before they could talk, Captain Elendil approached to discuss the expedition's logistics. As expected, the following days and nights were busy. The Captain invited Mairon to help train the troops, which he accepted, pleased with the opportunity to sometimes train alongside Galadriel.

They sat in council with the Queen Regent in her private cabin, the largest on the ship. Mairon shared all information that seemed reasonable for a human to know about the Southlands and the orcs. 

But he could never find a moment alone with Galadriel. If they were the last two left in council, she immediately excused herself to follow after Míriel or Elendil. If he caught her late at night watching the horizon, she would announce she was retiring for rest.

She was an elf. While he had watched her sleep in his arms less than three weeks before, he knew she wasn’t resting that often. She was avoiding him.

He kept telling himself it was for the better. That it was as he hoped. If she offered to teach him ósanwe after all, he would walk a dangerous line keeping his true thoughts from her. If they found themselves completely alone together…

He stopped the thought from going further.

While Galadriel ensured they were never alone, she did not keep her warm smiles from Mairon. He caught her staring at him often, and she did not look away quickly. She would lock eyes with him. It felt as if she held his heart in her hand each time. With great effort, he resisted reaching out his mind to hers and wondered if it was the same for her.

They sat near each other for meals. They talked of strategy, fighting styles, and the amusing quirks they noticed among the young soldiers, who were constantly preening under the eyes of the Queen Regent and the Captain.

But Galadriel said nothing of their night together. So neither did Mairon, even as an unbearable longing hollowed out an empty pit in his stomach. 

Night after night, week after week, he talked himself out of knocking on the door to Galadriel’s cabin. 

What of tonight, he had asked. For tonight, she had said. That had been their agreement. 

Never mind the fact that she had a husband she might see again one day. Or that she was elf and he was not. Although the divide between elves and Maiar was different between elves and mortals, it wasn’t as if he could make that point. Unless… Maybe he could tell her the half-truth one day. Or would even that ruin everything between them since she had staked her honor on his identity as an exiled human king?

That part wasn’t his fault. He had tried to tell her he was no heir to the Southlands. But from what she said of her king and her friend, they would blame her if the truth came out. Not him.

That could be helpful one day if he wanted to keep her with him when she learned his true identity. But he didn’t want to coerce her to stay by his side. He wanted her willingly. He wanted to bask in the strange, warm feeling that surged through him when she said he would become a scar upon her heart once they eventually parted ways.

He had sensed her words pure and true.

Perhaps he only had to be patient.

He had promised her he would focus on the journey ahead, that they would not become distractions for each other. It was the only way for him to earn her trust.

So he resisted leaving his cabin for hers for yet another night. 

He tried to turn his focus to thoughts of revenge on Adar and his children. But the bloody fantasies he often entertained in his mind had somehow lost their shine.

When a soft knock came at his door, he felt relieved at the idea of a distraction. It was probably one of the young soldiers eager for more stories of Middle-earth.

He did not expect to see Galadriel standing in the doorway. She was in the outfit she often wore for evening council meetings, a flowing dark blue gown over practical travel breeches. She appeared troubled, with unrest etched in her features.

“Good evening,” he greeted, pulling on formality to keep a bridge between them. “Is everything alright?”

Galadriel blinked and relaxed her shoulders. “Yes. Everything is as it should be. I only wanted to see how you felt about… seeing home again so soon. Did you know we are only two weeks out now?” 

Suppressing a smirk at Galadriel’s weak excuse for turning up at his door, Mairon wondered why she was actually there. “The Captain has been talking about the favorable winds expediting our journey,” he played along. “I am the same I have been since agreeing to this endeavor—eager to free the Southlanders from the darkness that has too long plagued their lands. Green the troops may be, but I must admit they’re starting to show promise under your excellent tutelage.”

That earned him a smile from the elf’s lips. “I could say the same about you and your way with a blade. Was it your father who taught you to wield it as he did a hammer? Perhaps knowing one day you would reclaim your family’s lost throne?”

Mairon hesitated. Lies came to him easily enough, but half-truths were more fun. With Galadriel, he preferred to be as truthful as possible because he wanted the truth from her in return.

He stepped back and tilted his head, welcoming her into his cabin. She glanced behind her as if worried someone might see but then entered and shut the door.

“I apologize for mentioning your father again. I only meant to compliment your swordsmanship,” she said before Mairon had a chance to endeavor with a reply. 

He smiled as he sat on his bed to give Galadriel more space in the cramped quarters. “It was another who instructed me in the ways of the sword. And I compensated with self-teaching,” he stated proudly. Melkor had had little patience for Mairon but expected excellence in all efforts. 

“I never intended to claim my birthright,” he added. “But I witnessed enough subjugation to know I had to become strong or die weak. I only wish I had been stronger when truly tested. But I have never been… enough.” He didn’t know if his words would even make sense to her, but it was all he could do to stop himself from sharing the whole truth with the elf. 

He should have just lied, bid her goodnight, and sent her away. But what he wanted to do was pull her down onto the bed, tear the dress from her body, and pleasure her until she screamed so loudly she woke the whole fleet from their slumber.

Then, he wanted to hold her in his arms as they rested. He wanted to forget about the entire world until the sun rose and duty called.

“You are more than enough, Halbrand. You are on your way to deliver your people from despair and offer them hope and a new start,” she spoke with great admiration he did not deserve. Not yet.

“Because of you,” Mairon countered, even as he internally cringed at himself for admitting self-doubt aloud. But there was a reason he had turned away from revenge and followed Diarmid to the sea.

Mairon hated himself for ever trusting Adar, for believing that the Moriondor cared for him in any way. He should have known better and seen in Adar the same resentment Mairon once felt for Melkor.

“I only gave you a push. You must still earn your peace, " she said in an encouraging tone.

“A push? So now you admit to badgering me into agreement,” he teased. 

She huffed and rolled her eyes. “And you’re suffering for it, are you? Being treated as a king, served and waited on, spending your days smiling as you spar with a fleet of soldiers who admire you more every day.”

It was true that the soldiers had taken to Mairon… to Halbrand. They were undoubtedly easier company to keep than orcs. Perhaps that was where he had gone wrong in the past, trying to turn the savage creations of his old master into soldiers. He should focus on the ever-expanding race of men bound to inherit Middle-earth as the elves fade away or leave for Valinor. 

“As you have restored hope within me, this journey has opened my eyes to many possibilities,” he admitted. 

She gave him a small smile. “I only hope our efforts will open the eyes of my people who have all but given up on Middle-earth. I cannot bear to turn my back as it falls to ruin. And that will happen unless I can root out the cause of the shadow slowly spreading again above us all.”

He knew she was thinking of him, of Sauron. When he first realized her obsession with him, Mairon was flattered. But now he desperately wanted to assure Galadriel that he was not like Melkor, who had sought only to destroy. Mairon wanted her to know he would do anything in his power to heal Middle-earth and restore all he had helped ruin.

But she would not believe him, not while she still grieved for her brother, not while she blamed Sauron for all the destruction Adar and his orcs had caused since destroying the last fana he wore.

But if they succeeded in their quest to free the Southlands, if Mairon could end the destruction and desolation caused by Adar’s children, then maybe Galadriel would give him a chance to show how he was exactly what Middle-earth needed to thrive again.

Although Mairon wasn’t sure he believed he alone would be the best for Middle-earth anymore. Everything felt different now because of Galadriel. He was loathed to admit it, but he feared everything would somehow fall apart again if he lost her.

“I’ve never before met anyone as determined and passionate as you,” Mairon said after a long beat. “Middle-earth will not be without light as long as you are in it.”

Even in the low lantern glow, he could see the pink that painted her pale cheeks. He greatly wanted to kiss each one. 

“I want that to be true,” she said quietly. He remembered what she said about those she held dear being unable to distinguish her from the enemy, from him. 

But for all Mairon had discovered that he and Galadriel had in common, he knew he couldn’t hold a candle to the light that shone so brightly from within her. He did not understand how anyone could doubt her, how anyone fortunate to soak in the luminescence of her spirit was not moved to reach for hope, for justice, for goodness.

“I know it is true, and soon your people will see it too,” he vowed, even though he had no place making such a promise. But he longed to give her everything she wanted. If all Middle-earth could see her light as he did, it would know greater healing than he ever could’ve imagined.

Galadriel did not reply. She stood with her back pressed against the door, as far from him as possible. Yet her gaze searched him intently. He sensed she was on the brink of reaching out with her mind but fighting to hold back. 

“Why did you come here?” The question slipped from his lips in a harsh tone he hadn’t intended. It made him face how hard he, too, was holding back from reaching for her, with both body and mind.

She startled and looked away. “As I said, I wanted to ensure your well-being.”

“Which you do every morning when we break our fast in the galley,” he pointed out.

“Right, well, it is always chaotic with the soldiers coming and going, and I thought it would be nice for a quieter conversation,” she replied, still not quite looking at him but feigning interest in his suit of armor hanging from the wall, the same armor he wore every day when drilling the soldiers.

“Ah, so that’s why whenever we’re left alone in the Queen Regent’s cabin or on the ship's bow, you flee,” he did not try to suppress his smirk this time.

Galadriel’s cheeks were no longer pink but bright red. She glared at him, indignant. “You know why,” she snapped. 

Mairon did not have to slip into Galadriel’s mind to sense she was at war with herself. She could not stop her spirit from reaching for his. The pull of the connection between them had suddenly become overwhelming to the point of pain in his chest. 

His sense of self-preservation told him to sever the connection with a few cruel words of rejection to protect his power. But all he wanted to do was drown in the depths of Galadriel’s tempestuous gaze.

“What’s different about tonight?” He asked, locking eyes with her, daring her to confess.

She pushed herself off the door as if summoning confidence to speak. “We have made significant headway with the soldiers and collaborated on a detailed plan of action for the expedition. I have faith in our mission, in the focus we have both devoted to it.”

“And?” He pressed, clenching his jaw as he felt his spirit reach for hers with a terrible yearning.

Galadriel reacted with a small intake of breath, and he knew the intangible connection between them was not in his imagination. 

She swallowed nervously. “When it’s quiet like this, with most of the fleet asleep and the stars shining above… when no one needs my service, I cannot find rest.”

“Is that what you want, Galadriel? Rest?” 

She shook her head slowly. Mairon wondered if he was the only being alive who had ever witnessed Galadriel of the Noldor overcome by shyness.

But she pushed past it, stepping towards where he sat on the bed. Her outstretched hand ghosted down the side of his face. Her fingertips brushed at the rough hair on his chin. He instinctively turned into her touch, closing his eyes. He felt her other hand card through his hair. 

“Halbrand,” she murmured, leaning down to touch her forehead to his. Her spirit wrapped around him with a warmth he had never felt before, not even in the presence of Eru himself.

He reached out his hands to caress the curves of her waist and the small of her back, barely stopping himself from pulling her down onto the bed.

“Maybe we have earned just one more night,” she whispered, her nose nuzzling his.

Blood rushed to Mairon’s groin.

He tilted his face up, touching his lips to hers. She whimpered with need and deepened the kiss, her hand winding in his hair.

Damn self-preservation. Damn restraint. Galadriel had come back to him. Galadriel wanted him despite all that should keep them apart.

And Mairon wanted her body and spirit, regardless of the cost to all his grand plans.

He tightened his grip on her waist and laid back, bringing her weight down on his body. Her breath hitched against his lips. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside her warm mouth. 

As they kissed, he fingered the length of her long braid until he found the band holding it in place and tugged it out of her hair. He gently worked apart the plait, starting from its end, often losing his focus as Galadriel sucked on his bottom lip or adjusted how her body pressed down on his.

Once she had her legs on either side of him, he bucked up against her. She pulled back to look down at him, tentatively rolled her hips once, shifted a little lower, and rolled them again, her core pressing right against his rapidly hardening cock.

He grunted, and a little smile flickered across her face as she rolled her hips again. Her delighted smile warmed a space in his chest that he hadn’t even realized had gone cold.

How had he survived the past few weeks without this intimacy between them? How would he ever endure the lack of her warmth again?

She leaned down to kiss him long and hard, grinding down on his erection.

He moaned into her mouth, rolling his hips up to meet her. He shuddered at the sweet friction, his swollen cock throbbing. It was dizzying how sensitively his human fana reacted to Galadriel’s closeness. 

The feel of her lips and teeth moving just below his ear and then down his neck stoked the embers burning in his blood.

He felt torturous loss when she stopped to sit back. But her fingers went to raise the hem of his tunic. As she dragged her hands up the expanse of his torso, he flexed and twitched under her touch.

He helped her discard the garment, then reached for her dress, desperate to rid all barriers between them.
She let him gather the skirts and pull the clothing over her head. He could hear her heart pound, and a lovely flush colored her cheeks and crept down her neck. While he had enjoyed the way her blue corsetted dress wrapped around her midsection during the first time they lay together, he much preferred to see every inch of her creamy pearlescent form bare before him. 

He reached to brush his fingertips across her blushing cheeks, then let his hand glide down her supple neck. Goosebumps peppered her skin, and her chest heaved in anticipation before he even curved his hands around her pink-tipped breasts. 

Breathy sighs left her lips as he rolled her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. He eventually let go of one to push himself up so he could cover her pebbled flesh with his mouth. Their weeks at sea left her skin tasting of salt and sweat. 

Mairon relished her every moan and gasp as he sucked one pert nipple, then the other. He became increasingly aware of the sweet smell of her arousal and wondered what she tasted like between her legs.

But first, he wanted to complete his mission of freeing her hair. His mouth moved up her body slowly until he settled in the crook of her neck, laving and nipping as she squirmed in his lap. 

When her chin pressed into his head, signaling she was overstimulated, he moved from the sensitive spot on her neck to her mouth and kissed her deeply. Then, he placed softer kisses on her cheeks and forehead. 

Finally, his fingers found what was left of her braid. He worked it apart carefully as they caught each other’s gazes. She was looking at him in a tender way that tore his chest open, leaving him feeling utterly exposed. 

He was terrified of her effect on him, how the walls of his mind groaned under the weight of her gaze. For a moment, he feared she would suddenly see right through him, that she would look upon him with horror as she had in his nightmare. But then she kissed him and pushed him back down on the bed.

Her beautiful golden hair fell around him like a curtain. Maybe it was only the lantern’s glow, but he swore he saw the light of the two trees of Valinor glimmering in the waves of her long locks.

They continued exploring each other with lips and tongue, rutting against each other until Mairon couldn’t take it anymore. His cock, his thighs, his whole body was so taut it hurt.

The bed was small, but he turned their bodies together and pulled Galadriel beneath him. With an eager look in her eyes, she reached for the waistband of his trousers. He helped her make quick work of them, then the material covering her legs.

She stared at his cock, as she had done the first time. He noticed her move her hand towards him, then hesitate. 

“You may touch it,” he assured her. Please, he held back from voicing. The thought was reckless. Mairon did not beg anyone. But it seemed Galadriel was changing everything for him.

Those words were all she needed to take him in hand and caress him from the head of his swollen length down to the base, where his balls twitched with want. 

Every touch offered his aching cock relief while simultaneously flooding his senses with pure ecstasy. 

He could finish in minutes from the motions of her warm, curious hand alone. But that wouldn’t do, for he hadn’t forgotten his desire to taste her innermost depths. 

He took her hand in his to stop her, then kissed her deeply, pressing her down into the mattress. With an open mouth, he kissed a trail down her neck, across her chest, pausing to give each rosy nipple a teasing bite that made her gasp and buck her hips. He laved at the hardened peaks, soothing them before continuing his journey down her smooth, lithe figure. 

Her breath quickened as he kissed just above the golden curls crowning her lovely cunt. After a few kisses and nips at her inner thighs that made her shiver, he parted her folds with his thumbs to find her glistening. All for him. 

He dove in to taste her, laving at her wetness. “Halbrand,” she gasped, her whole body tensing. “What are… you…” The shock in her breathy voice spurred him on. It seemed he was again broadening her carnal horizons. He couldn’t be more thrilled.

“Halbrand, that—” But she cut herself off again as his tongue found the pearl at the apex of her sex. He smirked against her as she struggled to stifle a string of moans and gasps as he dragged his tongue back down and pushed it inside her dripping cunt. She tasted as sweet as he expected—like fragrant flowers emitting a light musk after a fresh rainfall. 

As he thrust his tongue in and out of her, Galadriel’s hand came down to tangle in his hair. He moaned into her mouth and felt her walls clench.

With a flat tongue, he lapped her juices up to coat the throbbing gem above her opening. Mairon closed his lips over the little jewel and sucked gently. Galadriel moaned sharply. Her fingers tightened painfully in his hair. The sensation heightened his arousal, and he clenched his thighs, grunting against her.

He slipped two fingers inside her depths and started thrusting, slow and steady, as his tongue flicked her swollen pearl at a more unrelenting pace. 

Sweet little noises fell from her mouth as her hips jerked. With his free hand, he held her firmly in place and switched to sucking on her sensitive jewel. She made a lovely, sharp sound that pierced his ears but was still restrained as if she hadn’t forgotten about the army sleeping on the other side of the cabin wall. 

He added a third finger, moving them all at a faster pace. Her thighs tensed, fighting his strength as if trying to close around his head. Her one hand continued twisting his hair while her other grabbed onto his arm holding her down at her waist. 

Then he felt the walls of her cunt beginning to flutter around his fingers. Her nails dug into his flesh as she came undone, her legs shaking, her juices gushing over his fingers.

She writhed under him, but he didn’t stop savoring her sensitive gem until she yanked his head away by a fistful of his hair.

Moving up next to her, he pulled her body atop his so neither one of them would fall from the tiny bed. He relished how she melted into him, the cute little way she panted, her chest moving against his with every breath, how her soft hair fell through his carding fingers.

When their eyes met, she smiled in an adorable, bashful way. He couldn’t hold back the smirk that spread across face. “What is it you were trying to say?” He teased.

She shook her head, but the blush on her cheeks only brightened. “You certainly know what you are doing,” she mused. But he could hear a hint of insecurity in her voice and bent his head to kiss it away.

“No, Galadriel, I’ve never felt what I feel with you,” he whispered before he could stop himself, before an overwhelming sense of vulnerability threatened to swallow him. 

“I could say the same,” she whispered back, looking anywhere but at him. He could feel it, her desire to say so much more. But she held back, as she had done the previous time they laid together. 

“Yet…” she swallowed and finally glanced at him. “We have to remain focused on the expedition.”

“Of course.” He jumped on the opportunity to pivot their conversation. “But the sun hasn’t yet risen,” he murmured, bucking his hips.

She took in a sharp breath through her teeth and looked down at him with a glint in her eyes.  Then dragged her soaked cunt over his painfully swollen cock. He gasped and groaned loudly. Galadriel’s eyes widened, and she quickly covered his mouth with her hand.

His lips formed a grin under her hand and she narrowed her eyes at him. But she wasn’t bothered enough to stop herself from rolling her hips again and grinding down on his erection.

Something about the way she pressed her hand down on his mouth while her wet cunt glided across his aching cock sent fire blazing through every inch of his body. He moaned into her hand, rolling his hips against hers, eager to be inside her.

As if she read his mind, she shifted back and hovered above him, then took his cock in her hand. A desperate “please” slipped past his lips when her gaze met his. But he didn’t care because she slid the head of his cock through her glistening folds and then sank down onto him.

A heady mix of pleasure and relief washed over him as her warmth swallowed his cock. The joining of their bodies made him feel complete in a way that should unnerve him. But he couldn’t think straight as Galadriel lifted her hips and then slid back down onto him. 

Her movements were initially uncertain, her eyes watching his every reaction closely. But soon enough, she found her rhythm, snapping her flesh against his. 

Mairon could get used to the sight above him; Galadriel as ethereal as a star, looking down at him with open passion, shuddering and letting out little whimpers every time she impaled herself on him. 

He reached for one of her bouncing breasts and gently pinched her erect nipple between two fingers. She gasped and responded by slamming herself down on his cock.

It seemed she was lost enough in her pleasure to forget all the company sleeping mere feet away from the other side of the door to his cabin. He pinched again and twisted, watching for any sign he went too far, but the look in her eyes was of astonished pleasure. 

“Halbrand,” she murmured, slamming down on him again. He gasped and bucked his hips to meet the next roll of her hips.

Tension rapidly built low in his abdomen, sounding a small alarm in his mind. He switched his ministrations to her other breast and gently pushed at the bounds of Galadriel’s mind. 

Then he backed out, too afraid to risk it as he did the first time. Too afraid to accidentally reveal himself and lose her.

Besides, he reasoned, he could not imagine she intended to conceive a child tonight. As she was an elf, it would only be possible if she willed it. 

While her attraction to him, or whatever she would call it, had led her to his door tonight, she would not let anything distract her from her vendetta against him, against Sauron. He knew this in his heart. 

But instead of letting the thought dismay him, he forced away every worry and reached around Galadriel’s waist.

He tugged her down, needing her closer, wanting to feel her weight on his. Her movements stuttered as she adjusted, but he gripped her hips and drove his cock into her with force. She moaned in the crook of his neck and tightened her grip on his shoulders. 

“You haven’t been able to get a minute of rest since waking up in my arms, have you?” He rasped in her ear, quickening the pace of his thrusts. “Every night you’ve been wide awake, thinking of me, of how it felt the first time my cock split you open, how perfectly your tight cunt squeezed out every last drop of my seed?”

Galadriel took in a sharp breath. “Halbrand,” she admonished in a strained, breathy voice that told him she was close. But if his words scandalized her, they also spurred her on. She tilted her pelvis, pushing down on his thrusts.

As her every muscle tensed and her nails clawed at his skin, he rocked into her harder, fighting the intense pressure building in his groin.

But then her mouth found his neck. She scraped the sensitive skin there with her teeth and sucked hard. 

Mairon lost control. A blinding, powerful surge of bliss shot through him, the muscles in his lower body contracting. The explosion of sensations overwhelmed him, body and mind. Time slowed as he emptied himself inside Galadriel.

He felt her follow him over the edge, her whole body quaking and curling around him. The walls of her cunt spasmed, making his overstimulated cock pulse and twitch. But he held her tightly against him, languidly moving his hips to work her through her release until she collapsed on him.

Euphoria washed over Mairon as she nuzzled into his neck and sighed with contentment. “Galadriel,” he panted, planting kisses in her hair, massaging his fingertips down the expanse of her back. She responded with a trail of kisses across his chest.

He reached for her chin with a finger, gently asking her to look at him. He expected the sultry, satisfied look in her eyes, but the ardent affection in her gaze nearly stole his breath. How could such a magnificent being of light have any love for him in her heart?

Because she doesn’t know who you are. The cruel truth twisted in his heart like a knife. 

“What is it?” She asked with concern, pulling off him and shifting closer into his embrace. Her soft fingertips caressed the side of his face.

He schooled his expression and pressed a kiss to Galadriel’s forehead. “The light of the sun and moon do not compare to your beauty,” he said, running his fingers through her hair.

Galadriel was already flushed from head to toe, but her cheeks burned. Her eyes shined with rapture.

As she tilted her head to kiss him on the mouth, Mairon thought that while she did not know his true identity, he had shared more of himself with her than anyone before. More of his innermost self, at least. 

This is real, he assured himself, kissing her back.

“That is what was on your mind?” She asked gently. Even without interchange of thought, Galadriel could read him too well.

He gave her another quick kiss. “Remember when you commanded me to stop comparing you to a horse?” 

Her brow creased, weary of where he was going with his question. “You would not dare,” she warned.

“Oh, no, of course not. I was thinking how I was the horse this time. And you, my rider,” he said with a little smirk.

That caught Galadriel off guard. He could see her fighting a smile, but her expression cracked—a gentle laugh as light and warm as summer rain spilled from her lips. 

A desire to make her laugh like that every day overcame Mairon. Maybe he could truly be a little bit of happiness for her.

Still grinning, she tangled her fingers through his hair, her adoring gaze seeming to soak in every detail of his face.

“Do you want to practice ósanwe?” She asked.

Now she caught Mairon off guard. He could only blame himself for the trap he had set for himself. But if he was careful, he could have a direct line of communication with Galadriel—until she realized who he was and shut her mind to him forever.

The nightmarish thought made his blood go cold.

But if he rejected her offer after being the one to ask her to teach him, would it not be suspicious?

And how could he reject another way to be close to Galadriel?

“Yes,” he replied, analyzing the doors to his mind and considering how he could let her in just a little, but not beyond the cloud of darkness concealing all that would destroy her trust in him.

“For two beings to communicate with thought, they must open their minds to each other,” she explained. “I won’t invade your mind,” she added. “Only send a message if you would like me to try.”

So, she would be cautious herself. Mairon nodded his consent, lowering the defenses of his mind.

Can you hear me? she asked, crystal clear in his head. Her simple question had a warm quality that washed over him.

I can feel you, he replied, wondering if she would feel the affection he let slip into the thought he sent her.

A subtle expression of awe flickered across Galadriel’s face. It is not typically such a strong connection from the start, she thought back to him. He felt her surprise and curiosity through their connection.

Mairon knew what she was thinking about. Ósanwe allowed the communication of not only words but also feelings and emotions. The stronger the bond, the more effective communication could be between two beings. 

The ease with which Mairon and Galadriel could share thoughts proved their bond was already formidable.

“You must be careful and guard your mind always,” she instructed aloud. “Only let in those you trust and even with the trustworthy, only when it will not distract you.”

There is only one whom I trust, Mairon replied with a thought, locking eyes with Galadriel. He let her feel the honesty of his words. Despite all the secrets he held back, she was the only one he would dare open his mind to. 

Foolishly, he hoped he could share all of himself with her one day. That future seemed beyond his reach. But how could he ever let go of the peace soothing his mind and spirit when Galadriel smiled at him?

We must be careful not to distract each other, she reminded him gently.

But the sun hasn’t yet risen, he replied, his hand gliding over the curve of her backside.

In his mind he felt her send him another thought, not of words, but pure desire.

He grinned and pulled her against him for the first of many more kisses that night.

Notes:

Thank you again for reading! All kudos and comments are greatly appreciated! With the holidays approaching, it will likely be a longer wait before the next chapter, but I will publish it as soon as possible, so thank you for your patience. I hope you're all having a lovely holiday season and that you have a wonderful new year!

Here's the appendix for chapter 2:

Melkor - The most powerful Vala in the beginning. He was the first “Dark Lord” and lured many Maiar to his service, including Balrogs and Sauron. After he killed Galadriel’s grandfather and stole the Silmarils, beautiful gems that held the light of the two trees, her uncle Feanor named Melkor as Morgoth, and that is the name elves use for him, and the name he becomes most known for.

Telperion - The elder of the two trees of Valinor. It shone with a silver light. After being destroyed, its last flower became the light of the moon.

Laurelin - The younger of the two trees of Valinor. It shone with a golden light. After being destroyed, the last fruit it bore became the light of the sun.

Fana - A physical form/body taken by the Valar or Maiar when they desired a physical form. They often chose the form of a being of high stature or the form of an elf or human, amongst other possibilities. Eating, drinking, and spending a long time in one fana can gradually bind, making it difficult to lay down the fana, but most binding is having a child.

Tulkas - The strongest Vala, associated with war, specifically fighting against evil with no compromise. He slept after his wedding. The Valar and Maiar generally do not need to sleep, but he did so after his wedding night.

Chapter 3: Duty Calls

Summary:

Terrified by how easily she keeps losing herself in Halbrand's embrace, Galadriel tries to refocus on her vow to destroy Sauron.

Notes:

Thank you dearly to all readers! I’m tremendously grateful for over 100 kudos and 1000 views. I love hearing your thoughts and curiosities in the comments. Thank you so much for engaging with this story. I love sharing it with you.

Thanks again to my beta reader Sammybunny711for all the support. If you haven’t yet, go check out her incredible Saurondriel fic called Morgoth's Shadow!

One more night turned into two in Halbrand’s bed. Galadriel did not knock on his door the third night because she was due for watch duty at the helm.

Upon setting sail she had volunteered for night watches since no one else aboard could see as far as her, nor as clearly in the dark. And while everyone else needed nightly sleep, Galadriel could go long without.

Now, she was grateful that Elendil had made amendments before accepting her offer, insisting he take every second night and his lieutenant would oversee every third night with a small group of trusted soldiers taking shifts.

Because the first few weeks of long, lonely nights watching the dark waves were not the fresh breath of air she had thought they would be.

Galadriel often found solace under a starry night. As a young child, she loved her grandmother’s stories about the elves’ first home in Cuiviénen, of how the lake there sparkled with the light of the stars created by the Queen of the Valar. 

When Elrond and Elros came into Galadriel’s care during their youth, they often fell asleep outside under the light of their father’s star. Galadriel would whisper a promise to her distant cousin that she would keep his sons safe from harm.

But everything had changed with time. Cuiviénen was lost to only memory. Elros chose the Gift of Men and had long passed from the world to whatever fate awaits men after death. Elrond still looked upon Galadriel with adoration but also pity and weariness that had been devastating enough to break her into obedience to their High King’s orders.

While she had lost herself in Halbrand’s embrace for the past two nights, these thoughts again plagued Galadriel as she gazed at the starry sky hanging over the small Númenórean fleet.

She felt shame for ever stepping aboard that ship bound for Valinor and that she had almost given up her vow to eradicate Sauron from Middle-earth.     

Galadriel tightly gripped the ship’s railing under her hands and took a deep breath. Then let go of both the railing and the air in her lungs.

It was meant to be, she assured herself. If Elrond had not pressured her to leave Middle-earth, she never would have met Halbrand. She would have been all alone searching the vastness of the frozen north while the orcs laid waste far to the south.

A small smile formed on her lips as she thought of Halbrand sleeping below deck. She could still hear him in her head from the first time he had communicated with ósanwe. 

I can feel you. 

She could feel him with her, the warmth of his affection wrapping around her like a cloak against the cool sea breeze.

He would be standing next to her if she did not insist he slept the nights she was on duty. She yearned for his company, but he rarely got the sleep he needed when they were together on other nights. 

Even without him physically beside her, she felt less alone than she had in a long time. And yet, a new primal fear clutched at Galadriel’s throat.

She hated that Halbrand had been right about how consummation would affect her. She could not breathe properly at the thought of ever losing him, even though it was inevitable. What if anything happened to him when they drove the orcs from the Southlands? What if she could not keep him safe after dragging him with her to hunt Sauron?

Before their first kiss, she thought she was overwhelmed with feelings for him, but she did not know enough words to properly describe how she felt after fully giving herself to Halbrand. She did not know how to explain the way she felt more whole and complete than ever before in her life - but at the same time, like half her heart was outside her body, just out of reach because she had not said the words that would truly bind her and Halbrand together.

Their bodies were getting to know each other intimately, but her spirit ached to intertwine with his spirit. Her mind craved to know his mind. She felt the compulsion to speak Eru’s name with Halbrand and solidify their bond properly, a compulsion that seemed to grow stronger with every passing minute.

It cannot be. She kept repeating these words to herself, but they were losing meaning. 

Halbrand had so far kept his promise to stay focused on the expedition. Galadriel felt more empowered than ever to face Sauron and his orcs soon, knowing she had Halbrand’s support.

Middle Earth will not be without light as long as you are in it.

What if her worries of losing Halbrand, anytime soon, at least, were unfounded? What if the expedition succeeded and they freed the Southlands from the orcs? What if the light within her was enough to stop Sauron from plunging Middle-earth back into darkness?

She could stay with Halbrand in the Southlands and find some semblance of peace that had long evaded her. If he wanted her to stay…

Galadriel shook her head and laughed bitterly at the fantasy she allowed to sprout in her mind.

Once peace settled, he would need to take a wife and produce heirs, along with many other responsibilities that would come with kingship. His people would unlikely take kindly to an elven queen and half-elven heirs. Galadriel had not personally spent much time in the Southlands, but she knew there was prejudice between the humans who lived there and the elves who watched the lands for any signs of devotion to Morgoth or Sauron.

And if they were together and Galadriel did not pass from grief once she lost Halbrand, surely she would perish after also losing any children they conceived. Their children would live longer than Halbrand, perhaps as long as Elros had lived. But they would eventually reunite with their father wherever human spirits went, while she would be alone and forever bound to Arda until its end. 

Her cousin Luthien had been gifted mortality from Eru so she could pass from this world with her human lover, but Galadriel knew that was not the normal way of things.

Her brother Aegnor loved a human woman, but he would not go down the path of marriage with her, not only because they met during a time of war. He feared watching her grow old while he stayed ageless. He feared losing her and only having left in his heart sad, pitiful memories of her end while he was left behind when he passed. 

The despair of losing Halbrand dug its claws deeper into Galadriel’s mind. It was too late for her to follow Aegnor’s example and keep her distance from Halbrand to spare her heart.

Perhaps it was too late since he reached out his arm and pulled her from the Sundering Seas after his traveling companions had all but tried to feed her to the sea monster.

She had said as much to him when they first kissed, and she admitted that their eventual parting would leave her with a scar.

Galadriel huffed and fought to pull herself together. As she had warned Halbrand many times, they could not distract each other from the expedition. She had to remain focused on her vow to destroy Sauron, not fantasies of ruling a human kingdom with Halbrand nor nightmares of losing him and their half-elven children who would never exist.

Maybe loneliness was her lot in life, but Galadriel would enjoy her nights with Halbrand until they made landfall. Then, she would do everything in her power to fulfill her vow and rid Middle-earth of evil.

The next two weeks of sailing flew by. When they could not be more than a couple of days out from Middle-earth, Galadriel had a frustrating lump in her throat when she slipped into Halbrand’s cabin. 

He had been waiting for her and immediately pulled her flush against him. Goosebumps erupted across her skin as Halbrand buried his face into her neck, inhaling her scent. He kissed his way up to her lips. She closed her eyes and melted into him.

Neither of them said anything because they both already knew. It would be their last night together. After tomorrow’s drills, Galadriel would not change out of her armor. She would be on scouting duty, watching for the first sight of Middle-earth while everyone rested ahead of making landfall.

Halbrand’s strong arms lifted her around his hips. He then pressed her against the cabin door and deepened their kiss, sparking a fiery desire in her blood.

As their tongues met, she threaded her fingers through his hair and squeezed her thighs around his waist. Halbrand slipped a hand between them and rubbed at her cloth-covered core. She moaned softly into his mouth, then wandered with her lips across his cheek, behind his ear, down his neck.

Heat flushed through Galadriel as his thumb made circles over the most sensitive part of her body. She nipped at the sensitive flesh where his neck and shoulder met. Halbrand responded with a low growl and pressed hard against her. She gasped and bucked her hips against his hand.

His lips returned to hers for a breath-stealing kiss that made her dizzy. Then he gently set her on the ground and went down on his knees before her. He worked her trousers and underclothes down her legs, then slowly kissed his way up every bare inch of her skin. 

Each open-mouth kiss sent flutters of pleasure through her. She braced against the door, wondering how she could keep herself standing if Halbrand continued like this. His hand pushed her legs further apart, then he gently bit down and sucked on the tender flesh of her inner thigh.

Galadriel took in a sharp breath and twisted away, the sensation overwhelming her. But Halbrand brought a hand to her waist to hold her still against the door as he continued nibbling and kissing his way to her entrance. 

Going painfully slow, he teased her by moving his lips closer then away, kissing the sides of her hips, her belly.

The untended nub between her legs started to ache, and she wondered how she would survive if he did not touch her there soon. “Halbrand,” she pleaded between gasps.

Yes, my lady?  He taunted in her mind, placing the ghost of a kiss on the slit of her folds. She could hear him inhale as he pushed his nose through her hair down there. Then he nuzzled into the crease where her thigh ended, just outside of where she desired him.

Galadriel hissed as Halbrand left a mark with his teeth, soothing it after with soft little licks that made her shudder. Please, she responded, her fingers grasping at Halbrand’s hair to keep him close.

He gasped against her skin and she realized she had tugged quite hard. Sorry, she apologized, loosening her grip.

No, don’t let go, he replied, laving at her dripping slit. Show me what you want. Show me exactly where you want my tongue on your sweet little cunt.

His provocative words made her swollen bud pulse with a desperate need. Galadriel tangled her fingers through Halbrand’s locks, guided his mouth a little higher, and pulled him tightly against her.

Halbrand grunted and delved into her folds, firmly swiping his tongue upwards. The contact of his hot, wet mouth and strong tongue right where she craved him most made Galadriel whimper with relief. She pressed her lips together, trying to muffle her gasps and moans.

Louder sounds came from Halbrand as he steadily sucked and laved on her little nub, but it was hard to care as tension rapidly coiled inside her. After all that time he had made her wait, she would not last long under his ministrations. 

Halbrand, she reached out with her mind, trying to send him some sense of the bliss he was inflicting on her.

Galadriel. She felt his desire for her to look at him.

She opened her eyes to find him gazing up at her, his face buried in her most intimate parts, his head moving with the rhythm of his tongue. 

The unbearable tightness in her snapped. Pleasure exploded through her, waves of ecstasy rolling through her shaking limbs.

She slumped over him, but he held her up with a strong hand and kept stroking her with his tongue until she could not bear it and pulled him away with a tug of his hair.

He took her in his arms and carried her to the bed. Instead of immediately removing his clothing, he reached for the end of her long plait of hair, which she always braided before a training session. It had become a ritual for their nights together: him freeing her golden tresses and running his fingers through the long strands.

“I could not imagine such beauty existed in this world until I first laid eyes on you,” he whispered, fanning her hair about her head.

Galadriel scrunched her face at him in disbelief, even as her cheeks warmed. “I am quite sure I looked like a drowned rat the first time you saw me.”

Halbrand chuckled. “You couldn’t look any less than the fairest of all living beings, even if you were covered in seagrass and mud from head to toe. " He leaned down to kiss her softly and slowly, shifting his weight onto her.

His ridiculous but reverent remark fluttered through her chest. She smiled against his lips.  

It was strange how contentment filled her bones, like she could rest forever in this place where only she and Halbrand existed—where she nearly forgot all about Sauron and his shadow. 

If only she could freeze this moment and bask in the wonder of being truly seen by another being, then she could finally know the peace that had eluded her for centuries.

Instead, these fleeting nights were slipping through her fingers like fine grains of sand. 

Galadriel tightened her grip around Halbrand’s neck and shoulder, clinging to him as if by mere strength of her will, this would never have to end.

She felt his hardness pressing against her thigh and knew he was aching to take her. I want you, she whispered into his mind, rolling her hips against his. 

He moaned and rocked his hips to meet hers. Her hands slipped down his back and through the waistband of his breeches. She kneaded her knuckles into the soft flesh of his backside, then curiously pressed her fingertips in the cleft between his buttocks. 

Halbrand jerked and groaned. He removed her hands, but only so he could sit back and rid himself of the garment separating them from each other.

Then his hands went for the hem of her dress and pushed it up until he revealed her breasts. He covered each with his large hands, kneading and gently tugging until her nipples hardened into taut peaks. He kissed one nipple and the other, then nuzzled his face in the divot between the swell of her breasts.

Touched by his worshipfulness of her body, Galadriel felt a rush of emotion. As his lips caressed her skin, leaving a trail of kisses up to her mouth, she worked her fingers through his hair and gently scraped at his scalp with her nails.

He nudged apart her legs with his own, took himself in hand, and rubbed the swollen, leaking tip through her folds.

They gasped in unison and caught each other’s gaze as he circled the head of his length against her most sensitive bundle of nerves.

Then, a loud knocking sound crashed through the haze of pleasure surrounding Galadriel’s mind.

Halbrand froze his motions. He clenched his jaw and looked to Galadriel for her reaction.

Someone was knocking on the door. No, Galadriel quickly discerned; someone knocked on her cabin's door one room over.

That will be Elendil, she told Halbrand. I must answer his call.

Halbrand frowned but immediately pulled away from her. Can you not let him think you are asleep? he tried. He will come back later.

I told him to wake me if there were any early signs of land, she reminded him, even as she greatly regretted ever giving Elendil permission to disrupt her night.

Yes, I was in the meeting when you said it to him. Halbrand did not send her feelings of frustration, only great longing to pin her back down on the bed and never let her go. But he scooped up her trousers and passed them to her, resignation on his face.

I made the offer out of habit, she explained, quickly trying to make herself presentable. The closer we get to land, the more likely we could run into corsairs. I should like to spot them before they see us so we could adjust course and avoid any unpleasant delays. The excuses tumbled out as she fought against the disappointment twisting in her stomach.

She did not want this to be over so suddenly. So why could she not do as Halbrand suggested and let Elendil think she fell asleep? Why did she reach to open the door as soon as they were both dressed?

“Captain,” she called out. Elendil had started walking away.

He turned with a smile, then raised his brow when he noticed Halbrand behind her. “Commander Galadriel, Lord Halbrand, my apologies.”

Galadriel’s cheeks burned as she realized how it looked, her and Halbrand standing in the door to his cabin in the middle of the night, her hair loose and Halbrand’s no neater, his lips red and swollen from kissing.

What had she been trying to prove to herself by rushing back into service?

“It is only that Lieutenant Valandil heard the cry of the white tern, and you asked to be informed of any signs of impending landfall,” Elendil said. “But now you know and may return to your rest.” 

“Thank you, Captain,” Galadriel replied. “I will be above deck as soon as I finish dressing.”

Elendil tilted his head as if considering whether or not to repeat his offer for her to continue resting. He glanced from Halbrand to Galadriel, then nodded his head. “Very well, then.”

Halbrand gave the captain a polite smile, but now Galadriel could feel his frustration crystal clear through their connection.

As soon as Elendil went on his way, Halbrand pulled her back into his cabin and closed the door.

“Why, Galadriel?” He demanded in a whisper, each of his hands bracketing her arms.

“I already told you,” she replied weakly. She could not truly explain herself or why her heart hammered in her chest. 

“If it was indeed a white tern, we could still be over a full day and night from land,” he argued.

She wondered how a Southlander knew anything about sea birds, but it did not matter. “The soldiers need ample rest before we land,” she dug her heels in.

“Are you trying to disprove whatever the Captain thinks of us?” Halbrand challenged.

Galadriel frowned. “No.” With her elven ears, she had some muttered curiosities about the relationship between her and Halbrand, and the occasional crude remark that she understood to be common amongst humans.

“I do not care what anyone thinks of us,” she asserted. “But I—” Galadriel looked down at Halbrand’s strong, gentle hands holding her. She wanted to tell him to hold her tight and never let go.

She wanted to stay in this cabin with Halbrand forever. And that terrified her.

“I must go,” she forced herself to say, slipping her arms out of Halbrand’s hold. “Duty calls.”

“It’s only a bird,” he tried. “Galadriel…” He took one of her hands in his and kissed the inside of her wrist. The sweetness of his gesture softened the edges of panic in her chest. She desperately wanted to fall back into his arms.

But if she delayed a minute longer, she would not know how to leave behind these stolen moments of happiness—happiness she doubted she deserved until she had finally completed her mission and defeated Sauron.

Galadriel grasped the collar of Halbrand’s tunic and kissed him with all the affection she could never give him, with all the conviction of the vows she wished she could say aloud. Then she released him and took a step back. “I will never forget these nights we shared,” she promised.

Halbrand stared at her, his chest heaving from the passion of her kiss. 

“You should sleep,” she added more gently. “The days ahead will be long.”

“And we must stay focused on the mission,” he replied, not with sarcasm or impudence, but tiredness, as if exhaustion had suddenly washed over him.

Instinctively, Galadriel reached out to him with her mind, but he had shut the door firmly against her. “I will see you in the morning,” she made herself say.

“Good night, Galadriel,” he replied, not hiding the plea in his gaze for her to change her mind. It took all her strength to turn away and leave him behind.

In her cabin, she donned the armor Halbrand had carefully crafted for her. As she braided her hair, a single tear fell to her cheek. She brushed it away and blinked furiously, clearing the wetness from her eyes. Then headed above deck to watch for the first sight of land.

---

Galadriel stared out at the sea for hours, ruminating through everything she knew about Sauron. She wondered if she would recognize him if she saw him, if she would be able to sense the evil burning through his veins. Like all Maiar he could take on various forms and appear as anyone or anything.

But the orcs would give him away, for they needed a leader to follow. Destructive and cruel as the savage creatures were, they were reckless without their master. After the War of Wrath and Morgoth’s imprisonment, nearly extinguishing the orcs had not taken long, though some had escaped East. But the wild orcs of the East could not have organized of their own accord, not well enough to take over an entire kingdom, even one of men. 

No, Galadriel would finally find Morgoth’s successor who planned to turn the Southlands into a place for evil to thrive. And she would have the pleasure of ruining his plans and freeing Middle-earth from his malice forever.

“So, how many corsairs did your elven eyes steer us away from?” Halbrand’s booming voice shook her from the dark places of her mind. The smile on his lips and the playful glint in his eyes assured her he did not resent her for her panic the night before. Surely, he was as eager as she to make landfall.

“No corsairs, only birds and driftwood,” she admitted, a small grin tugging on the corner of her mouth.

“I suspect you haven’t eaten yet,” he offered her a generous piece of bread slathered with jam.

“Thank you,” she accepted the food gratefully. “I forgot about breaking my fast after catching the first sight of land.”

“Yes, the Captain informed me on my way up we have another day’s sail into the mountains before we ride into the vale,” Halbrand looked out at the growing mass of land looming on the horizon, pensiveness pulling at his features.

Galadriel put her hand on his armor-clad shoulder. “In two days, we free your people from the shadow. I will accept nothing less.”

Halbrand turned his head to meet her gaze, his green and golden eyes full of warmth. “I’m glad you left home, Galadriel. Middle-earth is all the better for having you in it. With your determination and protection, it could one day be a haven of light and life for all.”

“I believe that again because of you,” she confessed. “When you found me at sea, I had all but given up. I refused to go home but could see no way forward. And that was not the first time I felt utterly lost.”

Halbrand watched her intently, not a hint of the weariness she received when trying to explain herself to her best friend or High King. “Finrod was the third and last brother I had lost. I swore to find Sauron and destroy him, but grief swallowed me. The war against Morgoth seemed hopeless. I knew we could not prevail without the aid of the Valar. For a time, I found purpose in caring for the foster sons of my cousin.” 

Galadriel had struggled to forgive Maglor for all he had done, including kidnapping Elrond and Elros as young children. But the boys had spoken of him with much adoration, even after he left them to continue his pursuit of the Silmarils. While she always answered their questions honestly, she did not dare sully their memories of the elf they had known longer than their own father.

“But I could not shake my grief until first it was compounded with the loss of my husband not long after he joined the war effort. The Valar sent aid in the end, but it was too late for Celeborn, too late for my brothers, my cousins, for countless friends and allies.” Galadriel sighed and looked out at the sea.

“While many of my people returned to Valinor after the war, I found renewed commitment and love for Middle-earth. Sauron remained unaccounted for, and I wanted to protect my people who also chose to stay. But everyone gradually grew complacent. Even as I felt darkness growing all around us, whispering in the dark, waiting to strike. I could feel it,” she whispered. “Even in here,” she put a hand to her heart. “But no one believed me… No one believed in me.”

Her gaze shifted back to Halbrand. “Until you. And now we will set things right together,” she emphasized the last word.

“I wouldn’t be here unless you believed in me first,” he replied with a proud smile. Galadriel could not understand how he kept doing that, making her feel like the most important being in all of existence.

It made her all the more determined to honor the hope and trust he had placed in her.

It took the rest of the day to sail into the mountains. Hesitant to lead the troops against orcs at night without more intel, Galadriel volunteered to scout ahead while the soldiers rested and prepared.

She did not have to venture far up the mountains to see the destruction wrought by orcs, illuminated by the countless fires of villages burning. 

After she hurried back to the fleet, the Queen Regent and Captain Elendil roused the soldiers. They readied the horses and set out in the dead of night.

Galadriel led the company with Halbrand keeping stride just beside her. As the first light of the sunrise illuminated the morning sky, she spied the orcs across the Plateau of Gorgoroth, attacking the village closest to the Tower of Ostirith, which was now only a heap of rubble. She bade her horse to hurry. The others followed suit. 

The calvary descended on the orcs and crushed the vile creatures into the mud. While some fought back, many fled, realizing they were outmatched.

The Númenóreans fought bravely, and the villagers joined them in pushing back the orcs. Galadriel searched for any sign of Sauron, slaying every orc who stepped in her way.

She tried not to think of Halbrand; she had to trust that he could care for himself. Whenever she did glimpse him, he handled the enemy with ease. 

Then, to her surprise, she spotted a lone elf fighting on behalf of the humans. She asked him for the orcs’ commander.

The elf’s searching gaze led her to catch sight of a disfigured elf trying to slip away undetected from the village. A Moriondor, she realized, once a servant of Morgoth, no doubt now one of Sauron’s agents.

Galadriel took pursuit, determination burning through her blood as she followed the orc’s leader deep into the forest.

I have your back. Halbrand’s voice slipped into her mind. 

But he did not come from behind her. As she closed in on the Moriondor, Halbrand appeared before them, having come around through the forest another way.

He readied his spear, and at once, Galadriel perceived his intention. She broke away from her path, out of the way as the Moriondor’s horse fell over Halbrand’s spear. A thrill went through her, pleased with their success. She may have been able to stop the orc leader on her own, but she did not care for glory. It meant everything Halbrand had followed her and aided her pursuit. She admired his strategic mind, even as she tried to understand how he had managed to get ahead of her and the Moriondor. 

She halted her horse, turned, and watched as Halbrand observed the fallen orc leader. He crawled toward a wrapped object, which must have been the valuable item the elf in the village had warned her about.

When Halbrand stabbed his spear into the Moriondor’s hand, Galadriel held back words of protest, watching the exchange with curiosity. She could not let Halbrand kill the creature, but she did not have to reach into his mind to sense his anger. She could give him a moment. 

Eerie, quiet acceptance flickered across Halbrand’s face when the orc leader denied recognizing him.

Halbrand, control your anger, she tried. But his mind was shut to her, focused only on the enemy beneath his boot.

Halbrand screamed and lifted his spear. “Stop!” Galadriel commanded, jumping from her horse.

“We need him alive. I need him alive,” she insisted, trying to break through Halbrand’s vengeful rage with reason. But her heart clenched at his next words.

“You don’t know what he did.” Galadriel recognized the hurt of devastating betrayal in Halbrand’s voice. 

It was true. She did not know. For all they had opened their minds to each other, there was much Halbrand kept tightly shut away.

“Did I cause someone you love pain?” The Moriondor rasped. Galadriel looked to Halbrand, watching his reaction. “A woman?”

Halbrand’s whole body shook with fury.

“Perhaps a child?” The orc leader taunted. 

“Eat your tongue!” Galadriel snapped. She wished she could take Halbrand’s pain away. The wretched creature surely deserved to die for whatever he had done to Halbrand. But he could lead them to Sauron, so at least until then, she needed him alive.

“Halbrand,” she pleaded in a careful but firm voice. “Put it down.” 

Halbrand’s face crumpled with agony as he fought for control against his desire for vengeance. Maybe he did not realize it, but Halbrand needed the Moriondor alive, too. If he got his revenge, but they lost their only lead on Sauron’s whereabouts, the Southlands and Halbrand’s people would remain in danger.

“One cannot satisfy thirst by drinking seawater.”
 
Finally, Halbrand regained his composure and stepped back, blade still pointed at the Moriondor’s throat. “Get up,” he ordered.

As they walked their captive and horses back to Tirharad, Galadriel gently brushed at the edges of Halbrand’s mind. He glanced over at her, not hiding the strife he felt at holding back from slaying the orc leader walking just ahead of his speartip.

It’s dangerous to keep him alive, Halbrand warned her.

Galadriel sighed deeply.  I do not disagree, but we need him to find Sauron. After we vanquish him, I will leave the Moriondor to you. I will not begrudge you the right to deal justice as you see fit.

Halbrand was silent for a long while until he finally sent a small nod of acceptance in her direction.

When they emerged from the woods and Galadriel looked upon Tirharad, she saw soldiers and townsfolk working together to repair the destruction the orcs had wrought. It was surreal for her to realize that she had her first small victory in hand after centuries of dead ends and disappointments. 

She would not dare celebrate, not until she found and faced Sauron. But for a brief moment, she relished the realization that she was closer than ever to finally freeing Middle-earth from the monster forever.

Notes:

Appendix for chapter 3:

Cuiviénen - The land in Middle Earth where the first elves awoke and dwelled for a long time before many answered the call to travel to Valinor.

Queen of the Valar - Varda is known as the Queen of the Valar. She created the stars which was the first light that the elves knew, and she is the most beloved of the Valar to them.

"the light of their father’s star" - When Elrond and Elros were only two years old, their father Eärendil went sailing in search of Valinor to petition the Valar to aid in the war against Morgoth. Six years later the sons of Fëanor attacked Eärendil's family and their home. His wife Elwing threw herself into the sea to prevent theft of the Silmaril in her possession. The Vala Ulmo brought her to her husband aboard his ship. Eventually, they reached Valinor, and the Valar agreed to aid in the war. They raised up Eärendil, wearing the Silmaril, to be a star of hope in the sky for the people of Middle Earth. Later, Galadriel will catch light from Eärendil's star in a crystal phial, and gift it to Frodo to aid him on his journey to destroy the one ring.

The Gift of Men - While men may consider it Doom rather than a Gift, they have more true free will than any other beings and when they die, they are not bound to Arda and its fate, and instead pass on from the world, but to where is only known to Eru Ilúvatar.

Maglor - The Second son of Fëanor who had sworn an oath to recover the stolen Silmarils. He kidnapped Elrond and Elros when they were children during an attack on their mother to try and steal from her the Silmaril in her possession. Out of pity, he fostered the boys and it is said love grew between them. He despaired of his oath, but under pressure from his brother Maedhros, they continued to pursue the Silmarils. Eventually, they each claimed a Silmaril, but the gems burned and tormented them. Maglor cast his into the sea, and “thereafter he wandered ever upon the shores, singing in pain and regret beside the waves.”

Chapter 4: Ashes and Rubble

Summary:

Just as Galadriel's plan for the Southlands finally falls into place, disaster strikes.

Mairon paced just outside the barn where Galadriel interrogated Adar. He couldn’t stop himself from tapping into a smidgen of his power to hear their conversation clearly. Despite the lack of recognition from Adar, Mairon feared him saying something that would give Galadriel a clue to his true identity.

“Where is Sauron?” She asked Adar. Mairon always hated that name, mocking his first, true name. He particularly disliked hearing it on Galadriel’s lips, and said with such scorn. He feared that he would forever be the abhorred in her eyes. But she had not been deterred when he warned her he had done dark deeds, that she would cast him out if only she knew his past.

Sometimes to find the light, we must first touch the darkness.

He never wanted to be Sauron again. Perhaps it was possible. He had surprised himself, resisting the urge to spear Adar through his traitorous little neck. It had been all Mairon could think about for centuries, making Adar suffer.

But now he wanted something, someone even more. So when she bade him hold back, he reminded himself what was at stake. He had already begun to find peace not in vengeance but in the warmth of Galadriel’s light.

It was still a considerable risk, allowing Adar to live. Even now, he described to Galadriel many details of Mairon’s old plans to gain power, all of which had ended in utter failure. 

“I split him open. I killed Sauron,” Adar declared to Galadriel.

If she believed him, that could work in Mairon’s favor. But she immediately voiced her doubt of Adar’s claim. 

Mairon expected nothing less from her. She would not give up her mission without irrefutable proof that Sauron was gone. He needed a solution to that problem, a solution that kept her by his side.

Then Adar spoke of the orcs as if they were precious, pretty flowers. Mairon rolled his eyes. The Moriondor always had a flare for dramatics. 

Galadriel was not impressed either. A chill went through Mairon as he heard her speak cruel threats against Adar and his children.

Mairon did not know whether to be impressed or worried for her. Her light had suffused him with hope. Had his darkness started to bleed into the cracks of her battered spirit?

He seethed with rage when he thought about how her supposed best friend and her foolish king had treated her like a tarnished gem to be tossed across the sea. If he ever saw them, he would like to throw them into the ocean's deepest depths with shackles about their wrists and ankles.

But Galadriel… she would forgive them before they could utter a single word to her, even if they never apologized for their disrespect.

“It would seem I’m not the only elf alive who has been transformed by darkness,” Adar taunted Galadriel, seemingly unphased by her vow to destroy his children. “Perhaps your search for Morgoth’s successor should have ended in your own mirror.”

Mairon moved quickly. He didn’t have to reach into Galadriel’s mind to know that Adar’s words pressed painfully into her wounds of self-doubt.

Sure enough, Mairon stepped inside the barn just as Galadriel, dagger in hand, launched herself at Adar.

“Galadriel,” he called, hoping his mere presence would remind her this was not the path she wanted to take.

She stilled her blade. Mairon let out a sigh. The Moriondor taunted her again with a little whisper, but Galadriel finally pulled back, leaving Adar with only a shallow cut across his pale neck.

It would have been easy to let her slit his throat. Mairon’s identity would be all the safer but at a cost. He could not allow Adar to get the better of Galadriel in a moment of anger and steal some of her light.

Mairon patiently waited as she stared their enemy down before silently departing. He turned to follow her out when Adar called to him.

“Who are you?” 

The flesh of Mairon’s back tingled, remembering the shocking pain suffered by the previous body he wore.

Wishing to leave Adar in the past, Mairon left without a reply.

He found Galadriel by a stream in the woods, sitting atop a fallen tree and studying the ground with a contemplative gaze.

When he sat beside her, he could hear her breath quicken, as if his presence shifted her whole world. It was the same for him when she was near.

“Thank you…” she started, “for pulling me back.”

Halbrand felt relief he had made the right decision, but he had to give credit where it was due. “Was you pulled me back first,” he replied. The gratitude he felt was strange but true. Thanks to Galadriel, lasting peace finally felt within his reach.

“Whatever is was he did to you, and whatever it was you did… Be free of it,” she encouraged. It was exactly what he needed to hear. 

“I never believed I could be… Until today,” he admitted. “Fighting at your side, I…” He had to tell her how he felt, that he wanted her with him always.

“I felt…” he continued, “if I could just hold onto that feeling, keep it with me always, bind it my very being, then I…” could be worthy of your love. But a sinister voice whispered in his mind.

You will never know love, but I can show you how to make them fear you, make them worship you.

“I felt it, too,” Galadriel interjected softly. Mairon’s heart swelled in his chest. Perhaps Melkor was wrong all along. 

Mairon looked over at Galadriel and envisioned a crown upon her head, wrought in star stone and adorned with the most beautiful gems ever to exist.

She slowly turned to meet his gaze, yearning etched in her features.

Then she opened her mouth to speak, but a soldier came padding through the woods.

“Lord Halbrand,” the soldier called. Galadriel gasped softly and turned away quickly, as if the spell hiding them in their own little world had been broken.

“The Queen Regent wishes to see you.”

Mairon felt a strong urge to strangle the soldier, but that would surely not keep him in Galadriel’s good graces. He took a breath and glanced at her once more, but she kept her gaze on the forest floor.

He took her guardedness as a sign he should wait for a better opportunity to talk when duty did not demand their attention. But as he stood to follow the soldier who had walked away, he felt an ache at leaving so much unsaid between them. He did not know when they would be alone again.

“Wait,” she called out, her voice barely above a whisper. Mairon’s heart raced as she stood and stepped towards him.

He wanted to take her into his arms, but she reached for him first, caressing his cheek, scraping her nails through the rough hair of his beard. Then her hand fell to his shoulder, and she pulled on it for leverage to press her lips against his.

Sighing into her mouth, he wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her back tenderly, letting his affection flow through their mental connection. In return, she sent him strong feelings of passion that warmed his blood. 

They broke the kiss slowly but pressed closer to each other, foreheads touching.

“Stay for the feast,” Mairon whispered. He knew Galadriel was eager to leave with a company of soldiers she had recruited to track down the orcs who had escaped. But if they could have more time to talk before she left…

“The fleeing orcs could lead us to Sauron’s hiding place,” she countered, even as she clung to him tightly.

“They will not get far in daylight,” he argued. “Let the soldiers eat and rest before leading them on the hunt. Just for a little while, so that you and I can—”

“Halbrand,” she sounded half-exasperated and half-amused. She pulled back to look at him, a warning in her eyes.

“Talk,” he finished, unable to suppress a grin as he realized she thought he had been asking for much more than conversation. “I want to talk with you before you go.”

She sighed, fighting a small grin. “I suppose it would not hurt to delay a few more hours,” she considered aloud. “I must arrange for messengers to warn my people of what has happened before leaving.”

“Will your High King believe you?” Mairon asked, not hiding his disdain for the elf he had never met.

Galadriel huffed. “My cousin Celebrimbor is nearer, in Eregion. He will heed my counsel and take the threat seriously. I will also ask him to ensure the news reaches Lindon, but if I must, I will go there myself to face the King when I have Sauron’s head to throw at his feet.”

Mairon was equal parts amused and impressed by Galadriel’s confidence in her ability to slay him. While he could sense the possibility of power simmering just under her skin, as far as he could tell, she had not mastered magic as her brother had—and while he had been a worthy opponent, he had fallen against Mairon’s superior wizardry. 

Did she plan to defeat him by mere strength of her will and the sharpness of her dagger?

It did not matter. If she did learn his identity and attack him, he could not conscience using his full strength against her. He could not bear the thought of harming a single golden strand of hair on her head. Somehow, he would have to convince her he was no longer the monster she had long desired to destroy.

“Come,” Galadriel beckoned. “We should see what the Queen Regent needs.”

Only then did Mairon realize why a soldier had been sent to find him. It was time for him to prove himself, to become the person Galadriel believed he could be.

---

As Galadriel expected, the Queen Regent introduced Halbrand to the current de facto leader of the Southlands.

Galadriel could sense the uneasiness tensing his shoulders, even as he smiled at Bronwyn. Her gaze landed on the royal crest that hung from Halbrand’s belt. “Is it true? Are you the King we were promised?” The human asked in a voice full of hope.

Halbrand’s gaze searched the crowd until he locked eyes with Galadriel.

With the subtlest of nods, she encouraged him to claim what was rightfully his. His humility only strengthened her trust in his ability to be a benevolent king and bring peace to the Southlands. 

“Yes,” he finally replied. Browyn and the Queen Regent led the crowd in hailing Halbrand as King.

He glowed with a genuine smile. Galadriel felt relief flood her chest. Everything was changing. If hope could grow even here, where Morgoth once had all its people under his cruel hand, then anything was possible.

Even though she itched to pursue the escaped orcs, Galadriel fought to enjoy the festivities as she had promised Halbrand a few hours. They sat and ate with Míriel and Bronwyn, discussing a continuing alliance between the Southlands and Númenor.                

Galadriel pondered how she could convince Ereinion to aid the human kingdoms. It would not be easy, not after how Númenor had long dismantled relations with the elves. And the elves held great distrust for Southlanders. But not Arondir. Galadriel quickly determined he and Bronwyn could be key in strengthening relations between elves and humans. It took mere minutes for Galadriel to notice the constant amorous glances between them.

She realized she could say the same for herself and Halbrand if she dared admit it. The first opportunity they had to excuse themselves, Galadriel would pull him to a quiet alleyway. She needed to know what he wanted to say to her.

As eager as she was to continue her pursuit of Sauron and his orcs, it pained her to leave Halbrand behind. Newly appointed King, he belonged here. But she wondered if he hoped she would return after completing her mission. As impossible as it seemed, she wondered if he thought there could be a place for her here.

A distant rumbling sound pulled Galadriel from her reverie. Then suddenly, a loud blast went off nearby. She turned to see a patch of earth covered with planks and rocks explode into the sky, followed by a water geyser.

She rushed to her feet, shocked as more land exploded and water shot upwards. Everyone around her appeared equally stunned.

But then her elven ears heard the low, excited chanting of the orcs who had been captured and set in chains. What did they know? Why did the ground beneath her feet shake?

That was when the volcano erupted, spewing ash and lava into the sky. A wave of hot gas blasted through the air, sending rocks and dirt flying.

Galadriel stared in horror. How had she underestimated every warning?

Back in Númenor, she had held in her hand a report that foretold what Morgoth intended for the Southlands. She could still remember the inscription in Black Speech. 

A plan by which to create a realm of their own, where evil would not only endure, but thrive. A plan to be enacted in the event of Morgoth’s defeat by his successor.

Sauron and the orcs must have been hiding near the Southlands for a long time, enacting a plan to force the volcano to erupt. A plan that was likely in motion well before she convinced Halbrand and Míriel to help her stop Sauron.

Soon… this land will be ours. Then you will understand, Adar had told her during the interrogation.

But she had not listened to him, had not given his threat the slightest consideration. 

Her hubris had doomed this land and everyone in it.

Gigantic molten rocks crashed upon Tirharad, annihilating anything and anyone in their impact zone.

People screamed and ran for cover. The orcs fought to free themselves from their captors. She could hear Halbrand and the Queen Regent shouting orders.

None of it mattered. A giant wall of fire and smoke blazed toward them. Volcanic lightning flashed in the sky. Falling debris obliterated everything around her.

Galadriel had completely and utterly failed Middle-earth. All her promises to Halbrand had been for nothing.

Halbrand.

As the cloud of death bore down upon her, Galadriel closed her eyes.

I am sorry. 

First, she felt the heat sear her skin, and then the power of the pyroclastic flow knocked her to the ground.

Pain darted through her head, sparks flashed behind her eyelids, and before she could think another thought, she lost her grip on consciousness.

---

Galadriel did not know if she had been out for seconds, minutes, or hours. She could hardly believe she was more than a heap of ashes.

Her eyes opened to darkness, glowing red at the edges of her vision. Heavy flakes of ash itched at the corners of her eyelids, weighing them down. Every inch of her body ached.

But somehow, she was still alive.

She took in a deep breath and instantly regretted it. Her lungs burned. The air tasted of smoke.

Halbrand! She reached out for his mind as she rolled over to force herself on her feet. Halbrand! 

She felt the faintest of a reply from him in her mind, no words, only the sense of him reaching for her… and he was in pain. She grasped at the tether between them to follow it to Halbrand. But the connection disintegrated before she could send him another thought. He had shut his mind to her… or he was…

Something inside Galadriel broke. He cannot be gone. This cannot be how it ends…

A horse with its saddle alight charged towards Galadriel. She could not think straight, could not conceive a way to save the poor animal. All she could do was dodge from its path before it trampled her into the ground.

She stared at the devastation all around her. Fires crackled, buildings burned, and bodies littered the ground.

“Halbrand!” she shouted.

No response.

“Elendil!” She trudged through the fallen debris, trying to follow the sounds of people crying for help. “Halbrand!”

“Mother!” Cried a voice. “Mother!” 

Galadriel shut herself off from the grief that threatened to overwhelm her. There was someone to help. She knew how to do that. “Over here!” She called out, walking towards the voice. “Come here.”

A human boy stumbled out of the fiery shadows. Bronwyn’s son, she recognized. “Are you hurt?” She asked.

“No,” he panted. 

She pulled him close and inspected him. “Stay with me,” she insisted. “Come.”

She guided him through the dense red fog of smoke, occasionally allowing herself to feel for Halbrand. But she could not sense him, not even a little.

Galadriel tried to help the trapped and injured people they encountered on their path out of the valley, but all she could do was offer minor pain relief and comfort in their last moments before their bodies succumbed to the darkness. She regretted not learning more in the elven art of healing, but she had always been more focused on the art of warfare or gifts of the mind. 

When they finally made it a safe distance from the burning village, Galadriel allowed them a brief respite so the boy could rest and catch his breath.

Orodruin continued to spit black smoke and lava into the sky, covering all the land in shadow. The only light came from billowing fires and lightning flashing in the sky. The valley below burned. Orcs growled in the distance. She wanted to gut every last one of them. But first she had to get the boy to safety, to whoever of his people had survived.

“Why’d they do this?” He asked her, staring out at the smoke and fire.

“To make this their home,” she answered. “Their Shadow Land.”

“So we take it back, and drive them off,” Theo decided.

“We have neither position nor reinforcement. These lands are dead. We must rally to the living.” While she admired the boy’s spirit, there was no reason to soften the truth.

“Or put steel down their throats!” Theo cried angrily, lunging for Galadriel’s sword. She stopped his hand, forced him to be still.

“It is over,” she declared.

“Not for me. I won’t allow it!” He shouted, fighting against her hold.

“We must!” She grunted with frustration. Then, the emotions she had been fighting to hold at bay bled into the forefront of her mind. “We must,” she insisted in a choked voice.

The boy was surprised by her display of emotion. She fought to pull herself together, knowing that regret would do her no good at this moment.

“What are you so bothered about? It isn’t your fault,” Theo said.

If only he knew. “Yes, it is,” she admitted calmly and released the boy from her hold.

Theo did not say anything else to her for a while, not until the worries for his loved ones boiled over in a well of emotions. “They’re dead, aren't they? Arondir, my friends, my… my mother.” His voice broke. “Everyone.”

“What cannot be known hollows the mind. Fill it not with guesswork.” She did not know if her words were more for the boy or herself.

For all she had tried to lock away her emotions, grief kept rising in her throat, threatening to choke her. If Halbrand was truly gone, there was no hope of ever seeing him again.

Why had she never told him that she loved him?

Why had she never admitted it to herself?

Because it was suddenly clear she had loved him all along, even before they had laid together—had made love. She hadn’t let herself think of it that way. Some fear inside her had stopped her, but that was what it had been from the first time and through to the last.

Galadriel loved Halbrand and he was gone forever. 

She did not know where men went after death. She only knew she could not follow, and she would crumple where she stood if she dwelled on her grief. So she would not. She could not.

Just get the boy to safety, she told herself. As she led Theo through the forest, she thought about how the embers floating down from the sky looked like burning flower petals caught in the wind.

---

Halbrand. I am sorry.

Mairon moved towards Galadriel, but she had moved away from him, towards the volcano. He had realized too late the immensity of what was happening.

All he could do was brace himself as the blast sent him flying through the air. He pulled on his power to soften the impact right before his human fana smacked into a tree. A branch pierced his side where his armor was weak. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself off the branch, grunting at the pain. Black blood seeped from the wound onto the ash-covered ground.

He stared at the sight momentarily before realizing what was wrong. The blood. He tapped into more of his power to make it appear red and to staunch the flow. He could not help Galadriel if this body died.

Then he looked up at the sky. Black clouds blocked out the sun. Fire rained down on all the Southlands.

Staring at the destruction, clarity suddenly struck Mairon.

This was his fault. He should have seen it coming. He heard Adar tell Galadriel this would happen, but he had not been able to imagine how the Moriondor could accomplish all this.

Mairon was there the day Melkor promised his Moriondors that their children would one day have their own land. Melkor and Mairon had discussed a plan to take the Southlands and build a stronghold that mountains would protect on three sides. 

Mairon had envisioned the land under his rule, but not like this, not once Melkor was out of the picture. He had pictured a kingdom of beautiful fields of fruits and flowers, thriving forests and towns. He would have kept the orcs in the mountain caves, available to his command but out of sight. And Orodruin, he would have harnessed its power for a magnificent forge that could rival Aulë’s own back in Valinor.

Mairon would have healed all he had helped Melkor ruin.

Yet Mairon never marched on the Southlands after Melkor’s defeat. Adar had betrayed him and ruined everything. While Mairon spent centuries regenerating into a new physical form, the Moriondor had twisted Melkor’s original plan to suit his children’s needs. And he had succeeded.

Rage surged through Mairon. He had to find Adar. He would make the Moriondor watch as he tore his children limb from limb. Then, he would drive his sword through the traitor’s heart.

Halbrand, Galadriel cried into his mind. 

Ignoring the ache in his side, he charged towards her over burning bodies and fallen trees. Then, just as she came into view, slowly getting to her feet, he stopped himself. He could not go to her.

Halbrand! She called to him again. He reached out to her with his mind, wanting to assure himself she was not injured as he had been. But as soon as he sensed her body unbroken, he severed their connection and firmly shut his mind to her.

It pained him to do so, but he could not let her feel him like this, full of hate and violent thoughts. Somehow, he had to fix this before he faced her. So he turned away and made for the barn where Adar had been chained. 

Only ashes and rubble remained. The chains held no body. Adar had escaped, of course.

As Mairon stared at the empty metal cuffs, he could hear Galadriel calling aloud for him in the distance. Knowing he was her first thought after all this made something twist uncomfortably in his stomach. It was guilt eating at him, he realized. He had failed her. 

What would she think if she knew this was his fault on top of everything she already hated about him?

Everything had been falling into place… Galadriel had made him a King. He had been determined to make her his Queen… but Adar had wrenched it all from his grasp.

Mairon felt unmoored… and angrier than he had ever been in his long existence. He reached out with heightened senses into the shadows of the burning land, seeking any trace of the Moriondor. While he could not sense Adar, training his ears on the growling orcs stumbling through their new home was easy enough. They all were heading in the same direction. So that was where Mairon would go.

The destruction stretched on for miles. Mairon let out his frustration on every orc he encountered, blinding them with darkness then hacking their bodies to pieces with his sword.

Soon the groups of orcs swelled in number and Mairon had to hold back. He cloaked himself in shadows and followed them across the plateau, past other ruined villages, until they all flooded towards one.

Hidden in the trees of a ridgeline overlooking the burned town, Mairon couldn’t believe what he saw. Adar had only brought a small portion of his forces to attack Tiharad. 

Before Mairon now, he saw thousands of orcs setting up camp, constructing makeshift shelters from charred, fallen trees, and leading about chained humans towards the center of town where flags waved in the wind.

That’s where Mairon would find Adar. But he couldn’t make it past legions of orcs on his own, not without significant spending of power and great risk to the human fana he had grown fond of—the only version of him that Galadriel cared for. He could transform himself, but it would be difficult, if not impossible, to recreate his Halbrand form exactly as she knew it.

Mairon let out a shout of frustration and turned away. What a fool he had been to think crushing Adar and his orcs would be an easy endeavor. The little devils had multiplied in Mairon’s long years away. He hated to admit Adar had succeeded beyond what he thought possible.

“Over there!” Shouted a coarse voice. A group of orcs had heard him. Mairon brandished his sword and met them head-on, slicing the first attacker’s head from his body. He gutted the next, then spun to block an orc trying to sneak from behind him. His blade sliced into the orc’s shoulder, spraying black blood into the air between them. Maybe that was why Mairon failed to notice the fourth orc until its lance had pierced clean through his armor, between his ribs.

He hissed in pain and stabbed his sword through the orc’s neck, twisting the blade to ensure maximum pain as the creature convulsed and fell to the ground.

After staggering further away from the orc settlement, Mairon slumped against a large tree to inspect his wounds. 

The lance head left a smaller but deeper wound than the tree branch gash further down his abdomen. The lance wound burned like fire and he wondered if the blade had poison upon it. He summoned power to slow the bleeding but hesitated to heal the wound further. If it was poisoned, which wouldn’t take long to confirm, it would demand much of his power to heal.

He had to be judicious with his energy. Adar needed to pay for his evil. Surely, Galadriel would feel the same way, and now she had ample proof to recruit her people against him.

Mairon thought about how she mentioned Celebrimbor in Eregion. Melkor had spoken of Fëanor’s grandson more than once, including his desire to take the elf hostage and force him to work in the forges of Angband.

If the smith was truly as talented as his grandfather, as Melkor had described him, then perhaps he could be key in crafting weaponry to destroy Adar and his forces for good. 

Determined to convince Galadriel to petition her cousin for help, Mairon pushed to his feet. White-hot pain shot through his body, doubling him over. He took in a sharp breath to stand straight and put a hand to the lance wound. Pulling apart the breached seams of his armor, he found black veins slowly traveling away from the upper gash.

Damn orc poison. 

Once further away from the orc hoards, he would have to spend whatever power necessary to heal himself.

Unless… Some elves knew the art of healing, even poisoned wounds. If Galadriel saw him like this, she might take him to Eregion herself. The messengers she recruited to bring word to Celebrimbor hadn’t left Tirharad before the eruption and may not have survived or be in a state able to travel.

Mairon could still spend a little power as needed to keep his human body alive in the meantime. It was the perfect excuse to depart his new kingdom for a while and have time alone with Galadriel.

With hardened resolve, he made his way across the burning land, then toward where the survivors of Tirharad were likely to gather with whoever remained of the Númenórean army.

He let them find him on the road near the survivor’s encampment. The Southlanders fussed over their new King and tended to his wounds. He enjoyed the attention but only truly cared about seeing one person. 

Fear ripped through him when Bronwyn told him she had not yet seen the elf. Mairon had been confident she wasn’t hurt when he left her. She had to be alive. He would’ve felt it if something happened to her. 

But what if she had a similar train of thought as him and went hunting for Adar? It could be a long time before he saw her again.

More likely, she was slow in reaching the survivors' camp because she was helping the injured along her way. Despite all the thoughts of vengeance weighing her down, Mairon knew she had far more compassion guiding her heart.

His patience was rewarded the next day when Galadriel stepped into his tent, dirt and ashes smeared on her face, but whole and uninjured, the absolute vision of a goddess of war.

“Halbrand,” she greeted gently, but he could sense the worry she felt for him. He did look a sad state, bloody and sweaty and weak.

“I thought you had died,” she said, approaching his bedside.

“Better for me if I had done,” he replied, not above milking her attention.

Do not say such things, she scolded into his mind. That’s when he could feel how truly frightened she was for him, even though she wore a mask of calm composure.

“Southlanders found him on the road like this yestereve,” Arondir explained.

“The wound soured overnight,” Bronwyn added. Galadriel reached for the tear in his tunic, carefully pulled it away to inspect his wounds. “I thought to try and treat him on the road, but…”

Even Galadriel’s light touch made the wound smart. He breathed deeply, resisting the urge to heal himself and relieve the pain.

“This wound needs Elvish medicine,” Galadriel decided, just as Mairon had hoped. “Can he ride?”

“I’ll have the healers gather what provisions they can,” Bronwyn replied. She and Arondir stepped outside the tent. 

“Well, Halbrand, it seems fate has in store for us one more raft.”

“This is not over. I will not abandon these lands and condemn them to burn.” Whatever it took, he would not give up on his dream of a future with Galadriel or his desire to heal Middle-earth.

“Nor will you,” he added.

The corner of her mouth twitched. He knew he had her then, even before she bent down to place a soft kiss on his lips.

“We will make this right,” she agreed, pushing the sweat-soaked strands of his hair from his eyes. Her fingertips brushed down the side of his face. “Together.”

Notes:

Thank you all dearly for the comments and kudos! They always make my day. It means everything to have your support for this story 🖤🤍

Thanks as always to Sammybunny711 for beta reading and encouragement!

Appendix for chapter 4:

“My cousin Celebrimbor” - Technically, Celebrimbor is Galadriel’s first cousin once removed, since his father (Curufin, son of Feanor) is Galadriel’s first cousin.

Finrod’s magic - To honor an oath made to repay a debt, Finrod accompanied a man Beren in his pursuit of a Silmaril. Finrod used his magic to disguise him and his companions as orcs. Sauron perceived their presence (but not their identities), and Finrod engaged him in a battle of song and sorcery. Finrod displayed great strength but ultimately Sauron’s power overcame him. Sauron then cast Finrod and company into a dark pit, and sent a werewolf to periodically slay one of them, pressuring them to reveal their mission. In the end, only Beren and Finrod remained. When the werewolf came for Beren, (Sauron had planned to save Finrod for last) Finrod broke from his chains and slew the werewolf, saving his friend Beren before succumbing to his wounds.

Chapter 5: Poison and Darkness

Summary:

Galadriel and Halbrand ride to Eregion.

As they rode hard for Eregion, Galadriel constantly glancing back to check on Halbrand, a sense of dark foreboding clouded her mind. Before leaving the encampment, Halbrand shared terrifying news with Galadriel, Bronwyn, and Arondir.

Thousands of orcs, and there were likely more than Halbrand had spotted when he tried to follow Adar through the burning Southlands.

What also chilled her was Halbrand’s description of humans in chains. She wondered if she should have searched harder for survivors when traveling with Theo to the encampment. Her hopes of pursuing the fleeing orcs with a small party of soldiers had been naive. She would likely have led the Númenóreans to their deaths when they expected to pick off scattered orcs but instead found legions of the savage beasts.

Many Númenóreans still died in the end, all because they followed her to Middle-earth, including Elendil’s son. Grief struck Galadriel when she found out. She had only spoken to the boy a couple of times. He had been eager to come to Middle-earth, dismayed by what had become of Númenor. Galadriel had liked him immediately, seeing in him the courage and restlessness of his forefather Elros.

All those soldiers, so many incredibly young, had trusted her with their lives. She had led them to their doom. And now she rode to Eregion with tidings of war instead of a declaration of victory over Sauron.


Galadriel would not give up or rest until things were set right. But her utmost priority was keeping Halbrand alive. It was not merely because he had saved her life, and she wanted to repay the debt. 

No, she needed him to live, whatever it took. He deserved more time, deserved another chance to save his people and lands, as impossible as it all seemed now. And she could not bear the thought of losing him when she only just got him back.

It was not until Bronwyn revealed Halbrand was alive that Galadriel realized how grey and empty her world had been since she first thought him dead.

As soon as she saw him, injured and feverish but alive, she could suddenly catch a proper breath in her lungs. 

This is not over, he had said, talking about their fight for the Southlands and his people. But she was grateful it was not over for the two of them either, even if only as companions for a short time. She would not take a single day she spent in his presence for granted. 

Somehow, he still believed in her, believed in them, that they could find a way to win this fight. Even as poison and infection ravaged his body.

She glanced back at him again. Though he winced and took in sharp breaths, he still held himself upright on his horse. 

Are you angry with me? His voice cut into her mind. The question startled her.

Of course not. Why would I be? She asked in reply.

It took him some time to reply. After a quick look over her shoulder to ensure he was okay, she waited patiently, guiding her horse, Fanya, to turn towards the gap between mountain ranges. Halbrand followed with his horse.

I went after Adar to kill him. 

She sensed guilt woven in between Halbrand’s words. He destroyed your lands and murdered countless of your people. Understandably, you sought justice. 

I sought revenge. I still crave it, he admitted. She understood. After pulling each other back from slaying the orc leader Adar, Halbrand must have felt how she did—like they could take on all the evil in the world without losing sight of the light, as long as they had each other.

Despite his determination to keep fighting, it seemed he felt the darkness of his past pulling at him again… as did she.

The eruption shattered Galadriel’s delusions of obtainable victory. She also wished she could make the Moriondor pay for what he had done, but they had to think of the grander scheme of Sauron’s plans. The eruption had only been the beginning.

You came back to your people with a fighting spirit, and that is what matters, she replied in Halbrand’s mind. If you had not hunted him, we would not know the size of his forces. After you are healed, we will determine our next steps—together, she emphasized. Maybe a small part of her was angry that he had gone after the orc leader without her, putting himself at risk. 

But she had no intention of lecturing him. This disaster was her fault.

Do you regret coming to Middle-earth with me? She asked. Even though it was a waste of energy, she kept torturing herself with what she could have done differently to prevent the eruption of Orodruin. If only she had taken Adar’s threat seriously… If only she had realized centuries sooner that the sigil carved into her brother’s flesh was a map of the Southlands…

“Galadriel,” Halbrand had guided his horse to trot beside her own. She looked over to see an intense reverence in his gaze. “I will follow you anywhere you bid I go.”

His words, heavy and comforting, settled on her like a vow. She did not know what to say except that she wanted him with her always and forever. But he was human, and she was elf, and forever was impossible for them. Anguish pierced her heart every time she remembered.

Unable to string together a worthy reply, Galadriel responded to Halbrand’s declaration with a wave of affection through their connection. 

The corner of his mouth turned up. She wished she could kiss him in that moment.

But they could not stop. Such indulgences would have to wait until he was healed.

They spent all their energy riding hard for Eregion, only making brief stops when Halbrand or the horses needed water or sleep. Galadriel was grateful that Míriel had gifted them the Númenórean steeds they had each ridden into battle. They galloped swiftly across the grassy fields of Calenardhon. They moved slower at night but efficiently followed Galadriel’s Sindarin commands as she guided them across the terrain.

Partway through the second night, Galadriel had her eyes on the stars above when she heard a loud thump behind her. Halbrand’s horse whinnied in alarm. She pulled her horse to a stop and looked back to see Halbrand collapsed in a heap on the ground. Her heart seized in her chest.

“Halbrand!” She cried out, jumping down and running to him. He did not respond, did not react in the slightest as she cradled him into her lap. “Halbrand,” she pleaded, putting her hand on his chest to feel him breathe. When she felt his lungs expand, slight relief trickled through her. But he was feverous to her touch, and he had bled through the bandage she had wrapped around him just that morning.

They were not even halfway to Eregion. He would not make it like this. 

After cleaning his wounds, she hesitated before reaching for a new bandage and stared at the dark lines expanding away from the upper wound, looking like acid running in his blood. 

Thus far, she had been able to ease some of his pain with her touch whenever she changed his bandage, just enough to keep him going, but it did not seem to be enough anymore. 

When Galadriel was a child, her mother tended to the cuts and scrapes she often incurred from tree and mountain climbing adventures. Her caring touch slowed the bleeding and quickened the healing process. 

But her mother was pure of heart and had never harmed another living being. Galadriel had long lost track of all the lives she had taken, not only orcs but men and elves turned by Morgoth. 


All of us are capable of learning the arts of healing, but dealing in death will diminish one's power, her mother had warned her long ago.

Galadriel had thought her mother referred to her ancestors who had to defend themselves against monsters and beasts on their long journey from Cuiviénen to Valinor. Eventually, she knew better that her mother had foreseen all four of her children would one day find themselves on not one but many battlefields.

Still, Galadriel touched her hand to Halbrand’s festering wound. At least she would not hurt him further if she tried. Warm blood slowly seeped between her fingers as she applied pressure. She spoke words to summon the poison and darkness to the surface, away from the arteries leading to his heart. 

Nothing seemed to happen. Galadriel wished Elrond was here. Even in his youth, he had a tendency for healing. Over time, he acquired great knowledge of anatomy, not only for humans and elves but also for many animals. He was likely in Lindon, hundreds of leagues away.

“Keep fighting Halbrand,” she murmured, her eyes on the purple and grey lines under his skin. If only she could take on a little of his pain, a little of the darkness plaguing him so he could make it to Eregion.

“Please,” she whispered. She reached into Halbrand’s mind and pleaded for him to wake. Many things then happened all at once. 

Shadows clouded her vision, and paralyzing fear gripped her throat. A cold wind whipped across her face, and something bitter formed on her tongue. Immeasurable regret carved out her heart, leaving her feeling empty, alone, and devoid of hope.

Galadriel shivered but did not let go of Halbrand. The darkness in him frightened and confounded her, but she could not abandon him now. 

The heir to this mark is heir to more than just nobility, for it was his ancestor who swore a blood oath to Morgoth.

Could such an oath travel down through generations and bind Halbrand to this very day? 

Celebrimbor was not bound to the oath his father and grandfather took, but they had made their oaths well after Celebrimbor was born, and he had abstained from saying the words.

Galadriel did not understand the extent of the darkness inflicting Halbrand, nor could she comprehend the immensity of regret and fear clawing at his fëa, leaving it in tattered shreds. But none of this diminished her love for him. If anything, it made her realize that he needed her more than ever.

She kept her hand on his wound and pressed her forehead to his, the fingers of her other hand brushing through his hair. You are not alone anymore. You need never be alone again. If only you ask, I shall stay by your side, she promised. 

Into Halbrand’s mind, she poured all her love and devotion alongside the words of her vow, hoping it would chase away even a fraction of the darkness binding him.

Not even a beat passed before he stirred, shifting in her lap, groaning in pain. “Galadriel,” he murmured. Then he gasped, and his eyes shot open. 

“I am here,” she assured him, taking a deep breath of relief. The wounds still appeared infected and poisoned, but Halbrand was conscious. That meant something. They had more time.

“Galadriel?” She did not understand the question in his voice until he reached to brush the tears from her cheek. 

“I thought I was losing you,” she admitted, swallowing a lump in her throat.

“Whatever you did not only lessened the pain, but I can breathe easier. My head is clearer.” Halbrand pushed a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. “You’re a wonder, Galadriel.”

She shook her head. “I have only bought us a little more time. We cannot keep riding through the night. You need sleep.” But that lost time could cost Halbrand his life.

He looked down at his wounds. “I just need a little water; then I can keep going.” His horse Estel, patiently waiting beside them, neighed as if in protest.

Galadriel looked over at Fanya, who had also stayed close. She realized the horses knew what their battle companions needed, and she could trust them not to stray. “We will keep going, but take the same horse at night so you may sleep at my back. We will alternate the horses each night. They will let us know if they need rest.”

“Very well,” Halbrand agreed with a sigh. 

After cleaning his wounds and her hand, she wrapped a fresh bandage around his torso. She helped him mount Estel, then pulled herself up to sit before him. He extended the belt of his armor to loop around her waist. Then they set off. Fanya stayed in step with Estel, obediently responding to Galadriel’s commands.

It was not long before Halbrand settled against her, his arms wrapping her in his fever-fueled warmth. Despite his condition and their precarious situation, she let herself savor his closeness. Eventually, his breathing evened out; his weight sank against her. Her very spirit settled into relative peace at the comforting intimacy. 

It was wrong to think it with him suffering so, but she was grateful they did not have to be parted yet. Even with his new kingship, it made sense for him to work closely with the elves to vanquish their common enemy. Why could she not be the link between her people and his? Her High King would be furious she had leaped from the Valinor-bound ship. Surely, he had already appointed a new Commander in her place. She would be free to follow a new path as she fought to save Middle-earth.

Why could that not be by Halbrand’s side, even informally? If war was on the horizon, she wanted to do all she could to keep him safe. She had pushed him to run towards danger and responsibility--and to face the orc leader who had somehow destroyed his life.

She wondered how a human who had lived so few years already bore so much anger, guilt, and sorrow. It did not seem fair that an oath made by his ancestor held so much power over him. 

Galadriel had told Halbrand to be free of whatever evil he had done, but maybe he could not truly make that choice for himself without first breaking the shackles laid on his lineage by Morgoth.

For all the years she had already lived, Galadriel knew there was always more evil to uncover left behind by the Dark Lord. Though defeated, he was still the bane of Middle-earth, the father of all the evil lurking in the shadows. The greatest threat to all life was his most loyal servant. Sauron would undoubtedly try to take advantage of Halbrand if he could sense the blood oath over him.

But Galadriel would not allow that to happen. All the more determined to destroy him, she would continue her pursuit of the sorcerer. And she would keep Halbrand safe from him, whatever it cost her.

---

Mairon could only blame himself for the thin ice under his feet. His near-fatal misjudgment made him realize how tenuous a hold he had on his injured human fana. He was still surprised he had passed out and fallen from his horse. 

Why had he chosen a human body? They were incredibly fragile. The poison and fever ravaged his body, leaving him aching in ways he didn’t know possible—and he had suffered torture and grave injuries before. But he had spent many more years wearing the raiment of an elf than he ever had a human. Elves healed quickly from most injuries, even without the assistance of a healer or medicine. They never suffered sickness and could go fairly longer without rest than humans.

Of course, Mairon could pull on his Maia powers to partially heal his wounds and restore his tired body. He should have done it when riding separate from Galadriel, but he feared her sensing his magic. He had thought he could hold on longer. Then suddenly, he was falling, not only to the ground but into the dark, cold, lonely abyss of his own mind.

An urge had overtaken him to flee the human fana before he died with it, before he had to spend centuries yet again regaining enough power to take on a fair form. Then he heard a voice—her voice, more beautiful than the loveliest notes sung during the song of creation.

You are not alone anymore. You need never be alone again.

Her touch eased his body's suffering, as she had done a few times before. But he felt something more this time: a remarkable power surging from Galadriel into his very spirit.

If only you ask, I shall stay by your side.

The words of her vow stunned him, and an unfamiliar, overwhelming sensation shone into the darkest places of his mind. It wrapped him in a protective warmth that he had never before experienced.

It was not mere affection she poured into him. Was he feeling that which had evaded him all the long ages of his existence, a concept he could only guess at and crave for but believed he would never truly know?

Mairon could not leave his fana. He could not leave Galadriel.

So he followed her light back to consciousness and looked up to find her cradling him with quiet tears running down her face.

For a moment, he feared she had discovered the truth, had seen too far into his mind, and had found him out. But relief was in her eyes as he told her he felt better.

Now, at her back, it was all the more dangerous for him to use any of his powers. Her senses were keen. He would not risk her learning his identity for mere temporary physical comfort.

Besides, the pain twisting his insides out was worth the closeness to Galadriel. He quickly came to look forward to the nighttime when they shared a horse, when he could slip his arms around her waist, curl into her back, and nuzzle into the space between her neck and armor. He could hear her heartbeat quicken; then she would nuzzle him back with her head, sometimes briefly resting against him. 

Other times, she deftly led her horse with one hand on the reins. Her free hand found his, and she brushed her thumb in circular, soothing motions or tangled her fingers with his.

Giving into the pain and exhaustion of his human fana, Halbrand drifted in and out of sleep as they rode through the night. Whenever he slumbered too deeply, the nightmare from the first time he slept with Galadriel plagued him again and again. 

Every time, a bloody wound on her chest blackened. She looked at him with loathing and retreated until she stepped off the cliff into darkness.

He would try to stop her, to catch her, but his hand always just missed grasping hold of her.

Mairon kept waking in a sweat, fear choking his throat, until he realized Galadriel was alive and whole, right in front of him. Her hand squeezed his hand as she recognized his return to consciousness. 

She murmured assurances every time.  “I have you… We will be there soon…” He didn’t know if she sensed nightmares tormenting him or if she merely thought he was uncomfortable from his wounds. Either way, her presence softened the sharp teeth of the dread gnawing at him. He held her tight and silently promised he would never let her fall.

All the lonely ages of his long life had been worth enduring for whatever time he would have with Galadriel, even if it all ended with her dagger in his heart.

When he first saw her in the water of the Sundering Seas, he had immediately prepared to defend himself. While her hair hid her pointed ears, he could sense the maturity of her fëa and the power coursing through her blood. 

He wondered why an elf would be lost in the ocean—if she had been coming from or going towards Valinor. When she gave him her name, he had to work to school his reaction. He should have known by her hair. 

Melkor had described to Mairon multiple times the Noldor princess who kept her distance and eyed him with suspicion well before he killed her grandfather in Valinor. Melkor complained about her hiding in Doriath, out of his reach, or about how when she did stray from the Girdle of Melian, she easily cut through any orcs he sent after her and her brothers.

Obsessed as Mairon’s old master was with the Silmarils, eventually, they were not enough. Melkor wanted Feanor’s son and grandson so he could force them to create new treasures even greater than the Silmarils. And he wanted Galadriel so he alone could behold the light of the two trees trapped in her gold and silver tresses.

Mairon had been amused that the elf who maddened Melkor had fallen into his path by chance. He wondered if she had somehow tracked him down to claim vengeance for her brother.

Mairon turned out to be correct, in a way. But Galadriel did not sense who he was. She did not attack him. When the storm bore down upon them, she tried to protect him from its wrath. It did not matter that it was he who saved her in the end, for it was her benevolent intentions that shook him from utter hopelessness and despair. 

He resisted her call to war as long as he could, but his defenses started to crumble under the weight of her conviction the day she visited him in the Númenórean prison. She insisted they were brought together for a reason.

You must feel it, she had said to him. She barely knew him but was ready to risk everything to work with him and help the Southlanders stop the orcs and… Sauron. 

He wondered if she was right. Perhaps Eru himself had sent her as a trick or a test. Mairon had no interest in engaging in the attention of the One who had abandoned him to the fickleness of the Valar. 

But the more Galadriel poked and prodded him to help her face the orcs in the Southlands, the harder it became to ignore how her passion ignited his spirit. Even when… Especially when she revealed the darkness haunting her.

It would take longer than your lifetime even to speak the names of those they have taken from me. 

She knew great pain and loss, yet instead of allowing it to frighten her away from saving Middle-earth, she continued chasing after the darkness so she could vanquish it while her people grew complacent during a false peace.

When the eruption of Orodruin revealed their victory against the orcs had been no more than an illusion, rage engulfed Mairon. He wanted nothing but revenge on Adar and had lost sight of the bigger picture until he was back in Galadriel’s presence. 

She was not immune to her own desire for revenge, but Mairon could feel her determination to set things right was stronger than ever. They both wanted the same thing—to heal Middle-earth. 

Mairon was set as ever on his mission to fix all he had broken in Melkor’s name, but Galadriel had opened his eyes to new possibilities of what that could mean. Perfection alone was not enough to strive toward. He had to take care of all she loved along the way, find a means of ruling the world with a gentle hand instead of an iron fist. 

It was a daunting prospect, considering how infuriating elves could be, how foolish men could be. Despite Melkor’s imprisonment, Middle-earth trembled as if the Dark Lord’s blood ran through its rivers, as if his evil will still lurked in the shadows. 

Mairon wondered if Galadriel knew how much Melkor had influenced her and her kin to leave Valinor. 

They were truly alike, Mairon and Galadriel. That first night they had spent together, she told him how she wanted her own lands to rule. She desired for Middle-earth and all its inhabitants to thrive, as Mairon always wanted. But he understood why she hated him, hated Sauron. 

Despite his intentions for order and peace, he had failed. He didn’t even understand why he couldn’t stop himself when rage and bloodlust took over his mind. The loss of control had happened gradually during the long ages of his service to Melkor.

Melkor had only wanted to burn it all to the ground. It had taken Mairon some time to understand. He had been in awe of the Vala’s ability to stand on his own and take what he wanted, to establish dominance quickly and efficiently.

He had promised Mairon freedom he felt he could never have in Aulë’s service. 

Galadriel also craved freedom, as shown by the way she left home, and then forsook her King’s orders to return to Valinor. But for all he teased her about being impetuous and stubborn, she was honorable and generous, abounding with compassion.

At least she was not soft for orcs. She understood them as the scourge they were. Mairon always hated them, for they were evidence of perhaps the very worst way he had helped Melkor mar the world. 

They hated him, all because of Adar. They could not see that he used them the way Mairon and Melkor once had. 

If an alliance could be made between the Southlanders, Númenóreans, and elves, then perhaps peace could be made without Mairon ever having to take control of the orcs again. While they made formidable soldiers, they were not reliable. He knew all too well how their loyalty could flip.

He was uncertain about the elves, considering how they closed their ears to Galadriel’s warnings. But there was undeniable proof of evil growing. Surely, they would not stand by as the orcs flourished and Adar set his next target.

Unexpectedly, it was the humans whom Mairon felt they could most count on. Many Númenóreans disliked and distrusted not only Galadriel but all elves. Yet hundreds of them had risked everything to follow her and their Queen against the orcs. Even the eruption had not discouraged Míriel. Instead, she had vowed to Galadriel to return and fight the orcs.

Then there were the Southlanders. While many were in chains as Adar’s prisoners, Mairon saw great strength and hope in the survivors he left behind under Bronwyn. They could not be counted out.

He could still hear the young boy Theo’s loud cheer as they had departed the camp. Strength to the Southlands! Everyone had joined in, chanting and rushing to the gate to send their new king off with a show of resilience.

Mairon wondered what Galadriel had said to encourage the boy. “You gave Theo the sword I made for you. Why?” He asked, running a hand across her shoulder and along her arm, admiring how the suit he made had held up through the eruption. 

She turned her head, glancing back at him. “You should be sleeping,” she chided, even as she transferred the reins from one hand to the other so she could grasp his.

He leaned into her and placed a kiss on her neck. Goosebumps erupted across her exposed skin. Suddenly, he regretted not healing himself after discovering Adar’s legions. If he had considered some other excuse to leave the Southlanders and travel with Galadriel, they could have made stops at their leisure to camp and rest.

Mairon’s cock stirred at the thought of making love to Galadriel under the light of the stars. He would strip off her armor piece by piece, loose her hair from its braid, and kiss every inch of her skin until she pleaded for him to take her. 

“When I could not reach your mind nor find your body, the only way for me to move forward was to lock my grief away and focus on what I could do. The boy was alone. I protected him. I wish I could have done more, but we only found people too far gone for me to do more than lessen their agony. And bodies. So many bodies.” From the heaviness in Galadriel’s voice, Mairon could tell she held herself responsible for every single death resulting from the eruption.

An urge came over him to tell her the truth, to free her from the burden she did not deserve to carry. But he could not lose her now. Such a revelation would do nothing but devastate her. Maybe one day, when he had proven himself to her, she would be ready to know.

“He assumed his mother dead," she continued. "Grief and anger overwhelmed his mind. And the sword felt heavier than ever at my hip. Every reminder of you threatened my focus,” she admitted, looking straight ahead into the night-covered landscape. 

“So I gave him the sword as an encouragement to keep fighting when the time is right. Part of me regretted it immediately, losing that piece of you. I thought it would ease the pain. Nothing did, not until I saw you alive in that tent.” She squeezed his hand. He squeezed hers back and touched the side of his head to hers.

Guilt twisted in Mairon’s stomach. He should’ve controlled his anger and gone to her after the eruption. He would've been furious if she had let him think her dead, and that was what he had done to her. 

“Once I had you back, the sword mattered not to me,” she said in a soft voice. “And the boy needed it more than I.” The depth of her feelings astounded Mairon. He remembered how she had told him back in Númenor that their eventual parting would leave a scar on her heart. 

While he had been resistant to his own feelings in the beginning, he now understood what she meant. But he would suffer far more than a scar if he lost her. He could not imagine having the strength to lock away his grief, to push himself forward as she had. He would not even want to exist anymore in a world without her.

“Daybreak is still a few hours away. Please, sleep while you can,” Galadriel entreated. They were less than a day’s ride from their destination, but she had not ceased worrying over his wounds. She did not know what he did, that even if the healers in Eregion were insufficient, he could heal himself. 

“As you command, Galadriel,” Mairon murmured, kissing her neck once more before settling against her back and closing his eyes.

Notes:

Thank you so much for the kudos and engaging comments. They give me life! I'm so grateful for you all giving this story a chance 🖤🤍

Also massive gratitude to Sammybunny711 for beta reading and always cheering me on 🖤🤍

Appendix for chapter 5:

Calenardhon - The grassy plains that will eventually become Rohan. The “Gap of Calenardhon” which will eventually become “the Gap of Rohan” is an opening between the Misty Mountains and the White Mountains.

Sindarin - The elf language more common in Middle-earth (versus Quenya used by Galadriel’s kin before they came to Middle-earth), and known by many Númenóreans. It’s the language Elendil uses to calm Berek in season 1, which he says he learned from his wife and will teach Isildur.

Estel - I named Mairon’s horse after the Quenya word for “hope” or “trust."

Fanya - I named Galadriel’s horse after the Quenya word for “white cloud” or “white and shining thing/cloud.”

“The Dark Lord” - Galadriel and Mairon are referring to Melkor/Morgoth here, as Mairon/Sauron doesn’t inherit that title himself until he rises in power in the Second Age, around after his time as Annatar.

Fëa - the “spirit” or “soul” of incarnates, including elves, men, dwarves, and ents. Fëar (the plural) are indestructible. Their counterparts are known as Hröar (bodies). Valar and Maiar do not have Fëar or Hröar. They are beings of spirit known as ëalar and do not require bodies to be complete, but they may take on physical forms known as fanar (singular - fana) as Mairon does to appear as Halbrand or Annatar. When Galadriel sees some of the damage to Halbrand’s soul, she mistakenly refers to it as a fëa because she believes him human.

Doriath/Girdle of Melian - After Galadriel left Valinor for Middle-earth she spent much time in the kingdom of Doriath where she met Celeborn. The King of Doriath, her kin, was married to Melian the Maia. Melian tutored Galadriel and they became great friends. Melian protected Doriath with her power and guarded it with the Girdle of Melian, an enchanted fence of protection that kept out evil and anyone who may try to pass into the kingdom without permission (except Beren).

Galadriel’s hair - Her golden hair, shot with silver, was said to have trapped within it light from the two trees of Valinor. It is believed that her hair inspired Feanor to craft the Silmarils, gems which have the lights of the two trees inside them. He asked his niece Galadriel for her hair three times, but she always denied him for she did not like or trust him. She would eventually give Gimli three strands of her hair after she insists he request of her a gift, and he meekly requests one strand of her hair. Their exchange helped the relationship between elves and dwarves to mend and flourish.

Chapter 6: Pleased and Proud

Summary:

Galadriel and Halbrand arrive in Eregion.

When the sun rose over the mountains to the east, Galadriel considered allowing Halbrand to continue sleeping. He slept in short fits as if the pain of his wounds constantly wrenched him from proper slumber. Fanya had slowed in her stride with both of them upon her back all night, but they had to be mere hours out from Ost-in-Edhil, the capital of Eregion.

It was only a few minutes later, though, that Halbrand woke with a start, gasping and clutching at her. Her heart jolted with a pang of sympathy. “Not much longer,” she said, turning her head so he could hear her. With her free hand, she held firmly to his arm around her waist. 

He took a couple of deep breaths before speaking. “I can ride.”

“Halbrand, you do not—”

“I can ride,” he insisted. “We’re not making a good pace.”

She sighed. He was right. Fanya deserved a break from bearing two riders. She called out a command for both horses to halt, then summoned Estel.

The brown mare positioned herself next to Fanya. Galadriel assisted Halbrand in mounting Estel. He grunted and visibly clenched his jaw as he adjusted himself in the saddle. In the sunlight, she could see how pale he looked. She was also concerned that he had not kept any food down in over a day.

“How do you feel?” Galadriel asked.

With only one hand on the reins, Halbrand leaned toward her. Her heart stopped, thinking he was falling. She reached to catch him, but he cradled her face and firmly pressed his lips to hers. The pressure and warmth restarted her heart and chased away her fear. They would make it to the healers in time.

Great relief filled Galadriel when she first saw the towers of Ost-in-Edhil in the distance half a day later. After confirming with Halbrand that he could hold fast despite his failing strength, she urged the horses forward at the greatest speed they could manage.

Guards must have recognized her from afar because they were ready and waiting to greet her. She immediately requested they bring her to Celebrimbor. They guided her and Halbrand through the city. They passed through a gate towards a shining new tower Galadriel had never seen before. It seemed Celebrimbor had been quite busy in her absence.

“He’ll be right through here,” one of the escorts informed her. She dismounted her horse and approached Halbrand, whose horse was being led by a soldier since he could no longer stay upright.

“Galadriel?”

She turned, surprised by the voice calling her name. “Elrond.” She was gladdened to see her friend despite everything he had said to her when they parted.

“What has happened?” Celebrimbor asked, moving towards Halbrand as escorts helped him dismount Estel. 

Galadriel rushed to his side before realizing she could do no more for him. “Enemy lance. Six days ago.” She reluctantly let the soldiers guide him away. “We rode without rest,” she added. “Can you help him?” She asked Celebrimbor, unable to mask her desperation for him to live.

“Of course. I will have our most skilled artificers tend to him.” Celebrimbor looked her over, his eyes wide with shock and concern. “What about you? Are you well?”

“I am uninjured,” she replied. There was much to share, and she hardly knew where to begin. But she already ached at being apart from Halbrand. “May I go with him?

“Yes,” Celebrimbor answered, then seemed to cut himself off from saying more. A small frown formed on his brow, and guilt dashed through Galadriel.

“I am sorry I never said goodbye,” she said, reaching for her cousin’s arm. “I did not want to go. Even when I tried to accept I must, I could not consider what it truly meant,” she explained, even though it did not seem enough. 

Celebrimbor sighed, his lips forming a small smile. He clasped his hand on hers. “All is well. You must tell me all that happened, but first, let me take you to your companion.” Galadriel was always grateful for her friendship with Celebrimbor. He had inherited a love of crafts from his father and grandfather, but where they had been contemptuous and temperamental, Celebrimbor was kind and selfless even as a young child. 

Galadriel was grateful Eregion had been the closer destination. She could only imagine quite a different reception had she arrived first in Lindon.

As Celebrimbor led her to the Healing Chambers, Galadriel was keenly aware of Elrond silently following them.

He would not be cold with her, as Ereinion surely would be when he learned of her continued presence in Middle-earth. But still, Galadriel set her expectations low for what Elrond would think of her after she explained everything.

After instructing his choice artificers to tend to Halbrand, Celebrimbor took his leave to oversee preparation for the King’s arrival due the next day. Galadriel was not ready to see him so soon, but all thoughts of the impending confrontation flew from her mind when she saw Halbrand lying listless on one of the healing beds.  

She focused on how his bare chest rose and fell, on how his groans had gone quiet after the first few strings of whispered words left the lead artificer’s mouth. He was in the best possible care. A great weight lifted from Galadriel’s chest, but she expected her worries would not be allayed until Halbrand returned to his full strength and health.

“Who is he?” Elrond asked. It was the first thing he had spoken since saying her name when she arrived.

“King of the Southlands,” she answered. “He is called Halbrand.”

“King of the Southlands?” Elrond questioned. “How is it your path crossed with his? How is it you are here?”

She finally dared to look at Elrond. “How is it you are here?” 

A troubled look crossed his features. “Come. We have much to discuss.” It seemed Galadriel was not the only one with worrisome news.

She stole one last glance at Halbrand, then followed Elrond out of the Healing Chambers hall. He led her to a balcony where their conversation would not disturb the artificers or those they were mending.

Elrond sat on a bench, gazing out at the city. Night had fallen, yet light streamed from nearly every building in Ost-in-Edhil. A sky bridge connected the Healing Chambers to the new tower that Galadriel wanted to inquire about. However, there were more pressing matters to attend to first.

“We met amongst the waves of the Sundering Seas,” she said, finally answering Elrond’s earlier question as she sat beside him. “After I leapt from the ship bound for Valinor.”

Elrond’s brows shot up. “You leapt into the sea?” His mouth hung agape until he let out a small burst of laughter. “Well then, I am glad you came across this king, or perhaps to this day, you would still be swimming your way back.”

His laugh settled some of the tension winding tightly through her body. “I believe we were brought together for a reason,” she admitted. “He was in exile because orcs had driven him from his home.”

“Orcs?” Elrond frowned. “In the Southlands? We have been concerned by reports of Orodruin’s eruption. Scouts sent for closer observance have yet to return.”

Thoughts of the scouts being captured by Adar disquieted her. “They may never return if they venture too near Orodruin.”

“I am certain they will use caution and not try to scale an active volcano,” Elrond replied, clearly not understanding what she had said so far about the orcs.

“I do not speak of the mountain,” she replied. “Do you remember what I once told you about the first orcs?”

Elrond nodded. “Morgoth captured and tortured elves, twisted their very souls. Every generation of their mortal progeny were more broken and savage than the last.”

“I met a Moriondor in the Southlands. Adar, the orcs call him.”

“Father,” Elrond noted the Sindarin translation of the name.

“Elrond,” she took a breath. “He has legions of orcs. They killed and captured countless Southlanders. Then, they directed water to pour into the heart of Orodruin. All the land is covered in shadow. Thousands of orcs are free to move about day and night.”

“The mountain did not erupt of its own accord?” Elrond shook his head. “This is grave news indeed. You were right all along about the orcs. Did you—” He met her gaze, searching. “You did not find Sauron.”

Galadriel sighed. “I briefly wondered if Adar was Sauron in disguise. He conjured no illusions or sorcery when I nearly slit his throat. Adar cannot be Sauron, though he did claim to have killed him. Still, I cannot believe he accomplished all this alone. Sauron must be the one responsible, using the Moriondor as a distraction while orchestrating this evil from the shadows.”

“We will inform the High King first thing upon his arrival in the morning,” Elrond said.

“Of course,” Galadriel agreed. She still would have preferred to send the news by messenger, but it was time to face Ereinion and his judgment. Even if he condemned and blamed her for everything that had happened, she would demand he rally the elves to assist Halbrand and his people in eliminating the orcs. “Why is the King coming here?”

Elrond’s face grew grim; his brows knitted together. “It began just before you returned from the north.”

“What did?” She pressed, impatient.

He looked at her, his eyes shining with grief. “A blight on the Great Tree. The bark and the leaves appear dark and sickly.”

Galadriel gasped, the harsh reality of Elrond’s words striking at her heart. 

“Our time in Middle-earth winds down. We don’t have long before we must choose to sail west or surrender to fading,” Elrond continued, even though Galadriel already understood. 

Ice crystallized in her veins as she recalled the booming voice of Mandos filling all the skies above her kin as they made they way out of Middle-earth.

And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after. The Valar have spoken. 

While not everyone who left Valinor had sworn oaths of revenge or murdered their kindred to steal their ships, all who continued on the path to Middle-earth came under the Doom of Mandos. It was then her father said goodbye to his children and turned back towards home. 

Many elves who survived the War of Wrath went west to Tol Eressëa after Morgoth’s imprisonment. Everyone who stayed, including Galadriel, Elrond, and their King, thought they would have much more time here. Galadriel did not… would not leave until she vanquished Sauron. 

She could not leave Halbrand behind to face the darkness alone. Even though she and her kin under the Doom were likely to fade faster than the Sindar and Silvan elves. With whatever time she had left, she would continue her fight againts Sauron.

“It is too soon. Sauron reaches to close his fist around Middle-earth. Why would the Valar not give us more time to help its people?” Galadriel asked, even though Elrond had no more answers than she. “Whatever the King commands, I will not obey this time. Not if it means leaving Middle-earth to the darkness. We must do something.”

“That is exactly why I am here, working with Celebrimbor for a solution,” Elrond said, taking something from his pocket. A small piece of ore that glittered in the light of the balcony lanterns. 

“What is it?” Galadriel asked, resisting an urge to take the beautiful metal in her hand.

“Mithril. Go ahead,” Elrond encouraged, holding it out to her.

The ore weighed less than she expected. She realized it was not reflecting the light of the lanterns after all but glowing with its own inner light. “Where did you acquire this?”

“From Durin. But it is perilous to mine. Celebrimbor seeks to craft something of this small piece to saturate every elf in its light so we may continue to thrive here. But we have not determined how to accomplish this with so little mithril. We will be glad of your wisdom as we seek a solution. I expect the High King will be disappointed to learn we have yet to make progress for this project.”

Galadriel huffed. “We will demand his patience. And we will find a solution,” she declared.

“I should have never set you on that ship. I should have trusted you. It is a mistake I will not make again.”

It meant everything for Galadriel to hear those words.

“I leapt from that ship because I believed in my heart I was not yet worthy of it. I knew that somehow my task here was not yet complete. And when I surfaced, all I could do was swim and pray I had chosen wisely. I did not cross that bitter ocean only to drown now.” She reached for his hand. “And nor will I let you.”

Elrond sighed deeply and a smile grew on his face. “I have missed you.”

She could not express how much she had missed Elrond or how relieved she was at his warm welcome. 

“What are we to do?” He asked. 

“The only thing we can do. Swim.” 

Elrond nodded. “I shall let you return to your… companion.” There was a knowing quality to his words that caught Galadriel off guard. In the little time he had observed her with Halbrand, had she been so transparent in her affection for him? “But I anticipate Celebrimbor will shortly send you an invitation for supper. Please join us so that I may see you, and we can inform him of these developments.”

“Of course,” she promised. 

Then, she only needed to confront Erienion, persuade him to form an alliance with Halbrand and Míriel, and insist he dispatch an army to reclaim the Southlands. None of this would be easy until they determined a way to extend the elves’ vitality in Middle-Earth. 

But Galadriel had her best friend back, and they were finally on the same page. Halbrand was recovering and determined to protect his people. Despite all her failures, despite the darkness spreading, Galadriel had not felt such hope in a long time. 

---

Mairon woke slowly, pulling himself from one of the deepest slumbers he had ever experienced. When the artificers crowded round him, he gave himself to their skilled minds and hands. Rather than squander his power and risk arousing suspicion, he was happy to let the artificers expend their energy on his damaged fana.

They had cooled the fire in his veins and numbed the anguish of his wounds. He still felt a dull throbbing where the orc’s lance had pierced him and, to a lesser extent, where the tree had torn into his flesh. A general soreness left his limbs heavy. His human body needed more rest and time to recover, but he did not want to languish in bed any longer, comfortable though it was. 

If he pulled on a little of his power, he could speed the healing process the artificers had begun. He opened his eyes to ensure he was alone. He was not.

Before succumbing to a healing sleep, Mairon sensed Galadriel coming and going from the chamber. The last thing he remembered was her softly speaking into his mind, assuring him that she would return to check on him after a meeting with Elrond and Celebrimbor.

It seemed over a week without sleep had finally caught up to the elf. Someone had brought her a plush chair to sit in. Mairon wondered if she intended to fall asleep when she rested the upper half of her body on his bed. One arm was folded under her head, her face turned towards him. Her other hand was inches from his own. A midnight blue dressing gown had slipped off her shoulders, revealing a cloud-white chemise underneath, reminding him of what she wore that day they met on the waves. 

A morning ray of sunlight streaming through the chamber window illuminated the unique silver tint of Galadriel’s golden hair, freshly washed and cascading in loose waves down her back. He could not resist sitting up so he could reach to run his fingers through a lock of her tresses. His abdomen twinged at the small movement, but it was worth admiring her sleeping figure up close. He greatly missed the nights they had shared aboard the Númenórean warship.

Surely, Celebrimbor had offered her a guest room for her visit—if she didn’t have a permanent residence in the city. However, she chose to remain by Mairon’s side, despite the artificers repeatedly checking in to ensure his health. 

He felt pleased and proud to know she was not trying to hide how deeply she cared for him from anyone who might stop by. She could have left him to the healers and then spent the night in a comfortable bed. He had not requested her presence, and he had not even been conscious for much of the night, yet she chose to be near him.

Overwhelming emotion washed over Mairon that he didn’t quite know how to name. He had not had to demand Galadriel’s devotion nor plead or bargain for it. She offered it freely. 

Did that mean she was ready to know the truth? Or would it only hurt her all the more if she knew who he was? Would she doubt every moment, every feeling they had shared? He winced at the thought and let her hair fall from his fingers. 

He did not know what to do. He only knew he could not lose her. But he could not be Halbrand forever. Even if she did not suspect him for a while, she would eventually wonder why he did not age. He could modify his appearance, but that would only work for so long.

And he could not deny that he longed for Galadriel to know his true self. If he could be himself with her, they could accomplish anything together. Both their dreams of a healed, prosperous Middle-earth could come true. 

Aule had held Mairon back from greatness. For every small reward Melkor had given Mairon in acknowledgment of his devoted efforts, he punished him a hundredfold for the smallest failures. And Adar… Mairon had been kind to him, offered him companionship, respect, and everything he once wished Melkor had given him. Mairon had truly cared for Adar and thought the Moriondor felt the same. But no, he cared more for his abominations, who only existed in the first place due to Mairon ensuring Melkor favored Adar amongst his Moriondors. 

Only Galadriel saw in Mairon all he was capable of one day becoming. He had warned her of evil deeds in his past, yet over and over, she offered him salvation. She had pushed him to face his past and reach for all he had given up on—and most remarkably, been devotedly by his side every step of the way. 

It did not seem the right time to ask her to be his Queen, not since the eruption proved they had more significant challenges ahead of them than initially imagined. But they were aligned to keep fighting for all they desired. It would be only a matter of time until they determined how to move forward together and stronger than ever.

Despite the ache lingering in his limbs, he felt a thrum of renewed energy coursing through his blood. He was eager to meet Celebrimbor and explore his city. But he did not want to disturb Galadriel’s rest. He contented himself with watching her sleep for another hour before she began to stir. 

When he reached for her hand, her eyes flew open. She immediately sighed with relief and moved to sit next to him. “How do you feel?” she asked, pressing her hand to his forehead and bringing it down to cradle his face.

“Ready to march back to the Southlands and tear it from Adar’s grasp,” he replied, tilting into her touch. 

She chuckled softly. “Now there, you still need to rest,” she encouraged, her fingers combing through a lock of his hair that had fallen into his face. “We must be more prepared than last time, and there is an unforeseen complication we must first untangle.”

“Oh?” He asked, curious at first. Then he felt trepidation flowing from her, in the tensing of her hand he held, in the way she swallowed before continuing.

“The light of the elves has begun to fade. It will affect me and my kin most swiftly. Our High King arrives tomorrow, and we are concerned he will order us to abandon Middle-earth.”

Mairon understood her words more than he should as a human, but it was still a shock to him. “You jumped from one ship only to board another so soon?” He asked, fighting to control an outburst of anger. This was the fault of the Valar, Melkor included but not him alone. 

“No,” Galadriel replied, resolute. She placed her hand on Mairon’s and caressed it with her thumb. “I will not go. I will not leave you.” Only then did he realize how tightly he was grasping her other hand, subconsciously afraid to lose her.

He loosened his grip but did not let go. “What will happen if you don’t go? I do not want you to go, but I do not want you to stay when it will bring you harm,” Mairon asked. He had some sense of the answer but wanted to know what Galadriel understood.

“Those of us who choose to remain will fade from the Seen world, from the physical world. Our souls will dwindle into nothing more than shadows.” Her expression was thoughtful, mournful, but not afraid. Mairon could tell she had anticipated this for a long time.

Mairon had been present for the song of creation, after which Eru revealed to all Ainur that his children, elves and men, would populate Arda in the ages to come. He had granted them visions of the future, glimpses of how the song they had woven together would play out. One day, men would surpass elves and claim dominion of Middle-earth. But it was too soon. It should not be this way yet.

But Eru had not shown the Ainur everything, not what would happen to the elves, or to Arda as a whole as men claimed dominion. Mairon could not say for sure why this was happening now. Was it Eru’s way of punishing him, a design to tear him and Galadriel apart?

“It will not happen immediately nor all at once. We have time. And more importantly, we have hope,” Galadriel declared with conviction. “Elrond and Celebrimbor have been working on a solution. I will aid them as I can.”

“You must allow me to help,” Mairon said, straightening his back. He did not want to stay abed a minute longer.

“Of course, but only after you rest. You must not push yourself,” Galadriel insisted. Before Mairon could protest, she captured his lips with her own and leaned into him. Glorious warmth burst in his chest and flowed through his bones. He let himself fall back against his pillow and took her with him, an arm around her waist as he kissed her back. 

“Careful,” she muttered, pulling back to glance down at his abdomen. “I do not want to prolong your recovery,” she said, her eyes trailing along the stitches that held his flesh together. 

“After all the healers did, the stitches are hardly needed,” he argued. “They’re being cautious.”

“As you should be too,” Galadriel said, but when she met his gaze, he could see desire in her own. It was not he alone who missed the joining of their bodies, the way they had lost themselves to each other again and again on the journey to Middle-earth. 

He reached for her chin and brushed his thumb across her pink lips. “Your touch kept bringing me back from the brink on our way here. You will not hurt me.”

Her lips twitched, resisting a smile. “You have on your mind a different kind of touch than healing,” she whispered, her hand caressing his bare chest. Her fingertips were light as a feather, avoiding his wounds but making clear she, too, had a desire for more.

I don’t think it is all so different, he said into her mind with a smirk, his own fingers traveling down to curl around her neck gently, then ghost across the tops of her breasts, peeking out from her chemise where the front ribbon had come undone.

His pulse raced at the thought of pulling at the loose ribbon to bare her breasts. Instead, he reached for her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist with an open mouth, sucking at her tender flesh. A barely audible gasp slipped past her lips, and he perceived the way she subtly shifted her thighs. 

I want you, he stated plain and clear, moving in for a kiss. She met his lips with hers, one hand grasping at his thigh, the other sliding around his neck to play with his hair. He pressed his tongue against her lips and she opened for him. Goosebumps peppered his skin as he lost himself in the warm, wetness of her mouth. Their tongues tangled and he pulled her closer against him.

Halbrand, she warned, breaking the kiss, putting a little distance between them with a worried glance at his abdomen. 

That is when he remembered she thought him a fragile human. I will not break so easily, he assured her, slipping a hand under the hem of her chemise to caress her ankle, then her shin. 

She shuddered and reached her hand to stop him. I will not be complicit in you reinjuring yourself while you have yet to heal from your brush with death. 

Her concern was touching, but he was more focused on how her breath had quickened, how the dark of her pupils had nearly overtaken her blue eyes.

Would you touch yourself for me? He dared to ask. 

She blinked, looking confused for a moment before her cheeks went a beautiful blood red. She glanced over her shoulder as if someone could have overheard his thought to her. But no one was there. He had already determined himself that the healing chambers on either side of him were empty. Surely, she knew that too. You will hear anyone long before they approach, will you not?

Her gaze had an adorable shyness when she looked at him again. You want me to touch myself? You mean— She glanced down at her lap, uncertain. 

Have you never done it before? He inquired, even though it was clear to him she had not.

Why would I? She asked, flushing all the way down her neck.

Though her hand still covered his, he resumed stroking her ankle. All those nights at sea you were on watch, what do you think I was doing down in my cabin? All alone, missing you, thinking of the night before when you gasped and shook as I plowed my cock deep into your warm cunt…

Halbrand. There was a trembling quality to her voice, even in his mind. He wanted nothing more than to tackle her against the bed, take her hard and fast until she screamed his name. But if she believed that too much for him as a human healing, then he would play along.

Touch yourself, he encouraged her. Imagine it’s my hand brushing up your leg, slipping between your thighs, pushing aside the cloth covering your pretty cunt.

With her eyes wide, as if disbelieving what she was about to do, she hesitantly slipped a hand under her chemise. She shifted to part her legs ever so slightly. He could tell when she made contact—when her lips pressed together tightly.

Wet for me, elf? Mairon teased. He knew she was. He could smell her arousal. His swollen cock throbbed in response.

She had gone still but gave him a small, slow nod. Never in all his existence had he desired someone the way he did Galadriel. Despite all the times they had been together so far, it was a thrill every time his mind registered that she, too, desired him just as greatly.

Not only did she truly desire him, she showed him a side of herself that no one else knew, except perhaps her dead husband. Mairon loved Galadriel’s boldness and bravery, her commanding presence, and her unshakable will. But there was something special about how, in moments like this, she gave herself to him, allowed him to take care of her.

Even now, she waited, eyes locked on his, for him to tell her what to do next. Part your legs so that I may see, he requested, making sure she would feel his feral hunger for her in her mind.

She swallowed and lifted the skirt of her chemise past her knees, then shifted until she sat back enough to open her legs.

It took Mairon incredible restraint not to lunge forward and delve into her glistening cunt for a taste. But something was alluring about the sweet torture of her being just out of his reach but still in view—and amenable to his requests.

Push a finger inside slowly. He watched as her index finger disappeared inside her. Add another, he instructed. Her middle finger joined the first. A breathy little gasp passed her lips. That’s right, now pump them in and out. Imagine my cock, stretching you wide, thrusting hard inside.

She went slow at first, experimental with shallow thrusts of her slender fingers. Deeper, he encouraged. You want to feel more of me, don’t you?

She paused, then added a third finger with a hint of a smile on her lips. Then she started thrusting in earnest, pushing her fingers deep inside her dripping cunt. Halbrand, she murmured in his mind, sending him a wave of stimulation that made Mairon tense and gasp. For a moment, it was as if he could feel what she did, warmth and pressure and rhythm stoking a fire deep in his belly. 

It took him a long breath to regain control and focus on the mesmerizing sight before him. Galadriel’s mouth had fallen open, her chest rose and fell rapidly, and she thrust her fingers into her cunt with force. Her brow crinkled with focus and a little frustration. She wanted more. She wanted him. 

Sweep your fingers up your slit, coat your little pearl with your juices. 

She did exactly as he asked, taking in a sharp breath when she touched her swollen pearl. Gentle circles, right there, he added. 

Little whimpers escape her tightly closed lips. Her limbs were tensing, her toes curling.

Take a breath, Galadriel. Don’t chase it. Let it come to you like waiting for a wave to crash on the shore. Relax your feet in the sand, he encouraged, even as his own body wound tight and desperate, begging for any touch. But he kept his focus on the beautiful goddess panting before him. 

She sunk into the bed a little as she tried to relax, letting herself lean on his legs with her weight. He stroked her ankle with the pads of his fingers, fighting his desire to tug her across the bed and into his arms. 

Dip back inside your cunt for more of your sweet juice to coat your pearl again, keep it slick. Recalling the sweet, earthy taste of her cunt, Mairon licked his lips, wishing he could drown himself in her. Soon enough, he told himself.

The next time he got her alone… Flick your pearl with your fingertip. Imagine it’s my tongue. He could almost taste her swollen jewel, could almost feel his fingers thrusting into her cunt, her juices soaking his hand.

She began to rock her hips against her hand while touching herself. Her eyelids became heavy, and moans mingled with her gasps. Halbrand, I want—I want to feel you.

But he felt her first because, with her words, she sent into his mind the electric currents singing through her body and setting off every nerve ending. He groaned at the overload of sensation, but instead of retreating, he surrendered to the building pleasure flowing between their minds and through their bodies. 

Galadriel, he called to her, every atom of my body aches for you. Feel my cock throbbing, my heart racing, my lungs gasping, all for you.

She leaned into him more, her free hand tightening in the sheet beneath him, as if fighting her instinct to grab him instead. So close, she muttered a little cry of desperation. Halbrand, I cannot… cannot do this without you.

She was close indeed. He could feel it, both of them hurtling toward a cliff.

Just then, at the edges of his senses, Mairon heard someone coming. Galadriel would soon hear them too. He would not allow this to end without her satisfaction.

Galadriel, he focused her attention on him. I am right here, pushing inside you, so hard and fast you can hardly breathe, making you complete as you make me.

Halbrand, Halbrand. He moved his thumb against her ankle in time with her strokes upon her little gem. He could feel her muscles tighten under his hand and in his mind. 

Release all tension. He said it for himself as much as her. Let the wave approach.

She let out a long, shaky breath, and then the wave was upon them both. But it was not a cool, refreshing ocean wave. Mairon felt himself consumed by an inferno of raging fire and pleasure. He lost all sense of reality except for Galadriel’s soul, which clung to his own through their shared haze of bliss. 

He could not tell what euphoric sensations were his own or Galadriel’s, and it did not matter. For she was his, and he was hers, and with their minds intertwined, he had never before felt so whole and satisfied.

“Are you okay?” Galadriel asked suddenly, in between deep gasps, her eyes sweeping over him with worry. She had come forward on her knees and reached for his abdomen, touching lightly next to his wounds as if looking for new damage.

Mairon sat forward, took her face in his hands and kissed her. Instantly melting into him, she returned the kiss with a sweet little sigh of contentment. 

“I am wonderful,” he assured her, unable to hold back the slight laugh in his voice as he still came down from the high of their combined release.

She smiled a little, but her eyes showed suspicion and concern. “I could feel the strain of your abdomen, the pain of your muscles contracting. It was hurting you.”

Only then did he notice what she referred to, a pulsing ache where his body had just been mended. He had not realized. But a little pain mixed with pleasure was nothing new to him. “I felt only you,” he assured her, pressing his forehead to hers.

She sighed and settled into his touch, one hand, sticky with her slick, touching his. The poor artificers would have quite the mess to clean when remaking his bed for their next patient. “I did not know something like that was possible,” she said with quiet awe.

“Neither did I,” he admitted. Though he was quickly learning that with Galadriel, anything was possible. He could happily stay in this bubble of her warmth and light forever, but only seconds later, she startled. 

Mairon had been so lost in their shared connection he completely forgot someone had walked through the entrance to the Healing Chambers.

Galadriel scrambled for her dressing gown on the chair, but her reflexes kicked in, and she landed firmly on her two feet. She pulled on the gown to cover her chemise just as an elf with dark curly hair stepped through into the chamber.

“Ah, as I expected. I thought I might find you here,” he called to Galadriel with a warm voice. 

Mairon caught the panic that flitted across Galadriel’s face before she composed herself and turned around. 

“Elrond, good morning,” she greeted the elf with a smile. Mairon could hear her heart thumping in her chest. He dared not gloat into her mind, but he took deep satisfaction in the flush that had not yet faded from her cheeks and the way her chest still rose and fell rapidly.

Her friend did not betray whether he noticed or heard anything on his way to the chamber. “Good morning. You seem rejuvenated, Lord Halbrand,” Elrond smiled. "I am glad you are recovering well.”

“Thank you,” Mairon nodded. “I would like to be of service as soon as possible. Galadriel has informed me of the plight of your people.”

“She told me of yours as well. I am truly sorry for the immense losses your people have suffered. We are committed to finding a way to remain in Middle-earth so that you and your people will not continue to face the enemy alone,” Elrond said. Mairon could tell the elf’s conviction was sincere, but he had not forgotten that he was the one who betrayed Galadriel and along with their king, sent her away.

“We weren't alone, thanks to you, as I understand it,” Mairon replied, carefully choosing his words, though he would prefer to tear apart the elf for his disrespectful treatment of Galadriel. “Foolish as it was on your part, if you hadn't urged Galadriel to board that ship, our paths would never have crossed. While countless lives were lost in the eruption, many of my people stand courageous and ready to fight. All because Galadriel convinced me to confront the enemy that forced me into exile and persuaded the Queen of Númenor to lead her army to aid my kingdom.”

Elrond bowed his head. “As I told Galadriel, I am sorry I did not trust her. I should have never pushed her away, but I am grateful she has returned to us, and that she has helped you and your people.” Mairon watched as he looked at Galadriel with an apologetic smile. She grinned softly and nodded at him. It was clear there was great love between them, and just as Mairon had expected, he could see that Galadriel had quickly and fully forgiven Elrond for all the pain he had caused her.

Just like that. Her best friend did not deserve her. But then Mairon remembered how Galadriel told him to be free of the evil he had done in his past. He was loathed to admit that he did not deserve her either. But Galadriel’s fierce compassion seemed to have no limits. He was grateful, for a time would come when he needed far more from her if they were to be together. 

“While I wish I could have foreseen and stopped Orodruin from erupting, I believe everything that transpired has prepared us for the fight ahead,” Galadriel said. “After centuries of searching, we know where the enemy hides. Númenor is ready to renew relations with the elves. And the Southlands finally have a King again,” she smiled proudly at Mairon. 

“We will petition the High King for support to be sent to Pelargir while we find a way to stay in Middle-earth,” she said, looking back at Elrond. “I imagine that is why you are here. Has he arrived?”

“Not yet, but Celebrimbor and I want to greet him together. With you,” he emphasized. “You will have our support, whatever the High King may say when he sees you.”

“I would like to greet him as well and inform him of all you have done for me and my people,” Mairon interjected. 

Galadriel turned to him. “We will arrange a proper introduction after the artificers have cleared you.” He anticipated her saying as much, but not her reaching to cup the side of his face. She brushed her thumb across his cheekbone. “For now, you must rest. I will return as soon as I can to check on you.”

Mairon’s heart swelled with emotion at her display of affection. He could not even bother to glance at Elrond for his reaction, for he did not care what the elf thought, only that Galadriel looked at him with such tenderness in front of her friend. 

He could not possibly deny her command. “As you wish, my lady,” he replied with an incline of his head.

As Galadriel departed his side, only then did Mairon notice Elrond glancing at them curiously. 

While there were still many reasons they should not be together, Mairon wanted to make Galadriel his more than ever. Formally and fully. 

Lingering in bed would bring him no closer to realizing his desire. So as soon as Galadriel and Elrond were far from the Healing Chambers, Mairon pulled on Maia powers, just enough to ensure the artificers would free him from bedrest when they next came round to tend to him.

Notes:

I am so grateful for everyone giving this story a chance--it gives me great joy to share it with you all. Every kudo and comment and view means the world to me 🖤🤍 I am excited for you all to see where this story goes as it slowly but surely diverges more from the show.

As always, I couldn't do this without my amazing beta reader Sammybunny711! Go check out her incredible Saurondriel fics!

Appendix for Chapter 6:

Mandos - Doomsman of the Valar, Keeper of the Houses of the Dead - The Halls of Mandos where souls go after dying.

The Doom of Mandos - Also known as the Doom of the Noldor, was a judgment placed on the Noldor who committed the kinslaying at Alqualondë, lead by Fëanor who slew many elves to steal their boats. The Doom fell not only on those who committed the kinslaying, but all Noldor who left Valinor even if they opposed Fëanor and his evil deeds, including Galadriel and Finrod. After the War of Wrath, the exiles who survived were pardoned, but Galadriel rejected this pardon to stay in Middle-earth.

War of Wrath - The final conflict between Morgoth and the Host of the West which was comprised of many elves from Valinor including Finarfin (Galadriel’s father), Eönwë, chief of the Maiar, and Elrond’s father Earendil. After this war, much of the elven lands (Beleriand) were destroyed and drowned under the sea.

Tol Eressëa - An island off the coast of Aman/the Undying Lands. After the War of Wrath, many elves went west to live in Tol Eressëa as encouraged by the Valar. While Galadriel, Cirdan, Gil-Galad and others chose to stay in Middle-earth.

Sindar and Silvan elves - Sindar and Silvan elves never left Middle-earth for Valinor like their Noldor kindred.

Song of Creation - Also known as the Music of the Ainur, Eru Ilúvatar created the Ainur and then guided them to weave together music that would be the fabric of the world.

Ainur - Both Valar and Maiar comprise “the Ainur.”

Arda - The whole world including Middle-earth, Númenor, Aman (Valinor/the Blessed Realm/Undying Lands), and the oceans.

Chapter 7: Star Stone

Summary:

Halbrand meets Celebrimbor. Gil-Galad arrives in Eregion.

Notes:

Wow, I realize we’ve reached over 200 kudos and over 4,000 hits, and I want to thank each and every one of you for spending time with this story about our favorite Maia and elf. All your comments give me life, and sorry my replies are sometimes delayed, but I promise always to reply when I can!

And thank you dearly to my beta reader Sammybunny711 for all the encouragement and for catching all my many mistakes. She has multiple wonderful, emotional, angsty Saurondriel fics you can check out here!

A few hours later, the head artificer gave Mairon permission to stroll through the gardens of the Healing Chambers to test his strength. He appreciated Galadriel's concern and attention but could no longer ignore his desire to explore the city. 

Ost-in-Edhil captivated him. Gold and bronze beautifully accented the exquisitely constructed towers of white stone. Birds sang amongst the branches of lush, green trees. It all reminded Mairon of Valimar. He felt an unexpected ache for the place he had helped build from nothing into a grand city for the Ainur. While some part of his heart had been reluctant to leave the light of the two trees, he had not remained in Aman long before returning to Middle-earth to serve Melkor.

For the first time, Mairon thought of how if he had stayed in Aman, if he had stopped spying for Melkor, and sought a different path forward, he may have still been there when the elves arrived and later when Galadriel was born. They could’ve met sooner, and his whole life would be different.

But it was not only for Melkor that Mairon returned to Middle-earth. While most of the Valar had abandoned Middle-earth after Melkor destroyed the two lamps, Mairon had been reluctant to leave even though Almaren was no more. Under Melkor’s orders to continue spying for him, Mairon went to Aman with the other Maiar who followed the Valar. But even as he helped Aulë bring Valinor to life, it never felt like home. 

Middle-earth needed him more. Galadriel seemed to feel the same, considering all she had been through to arrive and stay in Middle-earth. 

Not long ago, if Mairon had been told all the elves would soon leave Middle-earth or fade, he would have been delighted to be rid of them—all the easier for him to bring men under his rule and heal Middle-earth to his design.

But he could not lose Galadriel. Determined as she was to stay, he could not bear for her to fade. While he could perceive the Unseen World, he knew it would not be a desirable fate for her. She would gradually lose her ability to interact with the world she so loved and could only observe as time swiftly passed her by. She would be but a breeze caressing his cheek as he mourned all the life he wanted to share with her.

It was time he helped Galadriel solve the problem of her fading, even though it would help all elves. His thoughts turned to one of the reasons he had hoped to come here—meeting Celebrimbor.

Once the head artificer was out of earshot, Mairon followed a bridge from the entrance of the Healing Chambers to an adjacent tower, perhaps the tallest in all the city. After venturing up a long winding staircase, he found himself in what was unmistakably a forge. No fire burned in the hearth and little light reached through the sparse windows of the massive workshop. But the furnace and the large anvil before it called to Mairon.

While saving the elves was a priority, his mind wandered to all he could create in such a well-designed and equipped forge. Perhaps he could offer his services in exchange for the opportunity to create something small on the side. He longed for a hammer in his hand again. 

He wondered what he could craft for Galadriel. The Noldor were known for their love of gems and jewelry. She clearly held her brother’s dagger dear to her heart so he would not bother with something too similar.

Perhaps something with which to present her when he finally found the right time to ask her to be his Queen.

“Who’s there?” A voice called across the workshop. Footsteps made their way towards Mairon.

“Who’s there?” The voice asked again. “Reveal yourself.” He had to be none other than Celebrimbor himself.

Mairon knew he should have waited for Galadriel to make proper introductions for him, but he could not hide now.

“Is Galadriel here?” He asked, an easy excuse for his trespassing. 

An elf came out of the shadows to the edge of the main workshop. “No.” He looked at Mairon with concern. “Shouldn’t you be resting?” He asked.

“What is this place?” Mairon asked, quite done with being injured.

“This was the workshop of Celebrimbor.” 

Was? Surely, he had not already given up on finding a solution.

“The Celebrimbor?” Mairon asked with every intention of flattering the smith he had heard so much about. “He’s not here, is he?”

Celebrimbor smiled and chuckled. “Well… A matter of fact, he is.” He pulled on a rope, and the top of the tower pulled back to reveal the sky above, flooding the forge with light.

So then, it seemed the smith only needed a little encouragement. Mairon could offer him that and so much more. “Celebrimbor,” he greeted.

“The master I apprenticed to used to speak of the wonders of your craft,” Mairon stated, which was not exactly the truth nor a lie. He had been long gone from Aulë’s Mansions when Celebrimbor learned to forge there, like his father and grandfather before him. But in all of Melkor’s stories about the Noldor, Mairon had learned enough about Celebrimbor to know his potential.

Truthfully, Mairon had been envious of how Melkor spoke about Celebrimbor and his grandfather Fëanor—as if they were the greatest who ever studied under Aulë. As if Mairon hadn’t toiled away under Aulë’s instruction for ages before the elves even awoke. As if Mairon hadn’t assisted Aulë in shaping the very mountains of Arda and the lamps of the Valar.

When Melkor returned to Middle-earth with the Silmarils and burned hands, Mairon had offered to wrought for Melkor a crown on which to place them. The Vala had scoffed at him, proclaiming he would forge for himself a crown. 

Mairon could have made a crown in a quarter the time it took Melkor and designed it to be twice as grand. But he did not bother after that to offer such artistry to Melkor. By then, Mairon had finally started to see the Dark Lord for who he truly was—annihilator of any and all things beautiful.

“I never dreamed I’d get the chance to see them in person,” Mairon continued to praise Celebrimbor’s reputation for forging works for beauty. Melkor would have only tormented the elf, forced from him crafts made under duress. But Mairon could encourage the Noldo to new heights—and towards a solution to keep Galadriel safe and thriving in Middle-earth. Perhaps a solution that would not only help the elves but heal all Middle-earth.

“Are you a smith?” Celebrimbor asked, approaching the table in the center of the workshop.

“Well… Nothing like your artistry,” Mairon could not very well reveal his true nature. A human smith would never come close to what Celebrimbor could do with a hammer. And for now, that was who Mairon… Halbrand was.

Three colorful stones caught Mairon’s eye. “These gemstones, I’ve never seen anything like them.” For all the rare gemstones Mairon had seen in the early ages or amongst the spoils he claimed from defeated Noldor and dwarves, he spoke the truth. “What do you plan to use them for?”

“My grandfather’s jewel craft managed to capture the essence of Valinor. I had hoped to do the same for Middle-earth.”

Then Mairon noticed the sparkling Elensar on the table. He could not stop himself from reaching for it. “This is a peculiar ore,” he said carefully, since Halbrand should not be familiar with the metal. “What is it?”

“Not enough,” the elf answered somberly.

“Ah, this is what you hope may prove your salvation. Galadriel shared with me your pending fate,” Mairon added when Celebrimbor looked at him with surprise. Surely, it was not news they wanted to spread far, but hopefully Galadriel’s display of trust would assure Celebrimbor. “I want to help, and I believe you are on the right track.”

Mairon continued to admire the Elensar, as he knew it to be called, or star stone. Mairon had not seen the ore in ages, but he had been witness when Aulë conceived the metal so that it shone underground as Varda’s stars shone in the sky. He remembered how Aulë chose special, select mountains to infuse with the ore. 

After the destruction Melkor wrought on Arda when he destroyed the two lamps, Mairon did not know for certain anymore where he could find the star stone. Yet here it was, in his hand. Perhaps it came from nearby in the Misty Mountains, which meant the dwarves who dwelt within were digging deep.

The small piece of ore shone from within as if alive. If utilized properly, Elensar could indeed renew the strength and spirits of the elves.

In the humblest way he could manage, Mairon suggested to Celebrimbor that he stretch the small piece of ore by combining it with other metals. Mairon did not know exactly how they could achieve this. He had not had the privilege of working with star stone before, but it was precisely the kind of challenge he relished.

“Well, that is an intriguing suggestion,” Celebrimbor replied, taking back the star stone.

“Call it… a gift,” Mairon replied, feeling a surge of elation that he could be of service, that he could save Galadriel. Then, together, they could save Middle-earth. The Elensar right in his reach seemed yet another sign that he and Galadriel were truly brought together for a great purpose.

Mairon and Celebrimbor discussed at length how they could approach the project, what alloys to consider, and what precisely they might craft from their efforts that could save the elves. But the smith would not commit on the spot. 

“I will speak with our High King. As soon as we have his blessing, we will begin our efforts. Once you are feeling well,” Celebrimbor added. “Please do not rush your recovery. You were nearly at death’s door when you arrived.”

Mairon smiled. “Oh, I already feel better than I have in a long time, thanks to you. I should return before your talented artificers come hunting for me, but please, send for me as soon as we may begin. I want to be of all the assistance I may.”

 

---

 

The city came alive with preparations for the High King’s arrival. Baskets of fresh, colorful flowers hung from archways and windows. Delicious smells of roasting meat and baked delicacies wafted through the streets as the best culinary artists in all of Eregion prepared dishes for the evening fest to be held in Ereinion’s honor. Music filled the air as performers tuned their instruments and practiced the medlies they hoped to play for their High King.

Galadriel always admired how Celebrimbor seized every opportunity for celebration and merriment. “You know he will complain it is too much,” she said to Celebrimbor, smiling at the amusing image in her mind of Ereinion grinning and bearing the festivities.

“He was the one who prematurely declared our days of war over,” Elrond pointed out. “He rides here to discuss the darkness we must all soon face. We need not plague all our people with hopelessness while we yet strive towards a solution.”

“Precisely,” Celebrimbor smiled wide. “He has not visited in some time. The people expect some fanfare for his arrival.” At that moment, they lined the streets leading to the High King’s abode in Ost-in-Edhil. 

A messenger had just reported the King and his entourage were close to the city gates. Galadriel would be lying if she said she was not nervous about the inevitable confrontation with her grand-nephew. She had been right all along, and she finally had the proof of it. But he would likely be defensive, considering the state of their people’s vitality, and resent that she had defied his orders despite her well-intentioned reasons.

She waited with Elrond and Celebrimbor at the main entrance to the city. They spotted the King with not only his typical entourage but an entire contingent of Lindon’s cavalry.

Galadriel caught Elrond’s glance. He, too, wondered why Ereinion had traveled with such a large party.

It was not long before the High King spotted Galadriel waiting to greet him. All the color drained from his face.

When he reached the city gates, he stared at her for a long moment before Celebrimbor signaled the trumpeters to announce the King’s arrival. Celebrimbor chuckled softly, and Galadriel caught Ereinion pursing his lips at the grand welcome.

Cheers and chants erupted as he led his party through the city while flower petals rained down from rooftops. Celebrimbor thought it important for the King to be reminded how happy his people were in Middle-earth. Galadriel noticed that Ereinion appeared to soften as the procession continued, waving and nodding with a smile at everyone who greeted him. 

Like Galadriel, Ereinion had been a chief supporter of Celebrimbor when he led many Noldor from Lindon to establish Eregion and expand the dominion of the elves, which had been drastically reduced since the sinking of Beleriand. Over the years, great friendship and extensive trade blossomed between the elves and the dwarves nearby in Khazad-dûm. While Galadriel had long been the one to warn of evil biding its time in the shadows, it never crossed her mind to let the darkness chase her back across the sea. She had to hope Ereinion would understand a new fight had just begun.

But when they left behind the celebration in the streets for the quiet grand hall of his mansion in Eregion, he ordered his attendants to leave him be, and the lines of his face hardened. There was a great weariness in his eyes when he gazed at Galadriel.

“High King, I am most glad to welcome you. It has been too long since your last visit,” Celebrimbor stated with a smile.

“Lord Celebrimbor, I must assume you would only arrange for celebration if you have good news to share with me,” the King replied, only briefly glancing at Celebrimbor before turning his attention back to Galadriel.

Elrond frowned and stepped forward. “My King, we continue to work day and night for a solution to our fading, but we all agreed it was imperative to uplift the people’s spirits. Especially as we prepare for the battle we must soon face.”

Galadriel had not shied from Ereinion’s stare. He finally looked away to return Elrond’s frown. “What battle do you speak of? What have you done?” He asked, his head snapping back in Galadriel’s direction.

Anger surged through her. Of course, he immediately blamed her. “I have found the darkness you swore was long gone from this world,” she replied. “And I am committed as ever to free Middle-earth from its grasp.”

“You found Sauron?” Ereinion asked, shock replacing his frustration.

Galadriel braced herself before answering. “No,” she admitted reluctantly. 

The King glared at her. “But I found his servant,” she continued firmly. “A Moriondor who commands legions of orcs. They awakened the mountain and shrouded the land in shadow. They have slain or captured many Southlanders, but some survived thanks to their King and his ally, the Queen of Númenor, who led hundreds of her soldiers to Middle-earth to face the enemy.”

“The Southlands have no King. And what do you mean, the Queen of Númenor was here in Middle-earth?” Ereinion asked in disbelief.

Galadriel started from the beginning. She recounted how she had jumped from the ship, met Halbrand, and then Elendil had rescued both of them. She gave Ereinion pertinent details about how she persuaded the Queen of Númenor to support Halbrand’s return from exile and free his people from the orcs assailing them. Then she told him about the eruption, about the Southlanders awaiting reinforcements in Pelargir, and the thousands of orcs under Adar’s command.

“Lord Halbrand sustained a grievous wound during an encounter with orcs after learning the massive strength of the Moriondor’s armies,” she continued. “I brought him here, and thanks to the artificers, he is on the mend.”

“You brought the low man here?” Ereinion questioned as if he had misheard her.

Galadriel bristled at the disrespectful way he spoke. “You wish I had left him in Pelargir to die from his poisoned wounds after his people finally had a King again?”

Ereinion huffed. “I am glad this King is recovering from his wounds, but from what I understand, we still have no remedy for the unraveling of our people. Is that not true?” He demanded, looking from Elrond to Celebrimbor.

“We are close, High King. I can feel it, we only—” The King held up a single finger and Celebrimbor fell silent. 

“That is not the answer I hoped for,” Ereinion stated, not hiding his deep disappointment.

“You cannot dismiss the time and energy Celebrimbor and Elrond have spent on saving our people,” Galadriel interjected.

“I do not dismiss your efforts, but effort alone will not save us,” the King said to Celebrimbor and Elrond. “And therefore, we are in no position to help the Southlanders. I am glad for them if, indeed, Númenor will continue to offer them aid. But it is no longer our place to be guardians of Middle-earth.”

“That is not for you to decide,” Galadriel snapped.

“You wish us to wait until our souls consume our bodies, until we fade into wisps who can do nothing but watch as the men we die for continue to thrive in the only lands I have ever called home?” A great sadness in Ereinion’s voice cut into Galadriel’s heart.

Suddenly, she remembered him as a child again, in hiding with his mother, missing his father and sister terribly. Too soon, he would lose them both, but he found his strength in leading all the Noldor who chose to remain in Middle-earth after the Valar bid them across the sea, a place he had never personally been.

“Your love for Middle-earth is great, so great that you fear it clouds your judgment for what we must do,” Galadriel ventured, her voice gentle. “You want to protect our people even if it means leaving behind the realm that has long flourished under your rule. But I believe it is not yet time for us to leave. Not me, not you. None of us, not while Middle-earth needs us more than ever. We still have time.”

Ereinion let out a heavy sigh. “Many Silvan soldiers who were to return from their postings in the Southlands have vanished without a trace. Our scouts sent to investigate Oroduin have yet to return. The longer we wait, the more of our people we will lose. You want us to, what, march on the orcs when we could lose our strength any day now?”

“I request that you send reinforcements to support Lord Halbrand’s people while he assists Lord Celebrimbor’s renewed efforts in saving our people,” Galadriel requested, as she and Celebrimbor had discussed she would.

Taking her cue, Celebrimbor extended his hand, offering the Mithril to the High King. “With this, we will make a powerful object to save the light of the elves, and the light of Middle-earth itself.”

Ereinion took the ore in his hand and turned it slowly in his fingers. “One object. For all Middle-earth.”

“I know it sounds strange, High King. But surely, we should exhaust every possible solution,” Elrond interjected.

“Precisely what manner of object?” Ereinion asked.

“It would be smaller than previously imagined,” Celebrimbor explained. “Something that could be carried.”

“A scepter perhaps,” Elrond proposed.

“A sword?” Galadriel offered.

“Or perhaps… a crown,” Celebrimbor stated, as if he had been thinking specifically of a crown for a while now.

That caught the King’s attention. “Why a crown?” He asked.

“A circular form will be ideal… allowing the light to arc back upon itself in one unbroken round, building to a power that is all but unbounded,” Celebrimbor explained with enthusiasm.

“And you would place all that power upon the brow of one being?” Ereinion asked.

Celebrimbor’s idea for a crown, specifically, was new to Galadriel, but they had all discussed to whom the object of power would go.

“Not just any one being, High King. You,” Elrond said.

Ereinion looked uncertain. Galadriel admired that about her grand-nephew. He was never one to seek power, and that was one of the many reasons she trusted him as her King despite their centuries of disagreements.

“Perilous are these whisperings…” He declared. Galadriel could not blame him for fearing such power, but she would not accept giving up and going home.

“Sometimes the perilous path is the only path,” she replied. “I would not be standing here otherwise.”

“You should not be standing here at all,” he snapped in reply. 

His words hit Galadriel like a gut punch. Despite all she had accomplished since leaping from that ship, it seemed he still saw only her failures. Only her darkness.

Doubt slithered through Galadriel’s mind. Elrond had said the Great Tree sickened just as she returned from the north. She came to the Southlands to free it but instead witnessed its destruction. Countless of Halbrand’s people were dead. Many of Miriel’s people too, not to mention the loss of her sight. All because of Galadriel. Was she spreading darkness all this time she sought to vanquish it?

And now she reached for a great power to stop time itself in a bid to stay in the land she loved. It was for a noble cause. To save Middle-earth and its people from Sauron.

But how different was she from the one she hunted, reaching for such power? She could not deny that when she held the Mithril in her hand, it called to her with promise—or that if Ereinion refused the crown, she would offer herself to bear it.

“High King, we ask only for the time needed to gather the Gwaith-i-Mírdain and test Celebrimbor’s theory,” Elrond pressed.

“Our time runs short,” the King replied.

“Yes, that is why—” Celebrimbor tried.

“Shorter than you know,” Ereinion cut him off forcefully. There was a dark warning in his voice, something he had not yet told them.

“Since the mountain of fire’s eruption, the Great Tree is all but bleeding leaves,” the King revealed. “Soon, the last will fall. And unless our people leave these shores, so shall we.” He cut his gaze over to Galadriel, challenging her to say anything against him.

But she did not know what to say other than repeat the request they had made for more time, risky as if might be. This new information had no sway against her set mind.

“There is no elf in Middle-earth who wanted a solution more than I,” Ereinion said gravely. Galadriel knew he believed that to be true, but it was not enough. He was surrendering too soon. 

“But if this was to be our salvation,” he continued, gesturing to the Mithril,” I’m afraid we needed it sooner.”

“But I almost had it sooner,” Celebrimbor exploded with frustration. “It was only in speaking with the Southlander that I realized—”

“The low man?” Ereinion interrupted the contempt in his voice plain. “This idea was his?”

Anger burst within Galadriel. “Speak not of Lord Halbrand with such disrespect,” she interjected before Celebrimbor could reply. “While you ignored my warnings of the darkness and proclaimed a false peace, orcs were butchering his people and placing chains about their wrists. You did nothing while Halbrand rode into battle to save his people, while he trekked through a broken land to seek justice, while he traveled all the way here not just for healing but to seek an alliance that would serve all Middle-earth. Even now, he offers his aid to help us save our people while his own stand in mortal danger.”

Ereinion watched her with a neutral expression as if carefully weighing how he wanted to respond. “If you wish to throw away your life and future for this man and his people, you have my leave to do so, but as King, it is my duty to do what is best for my people.”

He sighed and looked to Celebrimbor. “I am sorry, Lord Celebrimbor. You are hereby commanded to disband the city and return to Lindon immediately. You too, Herald Elrond.”

Disband the city. Galadriel could hardly believe her ears. She did not spare the King another glance as he left the hall without another word, nor Elrond as he followed. 

Her gaze went to her cousin as he bent his head. 

“He is wrong to force us to abandon Middle-earth. I believe in you, Celebrimbor. Even with less time, we could still—”

“It is over, Galadriel,” he declared, his voice heavy with grief. “I will see what I can leave to Lord Halbrand that may aid him and his people… And you, it seems. You truly will stay, despite what it will cost you?”

Grief hit Galadriel as she realized even her dear cousin would follow their King’s orders. Celebrimbor had seemed rejuvenated with hope after speaking with Halbrand earlier. Ereinion had managed to extinguish that hope in one conversation. 

“I cannot leave Middle-earth to the Shadow as it spreads faster than ever,” Galadriel answered after a beat.

Celebrimbor nodded. “I understand, but it is more than that, no? It is the Southlander you cannot leave behind.”

That was equally true. “I did not think it possible until it happened. My heart was suddenly in his hands. I told myself again and again why it could not be, and now it seems we will have even less time than I thought. But for as long as he will have me, I will be by his side. Until the very moment my soul consumes my body, I will keep Lord Halbrand safe. I will do all I can to help him and his allies fight for the light of Middle-earth.” She could only hope she would have enough time to find and destroy Sauron. If she could at least gift Halbrand a world without the Shadow, then maybe she would finally know some semblance of peace within her soul.

Celebrimbor took Galadriel’s hand in his, then placed the Mithril in her open palm. “May this sustain you until the end of all days,” he said with great hope.

Galadriel embraced Celebrimbor tightly. “I will miss you,” she said, something catching in her throat.

“And I will miss you, my dearest cousin,” he replied.

“Please tell my parents I love them, and I am sorry,” Galadriel added as the weight of her decision rolled over her.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he insisted, tenderly holding her face. “I wish I had your courage.”

Galadriel smiled at that. “You left our home as I did. You defied your father and grandfather’s selfish, reckless orders time and time again and denounced their evil deeds. You built this city from nothing but dirt and stone into a true wonder. You have always been courageous, Celebrimbor.”

They embraced once more, and then she excused herself. Everything she said to Celebrimbor was true, and she had no ill feelings for his decision to obey their King.

But rage boiled within Galadriel’s veins. How could Ereinion give up like this, so suddenly and so completely? How could he leave Middle-earth to inevitable destruction? 

And to go to a land that would never shine so brightly as it had under the light of the two trees? Where time would nearly stand still as humans and dwarves and all the creatures of Middle-earth suffered?

She could not board a ship again while Middle-earth needed her. And even when she did extinguish Sauron, she could not bear to leave while Halbrand had breath left in his lungs, which she intended to be for a long time yet.

She found him sitting on his bed in the Healing Chambers, pulling on his boots. “They have cleared you already?” She asked.

“They said I’m almost as good as new,” he replied with a grin, rising to meet her. 

But any joy she wanted to have for his remarkably swift recovery was overshadowed by her anger and her grief. How could she tell Halbrand it was all over? 

“What is it?” He asked, reaching for her shoulders. She was not hiding her emotions well, then. “Galadriel, you’re shaking.”

“Our High King gave Celebrimbor the order to disband the city and return to Lindon. Soon, all his subjects will leave these shores. Men must prepare to face the Shadow without the aid of the elves,” she revealed, anger punching through each of her words.

A look of shock crossed Halbrand’s face, but he stepped closer, caressing her arms. “And you?” He asked.

She met his green and golden gaze. “I will stay here with you, whatever may come,” she declared, more certain of her choice than ever. “This may give me a little time.” She revealed the small piece of Mithril.

“Galadriel,” Mairon said her name with a voice full of emotion. He pulled her into his chest. She exhaled, allowing his warmth to soothe her troubled spirit.

“We will save Middle-earth together, and I will not let you fade,” he vowed. “I may not have Celebrimbor’s skill, but I will find a way.”

A measure of Galadriel’s anger loosened its hold on her mind. Devastated as she was to lose her cousin, and presumably Elrond as well, she would not be alone. 

“I promise you, Galadriel,” Halbrand added, his hand coming up to caress her cheek. She looked up at him. The devotion in his gaze washed over her like warm rain. 

“I first rejected the expressed desire of the Valar when I left home. I have done so again and again, all to pursue my own desires and remain here in Middle-earth. Yet, along the way, I must have done something right that our paths were allowed to cross,” Galadriel reflected.

Halbrand played with a strand of her hair between his fingers. “I am deeply grateful we were brought together, for whatever reason.”

She rested a hand on his chest. “I know I have said that repeatedly, and I still believe it. But Halbrand, I am not choosing to stay in Middle-earth for whatever that great reason may be.”

His body stilled as if some thought that bothered him crossed his mind. “You are staying to slay Sauron?” He asked.

“Yes, but… No,” Galadriel replied with a gentle laugh. It was far past time she was more direct with how she felt. “Halbrand. I am staying here for you.”

His eyes locked on hers, soft and trusting. “Because I love you,” she added, cradling his face with one hand.

Halbrand appeared stunned, his eyes going wide as if he could not believe what she had said, as if he doubted anyone would ever say such a thing to him. She was all the more glad she had finally professed her love and no longer sure why she had held back so long. 

She intended to ensure he felt her love for every minute of the rest of his days if he would have her.

“Galadriel,” he took in a breath. “There is something I have been meaning to—”

“Galadriel! Lord Halbrand!” A voice called up the long staircase of the Healing Chambers.

Galadriel nearly jumped out of her skin. Why did her dear friend always have the worst timing?

She exchanged a concerned look with Halbrand, then they made for the stairs. They came to the doorway of the staircase just as Elrond made it to the top.

“Gil-Galad changed his mind!” Elrond announced with jubilation. “He has given us three months if our spirits can bear it. Three months to forge the crown.”

Galadriel felt as if she had been caught on the paddle of a watermill and violently dragged around it, in and out of the water, with little time to catch her breath. As relieved as she felt, she wished she could push Ereinion in the Glanduin for a little harmless retribution after all the grief he caused her.

“That is wonderful news,” Halbrand replied, looking at Galadriel with a smile. 

She managed a small one of her own, then took out the Mithril from the pocket of her dress. “Let us begin straight away,” she declared, passing the ore to Elrond.

Notes:

Phew, crisis averted — or has the inevitable only been delayed 😅😉

Thank you so much for reading! Can’t wait to share more with you all soon.

Appendix for Chapter 7

Valimar - Central city in Valinor where many Ainur dwelt. The two trees were close by.

Aman - Another name for the Undying Lands/the Blessed realm, the continent that includes Valinor and Tol Eressëa.

The Two Lamps - Before the sun and the moon, before the two trees, there were The Two Lamps of the Valar, wrought by Aulë and filled with light by Varda. In Middle-earth, one was set in the north, one in the south, and where the light of the two lamps mingled there was the island Almaren.

Almaren - The Island in the center of the Great Lake, which used to be the center of Middle-earth. Here the Valar dwelled until Melkor destroyed the two lamps, which caused great destruction upon the lands and seas. The Valar then retreated across the sea to Aman and founded Valinor.

The sinking of Beleriand - Beleriand was the westernmost lands of Middle-earth where many elves lived in the First Age. It included the realms of the Noldor, such as Finrod’s realm of Nargothrond, and realms of other groups of elves including Doriath, the kingdom of the Sindar King Thingol who was wed to Melian the Maia. Most of Beleriand was destroyed and sunk under the sea during the War of Wrath when the Valar came to aid in the defeat of Morgoth. Only the small area of Lindon remained.

Gwaith-i-Mírdain - The elven smiths of Eregion, led by Celebrimbor.

Chapter 8: At All Costs

Summary:

Ever since that night on the ship when she sought him out, breaking their original agreement for just one night together, Mairon had been trying to convince himself she truly cared for him. He needed their connection to be real. He had tried and failed to strangle Melkor’s cruel voice in his head that insisted Mairon would never know love—that insisted he would only ever be at home in a world of darkness.

Then there was his own voice incessantly whispering in his mind that she would carve out his heart when she learned his true identity.

But Galadriel knew he had done evil. She knew he had run away like a coward and refused to return to Middle-earth until she all but dragged him back. She knew his violent, vengeful tendencies, and yet somehow, astonishingly, she loved him.

They worked in the forge the rest of the afternoon. It heartened Galadriel to see the joy stretching Halbrand’s lips into a broad grin as he and Celebrimbor exchanged ideas for the King’s crown. They discussed experimenting with various ores and ways they might combine them with the mithril. Halbrand’s smithery knowledge astounded Galadriel, and she could tell Celebrimbor felt the same. The man truly was at home in a forge.

Elrond soaked in every word Celebrimbor spoke, and seemed to regard Halbrand with cautious curiosity. While smithery had never been Elrond’s prime choice of craft, he had learned much from his foster father Maglor when he was a boy, and Galadriel had, in turn, encouraged the practicality of being able to craft for one’s own needs. Therefore, Elrond knew his way around a forge. He appeared relieved that his work with Celebrimbor, which their King had nearly cut short, had resumed in earnest.

As for Galadriel, she assisted their efforts as needed, but found it difficult to focus. Sauron was still out there, emboldened by his success in darkening the Southlands. Halbrand’s people were in imminent danger. The forging of the crown would likely take the entirety of the three months the King had granted them. For it was to be no ordinary crown, but one with enough power and light to extend the elves’ stay in Middle-earth, to still the sickening of the Great Tree and the whole world.

Elrond sent word for the Gwaith-i-Mírdain to prepare to return to the forge, but not until the following day. Ereinion had conceded to allow the festivities to continue as planned. But the four of them worked through the last minute that could be spared before they needed to prepare for the King’s evening feast. He would soon return to Lindon and prepare defenses should Adar seek to come north, but admitted to the value of keeping spirits high while they still sought a way to stay.

Galadriel could not let Ereinion leave without agreeing to send reinforcements to Pelargir. She thought it was the least they owed Halbrand, watching as he put finishing touches to his charcoal sketch. At first, he had insisted on only watching Celebrimbor as he drew potential designs for the crown, but the elf lord was a great leader and natural teacher. After producing a sketch of his own, he set both Halbrand and Elrond to the task of creating their own designs.

Celebrimbor entreated Galadriel to sketch a few designs as well. The endeavor brought her back to her childhood, when she first learned the way of the hammer. Sharing his love for jewelry and other finery, Finrod had taught her how to craft circlets, necklaces, and other shiny adornments. Angrod had guided Galadriel in the making of her first sword. Aegnor had no patience for teaching her, but was generous with encouragement when she began her explorations with silversmithing.

It all felt like a lifetime ago. She could not put her heart into it, perhaps because she believed the design would not come from her. Celebrimbor enjoyed collaboration, but Galadriel knew that in the end, it was his brilliant mind that would conceive the crown as it needed to be to save their kind. And as important as the task was before them, her mind was elsewhere, already racing back to the Southlands to resume the hunt for Sauron.

Reluctant as she was, the task fell upon her to drag her cousin from his workbench. “The feast was your idea,” she reminded him after he sighed dramatically.

Celebrimbor relented, muttering something about only three months as he crossed to his tower to dress for the evening event.

Elrond escorted Halbrand to the guest chamber Celebrimbor had prepared for him, and then Galadriel was left to herself.

She stole one last moment to glance over the sketches strewn across the workbenches. When she came to Halbrand’s sketches, her heart leapt at what she saw. He had drawn a few variations of a crown, but in the margins of his drawings, he had sketched smaller designs of what looked to be rings.

One detailed three small strands of silver braided all the way around. Another looked like a ring-sized circlet, an open gap between the two sides ending in miniature flowers. He had crossed this second design out with a slash. She favored the third design, which featured a narrow band with small olive leaves branching off all the way around. Halbrand seemed to think the same, for he had sketched a small star beside that design.

Her head spun as she considered the rings. What could they be intended for, except…

She had told him of her husband that first night they spent together. Halbrand had said he did not expect her to marry him. She thought they had an understanding between each other, but just one night had turned into many, and now, Galadriel had confessed her love to him. Why was she surprised he was thinking of asking for her hand? His people would expect him to take a Queen sooner rather than later. Surely humans could not wait for peaceful times as elves did, considering their shorter lifespans.

She frowned as a different scenario came to her. Maybe he still intended to respect some semblance of their original agreement and her elven customs. Maybe he simply wanted to craft a ring while he had a forge available to him, and he would bring it back to Pelargir to find a human queen. Pain ripped through her chest at the thought of him marrying someone else. She had considered this reality before and thought she had accepted it, but no, she wanted Halbrand to be hers.

Just then, she recalled he had intended to tell her something in private before the eruption of Orodruin. She had thought back then he might ask her to stay in the Southlands, despite all the reasons that they should not be together. Those reasons still existed, but Galadriel felt it would be worth all the suffering for more time with Halbrand. As long as the suffering was her own, not anyone else’s, especially his.

And Elrond had interrupted whatever Halbrand wanted to say after she confessed her love. They had not had time alone since.

While she fantasized about discussing a proper future together with Halbrand, her target at the feast was her grand-nephew. He still had not agreed to send reinforcements to Pelargir, and Galadriel would not stand for it. She would not waste her time asking Elrond to arrange an audience for her with Ereinion. She could not imagine him granting her the time. But he could not wholly avoid her that evening either.

Galadriel gave the King space for a large portion of the feast. He was the guest of honor after all, everyone vying for a moment with him. The Noldor were pleased to see their High King. Representatives from every village had been invited to the capital, along with as many residents of Ost-in-Edhil as the King’s grand hall could fit. From the outside, his mansion blended in with the city's stately architecture. But inside, the grand hall opened to what Galadriel considered a second Lindon.

Beautiful ivy and moss decorated the four stone walls enclosing the city's largest courtyard. Guests milled about the various walkways that led around fish-filled ponds, meticulously sculpted flower gardens, and copses of trees reaching towards the darkening evening sky. Copious food and drink overwhelmed the long stone tables, where many sat filling their bellies and raising a glass to the musicians on a small raised platform.

Two harpers played side by side. Galadriel was taken back over two thousand years ago to the celebration her cousin Curufin held for the birth of his son Celebrimbor. He was the first of a whole new generation for House Finwe. Her brother Finrod and her cousins Maglor and Fingon played their harps, weaving together a lovely harmony. Galadriel remembered feeling relieved she was no longer the baby of the extended family, but wary of her new cousin inheriting the temper of his father and grandfather. She did not yet know they would be dear friends to each other.

Galadriel searched the crowds for him. Standing by a bubbling stone fountain, Celebrimbor conversed with his protégé, a young smith named Mirdania. Along with the rest of the Mírdain, she would return tomorrow to Celebrimbor’s forge to assist with creating the crown.

Halbrand sat at one of the tables, sharing drinks with a group of herders from one of the outskirt villages. She could identify them by their wool cloaks stitched with the golden flowers of Vána. They listened aptly to whatever story Halbrand was spinning for them, an easy smile on his face. Despite the safety of his people hanging by a thread, he seemed to have found some peace ever since the artificers healed him.

His commitment to helping her people gave her great hope. She was determined to honor his support by returning it to his people. Surely her King would not withhold assistance from a suffering kingdom whose own King was devoted to saving the elves.

To her surprise, a servant came to fetch her on behalf of the High King before Galadriel sought him out for herself.

The servant led her to Erenion, who was all but hiding in the rear of the courtyard, his eyes on a waterfall cascading down from roof level.

Galadriel let her gaze wander across the pool below, dotted with pink water lilies and their large floating green leaves. “You called for me, High King?” She greeted him with respect, hopeful since he had reached out to her. Maybe he had come around to sense on his own.

“Yes. I wish to speak with you of Númenor,” he started plainly.

“Of course,” Galadriel replied. While it was not her immediate priority, it was important enough. She had promised the Queen Regent that the elves would be there when she returned to Middle-earth. Galadriel intended to keep that promise, but she could not without Ereinion’s agreement. “I was weary when I arrived on the island, brokenhearted as you are for the lost centuries of friendship and trade. But I soon realized there remain many faithful, including the King. But he is not long for this world, and his daughter will need all the support she can get to stay strong against the doubters. I fear her own cousin reaches for power. He may use the tragedy of what happened in the Southlands against her.”

“The Chancellor, yes?” Ereinion asked. “He was against the mission.”

“He tried to play subtle in his disagreement, but it was plain and clear. He cared not for renewing our alliance. Yet faith remains within the Queen Regent and many of her subjects. Hope. A chance. She vowed to return and fight the darkness. We must be ready when she does,” Galadriel proclaimed.

Only then did Ereinion really look at her, his brow knotted. “You already made her such a promise, did you not?”

“I could offer no less after all she risked for Middle-earth, after she vowed to return even after everything and everyone she lost.” Galadriel met her High King’s stare. “You would do the same if you saw what I did, the orcs, the ashes, the burning bodies,” she swallowed as her grief from the day tightened around her throat. “We cannot let this be the fate of Middle-earth. We cannot allow the shadow to spread any further.”

“Then let us hope Lord Celebrimbor succeeds,” Ereinion stated, his gaze drifting back to the waterfall. He seemed far away, perhaps already across the sea in his mind.

She pitied his hopelessness, but could not accept it. “You will do nothing until then?” Galadriel accused, wondering why he bothered to summon her if he had no intention to act. “We must do what we can to keep the darkness at bay while we work on the crown.”

“I will not risk directing Sauron’s attention our way, not while we are vulnerable,” the King retorted.

“You believe me that he is back?” Galadriel asked wryly, relieved that Ereinion finally believed her. “You admit it now?”

The High King pressed his lips together and exhaled forcefully through his nose before answering. “Yes, Galadriel. You were right,” he admitted, his jaw clenched. “The evil has returned. I do not deny it, but we must do what is best for our people. We are called across the sea by evidence of the Great Tree’s sickness. Like you, I have rejected the call before. But you know better than I how we can only linger here so long. Middle-earth is changing, and not only because of the shadow.”

“But there will be nothing left if we allow the shadow to spread. We may be called across the sea, but this was our ancestors’ first home,” Galadriel reminded him, though he was well versed on the lore of Cuiviénen. “I will not leave it to ruin. I will never understand why the Valar did not fight harder for these lands in the first place,” she added, ruminating on her people’s long history. It was Morgoth who marred Middle-earth, but the Valar left it vulnerable to his destruction when they could have made a stand against him long before Eärendil demanded as much.

“You should not say such things,” Erenion warned. “When they came for Morgoth, they broke the world. Would you have them come again and split the ground beneath our feet? Drown the valleys and crumble the mountains?”

Galadriel drew in a long breath in an attempt to control her temper. He spoke wisely, but had disregarded her point. “I am not asking them to assail Middle-earth to stop Sauron. During these dark times, I do believe they should aid us with careful measures. But that would not be necessary if they had never freed Morogth from his first imprisonment, and if Eönwë had not let Sauron roam free after the war. You know I revere the Valar in the depths of my heart, but they are not infallible. Morgoth himself was once counted amongst them. They are not The One himself. And if they will not defend this world entrusted to them, then I shall, until I am diminished.”

“And what would The One think of your cavorting with a mortal man while your husband waits for you in the Halls or even upon the shores of Aman?” Ereinion challenged, breaking from his usual kingly composure. “How could you forget him?”

Anger stirred in Galadriel’s blood, but she saw sensitivity in the lines of her grand-nephew’s sullen face. Was he wounded on Celeborn’s behalf? Ereinion had grown close to her husband when he and Galadriel stayed for a time on the Isle of Balar, before Celeborn left to fight in the war.

She sighed before answering. “I will always love Celeborn and I will never forget him. I wish we had had far more time together. But in the time we did have, we came to know each other’s minds intimately. He understood how greatly I care for Middle-earth, and I knew how dearly he did too. It is precisely his sacrifice for his fellow elves, for goodness itself, that I will not dishonor by arriving on the shores of Aman without giving everything I am to save Middle-earth and its people. I am certain Celeborn expects no less of me. If he knew you put me on that ship, he would have predicted I would jump well before I came to that decision myself.” While she had been loath to board that ship in the first place, it had truly been a last-minute decision to jump.

Ereinion pressed his lips together, as if suppressing a smile. Then shook his head. “You love this… king of men?”

“What if I do?” She answered.

“It is forbidden,” he replied.

“It is not forbidden to love,” she retorted before quietly but confidently adding, “which I do.”

Ereinion narrowed his eyes. “You will be together but in vows? That will erode your spirit, perhaps his too. Or take a chance and say the name of The One, but forever curse Celeborn to the Halls of Mandos, unless you die and take his place.”

“I would never leave him to such a fate,” she asserted with passion. “Halbrand knows of Celeborn. He understands the situation.” At least she believed he did, but then again, there were those rings he had sketched.

The King made a small noise of doubt, but did not stop her from continuing.

“I did not expect to love again. I tried to deny what I felt, to resist it,” she admitted. “Our people say we were made to only love one other for our entire lives, but I would not be here if that were true. Neither would you,” she said as gently as she could. She did not need to explain further. He knew the stories of his great-great-grandfather.

Ereinion still did not speak. “I do not know what will become of Halbrand and me,” she continued. “Regardless, I am ever focused on my mission to eradicate the great shadow spreading across Middle-earth. As is he.”

“Be that as it may, I caution you, Galadriel.” He spoke with an unexpected softness and concern. “Perhaps you consider your life forfeit. Perhaps you do not care to ever return home, but do not think the vow you once made to Celeborn will be forgotten by the powers, whether or not you ever speak such a vow with Halbrand. ”

“I have considered again and again every reason why we should not be together. But above all, it seems cruel to withhold love that is true, even if it may only be shared for a short time,” Galadriel said as the sentiment solidified in her heart. She had declared her love. She would not be afraid to act on it, whatever the consequence from Eru himself may be.

Ereinion glanced at her, considering. “When the crown is forged, you will return with him to his people?”

Nothing had been decided, and Galadriel did not want to assume. “If he will have me,” she replied.

“Will you not be glad to be rid of me again?” She asked, a hint of playfulness in her tone.

The corner of her grand-nephew’s mouth turned up. “I am trying to do what I believe is best for our people. I never wanted to hurt you,” he added solemnly.

“I know.” For all he had indeed hurt her, Galadriel knew he spoke truthfully, even if she did not agree with his choices.

“I still urge you caution. You have not known Halbrand for long,” Ereinion warned.

Galadriel frowned. How had he gone from understanding to distrustful again in the blink of an eye? “I have felt Halbrand’s heart and touched his mind. He wants to save Middle-earth as much as I do.”

“Then why did he run from his duty in the first place?” The High King had regained his commanding composure.

The question irked Galadriel, crawled under her skin, and tugged at the far corners of her mind. She shrugged the uncomfortable feeling away.

Halbrand had infuriated her from the moment they met, but she had sensed his desire for healing, for longing for peace from the beginning. Whatever happened in his past, he had moved far beyond it. “He came back. He fought for his people, and now he fights for ours too. Which is why, High King, I must again appeal for reinforcements to Pelargir.”

“Galadriel, now is not the time,” the King replied dismissively.

Galadriel was not deterred. “High King, Lord Halbrand’s people are vulnerable. We do not know when Sauron or his Moriondor will attack next. It will take the Númenóreans some time to return. While we wait, I propose we send a legion of soldiers to secure Pelargir and offer training to anyone willing to serve in Lord Halbrand’s army when he returns.”

The High King scoffed. “A legion of soldiers to protect a kingdom of men whose ancestors served Morgoth himself?”

“A kingdom of men who now defy the darkness even in the face of immense tragedy,” she bit back, voice raised. “All while their King has helped Celebrimbor and Elrond approach our dilemma from a new angle, one that we believe will truly be the solution for our people’s fading. You cannot leave his people unprotected.”

Ereinion’s face hardened. “It was Lord Halbrand who left his people, not I—“

“He was dying!” Galadriel replied with exasperation, not caring who heard her.

“And now he is not,” Erenion argued. “Why is he not rushing back since he has healed? Why stay and help us if Celebrimbor now knows what he must do?”

“You hold against him the past of his people?” Galadriel phrased it as a question even though she knew the answer. It was plain to her now that he did not trust Halbrand. “After he risked everything to fight the darkness spreading? After he offered his help to save our people?”

“I will send no soldiers to Pelargir until I deem it necessary. Long have we protected the men of Middle-earth, even when many of their kind served Morgoth,” Ereinion scowled. “At this time, it is imperative that we protect our own while our very fate hangs in the balance.”

“Then what about your missing scouts?” She pressed. “And the Silvan soldiers who have long served you faithfully from their southern posts? Will you not go reclaim them?”

“That is no longer your concern, Lady Galadriel.” He emphasized her title, reminding her that she was no longer one of his commanders. The King had fully disbanded the Northern Armies after attempting to ship her off to Valinor. He had reorganized his armies under a few different, considerably less experienced commanders, but Galadriel did not expect an invitation to return. “Once the crown has been forged and if it indeed rejuvenates our people, we will then revisit this subject.”

“Ereinion,” she scolded. “We cannot turn our backs on people in their hour of need.”

He bristled, squared his shoulders. “I have made my decision clear. We are done here,” he turned from her.

Her anger boiled into rage. If they were alone, Galadriel would not hold back further words of her vast disappointment in him. Instead, she let him walk away, then took a different route towards the exit of the mansion.

Suddenly, the feast seemed a preposterous affair. The trees, the crowds of people, and the cheerful chatter all felt like it was closing in on Galadriel, choking her. How could anyone eat at a time like this? Some revelers even danced at the foot of the dais that held the musicians. All while Sauron and his armies lurked in the Southlands as it burned to ash.

Someone called her name in a questioning tone. She hesitated in her step only enough to realize it was Elrond calling for her. He stood with Halbrand, both of them nursing drinks in their hands.

“Are you all right?” Halbrand asked her.

“I need air,” she answered by way of replying to them both.

When she finally made it outside, she took in a gasping breath.

Celebrimbor had meant well enough with his intentions to lift people’s spirits. And it was not as if they could have finished the crown within these few hours of revelry. They had barely begun on the first essays. But it still felt wrong to be here in this protected city, in a shimmering gown instead of out on the hunt for Sauron, dressed for battle.

She gazed at the sky, but clouds covered the stars that would guide her back to the Southlands, to Sauron. Maybe she did not have to wait to go. She was not certain she could stop herself. After searching for so long, she finally knew where he was, yet he remained out of her reach.

Galadriel forced herself to take another deep breath. Then she felt him, his warm, comforting, concerned presence, before she heard him in her head.

Galadriel?

She turned to see Halbrand crossing the bridge that led from Ereinion’s mansion to the rest of the city.

If you want to be alone—

“No,” she interrupted him aloud. “I could no longer bear it in there, not with—" She stopped herself for elven ears were keen. Angry as she was, she did not wish for all to hear about her resentment for their King. She had already said too much at the feast. “Come with me,” she requested.

“Always,” Halbrand replied, the one word immediately cutting through her rage.

 

---

 

Galadriel loved him.

Galadriel loved him. Mairon had thought he already knew as much, considering all the thoughts and feelings they shared through ósanwë. But his entire perception of reality shifted into something new and hopeful when she proclaimed her love without any obfuscation.

He felt as if he had been drowning his whole life, but Galadriel’s declaration had pulled him from the clutches of deep despair. She had been doing so since the moment they met, but he had not truly allowed himself to believe the connection would come to that which he had long desired but long believed impossible.

Ever since that night on the ship when she sought him out, breaking their original agreement for just one night together, Mairon had been trying to convince himself she truly cared for him. He needed their connection to be real. He had tried and failed to strangle Melkor’s cruel voice in his head that insisted Mairon would never know love—that insisted he would only ever be at home in a world of darkness.

Then there was his own voice incessantly whispering in his mind that she would carve out his heart when she learned his true identity.

But Galadriel knew he had done evil. She knew he had run away like a coward and refused to return to Middle-earth until she all but dragged him back. She knew his violent, vengeful tendencies, and yet somehow, astonishingly, she loved him.

He was in awe of her and her compassion. He should have known ever since she promised to stay by his side, but he had been dying. She did not even know he had heard the vow she made him. It had been an act of desperation, and she had not mentioned it since he awoke.

But this time, she told him plainly and clearly how she felt. He wanted to tell her the same, but words alone did not seem enough to express his love for her, a concept he had greatly misunderstood until he first basked in the warm light of her affection and generous kindness.

It took effort to stifle his anger when her half-elven friend interrupted their conversation. But he was admittedly pleased that the efforts for a crown of star stone could proceed.

It was the chance Mairon had been waiting for ever since Melkor was defeated, an opportunity to heal everything he had helped ruin. If everything went according to plan, the King could channel his very will through the crown. After saving his people and their trees with the light of the star stone, he would have immense gratitude to Halbrand, the low man who came to Eregion to save the elves when they had lost all hope.

Then Mairon could tell Galadriel the truth, because she would see with her own eyes that he was no longer under Melkor’s yoke. She would see Mairon for the King he could be of not only Southlanders, but of all men. Then, together, they would lay waste to Adar and his armies and bring Middle-earth under their dominion.

All the peoples long abandoned by their creator would be protected by the most powerful of the Maiar and by the wisest, strongest, greatest of the Quendi whose benevolence would ensure an eternity of true peace.

But as Mairon worked in Celebrimbor’s forge, the delight he felt diving into the craft dearest to his heart could not stop him from replaying Galadriel’s confession in his head over and over.

While he gave some thought to the task at hand, he envisioned a second crown, one to place upon Galadriel’s brow when he made her his Queen. And a third for his own. He wondered how he might acquire more star stone to ensure their crowns were the most powerful to ever exist.

Then his mind wandered as he considered what he knew of elven customs. Perhaps a crown would be a hasty gift, considering the impending war, but he wanted her to understand the depths of his devotion to her.

Elves did not prefer to wed during times of war, and Galadriel would likely never wed again.  But a silver ring in the tradition of her people would signify his commitment to her, even if he could never convince her to trade it for one of gold, although he certainly would try when the time seemed right.

He had already started on designs and looked forward to returning to the forge in the morning. But first, he had to endure a city full of elves celebrating the visit of their High King, knowing that at the same hour, Adar strengthened his army of orcs and took more humans and elves as slaves.

Surely it was only a matter of time before Adar reached beyond the darkened Southlands. He wouldn’t settle for the desolate lands. Mairon knew better. Adar wanted to give his children the entire world.

While Mairon wanted to return and seek his revenge, it could not end with Adar’s death. He desired more than ever to heal Middle-earth, but not without Galadriel at his side. Which meant this crown was of priority, even though it would sit upon the head of someone he loathed.

Mairon had spent the evening endearing himself to the people of Eregion but carefully avoiding the King. He was not sure he could hold his tongue in the presence of the elf who treated Galadriel like a reckless child when instead he should be heeding her wise counsel.

But when he noticed her disappear towards the back of the courtyard, he could not resist listening in occasionally, whenever there was a break in his conversation with the half-elf. Sure enough, Galadriel and her King shortly went from conversing to arguing.

“What is it?” Asked Elrond, pulling Mairon back to the tree they stood beneath. He realized he had smiled, accidentally reacting as Galadriel passionately defended him to her King.

“Oh, I am simply grateful to be here, to witness such a thriving city amidst the growing darkness. I hope the same for my people,” Mairon explained.

“As do I. While our King has been reluctant, I promise he will soften when he sees our efforts come to fruition. We will return to you and your people the support you have given us. Celebrimbor, and of course, Galadriel, are committed to ensuring your people will not be alone when they next face these orc armies and their evil commanders,” Elrond promised.

Mairon hated to admit it, but the half-elf was quickly growing on him. His apologies to Galadriel had seemed sincere and his care for Middle-earth deep and true. If only their King would learn from those most closest to him, but Mairon did not expect as much. “I am grateful for all Galadriel has done for me and my people, and I look forward to a great alliance and friendship between our realms,” he stated, even as he tried to listen in again to Galadriel’s conversation.

Instead, she came through the path before them, all but running away from the feast. She barely contained a storm brewing within her.

Elrond also noticed and called for her. Mairon asked, rather rhetorically, if she was all right. But he knew she was not.

He felt torn between following her or searching for her wretched King and accidentally slipping a dagger between the bones of his ribcage.

“She must have talked with the King,” Elrond said with a disappointed huff, leaning forward as if to go after her.

“Let me,” Mairon said, holding up a hand.

Elrond hesitated, but then nodded encouragingly.

Mairon found her outside, already across the bridge and into the heart of the city. She led him through winding streets and across another bridge, then slipped through a vine-covered gate to a golden-domed dwelling of white stone.

It was half the size of the King’s mansion, but more expansive than other homes they had walked past. “Who lives here?” He asked, following her through the dark hall and up a broad staircase. Not a single candle was lit, but moonlight filtered in through the eastward-facing windows.

“I have occasionally since the city’s founding. Otherwise, visitors have stayed here from time to time,” she answered, pulling open large double doors that revealed a sizable bedchamber with wide trellised windows of gold overlooking the river sparkling in the moonlight.

“There are some robes in that armoire that should fit if you desire to change. I have to get out of this infernal gown.” She stood in front of a vanity with a large mirror, reaching around herself to tug at the bindings holding the corset of the ensemble together.

“I would hardly call it infernal,” he dared as she struggled. “The way the fabric clings to your waist and curves around your hips…” Her gown reminded him of a waterfall. Deep blue where it capped her shoulders, it faded into a lighter blue down the sleeves and bodice, and ended in ocean foam white along the bottom hem.

“Halbrand!” She chided, tugging again with no success as she gritted her teeth.

He had never before seen her distressed like this over something so small.

“Galadriel, what is this really about?” He asked, crossing the room to her.

“I have made a decision,” she pulled again at the back of her dress, “to bring aid to Pelargir myself.”

Mairon stilled, an overwhelming feeling of dismay enveloping him at the thought of being apart, of her going to hunt down Adar on her own. For he knew that she would not settle for a simple visit to his people if she went all that way. “Galadriel,” he started, his voice patient and calm because that was what he believed she needed. “As you said earlier, we must not race back without proper preparations. Adar holds command over vast armies. I was foolish to go in alone.”

“There are a few who will accompany me if I ask,” she continued as if he did not understand her, “and they will stay to support Bronwyn and Arondir until I can convince the King to send more support. Between you and Celebrimbor and Elrond, I am not needed here for the making of the crown.”

“I need you,” Mairon reached for her. She gasped as he grabbed her close. “Galadriel, if you insist on going, I will come with you.”

She met his gaze momentarily, then glanced down at his hands holding her arms. “No, Celebrimbor needs you. He has told me as much, that you are invaluable to him as they determine how to proceed,” she argued in a calm, controlled voice. But he could hear her heartbeat quickening to a gallop. “Of course, it is your right to return to your people as soon as you like, but I see how happy you are to be working with my cousin. You seemed right at home after one afternoon in his workshop.”

It was not quite an accusation, but there was a bitter edge to her words, as if she did not feel at home herself, as if she felt… trapped.

He loosened his hold on her, but then caught the briefest look of loss flashing across her face. While she felt restrained by her King, perhaps she had found comfort in Mairon needing her and holding her tight. He could work with that.

“I want to return too,” he assured her. “I want to hunt Adar down and destroy every single one of the orcs that assaulted my people. But I cannot do it without you.” He reached for her again, cupping her shoulders. “I cannot lose you. We must complete this task to save your people, and then your King can no longer refuse us.”

“What if Adar attacks before then? Between all the King’s armies, he can spare a legion for your people, but he refuses. It is not as if we need soldiers here to forge the crown. But he will not listen to anything I say.”

She shrugged off Mairon’s hands to look at the back of her dress in the mirror. She grabbed at the fabric, fumbling with a button until she let go, only to instead yank the golden chain about her neck with a frustrated grunt. But it was well made and did not give so easily.

“Let me,” he offered, stepping behind her, putting a steadying hand on her back.

Galadriel lowered her hands, acquiescing as she closed her eyes and took a breath.

He pulled aside her flowing golden hair and undid the clasp of the necklace while admiring the softness of her skin. An impulse came over him to kiss her in the curve of her neck, but before he could, she tensed her whole body and let out a low grunt of frustration. “How can he? How can he turn his back on those who need us most?”

Mairon glanced over her to see her reflection in the mirror, her lovely face contorted with passionate outrage. “You and I will protect my people, and we are not alone,” he encouraged her, dropping the necklace onto the vanity before her. “Celebrimbor has promised aid to my people, with or without the King’s approval.”

“But he cannot spare many of his own soldiers without risking the safety of Eregion,” she argued. “And Celebrimbor ultimately answers to the King. As does every one of his commanders.” Her muscles tensed, her jaw clenched as she spoke with fury.

“Which you are no longer,” Mairon reminded her, bringing a hand to her neck and rubbing his thumb along the curve of her neck. “You are free to do as you like, including returning to Pelargir this very night.” He needled his fingertips down her neck and across her shoulders.

She reacted with a small gasp. Goosebumps erupted across her skin, and he could feel through their connection as her racing mind slowed to consider the sensations.

“But I believe we will have our best chance to truly eradicate the darkness after we forge the crown and your people are at their full strength,” he continued, grasping her shoulders and digging his thumbs into the rigid muscles of her back. “In the short time I spent with them, my people have proven their resilience. I believe they will hold their own while they wait for our return. Adar will want to bide his time, build his strength before striking out again.”

Mairon became aware that Galadriel was watching their reflection in the mirror.

He pressed his knuckles into her muscles with more force, up and down her neck, across her shoulders. Her gaze followed his motions, her expression one of contemplation, until she exhaled deeply.

Slowly, her eyes closed. Her body loosened under his touch as she let herself relax. For all her elven anatomy made her lithe and strong, she bore the tension of centuries of fighting a seemingly endless war against the darkness. Mairon was pleased he could offer her some relief.

“I know,” she eventually said, tilting her head to the left as if in silent request for him to tend the opposite side. He immediately obliged, bending his head to kiss the top of hers.

Galadriel sighed again and leaned back against Mairon’s body. She fit perfectly under his chin, her small but sturdy form against the bulk of his wide torso.

His blood warmed at her closeness. He needed more of her. It had been far too long since their intimate nights aboard the Númenórean warship.

After working his fingers down her back, Mairon shifted to the side so he could undo the laces and tiny buttons that had frustrated her. He parted the back of the bodice and dragged his fingers down her back. Slipping under the skirt of the gown, he worked in circling motions around her hips.

He had greatly missed exploring the curves of her body. His cock swelled at the thought of ridding Galadriel of her gown and diving deep into the warm depths of her cunt. But first, he wanted to free her from her fixation on her King, who had yet again failed to heed her wisdom.

“I do not wish to go without you, nor yet at all. But I will try again tomorrow with the King,” she declared, trying to sound firm even as she melted under the grasping and pressing and dragging of his hands on her body.

Mairon grinned at her in the mirror’s reflection, amused at her stubbornness. He expected no less from his future Queen.“Why not ask Elrond to make the request? The King seems soft for his herald.”

“Yes, that is true,” she agreed. “But the King is proud. And these days, he is cautious, fearful even when the times ahead will call on courage from us all. What if he never agrees to send aid? He holds prejudice in his heart against your people because of their ancestors.”

Mairon did not care for the King’s forgiveness. He had Galadriel’s, and that was all that mattered. “We don’t need him. You and me, Galadriel, we will protect my people, protect all of Middle-earth, at all costs,” he swore, kneading at a tight knot in her shoulder. “And I will protect you.”

In the mirror, Galadriel locked eyes with Mairon. She pushed a flood of gratitude into his mind—and desire, hot as a flame. Through their mental connection, he could feel her anger for her King fading away and her attention shifting to Mairon, to his hands exploring her body and his assertive promises. Her walls were down. He could read her mind as she turned his words around in her head, considering what he meant by at all costs.

A flicker of worry burned in his mind that she somehow disapproved, but before it could catch fire into panic, she gave him a soft, small grin.

“And I will protect you,” she promised in return, straightening her back.

A little whimper escaped her lips when he pressed harder into her muscles. She turned her head to lean back against his chest, shuddering as the knot in her shoulder released.

He could stop himself no longer from dipping his head to kiss the exposed side of her neck. Her floral scent intoxicated him. The smoothness of her supple neck begged to be tasted. She gasped as he gently bit down then sucked on her sensitive skin. He teased her with his tongue then sucked again, hard.

Her head turned into his as she reacted to the overstimulation by trying to squirm away. “You might leave a mark,” Galadriel murmured, weakly protesting, as if she thought he should stop but didn’t actually want him to.

“And if I do?” He whispered, then ran his tongue along the edge of her ear. His lips closed around the pointed tip and sucked.

Her knees buckled as a high-pitched whine slipped past her lips, but Mairon caught her. He placed open-mouth kisses down her neck as she made sweet little gasping sounds. With a buck of his hips, he let her know how desperately he needed her. But he intended to draw this out as long as she—and he—could withstand.

“I must warn you, the bed linens might be dusty.”

Mairon chuckled. Maybe later. I like it right where we are, he said into her mind, grinning at her in the mirror.

She cocked her head, uncertain. He reached for the fabric covering her shoulder and pulled it down, exposing her chest in the process.

Look at you, he commanded into her mind as he took her right breast in the palm of his hand. Her whole face flushed red as she tore her eyes from his hand to look at their reflection.

Satisfied, he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Oh,” she cried, her chest heaving with gasping breaths as he worked her flesh to a peak.

Then he freed her from the other sleeve and dropped the gown. It fell from her body and pooled at her feet.

Her gaze travelled from the garment on the floor back to them in the mirror.

Blushing from head to toe, he said into her mind with a pleased voice, cupping her other breast as she reacted by turning an even brighter shade of red. She started to glare at him with indignation, but a pinch of his fingers pulled a small squeal from her and sent her grasping for the edge of the vanity in front of her.

“Halbrand,” she moaned, arching into his kneading hands. It sounded half a plea, half a scolding. He could not wait until she was ready to know, until she would cry out Mairon instead. Soon enough, he assured himself.

His hands wandered down to strip her of her small clothes. The scent of her arousal flooded his senses. His cock throbbed in response, begging for friction.

But first, he dug his fingers into the globes of her ass, then he massaged up the smooth expanse of her back. He laved at the red mark in the crook of her shoulder before sucking hard.

Gasping, she reactively tucked her shoulder into her neck and braced herself on the edge of the vanity. With a grin, he simply switched to her other shoulder, curious if he made two marks, which would last longer.

He firmly grasped her forehead, tilting it away with one hand and gripping her arm with the other, and opened her shoulder to him.

Descending again on her sensitive flesh, he kissed and scraped his teeth along her shoulder as she twisted in his hold. Then he went again for her ear, kissing and nuzzling as he rocked against her backside.

Halbrand, she pleaded in his mind, sharing with him the ache she felt between her legs, the desperate need she had for him to be inside her. His self-imposed patience crumbled to dust, and he made quick work of his own ensemble.

She started to turn around to him, but he caught her waist, shifted her towards the vanity. With a guiding hand on her chin, he beckoned her to look again in the mirror. Then his other hand slipped between her legs. He slid a finger through her folds, dripping with arousal, and pushed inside her.

Her sleek walls pulsed around the single digit, begging for more. Galadriel’s hooded gaze was transfixed on their reflection as he added two more fingers and thrusted them inside her. She rocked against his hand, adding force to the movement between them.

He pushed her forward to lean on the vanity, took his cock in hand, and rubbed the leaking head through her soaking wet cunt. He reached forward for a fistful of her hair and tugged her head back until she met his gaze in the mirror. With a snap of his hips, he filled her to the hilt.

Her eyes went wide, and her mouth fell open.

Look at how beautiful you are, he crooned in her mind, rolling his hips again and again. All flush and panting and consumed by my cock pounding into you. It’s everything you’ve craved since our last night together on the warship.

She reacted to every thrust with sweet little strangled nonsensical syllables, gripping the vanity so tight her knuckles were going white.

As her head started to fall forward, he gradually tightened his grip on her hair. He slipped back into her mind as he did, testing her tolerance.

He could feel her reaching for the flickers of pain, examining them and leaning into them as he pulled even tighter on her golden locks, forcing her to crane her neck.

Galadriel’s eyes fell shut as she sank into the bliss of hot and heavy pleasure, edged with a sharp tingling along her scalp. Look at me, he commanded with a yank of her hair.

Her eyes flew open, the black of her pupils nearly eclipsing the blue around them. I see only you, she spoke into his mind, reaching a hand back to grasp at him.

That was when he remembered his intention to hold her. He took her hand and wrapped both their arms around her waist, curling his body around her as he slowed the pace of his thrusting.

Nuzzling his face in the crook of her shoulder, he relished her little cries of pleasure and the way her heat gripped his throbbing cock.

But the greatest ecstasy he felt was not by the senses of his human fana, it was in the tangling of their minds—how they shared the thrilling sensations they inflicted on each other, how she silently cried Halbrand over and over, how her thoughts of adoration for him washed away all his fears, how her desire to be one with him made him forget everything in the world but Galadriel and her light.

Her light. So uniquely radiant, he wondered how he had not picked her out in Eru’s thought when he shared with the Ainur a glimpse of his children to be.

Peering into the unseen world, Mairon beheld the incandescent being in his arms. Galadriel’s fëa sparkled like starlight, shone like the sun, pulsed with warmth, and burned with pleasure. The wisps of her soul shimmered white and fire-hot blue, dancing and wrapping around her like bands of colorful lights in a winter night sky.

And from the heart of her fëa, brilliant beams of light extended outwards. She was a light in the dark, a star bright enough to illuminate a thousand worlds.

He yearned to be entwined with not only her body but her soul. His fire and her light. Alloyed together until they were like one and could never be parted. He had not thought it possible to feel so strongly, to yearn so desperately for another.

His ancient, pathetic desires for Melkor had long ago been unbearably overwhelming, but were nothing compared to his love for Galadriel. He once thought he would do anything for the Dark Lord, but time had proven that untrue.

For Galadriel, though, Mairon knew in the depths of his being that what he felt for her was far beyond what he had ever imagined possible, and not only because she actually returned his love.

He could feel it now, pouring from her mind into his, deep affection that flowed heavy and sweet like warm honey and filled all the desolate recesses of his mind. She had meant it with her whole being when she said she would protect him, and he had meant the same for her.

“I am yours, and you are mine,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair. He pulled her even closer against him, his other hand capturing her breast.

A string of breathy little exclamations passed her lips as he twisted and pinched her hardened nipple. Across their minds, Galadriel shared with him the icy sting of his assault on her breast—and the wild fire of pleasure raging through her, alighted anew with every thrust of his swollen cock.

Tension coiled hot and tight in her abdomen, encouraging his own climax to build. He grasped her hips, adjusting until he plunged into her at just the right angle to make her shriek out a moan.

Please, she cried into his mind, bracing herself on the vanity as he rocked into her again and again. He replied by sending her the divine sensation he felt of her walls fluttering around him, of the sensitive head of his cock hitting deep inside her.

The vanity beneath her rattled against the wall as he pounded into her in a new, merciless rhythm. Then Galadriel went quiet and writhed in his hold, shockwaves of her release shuddering through her.

Mairon groaned as her walls clenched down and he emptied himself inside her, hips jerking. As they both caught their breaths, he pressed open-mouth kisses to her back and nuzzled her warm back.

She turned around with a bashful smile on her face, as if she couldn’t believe what they had just done. He had lost track of how many times he took her apart on that warship, of how many times she had ridden him with abandon, yet her spirit glowed pure as ever.

“Never before in front of a mirror?” He teased.

She wrinkled her nose at him. He kissed her right on her nose, then between her brows, and on each cheek as they went red.

When he pulled back, she looked at him with soft, shining, wet eyes. She tenderly caressed the side of his face, looking at him the same way he felt about her, like she would never let him go. “I am yours, and you are mine,” she echoed his promise, her voice somehow strong and soft at the same time.

That was settled then. As far as Mairon was concerned, their personal vows to each other mattered more than speaking the name of a god who had long forsaken him. He lifted her in his arms, smirking as she gasped, and took her to the bed.

Hours later, they lay limbs tangled, her head on his chest. He held her hand in his, playing with her fingers and envisioning a silver ring upon one. It was then he realized she wore no rings. Surely she had a golden one from her dead husband, but whether she intended to reunite one day or not, she did not keep the ring on her.

“You must get some sleep,” she insisted after they had settled into quiet contentment with each other's presence. “I know you will not want to miss a minute in the workshop tomorrow. I will try to as well.” It was endearing how she looked after him, thinking him a human with a need for nightly sleep.

“As you command,” he said, relaxing his arms around her and kissing the top of her head.

Galadriel breathed out a short chuckle, brushed her lips on his bare chest, then curled into him.

It would not be difficult to sleep at least a little, Mairon realized as he brushed his fingers through her golden curls. He felt one greater degree of exhaustion each time he became as one with Galadriel and filled her with a measure of his essence. But as long as she had no will for his essence to take hold of her own and create new life, he would not completely lose himself to his fana.

He did not have to probe her mind lately with worry. He was confident she desired no progeny, that was, not until she had vanquished the shadow. And once she knew who he was and accepted that ruling side by side, they could purge Middle-earth of darkness, well, then he couldn’t care less about losing himself to the shape of his ëala beloved by Galadriel of the Noldor.

Notes:

Hello, dearest readers! I am deeply sorry for vanishing for over 3 months. I have a 3-month-old baby now, and while I had anticipated my chapters would slow down, I had hoped it wouldn’t be this long a wait. But I’m back, and this story still runs like fire through my veins! Thank you for reading and giving it a chance! After the first act/season, I have mapped out the second and third acts/seasons, and some snippets and scenes have already been written. I’m so excited to continue sharing this story with you. I am devoted to continuing and finishing this story, which is constantly playing in my head day and night, and I'm aching to get it out, to set free this version of Galadriel and Sauron from being trapped in my mind.

Thank you for all the comments and kudos while I was gone. The support means everything 🖤🤍

Thank you to Eithniel for inspo for the vanity/mirror scene!

And of course many thanks to Sammybunny711 for beta reading and her constant encouragement🖤🤍

Appendix for Chapter 8:

Vána - of the Valar. Younger sister of Yavanna. They both have dominion over the flora and fauna of Middle-earth.

Eärendil - Elrond’s father. As mentioned by Celebrimbor in the show, he sailed to Valinor to petition the Valar to aid in the war against Morgoth. They agreed to help, but Eärendil, along with his wife, who had sailed with him, could not return to Middle-earth. After the war, he carries one of the Silmarils across the sky as a star.

Isle of Balar - A safe haven for many elves during the war.

Quendi - Another word for elves.

Chapter 9: One and the Same

Summary:

Elrond and Galadriel have a heart-to-heart. Halbrand inspires Celebrimbor to approach the mithril from a new angle.

Notes:

Warnings! I will be adding new warnings at the top of some future chapters. I will place them under a drop-down so that you can avoid them if you prefer not to be spoiled.

Click here for trigger warnings!

For this chapter, there is minor implied past dubcon/noncon (in Mairon's past).

The next morning, Galadriel left Halbrand to brainstorm with Celebrimbor while she sought out Elrond. She found him by the Glanduin, parchment and quill in hand.

 

She had seen the workspace Celebrimbor created for him in his spacious study, but Elrond loved to be outside in nature whenever possible. He had even ignored the bench by the flowing river in favor of sitting in the grass, his back against the trunk of a large tree.

 

Before she could call to him, he raised his head and looked in her direction. He greeted her with a smile. “I am drafting a proposal for a renewed alliance with Númenor. I never thought I would see this day.”

 

A bittersweet smile twisted on Galadriel’s lips, remembering the last time she saw Elrond and his brother together, when she and Elrond had visited the island kingdom at the height of Elros’ reign. Elrond visited again and again until his twin passed away from this world. By then, Galadriel had been too lost in her hunt for Sauron and missed a proper opportunity to say goodbye. “You will like Míriel. She will be a just Queen. And her Captain of the Guard, he is as noble and brave as was your brother. I am only sorry you will never meet his son, Isildur. He reminded me of Elros most of all.”

 

For all the sadness Galadriel had felt when relations with Númenor collapsed, she knew it had been a thousandfold heartbreak for Elrond. She wondered if he ever regretted not going with his brother, not choosing the Gift of Men. But as much as the boys loved each other, they were as different from each other. Even before he decided to be of Elven kindred, Elrond possessed an old soul; he craved knowledge and peace. Elros was courageous with a wild spirit, constantly yearning for adventure. And when he fell in love with a human, that settled it all for him.

 

She never understood Elros’ choice more than she did now, wishing she could make the same.

 

“I am sorry about the boy, and for all the lives lost in the Southlands,” Elrond replied, bowing his head mournfully. “I deeply regret not listening to you sooner, not petitioning the King to take your search more seriously.”

 

Galadriel nodded. “It is not your fault. I was looking in all the wrong places. As far north as I could go while the shadow grew in the south.”

 

She kneeled in the grass beside Elrond. “But I do have something to ask of you.”

 

Elrond lowered his quill. “Is this about last night? You never came back.”

 

“As you know, the High King and I struggle to see eye to eye. Halbrand has given me sound advice to stop wasting my time when it is evident Gil-Galad will only listen to one,” she gave Elrond a pointed look.

 

Elrond sighed, tilting his head. “Very well, go on then.”

 

“You must beseech him for reinforcements and aid for Pelargir. Lord Halbrand’s people have taken refuge at the edge of danger. Until we can mount a full force against the growing evil, they need protection. I asked for a legion and the King said no.”

 

Elrond raised his eyebrows. “A legion?”

 

“The Moriondor commands tens of legions. And that is merely the number Halbrand saw with his own eyes. Who knows how great the armies of Sauron are?” She would not underestimate her enemy again. Long had she imagined him alone, his orcs dwindled to remnants hiding in the dark corners of the world. Yet he had been breeding them for over a thousand years in secret, in the darkness.

 

“We do not want to invite a battle before the mithril crown is ready. A full legion may encourage Sauron’s lieutenant to feel threatened and strike sooner. Perhaps a smaller contingent of soldiers and aid could suffice to support Lord Halbrand’s people in the meantime,” Elrond offered.

 

Galadriel hummed, impressed by his thoughtfulness. “When did you become so wise?” She asked, a proud smile on her lips.

 

Elrond smiled back, but there was a sadness in his eyes. “You really were gone a long time.”

 

His words clawed at her with guilt. She had missed so much. No wonder he had pushed her to get on that ship to Valinor. He must have said goodbye to her in his heart long ago. “You have become far more than you ever would have under my tutelage alone,” she assured him.

 

“I doubt that,” Elrond argued, but it was conditional. He meant if she had stayed home more often. Yet she was not even sure she considered Lindon home.

 

“But I am grateful for all the opportunities I have had as a member of Gil-Galad’s court,” Elrond said. “Working with Celebrimbor has been a dream come true, one that nearly came to an abrupt end. Yet you returned to me when I needed you most, even after I sent you away. There is new hope for us all.”

 

“Oh, it was Halbrand who renewed Celebrimbor’s hope and efforts. I came to call our people to war,” she admitted.

 

“And yet here you are, staying in one place even as you finally know where to find the enemy,” Elrond jested.

 

Galadriel sighed. “It is not easy. I nearly fled last night to hunt him.”

 

“What stopped you?” Elrond asked.

 

Galadriel looked at him, wondering if the question was rhetorical. She knew her friend had been with Halbrand when he left to follow her. “It would be foolish to go alone.”

 

“That has never stopped you before,” Elrond noted.

 

She pursed her lips but did not dispute him.

 

“You are different, Galadriel. Ever since you returned…” Galadriel tensed, bracing herself for whatever Elrond might say next. “You have changed.”

 

“We all change with time,” she replied.

 

“Yes, but remember how you felt when Celeborn went to war—”

 

“Oh, not you too,” Galadriel huffed, pushing to her feet.

 

Elrond followed after her. “Wait, Galadriel.”

 

She spun around to face him. “I will never forget how I felt when he left. When I realized he was never coming back. There is no guarantee—”

 

“I know,” Elrond interrupted. “I was only going to say that you have not allowed yourself joy ever since. Not until now.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “For what it is worth, I believe Celeborn would want you to be happy.”

 

That took Galadriel by surprise. She wanted to believe it. She may never know what Celeborn would think about the choices she made, but she considered what she would want for him if their positions were reversed: for him to live unburdened by her death and unbothered by the judgment of the Valar who had, for the most part, long left the elves of Middle-earth to their own devices.

 

Elrond had known Celeborn for a short but meaningful time. He had not blinked when Galadriel insisted they take the boys in after Maglor had left them to fend for themselves. It was not long after that Celeborn joined the war effort, but he was kind to the twins, shared with them his love for woodworking and gardening. “Perhaps,” she eventually said.

 

“Well, it is what I want for you—happiness and peace. I see now you never would have found either across the sea. Instead, you found it in someone who cares for Middle-earth almost as dearly as you do,” Elrond said with a grin. Until that moment, she had not realized how greatly she yearned for her best friend to see her intentions for what they had always been—to protect Middle-earth.

 

“Halbrand is the King his people have long needed, a leader to unite them, to guide them out of the dark and into a new age. You should have seen the surviving Southlanders when we left, battle scarred, burned and bruised, and covered in ash, yet bursting with hope,” she smiled at the memory. She had been too fearful of losing Halbrand at the time to appreciate the resilience of his people properly. “Morgoth’s evil may have seeped deep into their lands, but they are eager as ever to follow their King into battle against his Shadow.”

 

“I am glad he could bring hope to the Southlands,” Elrond replied. “Only, ever since you first told me who he is, I have wondered how Halbrand and his forefathers went undetected for so long, if he is indeed heir to the Southlands throne.”

 

Galadriel frowned, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, I am not certain. But based on my extensive studies of Middle-earth history, I believed the southern line of human Kings died out long ago. Has Halbrand spoken of his family?” Elrond sounded more curious than concerned, but Galadriel thought of how Halbrand had repeatedly and vehemently denied his heritage when she first attempted to convince him to return to Middle-earth with her.

 

“Only a little. I did not press him about his departure from Middle-earth. Grief weighed heavily on him, and guilt for what he had done to survive. It seemed all he had left from his family was their royal crest. His father was a smith, so I suspect his family had been in hiding for a long time, perhaps several generations,” she explained.

 

“Morgoth would have cut down anyone who could challenge his sovereignty over Middle-earth. Kings and Queens and all their progeny,” Elrond said. “Which is why I wonder if Halbrand has been telling you the whole truth.”

 

If anyone other than Elrond had made such an accusation against Halbrand, Galadriel would not allow such disrespect. But Elrond’s tone was gentle, not alarmed. He was trying to solve a mystery, not overthrow a King.

 

“Well, go on already,” she pushed impatiently. “What is it you want to say?” She thought of the deep recesses of Halbrand’s mind that he would never let her breach. She imagined he did not want her to see the evil he had done, the misdeeds that caused him great shame. Perhaps there was more to it.

 

“If the King and all heirs were slain, who would survive to claim the sigil? We know that Morgoth took prisoners. The Moriondor does the same. Servants of the royal household might have been spared, given a chance to bend the knee. The crest may have survived with them,” Elrond concluded. “Which is why I have wanted to ask… Are you sure Halbrand did not become the King you needed, because he was falling in love with you?”

 

His words struck Galadriel speechless. A strong urge to deny Elrond’s allegation reached the tip of her tongue, but she could not shut him down. She could not deny how she had aggressively pushed Halbrand to claim his throne, disregarding the repeated rejections of his lineage.

 

She exhaled. “He told me he found the sigil on a dead man, and I did not believe him,” she begrudgingly admitted. “I thought he was throwing out excuses to avoid responsibility. When we captured the Moriondor, Halbrand nearly killed him. It was personal, whatever happened between them. But the Moriondor did not recognize him. Perhaps Halbrand witnessed the Moriondor kill those he loved before he escaped.”

 

It had made her sick, the way the Moriondor taunted Halbrand for his grief. Galadriel shook her head, uncomfortable. “Are you certain the line of Kings died out? While your concern is not without merit, I would not want to offend Halbrand with a baseless accusation. Why would he not have told me by now?”

 

Elrond let out a short laugh. “Because you are… you.”

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” She asked, perturbed.

 

“You do not realize the effect you can have on people,” he said sincerely.

 

She sighed. “You mean how I inspire them to mutiny against me?”

 

“No, that must have been the most terrifying act of their entire lives,” Elrond mused. “You must also remember how they volunteered to join you in the first place, how they followed you for hundreds of years to the dark, remote corners of the world. They simply did not have your endurance, but they were disappointed to fail you. Thondir especially.”

 

She gave him a look of doubt, but did not care to discuss it further. After everything she had been through since jumping from the Valinor-bound ship, she could no longer harbor resentment against the soldiers who had turned on her. It was all meant to be.

 

“Surely you remember the frightened young lad I was when you found me,” Elrond continued. “I never had the confidence of my brother, who accepted the rule of an entire kingdom without a second thought. My confidence grew under your encouragement. It shattered anew when you left me behind to hunt Sauron. Yet as I navigated Gil-Galad’s court, it was the memory of all you said I could one day be that compelled me forward.”

 

“And yet you became a politician,” she jested, the sentiment overwhelming her. Her heart broke as Elrond confirmed what she had long feared, that her leaving had wounded him. She did not deserve such kind words from him, considering she had been not the first, nor the second, but the third guardian to leave him behind.

 

“Yes, well, if it is to be war, I will be beside you on the battlefield,” he promised. “Not only because I owe it to you, but because I learned from you how important it is to fight for what is good in the world.”

 

He believed in her again, Galadriel realized. She was no longer alone in her fight against the Shadow.

 

“From the little time I have known Halbrand, he appears to be a good man and a courageous leader, but I would imagine he wants the truth known so his people may accept him for who he truly is, and he has only held back because he wants to be everything you imagine him to be,” Elrond said. “He wants to give you the world. I have seen how he looks at you, Galadriel.”

 

She swallowed and blinked away the tears filling her eyes.

 

“But something has felt amiss, and as your friend, it is my duty to address it with you. I intended to research the matter first, but perhaps it is better this way,” Elrond added.

 

Galadriel waved a hand. “I will look into it. Then I shall talk with Halbrand and assure him of my support, whether he is indeed the son of a king or the son of a servant.”

 

Elrond nodded, seeming relieved.

 

“Thank you, my dear friend, for your counsel.” She squeezed Elrond’s shoulder. Then she left him to his work.

 

---

 

It was not difficult to recruit an archivist who worked within Eregion’s Library of Records. Celebrimbor took pride in keeping records of the history of the Noldor, and, to an extent, all elves, including stories passed down from their ancestors who were born under the stars in Cuiviénen. Many scrolls contained not much more than names, dates, and birthplaces for elves of every clan of the Quendi, both sides of the sea.

 

The archivist, Osbion, warned that they did not keep as many records on the lineages of men, but he would search for her as long as it took to find something. To Galadriel’s relief, he agreed to be discreet without asking her many questions. She would hate herself if this were all for nothing, and Elrond’s worries a mere paranoia. If Halbrand found out, it would deeply wound him.

 

But deep in her heart, Galadriel knew he was keeping some things from her. She never intended to pry. She had encouraged him to forgive himself after all, to leave behind the pain and guilt of his past. He had more than atoned for whatever it was he had done, and his contribution to the elven crown would only be more redeeming.

 

After the war, many elves and men had been freed from their imprisonment in Angband. They were, nearly all, broken in mind and body. Shells of their former selves, with barely a wisp of their spirit intact. Families and old friends were reunited, but could rarely trust those who had been under the Dark Lord’s thrall. Galadriel imagined the Southlanders tormented by Sauron and his Moriondor would fare no better.

 

Yet during their short time together, Galadriel had watched Halbrand’s guilt and shame make way for his fighting spirit, hope shimmering around his rough edges.

 

There was still the blood oath of his ancestor hanging over him like a dark cloud. Galadriel wondered if the power of the mithril crown could help Halbrand in that regard. Ereinion would not be keen on the idea. Halbrand would likely be reluctant to share the dark details of his heritage. But if the crown worked, everything would change.

 

When she was not drafting correspondence to Bronwyn or Míriel, or managing the flow of aid to Pelargir that the King had finally, reluctantly agreed to at Elrond’s request, Galadriel spent her time in her cousin’s workshop assisting the efforts for the crown—and watching Halbrand in his element. At every discovery, with each bit of success, his enthusiasm rivaled Celebrimbor’s.

 

It was not only with a hammer in his hand that Halbrand seemed a new man. He boomed with confidence, befriending every smith of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and asserting himself in alliance strategy meetings.

 

She had to drag him from the workshop every night to ensure he got the sleep he needed, but once they were alone in her residence, he seemed to forget all about the mithril and the crown. Galadriel did too.

 

The urge to leave and hunt Sauron did not wholly ease, but every night her obsession slipped into the far corners of her mind. She lost herself in Halbrand, in the softness of his touch, the strength of his grasp, the warmth of his skin pressing against her own.

 

And she did not regret it. She would find Sauron after they forged the crown. For all she knew, she would meet her end when she finally faced him. She could only hope she would take him down with her, but whatever was to come, she was done letting moments with Halbrand slip through her fingers.

 

Curled into his side, her head on his chest, she listened to the thump of his heart beating as he slept. She hoped her presence would keep away the nightmares that seemed to torment him nightly. With a feather-light touch, she traced the features of his hand, calloused from endless hours in the forge. She felt… home in a way she did not think possible, not since Morgoth stole the light from the two trees.

 

She was not sure how she would survive losing Halbrand. The very thought made her throat tight and her eyes wet with unshed tears.

 

If only she could petition the Valar to pass from this world with him, as Lúthien had done when Beren died. But Lúthien had bested not only Sauron but Morgoth, had helped return a Silmaril to the possession of the elves.

 

Galadriel had done nothing worthy of special pardon and reward from the Valar.

 

How naive she had been, that first night with Halbrand, when she told him that he would one day be a scar upon her heart. No. When he left this world, her whole heart would go with him. And she would not be able to follow.

 

Some nights, she sent Halbrand for his rest without her, claiming she had to work on diplomatic matters. She did not need sleep nearly as much as he did. And she wanted to surprise him with a token of her devotion.

 

Ever since she saw the sketches he made of rings, the idea had been planted in her mind. She could not be certain when or if he would forge a ring for her, but she suspected he intended to one day. And she wanted to have a ring for him as well.

 

It was her people’s betrothal custom to exchange silver rings, and those were eventually traded for marriage rings of gold. She and Halbrand were neither betrothed nor married, but she thought silver was most fitting for whatever it could be called that they were to each other.

 

She confided in Celebrimbor her plan. He often stayed late in the workshop himself, eager to finalize his design for the crown.

 

When she shared her intentions with him, he encouraged and supported her efforts. It had been centuries since she worked with silver, but with Celebrimbor’s help, she found her way back to the craft of her people.

 

In the end, she fashioned a simple band of silver with a hammered texture in honor of Halbrand’s passion for smithing. Then she sang two songs into the ring. First, a variation of a song she had been taught, one of strength and resistance to evil. Then, second, a song of her own making, a song of love and devotion, so that Halbrand would have a small piece of her with him always. Inside the band, she engraved an inscription for him.

 

It was the very next day after she had finished the ring when Osbion came to her with the results of his search.

 

She had been just outside the forge when a loud explosion sent her running to ensure everyone was okay. They were having difficulty with the mithril. Tensions were running high. Galadriel recommended they retire for the day, but Halbrand and Celebrimbor determined a new way forward.

 

It was then she noticed Osbion in the corner of the workshop. Galadriel excused herself to speak with the archivist.

 

“It was the only recording of Southlander lineage I could find,” Osbion sounded apologetic, and that was when Galadriel knew. Elrond had been right.

 

“Thank you, Osbion. You have done well,” she assured him, then received the scroll into her hands.

 

She slipped out of Celebrimbor’s tower and made her way to Elrond’s favorite spot by the Glanduin. Her heart raced in her chest. She took a deep breath, then unfurled the scroll.

 

The line of Kings had died out long ago. No heirs survived, at least not according to the scroll.

 

A deluge of emotions crashed over her. Hurt that Halbrand had not yet told her the truth. Fear that the Southlanders would reject him once they knew. But most of all, guilt, for it was all her fault.

 

She had pushed a kingship on Halbrand that he had never wanted. He had taken upon the mantle for her sake, as Elrond had said, to be as she desired him to be.

 

No, she had to believe it had not only been for her sake. Halbrand had risked everything to return to the Southlands and protect his people. He had, after all, wanted to amend for his wrongdoing. And he had done so in fighting against the Moriondor and his orcs.

 

But what happened next? She had to speak with Halbrand. Did they keep the secret for the sake of unity in the Southlands? That did not feel right, but perhaps it was necessary. And it would not be fair to push Halbrand again one way or the other. She would let him decide how they moved forward. She owed him that much.

 

“Galadriel!” His voice called to her. She startled, gripped the scroll. A sudden uneasiness washed over her. Was she being impatient and pushing him down an unchosen path yet again? Should she wait until he was ready to tell her?

 

“We found it. I don’t know how we missed it before. It’s too much power for one object.” She rushed to roll the scroll back up as he came around to the landing, jubilant over the discovery. “We need two.”

 

She turned to find him grinning ear to ear, the sun shining through his hair, illuminating the red tones that hid behind the brown. “We’re making two.”

 

“Two crowns?” She asked with confusion. Would Erenion allow her to wear the second one?

 

“Not exactly. It’ll need to be something… smaller.” He tilted his head towards the workshop. “Come, see for yourself.”

 

She hesitated, and that was when he seemed to break through his excitement. His brows knitted with concern. “Are you all right?” He closed the distance between them.

 

He glanced down at the scroll in her hand. “What is it?” He asked.

 

No, she had no reason to fear his reaction. They would navigate the truth together.

 

She reached for his hand. “You do not have to pretend with me any longer. I know the truth.”

 

---

 

Something in Galadriel seemed to settle ever since Mairon stopped her from leaving in the middle of the night for the Southlands. Whenever he touched her mind, he could still feel her desire to hunt him down, but it was wrapped in tight chains of self-control. A new name dominated her thoughts. No longer Sauron, but Halbrand.

 

It was a test of his patience not to reveal himself before the crown was done. Surely it would ease her mind to know that Sauron did not exist any longer, not in any meaningful way.

 

For a while, he had been amused when she continually attributed the destruction of the Southlands to him. He had unwittingly played a part in it, but that was long ago.

 

Now he wanted her to know plain and clear that it was Adar who was her enemy—their enemy. Adar was the true threat to perfect order. Middle-earth could not heal until he and his children were eradicated from existence.

 

While Mairon believed Galadriel was ready to know who he was, he knew she would have a strong reaction. He revered the profound way she felt every emotion that passed through her, but he suspected it all would go over a little more smoothly with the crown completed and all elven spirits strengthened. He could hardly believe it, that he was helping to save the whole race of prideful little imps who had long been a thorn in his side.

 

But he would do anything for Galadriel.

 

Once her people were safe, it would be war. As greatly as he craved the opportunity to separate Adar’s head from his body, why complicate matters in the meantime? Soon enough, he would destroy the backstabber.

 

Time was of the essence with the Elven king’s deadline pressing upon them all, but Mairon played his part of a human needing nightly sleep and regular breaks for sustenance. It often made for stolen moments with Galadriel, so he took full advantage.

 

When they were amongst her friends, Galadriel had the composure of her old station, commanding, focused, and encouraging.

 

She seemed to let down her guard only when alone with Mairon. Her mind was wide open to him. It was a strange feeling to be trusted in such a way.

 

She didn’t hide her weariness, her meandering thoughts on the future of Middle-earth. Her hopes, her dreams, and even her fears. She allowed him to distract her, to take care of her, and he took his duty to heart, finding new ways to overwhelm her with pleasure so great she could be free of everything weighing her down, if only for a few hours.

 

A shock to him, it was the quiet moments that he treasured the most. Curled up in bed, legs tangled, comfortable together in the silence save for their breathing and the kingfishers flying to the river. Or walking through Celebrimbor’s gardens for fresh air, hand in hand, listening to the Glanduin flowing over river rocks. Or watching Galadriel as she slept, the graceful rise and fall of her chest, the soft inhales and exhales of her breathing.

 

Mairon wanted to freeze time, to stay with Galadriel forever in the quiet. But it was an illusion; it was the deep inhale of breath before facing the battle ahead. For all his power, Mairon could not simply wish Adar and his minions away.

 

Mairon still had to earn his peace. With Galadriel at his side, he finally believed he could, for both of them, and for all Middle-earth.

 

While she exuded confidence for the developing war plan to protect Pelargir and mount an offense on the Southlands, he could sense her trepidation. Even when he was not slipping into her mind to examine her thoughts and memories, every time she communicated with him through ósanwe, her emotions flowed through.

 

“We are on the right path,” he assured her late one night. They were the only ones left in Celebrimbor’s workshop. Mairon hammered a sword into shape. It would be sent with the next aid party to the Southlands. He could feel Galadriel’s eyes on him, whatever correspondence she had been drafting discarded.

 

“You saw his armies, and they have long been well hidden. What else is Sauron hiding? What other mountains may erupt without warning? What traps has he laid in our path?” She asked, approaching the anvil where he stood.

 

It was ever endearing how she imagined him to be so powerful. But he refrained from smiling and buried his amusement deep down. “You have brought elves and men back together to fight the darkness. I consider that half the battle. With you and me on the front line, I am confident we will bring this war to a swift and decisive end.”

 

“If Gil-Galad follows through,” she said, sounding distrustful. He had not formally committed his armies, but it was only a matter of time.

 

“The crown will work, and he will see he was wrong to doubt us, to doubt you.” It maddened Mairon how Galadriel had been dismissed again and again by the elven King. It was difficult for him to maintain composure when he was around, but fortunately, Gil-Galad had returned to Lindon, and they would not see him again until they finished the crown.

 

“It is only… I wish I could have found Sauron and ended this sooner, before he had regrown massive armies to fuel another long war. And this time, I cannot see the Valar returning to aid us.” He could feel the turmoil within her, her reverence for the Valar at war with the many times they had disillusioned her of their greatness. He could relate all too well.

 

Mairon put down his hammer. “We don’t need the gods. We have you.” He turned to look at her. Her gaze was already on him, her cheeks red, flustered that he dared to compare her to the Valar.

 

“I can see it, Galadriel, the darkness gone, Middle-earth thriving greater than ever before.” Under its new King and Queen, he thought in the part of his mind still hidden from her.

 

She smiled in a sad, wistful way. “It is what I have been fighting for all this time. After all the pain and loss, it is difficult sometimes to imagine the light shining again.” She reached for the sword’s pommel and examined its craftsmanship.

 

The moonlight filling the forge brought out the silver in Galadriel’s long tresses, making it shine like starlight. “It is not difficult for me, not since I have come to know you,” he brushed his fingers through the waves of her hair.

 

She put the sword down and then looked up at him, contemplative. “That night in Númenor, you gifted me the armor, you said it was something in return for the gift of hope I gave you. I am not sure I have said enough about the hope you have given me. I speak to you of my dark doubts because I know I can confide in you my every thought and feeling, even when they are in contradiction with each other. But far greater than any worries I hold is the hope I have received from your encouragement and trust in me.”

 

A small smile started in the corner of her mouth as she continued. “Without you, the Southlanders would be all but eradicated and leaderless. Celebrimbor would not have found a way forward with the mithril. And I would be powerless to stop the destruction of Middle-earth, forced to leave with my grief or remain as but a wisp of myself, as I could only watch as everything I love fell to ruin.”

 

Her words moved him greatly. A strange mix of immense pride and deep guilt tore him apart. “No, Galadriel, everything has happened because of you. I was but a shadow of myself when we met, angry at all existence. You believed in me. You saw strength in me. You pushed me to heights that no one else could have. I can now see a bright future that once seemed so far out of reach. Because of you.”

 

“I would not be here without you. You risked everything when you hardly knew me.” She placed a hand on his forearm and pressed her fingers into the muscle of his arm. “Every time I am in your arms, I remember that first time you pulled me from the depths of the storming sea.”

 

When she looked up at him again, he could see the light of the trees shining in her blue eyes. It made him feel as if she truly saw the good within him that he feared had long withered away.

 

Even before she tugged on his neck, Mairon felt the thrum of her passionate yearning through their connection. He bent to meet her kiss, soft tender at first. Then she grasped both his shoulders, pulling him closer to her and deepening the kiss. He groaned into her mouth, his whole body alight with desire.

 

When she pulled at the smithing apron, he helped her remove it. He went for the collar of her dress, but she swatted his hand away and undid his belt. He could hardly believe Galadriel was undressing him in her cousin’s forge, but he certainly was not going to stop her.

 

As he pulled her close again, kissing her hard, nipping at her soft lips, she pushed up his tunic until she could run her hands across his torso. The sensation of her touch shot right to his groin. She brushed her knuckles lower and lower until she reached inside his trousers and took him in her hand. 

 

He gasped into her mouth as she slowly started pumping his cock, then broke the kiss to look down at her. The flush of her skin betrayed her timidness, but she locked eyes with him, and there was hunger in her gaze, a gleam of determination he could not quite place.

 

Again, he reached for the collar of her dress, but she caught his hand with hers, kissed his palm, let go. Then she reached for the waistband of his trousers and pulled them down. She had never quite taken control like this before. He wondered what had gotten into her and how he could encourage it further in the future.

 

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched her kneel before him. Was she really about to— 

 

She pressed a chaste kiss to the head of his cock. He gasped, and she looked up at him, batting her eyelashes. “I have been wondering if I could bring you to pleasure this way, as you do for me.” It wasn’t a question, but she offered him space to stop her, even as she swiped her thumb over his most sensitive flesh.

 

“Yes,” he managed, his head already swimming at the mere thought of her mouth on him. Then she took him between her lips and tasted him with her tongue. He grunted as a spasm of pleasure rocked through him.

 

He had never suggested this before, and he could not imagine she had done it before. A smirk crept across his lips at her growing boldness. When he was with her, he was often lost in his desire to please her and to pleasure her and make sure she did not doubt for a single second that she deserved to be worshipped as the goddess of light that she was. It seemed she had been making notes.

 

She took him in further, sucking gently while cradling his balls with her hand. “Ah, ah… Galadriel.” With one hand, he grabbed the edge of the anvil to keep himself steady. Desperate for more of a connection to her, he reached to gather some of her golden locks.

 

Is this okay? She asked him in his mind, glancing up at him through her fluttering lashes as she kissed and sucked the tip of his cock. That was a sight he could hardly believe, the way she looked at him with both love and a wild desire to pleasure him.

 

Yes, yes, he answered, lightly pulling on her hair a little to encourage her forward, to take more of him inside her mouth. When that did not seem to bother her, he guided her to take more and more of him until she started to gag around him.

 

Sorry, sorry, he apologized to her, panic flashing through him as he realized what he had done.

 

He did not want her to feel… used… inferior. No, he had to make sure she never felt like he did when… when… His mind stuttered, trying to stay present. He squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“Halbrand,” she called to him. Had he pulled himself away, or had she pulled back?

 

Halbrand? A ray of golden sunshine pierced the dark clouds of his mind. Galadriel’s spirit wrapped around him like a warm breeze. Then he felt the ground of the workshop under his feet, the solid metal of the anvil under his hand.

 

He opened his eyes. She gazed at him with patient concern, one foot under her as if she was about to stand.

 

“You do not have to be gentle with me,” she assured him in a tentative voice. “But if you want us to stop—“

 

“Please don’t stop.” He reached for an explanation. “It’s only, I have never been in this… exact position,” he admitted, realizing he felt sheepish for possibly the first time in his entire long life. It was a truth, though not the truth, that had destabilized him.

 

Galadriel’s face lit up with amusement. “My, how the tables have turned,” she teased. He relaxed, assured she had not realized what he had been thinking about.

 

He tried to think of something witty to say in reply, but when she took his cock back into her mouth and swirled her tongue, hot pleasure scattered his thoughts.

 

He could feel her probing inside his mind to make sure he was okay. He let her in, sharing with her the euphoria he felt, assuring her he wanted this. She returned the sentiment along with an image of him grabbing her hair again.

 

He would surely never grow accustomed to the fact that Galadriel, Princess of the Noldor, not only allowed him to take control of her legendary hair but also immensely enjoyed it when he did. Of course, he would not deny her. Tightly holding a fistful of her hair, he guided her up and down the length of his throbbing cock.

 

He could not stop himself from groaning with each bob of her head. The warm, wet slickness of her mouth made him nearly delirious with heady pleasure that heated all the blood in his body.

 

When she gagged again, he let go of her hair, but she reached around and dug her nails into his backside. He groaned as she sucked him deep, her cheeks going hollow, and he could not resist rocking against her face. He recognized the look in her watery eyes—a desire to consume him, to overwhelm him with pleasure. It all seemed a beautiful dream, but he knew it had to be real because when he slept, he saw only nightmares.

 

Eventually, she pulled off, gagging and gasping for air. He took the opportunity to rid her of her dress finally. The ties at the back gave him trouble, but he could not wait to take her. He ripped the fabric in two and tore it off her.

 

“Do you not want more?” She asked, trembling as he pulled down her underclothes in a frenzy.

 

“I want you,” he managed in a rough voice, then turned her around and pulled her back to his chest.

 

He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her back, and swiped a finger through the folds of her cunt. “You’re dripping wet for me,” he praised, pushing two fingers inside her.

 

“You loved having my cock fill your mouth, didn’t you?” She whimpered and panted in response, resting her head back on him. “How I kept hitting the back of your throat, how it cut off your access to oxygen, to reality… how I filled every one of your senses and nothing else in the world existed?”

 

He pressed her over the anvil, nudged her legs apart with his knee. She shivered under his hand, and goosebumps spread across her skin. The metal had to be cool against her chest, her arms, her cheek, but she did not protest. “That is exactly how I feel when I have my face buried in the sweetness of your cunt,” he whispered in her ear, then pushed his cock into her from behind in one swift motion. She had told him not to be gentle with her.

 

She cried out then bit her lip, as if suddenly remembering where they were and the open petals of the forge ceiling. It was the middle of the night, but elves did not always sleep as men did. Doubtless, someone had heard her little shriek, but it did not matter. Mairon would not last long, not with the way her mouth had gotten him nearly there, and how her heat clutched at him as he began to move inside her.

 

He marveled at the sight before him, Galadriel bent over the anvil, entirely at his mercy as he hammered her with his cock. He was certain that she had never before allowed anyone to command her in such a way. Even after their many months together, it was still hard to believe that she was his.

 

She reached back a hand. He grasped it, threaded his fingers between hers as he plowed into her. He reached around her with his other hand, between her hips and the anvil, and pressed the tip of his forefinger on her hidden gem.

 

Galadriel keened and jolted under him. “Halbrand,” she whimpered. With their joined hands, he folded her arm against her back.

 

“I’ve got you, elf,” he murmured, circling the sensitive little jewel with softer rubs of his fingertip but increasing the pace and intensity of his thrusts.

 

She gasped and moaned, her eyes squeezed shut as she let the sensations overtake her mind and body. He had learned the intensity she could take, the edge of pain that sharpened her senses just right for her to receive the onslaught of pleasure that she craved.

 

It was only in these moments that she fully surrendered control, that she allowed herself to be lost in him.

 

And he gladly lost himself in her. In the way she moaned and panted as he forced air from her lungs with every thrust. In the warmth of her cunt enveloping him. In the faint metallic scent on her skin, from whatever she was crafting in secret. In the bright light of her dancing spirit, which imprinted on the back of his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes and peered at her in the unseen world.

 

She caressed his mind with tendrils of affection, with insatiable longing to have him even deeper inside both her body and mind. He responded in kind, pouring all his love and devotion into her, all his desires to bind himself to her. If speaking a vow with Eru’s name was what it would take for them to be all the more indivisible, perhaps it was worth the risk.

 

His pleasure seemed to crest suddenly, wrenching him from the space where their minds had melded together, and back into his body as his climax pulsated through him. 

 

As his seed filled her, Galadriel tensed and held her breath, approaching her own release. Overstimulated as he was, Mairon would not stop rocking into her until he pushed her over the edge. “Mine,” he whispered, and took the tip of her ear between his lips and sucked. She fell apart then, her whole body quivering and quaking.

 

He groaned as she gripped his sensitive cock, but he did not pull out, and he did not stop rubbing her swollen jewel until he had wrung from her several aftershocks of pleasure that made her twist and turn under him while gasping nonsensical syllables.

 

They stayed as they were for a time, her pinned between his hips and the anvil. He freed her arm from his grasp so he could tangle her soft hair in his fingers as he planted gentle kisses across the expanse of her back, up her neck, and then nuzzled into the crook of her shoulder.

 

Eventually, he carried her to the guest chamber Celebrimbor had preserved for him in the adjacent tower. It was nothing compared to her residence, but he didn’t care where he rested as long as he was with her.

 

While she slept curled on his chest, he slipped back into her mind and combed through her memories. He had been cataloging anything that could help him show her how they were meant to be together, that everything she believed about them was true. In case she needed any help navigating her shock when he told her his true identity.

 

Much of her mind was open to him. There were some locked boxes he came across, but he thought nothing of them. He had far more locked away from her, and she never questioned him.

 

Then he came across a new locked box in her mind. It was small, but he was certain he had not seen it before. She was keeping something new from him.

 

He was not concerned. It probably had to do with the nights she stayed back in the forge after sending him to sleep.

 

She was crafting something. She thought she was keeping it a secret, but he knew the signs all too well, like the calluses growing on her hands. With her Elven anatomy, they would not last unless she worked as Celebrimbor did night and day for centuries, but they were enough for Mairon to notice.

 

He pondered why she kept it secret. But then again, he had forged a gift for her in secret.

 

It was only further proof they were made for each other, that Eru himself had allowed them to meet so that Mairon could have a second chance, not only for his own sake, but for all of Middle-earth. Galadriel appreciated the beauty of creation, just as Mairon did.

 

He could not wait to see how they would make Middle-earth anew into the most beautiful land since Eru himself showed Arda to the Ainur in song, before Melkor’s first discord marred it.

 

The crown would be a great means to that end, but Mairon wished he could find a way for it to be upon Galadriel’s brow. Not with her insufferable nephew.

 

Mairon began considering alternatives, a way for even some of the star stone to find its way to Galadriel. She was, after all, the only one who had been willing to sacrifice her life to save Middle-earth while her king abandoned its shores.

 

One object would not do. Two, though, perhaps, could result in one becoming her own. Combined with the ring he had made for her, she would possess the power she deserved.

 

The opportunity came sooner than he expected. The star stone was proud. Even with all the knowledge and experience between him and Celebrimbor, they could not make it behave.

 

They were starting again after the star stone had destroyed their pressure forge, resisting their efforts to bond it with lesser ores. Mairon had gently guided Celembrimbor to realize they had to approach the project from an unusual angle.

 

“Now, what exactly do you mean by coaxing the mithril to join the gold and silver?” Elrond asked Celebrimbor.

 

“We melt the mithril alone, then introduce it to the melted gold and silver. But it cannot be any gold and silver. Their quality must… woo the mithril,” Celebrimbor said with an amused grin. “Oh, how did I not see it before? Elrond, take stock of the gold and silver.”

 

“Before we move forward, may I share something?” Mairon asked once the younger elf had left the workshop.

 

“Of course, my friend,” Celebrimbor responded, looking at him with a smile.

 

“This is it. I can feel it. We are nearly there. But after seeing how the mithril cracked the pressure forge in two, I am wondering about the ambition of it. Could the level of power within one object undermine the very goal of this project? I am not inferring any lack of trust for your King, but it will be an incredible power,” Mairon said carefully.

 

Celebrimbor nodded. “Yes, hmm. It could be the light of the mithril itself warning us, telling us that its power should be shared.”

 

The smith glanced over at Mairon’s work station, then back at Mairon. “You have inspired me, Halbrand. What if we make not one object, but two?”

 

“Does your King have a Queen I have not yet heard about?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

 

“No, no, no.” Celebrimbor chuckled. “Poor Gil-Galad, he has never been one to do anything for himself, not even allow so much as time for love. He has devoted himself wholly to our people and takes his role as High King as his only purpose in life.”

 

Mairon felt the faintest flicker of… Was it, guilt? Sympathy? He pushed the feelings away. No, he loathed the elf who had tried more than once to break Galadriel’s spirit.

 

“But I believe it would do him well to share the responsibility of this power,” Celebrimbor continued. “Not two crowns, though. If we are to divide the mithril, the objects must be smaller. Now, where have you put your sketches, Halbrand? You discarded many designs, did you not?” He glanced around to ensure no one else was paying attention. Elrond was still gone, retrieving the silver and gold. Galadriel had left not long after the explosion with an elf who visited the forge to speak with her.

 

“You want to make rings?” Mairon asked as he fit the pieces together. Celebrimbor had been of great support for the ring Mairon had made for Galadriel, although he had not allowed the elven smith to witness the entire process required for her ring. He would have all too quickly realized Mairon was not a man.

 

Celebrimbor nodded, practically giddy with excitement. “Like the crown, they are a circle of unbounded power, and a symbol of the eternal. Instead of one, we make two. Then the King may have assistance in spreading the light to our people and beyond.”

 

Mairon knew whom he would recommend to receive the second ring, but he would wait for the right opportunity.

 

“Oh, Celebrimbor, you’re brilliant, my friend! I must let Galadriel know,” Mairon said. He wanted her here with them as the rings came together.

 

“Of course, I will begin on the designs.” Celebrimbor waved him off with a merry chuckle.

 

Mairon left the tower through the rear exit to the gardens, through which he had seen Galadriel leave. The gardens led to a forest which the Glanduin cut through. He found her by the river, rolling up a long scroll.

 

“We found it. I don’t know how we missed it before. It’s too much power for one object. We need two,” he told her with excitement. “We’re making two.”

 

She looked at him with a slight frown. “Two crowns?”

 

“Not exactly. It’ll need to be something… smaller.” He nodded towards the workshop. “Come, see for yourself.”

 

Her feet seemed rooted to the spot. Worry clouded over his enthusiasm. “Are you all right?” He asked, making his way to her.

 

He noted the scroll and wondered what it contained. Had she read something disconcerting? “What is it?” He asked.

 

“You do not have to pretend with me any longer. I know the truth,” she said, her voice impossibly gentle as she placed her hand on his.

 

Panic struck him like lightning. He was not prepared. But she seemed… calm and patient. Her eyes were kind. Was this moment real or only a dream? An illusion of his own making?

 

Why was she holding his hand? Why had she not yet gone for her dagger? He had thought her ready to know, but expected far more difficulty than this. He was prepared for a fight, to help her navigate out of the storm of her shock and anger. It seemed he was the one in shock over her immediate acceptance.

 

“Galadriel,” he started, feeling as if he was atop thin ice that would crack below him at one wrong word. “I don’t understand,” he treaded carefully.

 

She released his hand and unfurled the scroll. “There is no King of the Southlands. The line was broken. The last man to bear your crest died over a thousand years ago.”

 

On instinct, he reached out to her mind. It was more guarded than usual, but not completely. He could feel some trepidation in their connection, but it was hardly what he expected. Where was her loathing? Her thirst for vengeance?

 

“I have long wanted to tell you, but I feared losing you,” he admitted, trying to swallow his unease. Even after all they had become to each other, it was difficult to lay bare the parts of his soul he had kept from her.

 

This was not how he imagined any of this happening. The ring he had made for her was back in his room. She had found him out on her own, which he still struggled to comprehend.

 

But why did he? Galadriel was perceptive. Of course, she had found out. Part of him had always wanted her to. He had let his guard down around her again and again. He had let her into his mind. It had always been a matter of time.

 

“I am yours and you are mine. That was a promise,” she assured him, cradling the side of his face. “I will stand by your side, now and for as long as you will have me. We will face this truth together, whatever is to come.”

 

Her touch subdued the rising fear inside him, making way for astonishment. This was love, he realized. Love could overcome all hatred. Love was… unconditional.

 

“I thought you would never forgive me, that you would try to take my head when you found out.” He still half expected her to stab him in the heart at one wrong move.

 

She frowned. “Of course not. I only wish you had told me sooner. I wondered what I had done or not done that you could not yet trust me with the truth.”

 

“I did try to tell you,” he chided her, but his amusement showed in the upturned corners of his mouth. The tension in his body slowly began to unwind. “But you wouldn’t hear of it. You needed a king.”

 

“I only heard what I wanted to hear. It was wrong of me,” she replied with a sigh, dropping her hand. She stepped away to place the scroll on the bench. Mairon could not believe that she was the one apologizing. He admired the extent of her grace, but he would have to be careful to protect her from those who would take advantage.

 

“Galadriel, you did nothing wrong.” He pulled her back into his arms. She did not rebuff him; she did not look upon him with fear or hatred. She seemed more worried for him than about the revelation of his true identity.

 

“Do not regret pulling me from a deep well of hopelessness,” he assured her. “You saved not only my life, but my very spirit.”

 

A smile started to cross her lips. “You always seem to forget, you saved my life first,” she replied softly. “Our scales are balanced.”

 

“No, Galadriel. You have done more for me than I could ever repay. I will try, but I could never hold a candle to your compassion. Through all the ages of this world, I have felt incomplete. Until I met you.”

 

Her smile faltered. She locked her eyes on his, searching for some understanding. “What do you mean?”

 

He swallowed back the discomfort of laying his heart bare. If he could not trust her with his truest self, then he could trust no one. “I have never known love before you, Galadriel.” He threaded his fingers through the long strands of her golden hair falling over her shoulder. “I long believed I would never be worthy of receiving such pure affection, of having someone by my side who believed in me, especially not someone with your radiant light.”

 

“No. What do you mean, through all the ages of this world?” She asked, glancing down where her hands lay on his chest. When she looked back up, he felt vulnerable under her scrutinous gaze. But he understood. She was trying to make sense of her beloved and her greatest enemy being one and the same.

 

“Well, you are the expert on me? Are you not?” He asked in jest. She could only know so much about him. Mairon was aware that the Valar did not share all matters of the Ainur with their precious Calaquendi. Even Mairon thought it careless how the Valar had let Melkor free among them with tragically little warning. But surely she knew he was older than the world itself.

 

“Since before the first sunrise bloodied the sky,” he quoted her with a teasing grin.

 

Galadriel stiffened in his arms. “Halbrand, stop.”

 

He could hear the quickening of her heartbeat. “You needn’t call me that any longer,” he said softly. Perhaps it was becoming too much all of a sudden. But he would help her through it.

 

“What is your name?” She asked, finally meeting his gaze again. A storm was brewing in her blue eyes. They would weather it together.

 

“You know my name. I have seen it in your memories,” he encouraged her, his thumbs rubbing circles on her back.

 

“You have been in my memories?” The heat of her glare seared like fire.

 

He could not resist smiling at the sharp edge of her tone. Since letting him in, she had softened to him. He had missed the storms she left in her wake, the ferocity of her convictions.

 

“Only so I could prepare for this moment,” he explained. “I knew it would not be easy, but surely you can see how much you have made me a better version of myself. And when we finish with the mithril—

 

“Let me go,” she warned in a low voice, pushing against his chest.

 

“Galadriel, we will work through this together,” he insisted, strengthening his hold on her.

 

Then he felt her tremble in his arms. “Let me go!” She commanded, her eyes wet with tears.

 

He reached into her mind to devise how to comfort her, but then he found it was not mere anger with which she looked upon him. She was drowning in despair and disbelief. Mairon finally realized his folly.

 

“You did not know?” He asked, still holding her tight. He could not let her go. He could not lose her.

 

“That you have been deceiving me this whole time?” She raged with all the fury of a fire spirit, pounding on his chest.

 

“No, I have never been more honest with anyone in my whole life than I have been with you,” he promised her. His head was spinning. Was it her despair pouring into him, or was it his own? He tried to swallow the fear rising in his throat.

 

“I do not believe you,” she hissed and raised her arms so she could drive both her elbows into his chest.

 

He grunted at the slight discomfort, but only adjusted his tight hold on her, trapping her arms between them and lifting her off the ground. “No matter how hard you fight me, I will not let go until you listen to me. I will hold you for an eternity if that is how long it takes.”

 

She looked up at him with terror in her eyes. “Release me,” she demanded, fierce as ever despite her misplaced fear.

 

“Galadriel, I will not harm you. You need only give me—“

 

“Let me go!” She screeched in a strained voice, thrashing and kicking him.

 

Why wouldn’t she listen to him?

 

He could all too easily squeeze the air from her lungs, hold her tight until her lips were blue and she went limp in his arms. He would take her far away from here, and when he let her wake—

 

Horror struck Mairon at the image in his mind. He dropped her, took a stumbling step back.

 

Landing on her feet, she stared at him, her chest heaving.

 

“I am sorry,” he tried, feeling wretched as he realized he had started to lose control. He could not let that happen.

 

“I understand if you need a moment.” He could be patient. Even though the mithril rings were not ready, and he did not have the silver one in hand, he could follow the rest of his initial plan. He had expected her to reject him at first. He had expected it to hurt. But their bond would endure this test.

 

“A moment?” She snarled. “What I need is for you to cease to exist. For time to rewind to that night in the wilderness when you were dying in my arms so that instead of saving your life, I could end it.”

 

If she had taken a red-hot brand to his chest, it would have hurt less. “You do not mean that,” he managed, despite the sentiment behind her words fracturing his soul like an earthquake to a mountain.

 

She lunged at him, her precious dagger aimed at his throat. He caught her wrist with ease, blocking her attack. He had considered before that in her fury, she would attack him. Strong as she was, he knew this revelation could break Galadriel, but he would be right there to pick up the pieces and put her back together. That had been his plan.

 

So why did Mairon feel as if he was the one who was breaking? Why did the look of betrayal in her eyes wound him more than her attempt to bury the dagger in his neck?

 

His mind scrambled for clarity. He had her right where he wanted her, her mind wide open to him. All he had to do was remind her they were meant to be together. He simply needed to—

 

Galadriel crashed into his mind, paralyzing him as she seized control. His resistance was futile against the burning might of her determination for vengeance. She shoved past the carefully laid defenses guarding the deep, dark recesses of his mind. Then she dove into the pool of his memories, dragging him down with her.

Notes:

Dearest Readers, I am so sorry it was another long wait. Thank you for returning 🖤🤍 Hopefully, it helps to know I have the next chapter finished and in edits, so it will likely be out in about a week’s time. Chapters 9 and 10 kinda go together, but they amounted to over 22,000 words, so it seemed reasonable to split them so I could get this first half to you sooner.

Also, wow, thank you for over 300 kudos?!! 🖤🤍🖤🤍🖤🤍 Every kudo and comment meant so much to me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to share your love and thoughts on this story. I hope you continue to enjoy as the first act soon comes to a close and we dive into the second!

As always, thank you Sammybunny711 for beta reading and support!

Appendix for Chapter 9:

Angband - A fortress built by Melkor, for a time commanded by Sauron, destroyed in the War of Wrath.

Chapter 10: Innermost Desire

Summary:

The push and the pull between two minds, between two hearts, between two souls yearning for each other.

Notes:

New warnings! They are under the drop-down so that you can avoid them if you prefer not to be spoiled.

Click here for trigger warnings!

This chapter includes graphic violence, torture/abuse, and implied dubcon/noncon (Melkor/Morgoth - who is his own warning).

“Let me go!” She fumed, but her words came out nearly breathless. Even as fear closed in on her, she fought his hold as hard as she could. But it was in vain. Every twist of her body, every kick of her legs made her lightheaded, made it harder to breathe.

 

Until suddenly, finally, he dropped her.

 

Free of the deceiver’s grasp, Galadriel gasped for air. Her lungs burned. Her ribs were surely bruised from how tightly he had held her. He could have crushed her to death, but it seemed he wanted to draw out this cruel game, play with her as a cat would a mouse, slowly, torturously.

 

“I am sorry,” he said. The remorse in his gaze threw her. Surely it was part of this ruthless charade. She questioned everything she had seen with her eyes or in her mind ever since first locking eyes with him on that raft. She could not believe a single word he had ever said to her.

 

“I understand if you need a moment.”

 

“A moment?” She snapped, incredulous at the magnitude of his audacity, but it was far easier for her mind to contend with than false regret. “What I need is for you to cease to exist. For time to rewind to that night in the wilderness when you were dying in my arms so that instead of saving your life, I could end it.”

 

“You do not mean that,” he said in a wavering voice, as if some part of his traitorous heart cared what she felt towards him, as if her hate could have any measure of impact against the evil he had walked in for thousands of years.

 

There were no words in any language that could describe the anguish assaulting her mind. But surely that was what he wanted, to crumble her sanity with the weight of this betrayal, to break her so that he could…

 

She could neither imagine the purpose of his deception nor understand why he had let her live that first night she slept beside him, entirely at his mercy. Or why he had saved her on the Sundering Seas in the first place.

 

It did not matter. Whatever he had planned could only lead to her undoing. Galadriel would not go down without a fight. After waiting over a thousand years for this very moment, she would not let it slip through her fingers.

 

Galadriel launched herself at him, a vision clear in her mind of her brother’s dagger slicing through the deceiver’s neck, his blood pouring onto the stone landing.

 

Effortlessly, he caught her wrist in his hand. His hold was a vice, his whole body solid as a stone pillar. 

 

It would take nothing for him to tear her apart with his bare hands. How had she ever believed she could defeat him?

 

Then she noticed the dismay in the way he looked at her. Strong as he was against her physical attack, his mind rocked and heaved as if caught in a storm he did not know how to weather.

 

He started to reach for her mind, but with all the might of her wrath, she forced him back and pushed into his mind.

 

Guilt met her at the surface—he had not meant to hurt her. Confusion and disbelief had thrown him off kilter. He grasped for confidence, for control, but the aching in his chest, wholly unfamiliar to him, had left him defenseless.

 

She told herself it was not real. Halbrand was not real, and neither were his emotions. He was trying to manipulate her to feel sympathy for him. She would not fall for it.

 

She would not fall to the deceiver.

 

If he could see into her memories through their connection, surely she could see into his.

 

All she had to do was reach inside—and his memories started to unwind before her.

.

.

.

A pit opened in his stomach as the realization hit him. She had not known after all. What a fool he was, so quick to believe she loved him so greatly she could forgive him. As she looked at him with terror, he could only pull her closer, afraid of what would happen if he let go…

.

.

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His entire being breathed a sigh of relief when she let him bring her into his arms. He did not understand why she forgave him without a fight, but he would do everything in his power to keep her favor, to prove to her every day that she had made the right choice to give him a chance…

.

.

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The deceiver watched her as she slept on his chest. He ran his fingers through her soft, beautiful hair as he rummaged through her memories…

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.

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He pressed her over the anvil and pounded into her, relishing her every gasp and moan. Their minds intertwined, unbounded affection flowing between them. She was everything to him, all that ever mattered when it came to his past, his present, and his future—

 

Mortified, she tore past their shared memories, unable to reconcile what she felt in the deceiver’s heart with the monster who had long assailed Middle-earth and served the Dark Lord. It could only be more lies, an act of pretend so great, he had enmeshed himself within his own deceit.

 

She reached back further and further. Try as she might, she could not wholly avoid glimpses of their time together. But she locked the moments away in her own mind, for when she would be stronger, perhaps one day, to look closely.

 

Before the raft, she found him travelling with humans escaping the Southlands. She saw him alone, wandering his way down from the north. The north. Forodwaith. She followed the track of memories further back, only to find him spending a long age as a barely distinguishable creature of darkness, crawling away from the frozen north.

 

She did not understand until she pinpointed a specific memory in Dúrnost. His voice sounded different, haughty and deranged. He was putting on a show to hide his desperation to claim an ill-fitting crown.

 

Galadriel flinched when Adar attacked. It felt so real. The spikes of the crown burned like fire. In the deceiver’s skin, she could only watch helplessly as the orcs descended in a frenzy.

 

He caught a glimpse of Adar watching and felt utterly betrayed. The knives permeated every inch of his fana. The pain was unrelenting, unbearable. He loathed the despicable creatures. After all he had done for them, and none more than Adar. His fana could take no more. He released it with explosive vengeance, his wrath plunging the land into an icy darkness with the last vestiges of his power.

 

He fell into darkness, into gnawing hunger. Was it even worth expending the effort to reform? When he managed to walk on two legs again, in what new ways would he fail his precious Middle-earth? He was tired. If only he could go home—no, he hated himself for thinking of that place as home. Where the Ainur lavished in near perfection, enjoying a slow, peaceful existence while they ignored the rot spreading through Middle-earth, a rot they allowed to take root when they abandoned it to Melkor’s destruction.

 

So they had finally deigned to sail to Middle-earth and offer meager help. Melkor was physically gone, but broken shards of his spirit lingered in every shadow, waiting to ensnare all living things in darkness and despair.

 

He had to try again then, did he not? He had to find a way to heal Middle-earth, his true home, for there was no one else who would do it, no one else who could do it right and true. So he crawled out of the caves in search of a glimmer of light.

 

But he had to feed. He could not regain strength from time alone, not any meaningful strength. Spiders, rats, shrews, bunnies, deer…

 

Galadriel did not want to believe it. All that time she had been searching, the deceiver was a squirming pile of living darkness, delusional and lonely, searching and feeding until—

 

The crunch of her bones, the high pitch of her scream, the squelch of her flesh and blood. But he could not bother to care. He had no choice, he told himself. She was simply another necessary sacrifice in the name of a greater good.

 

Galadriel’s stomach turned. She pulled away from the memory as the deceiver finally retook fair form… That face, the face that she—

 

She could feel him resisting her now, trying to push her out of his mind. His defiance only spurred her on, reminding her of her intent, of her goal.

 

He would not distract her again. She had to understand where he had been all this time. And she wanted to see her brother.

 

Galadriel, wait! The deceiver pushed against the power she had over his broken mind.

 

She ignored him, reaching back further into his memories.

 

“Step forward,” he commanded. The orc glanced at Adar for assurance. He had heard the screams of his kin.

 

Adar nodded once. That was all it took for the orc to obey. The deceiver seethed with jealousy. He would have to reassert himself as Lord over the orcs during the impending crowning. Surely Adar would understand.

 

“Present your arms,” he ordered. The orc extended his arms, breathing in a loud, disgusting, nervous way. “You should be grateful for this opportunity,” he reprimanded him, fitting him with the iron vambraces he had forged with intricate care.

 

The orc inhaled sharply, staring down at the metal on his forearms. “Getting warm. They supposed to do that?” He asked, his hands twitching as he resisted tearing the vambraces away. “Ah, ah,” he grumbled, wincing.

 

“Do not resist. Give yourself to that warmth; it will be your salvation,” he instructed, peering into the unseen world. He could see the vambraces tugging at the orc’s spirit, which thrashed in resistance to the power pulling it apart.

 

The orc’s eyes flash with fear. He opened his mouth to scream, but he barely managed a gasp before collapsing to the ground. A putrid burning smell reached the deceiver’s nose.

 

“No!” Adar shouted, turning over the orc. He stared with open, lifeless eyes. His skin bubbled with enormous boils; the vambraces had melted into the flesh of his arms.

 

Adar cursed. “You promised it would work this time!”

 

The deceiver turned his back to give Adar a moment to grieve. But only a moment. “Bring me five more,” he demanded. “I’ll have their cages ready by morning.”

 

“Cages?” Adar sounded horrified.

 

“I need unlimited access,” he explained, unmoved.

 

“Are you mad?” The Moriondor asked.

 

Hearing Adar jump to his feet, the deceiver whirled around to face him down. “Do you not want what is best for your children? Imagine if they could bask in the sunlight instead of burning?”

 

“What would they care for sunlight at such a cost? This is slaughter,” Adar accused.

 

“This is sacrifice!” The deceiver shouted, pulling shadows to darken the forge so that Adar could see nothing but his face. It seemed the Moriondor needed a reminder of who was in charge. Why didn’t he understand how difficult it would be to undo Melkor’s evil?

 

“Sacrifice for whom? They are my children,” Adar seethed.

 

“Generations removed! Forget your sentimentality, or it will be their doom,” the deceiver commanded.

 

Adar glared at him, but did not reply. The deceiver would forgive him his anger. In time, he would understand.

 

The deceiver could feel himself unravelling, the desperation muddying his mind. But he had to believe he could succeed. If he could heal the very souls of the orcs, surely he could finally heal all Middle-earth…

 

 

Equal parts horrified and intrigued, Galadriel could not resist pulling further on the thread of the deceiver’s memories with Adar.

 

 

“I worry for their future,” Adar said, staring at the fire in the hearth. It cast flickering shadows against the cavern walls. “They lived in terror under Melkor, but he also gave them a sense of purpose. I fear all the spaces he carved out for them in the mountains will dwindle as the dwarves expand their kingdoms and the humans mine for their growing cities. The elven armies still hunt for them, for any beings associated with him. There is one particular elven commander who seeks your head. But she went east according to the last report from our scouts.”

 

Our scouts. The deceiver could not decide if he was amused or offended that the Moriondor saw himself as an equal. He decided to worry about that another day. More importantly, he needed to reward his loyalty. “Adar,” the deceiver called. Then Adar turned his head and met the deceiver’s gaze.

“We are free of him. Now we must free Middle-earth. We can start with your children, change their very fate,” he offered.

 

“As you changed mine,” Adar reminisced, shifting in his seat to face the deceiver. “I worried there would be nothing left of you when I unlocked that cell.”

 

The deceiver buried the vulnerability threatening to choke him. “You need not worry about me,” he said dismissively.

 

They had not talked about the state Adar found him in when the Host of Valinor stormed Angband and captured Melkor. They had not talked about the decades of his imprisonment after Melkor found him in the dark forest, dragged him back to Angband, and put him in chains that did not come off until Adar removed them, just in time for the pair to slip out of the fortress before Eönwë could find them.

 

His fana had been so brutalized and weakened that it had taken less energy to completely change forms than to heal the body ravaged by Melkor.

 

“I will never forget what you have done for me,” the deceiver said to Adar, hoping that would be enough for them to leave the past behind.

 

Adar leaned forward and closed his lips over the deceiver’s. He was a little surprised, but mostly pleased. He felt nothing, just like the first time Adar kissed him. But like the first time and many after that, he indulged the Moriondor, who knew he let no one else touch him. Surely it had made him feel special that, in secret, Melkor’s lieutenant lay with a lowly uruk.

 

And the deceiver could not deny that he felt some satisfaction being on the receiving end of Adar’s attention. That the Moriondor appreciated all he had done for him.

 

When he closed his eyes, he always imagined the rough lips were not Adar’s, but Melkor’s. He imagined it was not Adar, but Melkor, who wanted him this way, who held his face and pulled him close with pulsing desire.

 

But this time, his attempt at fantasizing about Melkor made his blood run cold, his breath seize in his lungs.

 

He was a disgraced failure. Why had Adar even bothered to rescue him? Why did he still desire him like this?

 

“Red suits you,” Adar murmured, carding his fingers through the deceiver’s long hair as he pushed him onto his back.

 

 

Galadriel turned away from the memory, struggling to comprehend how the one who claimed to share with her a vision of a healed Middle-earth had ever been devoted to Morgoth. The deceiver’s fear of the Dark Lord had been palpable, had filled every inch of her own body with his dread. So why had he worshipped Morgoth? Why had he desired him?

 

 

Chains held him up by his bloodied wrists, the tips of his toes occasionally brushing the hard stone of his prison cell as he swayed. Every inhale was agony. His open wounds itched and burned from the salt of his sweat and tears.

 

He fantasized about shedding his fana to escape the physical pain, impossible as it was. The strong metal around his neck, his wrists, his ankles, kept him trapped, all his power subdued so that it was not more than a flicker in the back of his mind.

 

The first few years he spent in the chains, he had tested their strength to no avail. He had made them well. If he moved too much too fast, the rough edges of the cuffs cut into his flesh, just as he had designed them to. That had been his first punishment, to craft the chains that would keep him bound for however long Melkor desired. He had also forged the keys that would unlock the shackles. They hung on a hook just inside the door to his cell. Yet he was starting to doubt that the day would come when Melkor would ever use the keys.

 

It was not about the chains in the end. Even if he could relinquish his fana, Melkor would simply grasp for him in the unseen world to torture his spirit and mind. Then there was a part of him that accepted he deserved this for all his failures, the greatest of them being that he once believed Melkor would use his mighty will for anything other than destruction.

 

The cell door opened. The mechanism holding his chains aloft released suddenly, and he crashed to the hard ground. He did not dare rise.

 

“Look at you,” Melkor jeered. “So silent and still. Finally starting to accept your punishment. Finally understanding what is in your best interest.” His cold, detached voice told the deceiver that his master’s grave disappointment in him still had not lessened. Maybe it never would.

 

He had hoped there was some path to absolution. Since Melkor had dared to leave his fortress to retrieve him, had risked enemies witnessing the broken way he tread the ground because the wound in his foot would not heal, the deceiver wanted to believe he was still of some worth to the Dark Lord.

 

He slowly lifted his head to find Melkor watching him with fiery eyes. Something had happened since his last visit. The deceiver could feel the rage emanating from his master in waves that nearly suffocated him.

 

“Scouts have reported that a host sails from Valinor. Seems they finally deigned to help the Children,” Melkor sneered, but the deceiver could tell there was fear under his hatred.

 

“Let me serve you,” the deceiver asked, pushing to sit up so he could properly appeal for the opportunity. He did not even know if he truly wanted to serve or steal a chance to throw his master to the Valar, but anything to leave his cell.

 

Then he was flying across the room, the cuff around his neck choking him until he landed in a heap at the Dark Lord’s feet.

 

His large hand pulled the deceiver into the air by the chain that tugged on his neck. “You think I would trust you during such a time?” He taunted as the deceiver gasped for air, the corners of his vision going dark.

 

“You lost me an entire fortress. The one man I sought slipped right from your pathetic fingers.” He bellowed, then finally dropped the deceiver back to the ground.

 

He was still grasping for breath when Melkor grabbed his face with both hands, burning hot as iron brands and slick with the deceiver’s blood. “My greatest failure, you will never see beyond these walls unless I deem you worthy of freedom,” he seethed, pressing fingertips into the festering wound he had cut across his servant’s face so they could have matching scars. The deceiver groaned in pain, but did not pull away. He knew better.

 

“It can happen.” Then Melkor’s grip loosened. “That is why you are in this cell, to learn to appreciate all I have done for you, all I am still doing for you, and who you are because of me. It was for my will that you made these powerful chains, a testament to your skill unmatched by anyone under the tutelage of your old master. This is for your sake, not mine.”

 

His fingers suddenly caressed him gently across his wet cheek, under his chin.

 

“You should be grateful I brought you home, for my visits, for the opportunity to serve me still,” Melkor said in a soft, haunting voice, holding the side of his face so tenderly the deceiver was speechless. He turned into the gentle touch he desperately craved—perhaps as much as he feared it.

 

Melkor let out a deep sigh. “I should leave you here alone,” he mused, releasing his hold on the deceiver and standing to his feet, towering above like a mountain.

 

“No!” Dread overwhelmed the deceiver’s mind. “I am, I am grateful. Please, do not leave me. Do not go!” He begged Melkor before he could stop himself. Even though he knew what would happen next. What always happened when Melkor visited him in his black robes instead of his armor.

 

“Very well,” Melkor conceded with another sigh. “On your knees.”

 

What could the deceiver do but serve? It was, after all, what Eru made him for.

 

Struggling to his bruised, bloody knees, he bit down on gasps of pain as Melkor pulled away the thick material of his long, dark robes.

 

Galadriel, stop, the deceiver pleaded with her.

 

His anguish and self-loathing nearly overwhelmed her mind. Only then did she realize exactly how the Dark Lord was about to torture his lieutenant. She recoiled from the memory, horrified.

 

A primal urge overcame Galadriel to storm the Void, grasp Morgoth’s spirit, and tear him apart as slowly and painfully as possible, until whatever was left of his blackened soul perceived only endless torment and knew that his suffering was retribution for what he had done to the one she loved.

 

The deceiver’s mind brushed at hers, tentative, reaching.

 

What if she reached back? If she ceased the affront on his mind? She would take him in her arms, tell him that he did not deserve such subjugation, no matter his failures, no matter the evil he had done.

 

But she could not stop to comfort him any more than she could storm the void.

 

If she stopped, if she gave in to the irrational desires of her wounded heart, it would be the end of her. Perhaps, of all Middle-earth.

 

No, no, I will not harm you. Please, Galadriel—

 

Burying the guilt she felt for pushing past his suffering, she rebuffed him and plunged deeper into his memories.

 

 

He flew through a dark forest, shame and anger and dread drowning out all coherent thoughts in his mind. He showed no mercy to any living thing that crossed his path…

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.

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Jaws, sharp and strong, closed around his neck. The half-maia princess offered him a choice, but there was no path ahead that ended in anything less than pain and oblivion. He hated her. He hated everyone. But his most profound hatred, he reserved for himself alone…

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“They will not bend. Not a single one will speak, Lord Sauron,” Adar reported.

 

The deceiver could not help but admire their resilience. Yet it would not spare them. “Save their leader for last,” he ordered. “Then bring him to me.” The Noldo had remarkable power. If he could not find the human his master sought, perhaps he would stay punishment for at least a short while if offered a distraction for him to play with…

 

 

 

Noldo. Remarkable power. With a sharp pang of realization, Galadriel knew she was close. It took only a slight tug on the deceiver’s memories and she was in Minas Tirith. Finrod had built the tower from the ground up to guard the pass of Sirion. The stone walls were etched with his beautiful carvings. But a dark cloud above hindered the sun from reaching through the windows. A chilling chorus of howls cut through the stale air. From not mere wolves of the wilderness, but cursed beasts who answered to him, the one responsible for her dearest brother’s death.

 

All twelve orcs were brought before his throne, disheveled, bloodied, and bruised from their resistance. Twelve could not best the larger company of orcs and werewolves he sent to collect them. He brushed at their minds. Each one resisted him in turn, as if they had been prepared to face his sorcery. But their resistance betrayed them. Orcs, they were not, just as he suspected.

 

“All my subjects know to report to me when passing through Tol-in-Gaurhoth. What foolishness led you to think you could slip my notice? Speak the truth and you may be granted a measure of mercy.”

 

All the orc pretenders turned their heads to one. He rose and met his captor in the eye. “You have no subjects of your own. You are naught but a shadow of the Dark Lord, and I have naught to say to you but this. Turn now from Morgoth and your evil deeds, or I will have no choice but to slay you.”

 

Galadriel knew her dearest brother’s voice from the first word out of his mouth. Only her mother had doted on her more than Finrod, ever since she was but a baby. He spun for her tales of adventure and sang for her lullabies of peace and comfort. When she grew older and tried pushing him away, insisting she needed no protector, he would smile and say, “I know, hérincë.” But he was always there, guarding her back. He left Valinor for many reasons, but she knew that protecting her and her brothers was chief among them. It was not until she was safe in the Girdle of Melian that he parted from her to pursue his own ambitions in Middle-earth.

 

And now she could do nothing but watch him stare death in the face, proud and strong, and doomed.

 

The deceiver laughed, low and dark. “How amusing that you believe you can best me, after a small army of orcs and werewolves defeated you and your companions.”

 

“How do you know we did not let them capture us, so we could be exactly where we want to be?” The orc-pretender replied, voice steady and brave. Great power emanated from him. The deceiver could feel it, an air of determination, a demand for justice permeating the throne room.

 

The deceiver stood to his feet and pulled on his oldest powers to meet the magic of the challenger before him. From his mouth came a melodic chant, the quality of the notes pure, his voice beautiful—but the captives trembled before him, afraid of the harsh black speech falling from his lips. Surely they did not know the meaning of each word, but he could see in their eyes that they felt his power reaching for them, trying to tear apart their minds and force them to reveal their identities, to answer for why they had trespassed into his domain.

 

Their leader swayed under his assault, but held his head high and opened his mouth in reply. His voice was strong, the melody of his song rebellious and hopeful. The Quenya on his tongue offered the deceiver a clue to his identity, but he could not relish the reveal without giving ground to his formidable opponent.

 

The elf’s voice carried throughout the tower. The walls quivered, the chains rattled. The very stone wished to return to its master, its maker, who chanted for freedom, for strength, for light returning.

 

A Noldo, then, he must be, the deceiver perceived. It took much of his strength, but he pushed back against the Noldo’s aria of magic and might with words of gloom and darkness, with a sad melody that evoked the cries of the Teleri slain for their ships, and the hopelessness of Valinor when the trees went dark.

 

His werewolves joined him then, howling with the melody of his piercing song.

 

The Noldo chanted his song of resistance until he could resist no more, until his strength failed him, and he collapsed to the cold ground.

 

The deceiver felt a great wave of relief at his victory. Temporarily weakened as he was, he risked more of his strength for another display of power. He grasped at the captives and pulled until their disguises fell from their faces and their bodies were laid bare.

 

Elves and one man. How peculiar. “Throw them in the pit,” he ordered. The orcs surrounded the captives and dragged them away.

 

Galadriel tried to reach for her brother, but the image of the memory fell through her fingers like smoke.

 

“Ingoldo!” She cried, ripping through the deceiver’s memories, searching for any last glimpse of Finrod, but she found no more than mentions of him in the deceiver’s memories.

 

Yet she knew what happened next. Renewed grief washed over her as she remembered arriving at the fortress, already knowing in her heart she was too late.

 

Beren and Lúthien had taken great care with her brother’s body, preparing it for burial.

 

He looked as if he could be asleep under the burial shroud, his eyes closed, his hair freshly washed.

 

Except for the way his chest did not rise and fall. Except for the deep claw marks that had shredded his skin down to the bone. Except for the gaping wounds in his side and his thigh, where the werewolf had bitten off chunks of his flesh. Except for the strange symbol carved above his left breast.

 

She committed its shape to her memory. Perhaps it could lead her to Sauron, to wherever he had fled.

 

Tears fell down her face, but she did not weep. She held her brother’s hand one last time. “I will find him. I will end him,” she whispered in promise to her brother. Then she pulled the dagger from his fingers.

 

“I’m sorry, Galadriel.” She looked up to see Beren watching her. Where had he come from? He was supposed to be with Lúthien, helping tend to the many elves and humans they had released from the tower’s prisons, while Galadriel had a moment to grieve in private.

 

“I know it will never lessen your pain, but I am sorry,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.

 

She did not blame Beren. It was Finrod who declined to send her any word of the quest he had joined or the troubles of his kingdom. Galadriel only learned what happened because the King of Doriath exploded with rage in the presence of his entire court when informed his daughter had fled the Girdle.

 

“He died fulfilling his vow to your father. That will have given him some measure of peace in his final moments,” Galadriel assured Beren.

 

“You will seek revenge?” He asked, his gaze falling to the dagger in her hand.

 

“I will seek justice,” she answered swiftly. Her words echoed in her head, distant like an echo. She had said them before, but not here. Where had she been?

 

“It is a beautiful dagger,” Beren said, stepping towards her. Then he plucked the blade from her grasp.

 

Caught off guard, she did not resist. If Lúthien trusted him, so did Galadriel. Her brother had died for him, after all. “He crafted it in Valinor,” she replied, glancing around the room for an answer to why she felt like she was being watched. Something was not right.

 

“Where is Lúthien?” Galadriel asked, holding out her hand for Beren to return the dagger to her. She did not expect to see the lovers apart for even a moment, not after what they had been through to be together.

 

“Your brother would want peace for you, Galadriel, not for you to burden yourself with his death,” Beren replied, turning the dagger in his hands, examining it with curiosity.

 

Galadriel frowned. Beren would not say something like that. “No. No, you encouraged me to pursue Sauron, right out there,” she glanced out the window that overlooked the island. “On the hill-top where we buried Finrod…”

 

She still remembered the smell of turned dirt overwhelming her senses as it began to rain.

 

“Centuries ago,” she added in not more than a whisper, trying to shake the clouds from her mind.

 

“You should pursue Sauron,” Beren replied, closing the distance between them. Galadriel looked him in the eye. The blazing intensity in his gaze sent a chill through her. He had not answered her about Lúthien. “But not to end him. That would be what Morgoth wants.”

 

Beren placed a hand on her shoulder. “Your brother tried with all his might to defeat Sauron, but it was not enough. A great darkness gives him power. Yet perhaps there is hope if he does not return to Morgoth’s side, if instead he could glimpse the magnificent light within your soul, you could draw him back to goodness. Imagine if we had him on our side. Imagine if we had the greatest Maia of Aulë to help us heal Middle-earth from all of Morgoth’s poisons.”

 

The greatest Maia of Aulë. Beren would never say that. She had heard that before, but not here, not from his mouth. Galadriel’s stomach dropped, clarity cutting through her mind like jagged ice.

 

“Get out of my mind,” she demanded, stepping away from his touch. She had to stay calm, had to keep her grip on reality.

 

The deceiver reached for her again, bracketing her with Beren’s arms. “I am only trying to show you what you told me that first day we met, how we were brought together for a reason,” he said. “If Finrod could not defeat me, then surely you can see you never were meant to either. Our paths crossed because I cannot accomplish what I wish alone. I see that now. It is meant to be you and me, together.”

 

“Do not speak my brother’s name!” She seethed, shoving him as hard as she possibly could. But her hands met only air, and she fell forward, catching herself with an arm.

 

With a gasp, she took in the green grass beneath her hand. Without even looking up, she knew the sources of light warming her skin—the beloved trees of her childhood.

 

Was she dead? It was the only way she could be back in Valinor.

 

You are not dead, Galadriel. I will not harm you.

 

“Then get out of my mind!” She shouted, twisting the grass between her fingers.

 

“Lose your footing again, little sister?” Her eldest brother’s voice called to her.

 

Rage struck through her like lightning. How dare the deceiver taunt her with her brother’s voice.

 

“Get out of my mind,” she repeated through clenched teeth.

 

“Come on,” Finrod called in a cheerful voice, as if he had not heard her. “He is about to begin.”

 

A longing to see her brother’s face won over her dread. She glanced up to see the mansions of Aulë rising above her. When she got to her feet, she caught the briefest glance of Finrod before he disappeared through the giant iron double doors that led into the estate of the Great Smith.

 

Her feet moved before she could decide what to do. Then she remembered. Aulë was crafting lamps, miniatures in the likeness of the two lamps that lit the world long before the two trees existed, long before her oldest ancestors awoke under the stars.

 

Before she reached the entryway to Aulë’s primary workshop, she could hear the voices of all who had gathered for the lighting of the lamps. She cut through the central courtyard, where water cascaded down elaborate fountains into a series of channels that brought water to every workshop in the mansions.

 

But it was quiet past the rushing of the water. When she stepped into Aulë’s workshop, she saw him alone. Where were her brothers, her cousins, her insufferable uncle?

 

“Artanis,” the Great Smith called to her. “Would you like to set the first crystal?” He spoke encouragingly to her, but he was frowning at the small lamp on his workbench. He was always funny like that, with a drawn, grumpy face, but kind and patient, at least, with her.

 

She took the small blue crystal between her fingers. “One of the lamps had blue light?” She asked. Neither of the trees gave off blue light, though perhaps Telperion had a blue sheen to its silver light.

 

“Yes, Illuin in the North,” he answered as her small fingers placed the little crystal in the setting at the center of the lamp. “You know, I did not make the lamps alone.”

 

“The Maiar helped you?” She asked, smiling as a soft blue glow emanated from the lamp.

 

“The greatest of mine, Mairon, gave Illuin its shape,” he said.

 

“It looks like a flower, frozen before it could bloom,” she remarked, noting the way the iron frame curved like a flower bud with its petals just beginning to peel away from each other.

 

Aulë chuckled. “Yavanna told him the same thing. He insisted it was a flame. Flames are chaos, never symmetrical. But Mairon loved order and perfection. I think he liked to believe he could capture the perfect image of a flame in iron. He so wanted everything to be as pure as it was when Eru himself first wove through us a beautiful theme of Arda unmarred.”

 

She had asked about the Great Music many times before, but never quite understood what any of the Valar had to say about it. “What happened to Mairon?” She asked. Though she knew many of the Maiar did not care to take physical form, it sounded as though this Mairon was dear to Aulë, and she wondered why she had never seen him at the mansions, why Aulë spoke of him in the past tense.

 

Darkness swallowed the workshop. The fire in the forge went cold.

 

“Mairon. Mairon, the admirable… I did not appreciate his devotion,” Aulë replied, his gaze distant. “I hindered his growth, his potential for power, for creating beauty. When he wept for the broken lamps and the marring of Arda, I demanded that he leave it all behind and come west with me, where we would build new and beautiful things. I should have known I would lose him not long after, but my understanding of Mairon had long eluded my grasp, perhaps since the beginning.”

 

Galadriel shivered. That was not how Aulë had answered her. The workshop had not been cold and dark.

 

She was no longer a child who lived in Valinor. And she had not spoken to Aulë in a long, long time.

 

You see, you do know my name. You once spoke it aloud, the deceiver said into her mind.

 

There is nothing admirable about the atrocities you have committed, she bit back, grasping for control of her memory, untangling the illusion he had twisted it into.

 

The forge was crowded and warm. The small lamp glowed blue. Amrod and Amros were bickering over which of them would set the crystal for the second lamp.

 

Galadriel could feel turmoil trembling through the deceiver, but he no longer fought her as the memory continued to unwind.

 

“What happened to Mairon?” She asked Aulë.

 

The Great Smith stared past the lamp, no trace of amusement left on his lips. It felt like an eternity before he finally answered her.

 

“Sauron killed him,” he replied in a gruff voice. Then he turned away to retrieve the other lamp.

 

She did not think Maiar could die, but she was too wary of Aulë’s mood to press with more questions, especially with Finrod subtly shaking his head at her.

 

The deceiver stirred in her mind. She could feel anger rising within him as he watched Aulë work.

 

If you ever cared for Middle-earth, why did you abandon the one who built it for the one who broke it? Galadriel challenged him, truly at a loss for understanding.

 

It was Aulë who abandoned Middle-earth, his voice boomed in her head.

 

The ground turned under her feet, the walls of the mansions vanished, and suddenly she was outside. It was dark. There were stars in the sky, but they seemed fewer and farther away than she had ever seen before. A cold wind whipped through her hair. She shivered as she took in the ruins before her, a broken stone pillar as tall as a mountain, as wide as a river. The giant lamp Illuin lay before her, just as Aulë had described to her, but the light had gone out.

 

Then the deceiver stepped out from the shadows. He caressed the smooth metal of the lamp’s frame. Even in the darkness, she could make out the dry tears staining his cheeks, the redness of his eyes.

 

In all her time in Valinor, the Valar and Maiar she knew had seemed ageless in the physical forms they wore to walk among the elves, but the deceiver looked younger here than she knew him in the present. There was something youthful about his face, almost ethereal. His beard was but stubble. His hair flowed in long waves down his back. But as different as he appeared, it was evident that he had designed Halbrand the human to look as he did here.

 

Again, she felt an urge to reach for him, to take his hands and promise they would make Morgoth pay for the marring, that they would drive him from Middle-earth forever. It was impossible. It was maddening.

 

“Aulë and the rest,” he continued, his voice hoarse, “they left and never looked back until the father of your best friend came to plead for the Valar to defend the world they brought into existence. They finally vanquished Morgoth, but how did they repay Eärendil for his bravery?”

 

Galadriel winced, her heart hurting as she thought of all the nights Elrond and Elros had cried for their parents.

 

“Elves and men look to his star for inspiration, but he will never see his son again,” the deceiver continued. “Elrond will forever long for his parents, while they remain just out of reach because of the Valar’s self-righteous sense of judgment.”

 

“Elrond is proud of his parents,” she argued, but it was a weak reply. When she learned what had become of them, she felt a deep sense of injustice, just as she did whenever she wondered why the Valar had not stopped Morgoth ages before he tortured, twisted, and decimated the elves—all with the deceiver’s help.

 

“They should have been honored for their sacrifice,” he said in a bitter voice. “Instead, they were punished, all because his father dared to set foot in Valinor and demand the gods face the monster they let ravage Middle-earth for thousands and thousands of years.”

 

Galadriel pressed her lips together and took in a breath, steeling herself. “I see through what you are trying to do. I have long questioned the choices of the Valar, but in the end, it is not them, but Morgoth who is responsible for the destruction he wrought.”

 

Her eyes fell back on the lifeless lamp. Even thrown from its pillar and resting among the rubble, she could see the beauty of it, a flower, wrought with love, forever trapped in a state of unbloom.

 

“How could you?” She asked the deceiver, turning on him with revulsion. “Lover of order and perfection, greatest Maia of Aulë, how could you join Morgoth after this? After him, there is no one more responsible for the marring of the world than you,” she accused.

 

“Long before this destruction, he came to me with promises of power and freedom,” he replied. “He praised my craft, showered me with adoration, and far more attention than Aulë ever had for me. I rebuffed him at first. His contributions to the creation of Eä had been dissonant with all the rest, chaotic and destructive, an eerie ringing in the back of my mind that refused to cease since I first perceived him,” he winced and turned his head as if he could hear it even now.

 

“Aulë would raise a mountain range and Melkor would divide it. I once filled a river with an exact number of stones, all of beautiful colors, perfectly shaped. Melkor collapsed the ground beneath the riverbed. Most of the stones were buried,” he said with a slight shake of his head.

 

“Tulkas eventually chased him away so we could finish building Arda. I had hoped never to see Melkor again. But soon enough, there were signs he had returned, that he was lurking in wait to strike again.”

 

A fire ignited behind the deceiver. Galadriel gasped as the blaze quickly engulfed a copse of trees down the mountainside. The smoke blotted out the stars in the sky. Then a horrid buzzing sound filled her ears. A massive dark cloud of flies flew above her head. Shuddering with revulsion, she watched them descend on the bloody carcasses of a hundred dead deer that were strewn across the parched ground of the valley below.

 

A hand to her mouth, she stumbled back, wanting to be anywhere but here.

 

“When I first saw him again, he had taken on a form of terrible beauty. Not as you saw him in… in my later memory, face scarred and foot wounded, tired and afraid. But more, I imagine, as you saw him in Valinor.” She tore her eyes from the carnage to look at the deceiver. His brows were drawn into a frown, his gaze lost to another time and place.

 

“He explained he was testing the Valar and their loyalty to Middle-earth,” he continued. “How far would they go to protect it? I could see he wanted it all for himself. I think he saw I wanted the same thing. He promised we could remake the world however we wanted, free of the constraints Aulë placed on me to do his bidding, to craft beauty of my own and not merely a vessel of Eru’s will.”

 

He scoffed, set his jaw. “I despised Melkor’s methods, the decay and ruin he brought, but I admired his efficiency in accomplishing his will. I thought if I worked with him in secret, I could show him the beauty in order. I thought he would see we could have freedom without the destruction. It was what I wanted to believe for a long time.”

 

The world went silent. Galadriel realized that the illusions were gone, the flies, the dead deer, the fire. “But after he broke the lamps and upended the earth and seas, undoing Middle-earth as we had built it with such care, the Valar left for the west. They had their excuses, their power spent trying to keep the world from crumbling completely. I did not know it yet, but Aulë’s coldness towards my grief broke me.”

 

The deceiver looked at her. There was a hollowness in his gaze that filled her with sorrow.

 

“I tried to lose myself in my work,” he continued, “in building Valinor from the ground up. Beautiful things we made indeed. I helped raise his mansions, where you learned to craft. But even the light of the two trees could not keep me in Valinor. Melkor’s promises taunted me until I could take it no more and I came back to Middle-earth.”

 

The cold breeze blowing through the mountainside picked up in earnest, chilling Galadriel down to the bone. Then it began to snow, large, beautiful flakes that were quickly turning the landscape white.

 

“He found me here, mourning all he ruined. He wiped away my tears. Apologized for what he called a necessary sacrifice. He warned me it would be the first of many, but he promised it would all lead to the freedom I craved, as long as I promised my everlasting loyalty.” He let out a bitter laugh.

 

“In the blink of an eye, I fell into his orbit.”  The deceiver held out a hand to catch snowflakes in his palm.

 

“His praises were a thousandfold from when I merely spied for him. He offered me a fortress, made me his lieutenant. But it was all the time he spent with me that made me feel as if I was precious to him, as if he could love me if I proved myself worthy.”

 

The snow stopped. Galadriel followed the deceiver’s gaze up to the sky. It exploded with new stars, bright and plentiful. She gasped, recognizing the breathtaking sky that guided her across the Helacraxe before the first sunrise, the same sky that her ancestors awoke under.

 

“Then the firstborn awoke.” Galadriel looked back at the deceiver to find he had changed his appearance. His long hair was as white as the snow on the ground, his eyes a rich, molten gold, his face long and his cheeks prominent, his ears pointed.

 

“I found them first,” he said, glancing down at the valley. The snow was gone. A lush, green meadow surrounded a crystal blue lake. Cuiviénen, she realized, mesmerized by the sight of her people’s first home.

 

“The curious ones who strayed from the pact, I brought them to Melkor. We had the perfect opportunity to establish our dominion over them, provide protection in exchange for loyalty, and guide them to flourish in Middle-earth in a perfectly ordered society.” The deceiver frowned at the memory.

 

“Melkor did not want their obedience, did not care to guide them to prosperity and peace under his rule. He only wanted to unmake them as they were and rebuild them into something of his own. And I became an artifact put aside, a tool he wielded when he realized his own machinations only ended in ruin sooner than he desired. To some captives, I was their tormentor, to others, including Adar, their salvation. But even once the Dark Lord had a growing army from my efforts, he stopped pretending to care about my vision for the world. I should have ended it then, brought my knowledge to the Valar so they could stop his madness.”

 

The deceiver held up his hand. Red blood oozed from a deep gash across his palm. “Instead, I begged him for the blood oath, which I eventually realized was precisely what he wanted me to do all along. I had already given myself to him in every way but the most binding.”

 

The blood spilling from his hand turned darker and darker until it was black as pitch. “From time to time, he would speak of the possibility of earning such a bond with him. I thought everything would be different when he finally granted me this… gift. It was different for a short time… until the Valar came for him.”

 

“They bound him in chains for ages,” Galadriel interjected angrily as she fit the pieces of the past together. “And all that time, you not only continued his legacy but ensured he had a vast army of evil awaiting his return. You tormented my people instead of returning to the Valar for judgment. Why did you hide from them when you were finally free of Morgoth? Everything could have been different. They would eventually give the Dark Lord a second chance. Imagine the mercy they would have extended to you, if you only—”

 

“I was not free of him,” he spat out, his golden eyes narrowing. “You can not comprehend the power he had over my mind, my will.”

 

He flexed his hand. The blood vanished, leaving only a scar behind. “I could think of nothing but that which would please him upon his inevitable return. And somehow I convinced myself still that he would one day allow me to order the world to my design, when he saw the success I had in expanding his dominion during his absence.”

 

Galadriel could not contain her disgust for his excuses. “For all I know, you are waiting for him again. Are the mithril objects even for my people, or do you seek to taint them with darkness? For all your talk of saving Middle-earth, perhaps all you truly care for is a way to free Morgoth from the void and hand him Middle-earth yet again?”

 

“No!” The deceiver shouted. “I want nothing to do with him! You asked why I joined him and I have laid bare the truth. I wanted to save Middle-earth from him, and I thought the best way to do that was by serving him.”

 

She shook her head. “You served him in exchange for attention and adoration.”

 

He huffed. “Yes… I was… lonely.”

 

“Lonely?” She repeated with disdain. “What of all the people you slayed or were slain by your orders? Their loved ones condemned to loneliness for the rest of their days? What of my brother’s companions you fed to your wolves, sentencing their families to live without their husbands, their fathers, their brothers?”

 

“I was selfish. I was wrong,” he admitted.

She could only wonder if he was even capable of meaning it, if it was desperation in his voice or genuine remorse.

 

“You were wrong, and innocent people paid for it,” she asserted, giving him no ground for simply acknowledging the truth. “All of Middle-earth paid for it!”

 

“Which I now seek to amend! I cannot undo the past, but the mithril will empower the elves, heal your people’s tree,” he insisted with passion. “And then, Galadriel, together, we can destroy Adar and bring Middle-earth into perfect order.”

 

The deceiver reached for her hand. She reared back from his touch.

 

“I want nothing to do with you,” she said in a calm, clear voice, enunciating every word so that he could not mistake her choice to denounce him exactly as he did the Dark Lord.

 

The devastation on his face told her that he received her message.

 

“I am not like him, Galadriel,” he tried in a calm voice of his own.

 

Her only response was to turn away from him.

 

“Galadriel,” he called after her. She started down the mountain.

 

“Galadriel, come back to me,” he pleaded. “Galadriel! Galadriel, look at me!”

 

But she could not look at him again, could not behold the one she had thought she loved, the one who had betrayed her more thoroughly than anyone before, the one who had shattered her heart into a thousand small pieces that would never be the same again, the one who had altered her very perception of reality to the point she was not sure she could ever trust herself again.

 

“Look at me!” He shouted so loudly that her heart seemed to stop. She almost fell into the sea that had suddenly replaced the mountains under her feet. A familiar white shift, smelling of salt water, had replaced her gown.

 

“Galadriel, look at me,” he pleaded in a calmer voice.

 

Galadriel, look at me, he had crooned as he moved in her that first night they spent together in Númenor, the first time she lost herself in him.

 

Look at me, he had commanded as they made love in her Eregion residence, after he had promised they would protect Middle-earth together.

 

Against her better judgment, she turned to look at the deceiver. Sitting at the center of the raft, he appeared just as he did when they met. Messy brown hair and warm green eyes, strong arms she wanted to fall into, and that wretched crest about his neck.

 

“You know who I am. You know my mind.”

 

“You are my enemy,” she replied, as much for herself as for him.

 

“And I am the one who loves you,” he said softly, looking up at her with adoration.

 

Only then did she realize he had never said it before. The pain that ripped through her was nearly unbearable.

 

“How dare you say you love me, only now when you are losing me?” She lashed out, taking a raging step towards him.

 

“I am not losing you,” he replied, pushing to his feet so that he towered over her.

 

Refusing to retreat, she scoffed at his entitlement. “Correct, you have already lost me.”

 

He clenched his jaw. “You know I love you. You have felt it every time our minds touch, every time our spirits intertwine, every time our bodies join as one.”

 

She scowled at his choice of words, far from ready to reckon with how fully she had given herself to her enemy. “You do not even know what love is!”

 

“That used to be true,” he conceded, looking down at her with reverence. “I have been awake since before the breaking of the first silence. In all that time, I did not know love—not until you, Galadriel.”

 

The weight of his worshipful gaze was too much. She tried to look anywhere but his eyes as he continued. “Even before you said the word love, I felt it a thousand times. I felt your love every time you looked at me and saw someone worthy of a second chance. I felt it when you reached out your hand amidst a raging storm to protect me. I felt it when you pulled me back from the clutches of death as poison ravaged my body, when you spared me from centuries of painful loneliness and insatiable hunger.”

 

Her eyes flashed to his with anger. “Was that even real? Your injury? The poison? Did you fall from your horse to claim my pity? I wept for you,” she blinked away tears that threatened to fall as she remembered her grief. “I feared I would lose you forever while you were, what, playing a game? To what end?”

 

“I did not want to part from you!” He shouted, his composure slipping. She did not miss how his arms tensed and his fists clenched as he stopped himself from reaching for her.

 

He took in a breath before continuing. “I was going to ask you to stay with me in the Southlands,” he admitted with another sigh. “But after the eruption, after Adar escaped, I knew you would not. So when his orcs injured me, I chose not to heal myself. I knew you would bring me with you to the healers in Eregion.”

 

“You used me again,” she realized, a fresh wave of pure agony ripping through her spirit.

 

“No,” he replied, taking in a short, frantic breath. “I accepted the pain so I could be near you. I did not even realize how far gone this human body was until I lost consciousness. That was real.”

 

He took her hand and placed it on his abdomen, where the wound had been. “What did you see when you plunged into the depths of my mind to rescue me?” He asked her.

 

“Darkness,” she breathed out in disbelief. How had she not realized it then? “Fear, loneliness, an ocean of regret.” She could almost feel it again, the hopelessness that told him to give in, to give up.

 

“You stood strong against the darkness consuming me, and it was your light that brought me back.” He moved her hand above his heart. “It was your love.”

 

She could not stop the tears this time. She could not find the strength to pull away as the gentle pads of his fingers brushed the tears from her face.

 

What was wrong with her that she allowed her enemy to wipe her tears?

 

“It was love for someone who does not exist,” her voice caught, unsure what she even believed in her own heart. Any other truth meant betrayal of Middle-earth, of her people, of her brother.

 

“You said again, after showing me the scroll, that I am yours and you are mine.” He squeezed her hand against his chest, a gentle pulse.

 

“You discovered I was not a King, but it did not change who I am to you.” He spoke with tenderness she wanted to lean into, but every word was another cut to her bleeding heart.

 

“That was not a vow of mere words, but spirit. You faced my darkness, embraced it, and still you wanted to be with me, to protect me.”

 

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Do not tell me you no longer love me,” he whispered.

 

Intoxicating as his nearness was, Galadriel strongly considered jumping into the water rather than acknowledging his accusation.

 

But there was no escaping the deceiver. He was the hand holding hers and wearing the face she knew as Halbrand. He was the waves surrounding the raft, the sea breeze blowing her hair, the clouds gathering above. Somewhere in the push and the pull between their minds, he had gained the upper hand.

 

“You love me, Galadriel.” Another squeeze of her hand. “And I love you.”

 

His declaration was a knife in her gut. All she could think of was to inflict pain in return. “You love Morgoth,” she said, pulling her hand from his chest, her body away from his warmth.                                                                                                

 

The deceiver flinched and looked away. The seas churned. The raft rocked under her feet. The clouds in the sky darkened, threatening a storm. All this time, he had been holding himself back more than she could imagine.

 

Her stomach twisted with guilt as she felt his desolation through their connection. She could have said anything else, but she knew what would hurt most. Because he was right, she knew his mind. But she could not understand what he had felt for Morgoth.

 

“I once thought Melkor…” He glowered out at the sea. “Morgoth, I once believed he harbored some unspoken love for me. I had no other clear answer for why he sought me out in the first place. He pursued countless Maiar but none as relentlessly as he did me. Then, one day, he told me I would never know love, as if it were a fact as true as fire burns wood. I did not want to believe he meant from himself included, but he only cared for being worshiped, for being feared. Fear him, I did. I worshipped his power, yearned for his approval. But I could not love him any more than he could ever love me. Or anyone, for that matter.”

 

Galadriel’s chest ached, and her throat was tight. She could not tell if the pain stemmed from her longing to tell her enemy that Morgoth had been wrong about love, or her fear that he was taking back his declaration of love for her.

 

The deceiver turned back to look at her. “When Morgoth was defeated, it was as if a great clenched fist had released its grasp from my neck. And in the stillness of that first sunrise…” His lips broke into an expression of relief and joy. “At last, I felt the light of the one again. I thought I could begin anew and heal everything I had helped ruin. But freedom from Morgoth was not enough. You witnessed my failures in the north. I was as lost as ever. Until I met you, until your glorious light suffused me with new life.”

 

“Nothing was different then,” she replied, trying to steel herself against his adulations. “Nothing will be different now.”

 

“Everything is different with you. Not even the light of The One compares to your radiance.”

 

She gasped. “You speak blasphemy!”

 

“No, Galadriel,” he insisted in a firm tone. “He is the one who made me, is he not? He is the one who wrote every aspect of my being, who carved my soul to be ever yearning for yours. You are my other half, the piece of my very spirit that has been missing since I was but a thought in Eru’s mind. And I am the missing piece of yours.”

 

Every word beckoned her spirit to reach for his. Why did she want to believe him more than anything?

 

She could feel her soul splintering in two, torn between her selfish desire to grant her enemy absolution and her need to protect Middle-earth from his evil. His evil that claimed the life of her brother, that tortured and murdered her people for generations.

 

“It cannot be,” she murmured, then took a deep breath to steady her voice. “We cannot be. My brother is dead because of you. And countless others.” She could not choose herself above all the lives he had ruined, all the more that would be lost if she let him walk free.

 

“What else can I say but I am sorry?” The deceiver asked in a defeated voice. “I meant it in Númenor, I meant it in your last memory of him. I will say it again, every day, every night. I will get down on my knees if it will help you believe me.”

 

And there it was, his inability to comprehend the magnitude of his choices, the everlasting consequences of his cruelty. “That is not how this works,” she said, shaking her head. “You cannot atone for what you have done with mere words. You must face the consequences of your cruelty.”

 

“That is why I need you, to show me how,” he pleaded. “You can hold me accountable to my promise to heal what I’ve broken, to make amends, to redeem myself.”

 

“No penance could ever erase what you have done,” she argued, overwhelmed by his request. Who was she to hold him, one of the Ainur, accountable for such grievous misdeeds?

 

“That is not what you believe,” he challenged her.

 

He could not be more infuriating. “Do not tell me what I believe.”

 

“No,” he insisted. “You told me, after our victory, you said whatever I’d done before, I could be free of it now.”

 

“You deceived me,” she replied, exasperated.

 

“I told you the truth. I told you that I had done evil, and you did not care because you knew our past meant nothing weighed against our future.”

 

“There is no such future,” she pushed back, even as she thought back to all the times her mind had conjured dreams of a life with him.

 

“Isn’t there?” He asked, sounding so smugly sure of himself. She could not stop herself from following his gaze out to the water.

 

He had distorted their shadows upon the waves. He wore a crown, and she stood beside him. The spikes of his crown reminded her of Morgoth, but before she could even voice her aversion, the deceiver read her mind and made the crown vanish.

 

Their shadows remained, side by side. Then she noticed it. He had her hand placed over her belly. He wanted not only her love. He wanted a whole life together, he wanted… everything.

 

Her heart ached for it to be real, for there to be some way she could trust him, for there to be a future in which they could be together in a world so safe and protected by them that she would dare to consider bringing a child into it. It felt impossible, but so had been their finding each other on the sea.

 

Had she not been the one to tell him they were meant to be together?

 

“All others look on you with doubt.” His soothing voice cut to her soul. Her heart raced as he stepped near her.

 

“I alone can see your greatness.” With the gentlest touch, he grasped her chin and guided her to look at him again. A warm shiver went through her.

 

“I alone can see your light.”

 

His fingertips were light as a feather but compelling all the same. What if her inner darkness responded to his just as her body responded to his touch?

 

Could she ever allow herself to be lost in him again without losing her sense of goodness, of justice?

 

“You would make me a tyrant.”

 

“I would make you my queen. Fair as the sea and the sun, stronger than the foundations of the earth.” His words sounded like prophecy. She had always dreamed of her own realm to rule and protect, one of beauty and light so bright there were no shadows in which darkness could hide.

 

The aching of her heart grew unbearable. She wanted to believe it could come to fruition.

 

But how could it with her enemy at her side? So many had once suffered at his will. Surely her light alone could not bring balance to such evil.

 

“And you, my king, the Dark Lord,” she posited, allowing herself the wild hope he would assure her otherwise.

 

“No,” he shook his head. “Not dark, not with you at my side.”

 

She could barely breathe at the thought of him shedding his dark might for her.

 

But what if she was not strong enough against the power he offered? Did her light blind him to her own inner darkness?

 

“You told me once that we were brought together for a purpose,” he said, taking her hand. She looked down to find him placing the dagger she had forgotten all about back in her grasp. It was a painfully familiar gesture.

 

“This is it. You bind me to the light, and I bind you to power. Together we can save this Middle-earth,” he vowed.

 

He had promised her as much when she thought him a man who only needed a slight push to act on the goodness and courage she thought she had perceived within him. Had her judgment failed her so completely? Or had there been some shade of truth to his act all along?

 

He had erased the crown from their shadows, but would he ever surrender it in real life?

 

She knew what she had to ask, as much as she feared his answer.

 

“Save or rule?” She asked, closing most of the distance between them so that she would be ready.

 

The self-assured smile that started to cross his lips shredded whatever was left of her broken heart before he even spoke.

 

“I see no difference.”

 

Her light was not enough after all.

 

She could not stop to tend to her grief. All of Middle-earth was at stake.

 

With one swift movement, she had her dagger at his throat. “And that is why I will never be at your side.”

 

All traces of his almost smile vanished. His gaze fell to the blade at his neck. Thunder rumbled in the sky, and the seas roiled with his anger.

 

“By denying your innermost desires, you rob Middle-earth of salvation, of your own benevolent rule, and the great power I could wield to protect it. You were willing to sacrifice everything for a mere chance of driving out the darkness. Should Middle-earth and all its people not be in the care of those who treasure it most?”

 

“How dare you claim to treasure Middle-earth when you contributed to its ruin,” she seethed. “You broke the people of these lands again and again to serve a master who would leave it all in ashes!”

 

She pressed the blade closer, drawing beads of blood from his skin. “Middle-earth cannot possibly begin to heal until it is rid of you.”

 

“I told you that you would cast me out,” he said dejectedly.

 

The hurt glistening in his eyes clawed at the ruins of her broken heart.

 

But she could not forget her brother’s mangled body. The countless deaths through the ages. The blood oath he had begged for. The power and dominion he still craved. She could not choose her own heart above all the free peoples of Middle-earth.

 

“Because you knew what you were doing was wrong, telling half-truths, taking advantage of my compassion, exploiting my loneliness…”

 

“Galadriel, that is not—“

 

“Aulë spoke the truth.” She could not entertain anything else he had to say. “You have no claim left to your first name. Whatever face you wear, you are Sauron.”

 

He recoiled from her as if struck, the beautiful, sorrowful features of his face hardening as he stared at her, speechless for once. A tremble went through the tether connecting their minds, but she would not be swayed.

 

“You are the one who seeks to bring all Middle-earth under your dominion, at all costs,” she continued, fueling all the might of her anger, all the pain of her grief into the condemnation of her enemy who had too long escaped justice. “That is what you told me. I will not allow anyone to pay for your evil ever again.”

 

The wind picked up, and lightning flashed across the sky.

 

“You need me,” he argued in a low, indignant voice. “Without me, your people will fade and the shadow will spread and darken to cover all the world.”

 

How had she let herself, for even a moment, believe they could have a future together? How had she ever thought he could change?

 

“Not after we harness the mithril’s light without your poisonous influence,” she hissed, wielding the sharp edges of her broken heart against him.

 

“We? You think the elves will want anything to do with you ever again?” He taunted.

 

“You think all of Middle-earth will look on you with anything less than utter disappointment and hateful scorn when they learn that you, Galadriel of the Noldor, Daughter of the Golden House of Finarfin, were my ally?” His every word dripped with burning contempt.

 

“When they learn that Sauron lives because of you?” He shouted, his voice taking on a booming, unnatural quality that trembled through the air.

 

The blistering wind pulled tears from Galadriel’s eyes, but the anguish coursing through her only strengthened her grip on the dagger she had let fall away from his neck.

 

“None of that will matter after I destroy you!” She raged.

 

He roared in her face, terrifying shadows forming around his eyes, black veins spidering across his face, but she met his fury with her own, roaring back as her dagger arced through the air, aimed at his throat.

 

A large clap of thunder jolted through her bones, and suddenly she was underwater. The deceiver… Sauron was gone.

 

And she was drowning.

 

The devastation of her complete and utter failure crashed over her.

 

Kicking and pulling with all her might did nothing to loosen the rope anchoring her to the broken mast as it sank to the depths of the Sundering Seas along with any remnants of her hope to save Middle-earth.

 

And this time, she knew his strong arms would not pull her from the water.

Notes:

Sorry about this, I hurt my feelings too.

I will add the appendix soon, but I could not hold on to this any longer. I don't believe I can keep up with weekly updates, but I look forward to sharing more of this story with you all!

Thank you for reading 🖤🤍