Chapter 1: Day 1 - Arrivals
Notes:
Written for the Haladriel Summer Bash 2025! Day 1 - Resort AU.
This one’s light on plot, heavy on vibes and vacation shenanigans. 🍹🩴🏖️🐬😎 Hopefully good for a chuckle or two. 😉
Quick note for clarity: Mairen is Ontamo’s fiancée in Rings of Power (she appears briefly in S1E5). Hope there's not too much confusion about the name. It's NOT a typo. 🫣
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
[Group Chat: 💥 The Usual Chaos 💥]
[Participants: Valandil (admin), Ontamo, Isildur, Eärien, Galadriel, Elrond, Mairen, Disa, Durin, Celeborn, Bronwyn, Arondir]
Disa:
ok WHO is bringing the portable speaker 🎶💃
i’m not getting stuck with finrod’s “tastefully curated jazz fusion” playlist again 😴Valandil:
i made a playlist called “vibes & regrettable decisions”
it’s 40% yacht rock, 60% club bangers, 100% chaos
you’re welcome 😎Ontamo:
GUYS
DO YOU THINK THE HOTEL HAS A SMOOTHIE BAR OR LIKE
A SMALL DOLPHIN I CAN BEFRIEND 🐬Elrond:
• The resort has eight bars.
• Dolphins are wild animals.
• Please do not traumatize marine life before check-in.Isildur:
how many linen shirts is too many linen shirts?
be honest. i’m spiraling. 😵💫 is seven too aggressive?Ontamo:
zero. linen is a lifestyle.Eärien:
it’s five. five is too many. you’ll look like a cult leader, especially with that haircut. 😒
[Disa reacted with 😂]Durin:
brought socks
and sandals
eärien blocked me last time i wore them
but i am who i amEärien:
i muted you.
there’s a difference.Ontamo:
DOES THE RESORT ALLOW FIREWORKS 🧨🧨🧨🐙🎉
follow-up: does anyone know how to smuggle fireworks through TSA 👀👀👀Mairen:
no
also no
also: NO!Elrond:
I made a packing checklist.
[file: “Packing Essentials + Things to Leave at Home.xlsx”]Ontamo:
DID YOU JUST DROP A SPREADSHEET INTO THE GROUP CHATGaladriel:
Of course he did.
It’s Elrond.
His blood type is calendar invite.Mairen:
i just did a synastry reading for this trip and ⭐ we are in danger ⭐
leo moon + venus retrograde = someone’s gonna confess something at the worst possible time
probably shirtless
mars in libra = ✨passive-aggressive flirtation✨
full moon midweek 🌕, so like… watch your drinks and your secretsIsildur:
okay but what if the stars aren’t warning us
what if they’re inviting us to experience the full spectrum of the human condition
[image: a single seashell in his hand, captioned “do u ever feel like this”]
🐚💔🌊Eärien:
what the actual hell is this
stop sending trauma to the group chat!Isildur:
it’s poeticEärien:
it’s a seashell. you’re 26. shut up. 🙄Galadriel:
I’m bringing a book and pretending I don’t know any of you until the second cocktail hits. 📖🍹
Possibly third. Depends on who sits next to me.Bronwyn:
Guys… I miss you all. 🥰
I really do. This is overdue.Eärien:
this group chat is the only stable relationship in my life rn.
and even this has at least 3 red flags. 🚩Elrond:
There’s a local company on the island that runs private murder mystery events. Thoughts?Valandil:
you mean I get to be sexy Poirot and interrogate everyone at dinner? 🕵️♂️Bronwyn:
Only if you wear the accent the entire time. 🤭Ontamo:
i’m packing a fake mustache either wayEärien:
hey quick thing - would it be okay if I brought a friend from work?
she’s new in town, doesn’t really know anyone yet
figured it might be nice for her to meet peopleGaladriel:
I’m sure Finrod will be perfectly okay with it.
Or at least he’ll pretend. We’ve got spare rooms. Emotional bandwidth, not so much.Valandil:
IS EVERYONE READY TO GET IRRESPONSIBLE AND SUNBURNED?!?!? 😎🔥🍑
[Ontamo reacted with 💯]Isildur:
i can’t find my other flip-flop 🩴
this feels like a metaphor for my life 😩Arondir:
The tides shift.
But always return. 🌊♾️
The Caribbean smelled like vacation – salt, sunscreen, and frangipani thick on the air. The sun turned every villa into a postcard and every leaf into something worth photographing, as if the afternoon itself had been professionally staged. The resort curled on a sugar-soft beach, its stone paths winding through palm groves and flowering gardens toward private porches and a turquoise pool that shimmered like someone had scattered diamonds in it.
Galadriel stood barefoot on the patio, the tiles warm beneath her soles. Her sunglasses slid low on her nose, catching the sharp afternoon light as the breeze tugged lazily at her braid. She didn’t reach for it. Let it fray.
Somewhere nearby, the courtyard murmured with quiet life – luggage wheels clicking over stone, the soft hum of a golf cart passing through palm shade, the clink of glass and low chatter from the bar near the pool.
From the nearest villa drifted the unmistakable cadence of Finrod and Amarië. Finrod’s laugh rolled out through the open windows, easy as ever. She didn’t need to look to picture him: linen sleeves casually rolled, sunglasses dangling from his collar, sun-warmed and barefoot, exuding that maddening ease like it cost nothing at all.
Amarië would be next to him, serene and razor-sharp, probably confirming the guest list or checking flight times on her phone without breaking a sweat. Of course they’d arrived early. They were the advance team of every group trip – booked the rooms, arranged the rides, smoothed the chaos before it could even think about forming. Not that it ever stayed smoothed for long.
Galadriel’s mouth tugged at the corners. Not quite a smile. But something gentler than usual. It felt good to be here. Oddly good. Like stepping into a memory she wasn’t sure had actually happened.
It had been too long. They hadn’t had a trip like this since their last year of college, before the inevitable drift of adulthood. They were scattered now – across cities, across lives. Buried in jobs and obligations and relationships that didn’t always fit. The days of sprawling on campus lawns, of late-night café runs, pulling all-nighters for exams and laughing until sunrise... those felt like another lifetime. Distant. Almost imagined.
She missed it. Missed them.
Even Celeborn. Polite, dependable, always smiling, even when it hurt. The shape of their past still pressed uncomfortably against her ribs. There’d been a time when everyone assumed they’d circle back. Hell, she'd assumed it too. Tried twice more, even. But that version of her had wanted something tidy. Something she didn’t believe in anymore. Or maybe she’d just stopped pretending.
He’d be here soon. Along with the others.
She pushed her sunglasses back up the bridge of her nose and lifted her face to the sun, letting the warmth soak in. For a moment, she let herself have it, that rare, floating lightness, like peace might actually be possible.
A shout rang out down the path – bright, familiar, followed by laughter that bounced off the stone like it belonged there.
Her heart jumped before she could tell it not to.
They were here.
Bronwyn and Arondir were the first to appear, hand in hand, every inch the effortlessly beautiful couple you wanted to hate but couldn’t. Bronwyn’s wide-brimmed hat shaded her grin as she waved, all teeth and charm, while Arondir trailed a cooler behind him like a man born to navigate resort paths in linen.
A few steps behind, Eärien and Isildur showed up mid-bicker, arms full of luggage and opinions. They looked older now, sharper around the edges, more carved-out by life, but still unmistakably themselves. Familiar in the best kind of way.
Something pulled tight in Galadriel’s chest, a knot she hadn’t realized was still there.
This. This was what she’d needed.
Even if she hadn’t known how badly until just now.
Not long after, another cart rolled up the path, the quiet hum barely noticeable behind the whisper of palms and crescendo of voices. Elrond stepped off first, carrying a duffel with the casual elegance of a travel catalog model. His shirt looked freshly pressed, his sandals matched his sunglasses, and his entire vibe screamed airport lounge platinum status. He probably brought a steamer in his carry-on.
Behind him, Disa and Durin tumbled out like a whirlwind. Disa’s laugh rang out, clear and contagious, as she descended in a riot of orange-pink kaftan, gold earrings big enough to qualify as melee weapons, and sunglasses that had long since given up the fight with gravity.
Durin, by contrast, looked like vacation had already happened to him – his shirt bore a suspicious pineapple stain, and his socks-with-sandals situation announced he was here for comfort, not judgment.
“Who’s ready for cocktails and poor decisions?” Disa crowed, one arm raised like a queen surveying her sun-drenched domain.
Galadriel’s smile hit fast and real, tugging wide before she could even pretend otherwise. She stepped forward instinctively, arms already opening.
“About damn time,” she called, laughter threading through her voice.
Disa met her halfway in a sun-warmed hug that smelled like citrus and mischief.
“You didn’t tell me this place was actually paradise,” Disa said, grinning. “I was prepared for mediocre cocktails and mild regret. This? This is deluxe poor life choices.”
Galadriel snorted. “Finrod and Amarië planned it. Of course it’s disgustingly perfect. Wait till you see the wine list.”
“Oh, I plan to abuse it thoroughly.”
Durin raised a hand in greeting, already trailing after their luggage like a man resigned to his fate.
“I packed snacks,” he said helpfully.
“You ate the snacks,” Disa shot back over her shoulder, then winked at Galadriel. “We’re off to a fantastic start.”
Then she turned toward the crowd, smile bright, already slotting herself back into the center of the action like a woman who’d been born for it.
A few steps behind them came someone Galadriel didn’t recognize – earbuds in, sunglasses on, eyes glued to her phone. Eärien had mentioned someone from work was coming. Estrid, maybe? That sounded right. Galadriel waved absently, already turning her attention back to the rising symphony of arrival: greetings, laughter, half-hearted arguments about who packed what and which villa had the best view.
It felt like slipping into something old and broken-in. Like muscle memory, or a favorite jacket you forgot you’d packed.
Her feet moved before she could think – onto the path, into the noise.
The stone was warm beneath her soles, grounding her as something inside her began to unwind. Laughter pulled at her like a current, bright and rising. For once, she let it carry her.
She almost didn’t notice the final cart.
It rounded the bend slower than the rest, its tires whispering over the path, faint streaks of sand trailing in its wake like it had already seen things. There were too many bags piled high, balanced with the kind of casual defiance that practically dared gravity to start something.
Valandil jumped down first, barefoot, grinning, and already half-sunburnt. His bucket hat read SHIT SHOW SUPERVISOR in aggressive block letters, the kind of souvenir that was either stolen from a dive bar or gifted by someone who knew him too well. It was hideous. It was perfect.
“Bringin’ the party!” he announced, arms wide.
Behind him, Ontamo followed with a precarious tower of luggage, wobbling like a toddler learning stairs. Mairen trailed close, swatting his arm and cursing as the top bag tilted threateningly.
Galadriel rolled her eyes, fond and exasperated in equal measure.
And then... something shifted.
The last person stepped off the cart like he had all the time in the world and zero interest in wasting it on anyone else. He was tall. Tanned. His gray t-shirt clung damp at the collar, short sleeves hitched high on his biceps.
Apparently, some people stopped evolving after high school. Fashion-wise, at least. Mentally, the jury was still out. Cargo pants, scuffed sneakers. The kind of look that said I didn’t try, but still somehow drew the eye. Purely out of morbid curiosity, of course.
He tipped his sunglasses up, shoving them into the tangled mess of sun-streaked hair. A scrape marked his jaw, barely healed, the kind of careless injury you only get when you stop expecting consequences.
The injury was partially hidden beneath the kind of scruff that hadn’t been there the last time she saw him. Short, uneven stubble edging his jaw, catching flecks of gold in the sunlight. It made him look older. Rougher. Or maybe just more like himself.
Galadriel reached up and lowered her sunglasses, just a fraction, as if maybe she wasn’t seeing right.
Hazel eyes met hers.
They held, just for a moment that hit like a plunge into cold water.
And then... he smiled.
Her stomach did a weird, traitorous little drop. Ugh. No. Absolutely not.
The sunglasses slipped. She caught them before they fell and slid them back up, smooth and sharp, like nothing had happened at all.
It was that same crooked, maddening grin she hadn’t seen in years. The one that had undone her better judgment and her dignity in the span of a single weekend.
She hadn’t thought about him properly in years. Not until this exact moment, when he stepped out of the past and onto sun-warmed stone like the universe had glitched just to mess with her.
Halbrand.
He belonged to a different version of her life – the spring before graduation, when everything was in flux and nothing had quite landed. She’d crushed her finals, wrapped up her credits, finally pulled the plug on the relationship everyone thought was endgame. For the first time in a long time, she’d felt untethered in the best way. Light. Dangerous.
And then there was him.
The kind of mistake she was far too smart to make, which only made it more tempting.
It had been one of those nights: a beach house borrowed from someone’s cousin, a bonfire flaring high into the salt air, everything drenched in cheap liquor and worse decisions. She’d been tipsy, sun-warm and off-balance, laughing too hard at something she couldn’t even remember now. Her feet caught in the sand, and she stumbled, graceless and grinning.
He caught her instantly.
Hands at her waist. Solid. Warm. Trouble-shaped.
“Careful, Princess,” he’d murmured, voice low and lazy with amusement. “Can’t have you faceplanting before midnight.”
She should’ve rolled her eyes. Brushed him off. Said something sharp and forgettable.
But she hadn’t.
She looked up. Caught the curve of his mouth, the flicker in his eyes. Her heartbeat skipped like a scratched record. And before she could talk herself out of it, something reckless unfurled in her chest... and she leaned in.
Just for fun. Just to remember what thrill felt like when it wasn’t attached to consequence.
She told herself it hadn’t meant anything. And maybe it hadn’t.
There’d been rumors, of course, whispers about why he left, who he crossed, what he might have gotten tangled up in. Quiet, ugly things that drifted through town like smoke. But no one ever knew what was true. Not really.
And no, it wasn't like she'd wanted anything serious. She hadn’t even liked him that much.
The problem was that he walked away first – and that had been more humiliating than she liked to admit.
Now here he was, sun-burnished and infuriating, smiling like he knew exactly what she was remembering.
Valandil slung an arm around Halbrand’s shoulders like he’d just stumbled across a long-lost frat bro and couldn’t wait to resurrect the chaos.
“Look who I found lurking at the airport!” he crowed. “You remember this guy, right? Surf team dropout, jungle juice sorcerer, beer pong champion, certified menace to society.”
The laughter that followed came quick and loud, steeped in nostalgia and that vacation-fueled reckless affection reserved for people you should probably know better than to invite into your midst – and yet somehow always end up making room for.
Someone let out a theatrical whoop. Another voice muttered “legend” under their breath like they were invoking a myth. Disa clapped once, sharp and delighted, like someone who’d just spotted a gossip jackpot in human form. Ontamo threw both arms skyward like a Roman gladiator welcoming his chaotic patron saint.
“Hope the island’s insured,” he called out. “'Cause with him here? We just might party hard enough to sink the damn place.”
The wind shifted slightly, rustling the palms with a whisper that sounded, just for a second, like a warning.
Valandil, still beaming, gave Halbrand a friendly shake by the shoulders. “His dive trip got canceled,” he said, feigning innocence. “And Galadriel said you’d be okay with bringing a friend or two.”
Galadriel didn’t flinch. But her mind raced. Technically, yes, she’d said that. When Eärien asked about bringing someone from work. She hadn’t anticipated Valandil using it as a legal loophole for smuggling chaos. Objecting would make her look petty. Or worse: rattled.
Now everyone was looking at Finrod – expectant, curious, waiting for the verdict.
He stood near the patio steps, effortlessly composed, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other cradling a glass of champagne. His linen shirt caught the breeze just so, like it had been tailored for this moment. The picture of grace, generosity... and quiet calculation.
Then he glanced at Galadriel. Just a flicker. A silent question, waiting.
She didn’t blink, didn’t shift, only adjusted her sunglasses and tilted her chin, the picture of cool detachment. He already knew. Whatever answer he wanted, he could find it in the way she didn’t flinch.
But Finrod had been raised to be a host first and a person second. There was etiquette, appearances and worse – witnesses.
So he smiled.
“Of course,” he said smoothly. “We have a spare room.”
He looked at Halbrand then – no hesitation, no edge, just golden hospitality served on a silver tray.
“You’re more than welcome to stay.”
The others relaxed instantly, voices picking back up, laughter bubbling again. Valandil thumped Halbrand on the back, Ontamo said something about claiming the room with the strongest Wi-Fi, and Disa raised her drink in a toast.
Galadriel narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses, gaze fixed on Finrod’s impossibly serene profile. So much for blood being thicker than water. Apparently, it thinned considerably in tropical climates. He always smiled like diplomacy was his favorite sport. And clearly, betrayal was his cardio.
Elrond, in his boundless optimism, had been floating the idea of a murder mystery dinner later in the week – something “light and fun” to bond the group. Maybe she’d surprise him with one. A very immersive experience. With a suspiciously realistic crime scene. Possibly more than one victim. She hadn’t decided yet.
Either way, she was going to need more cocktails. And possibly bail money.
Halbrand’s voice floated through the air again, low and easy, saying something that made Valandil laugh so hard he nearly dropped his beer. Amarië was already assigning villas with the cool precision of someone who’d color-coded the room chart three weeks ago, and Ontamo stole the SHIT SHOW SUPERVISOR bucket hat off Valandil's head and declared himself Chief Disaster Officer. No one argued. Not even Elrond. The chaos machine was fully engaged.
And Galadriel’s vacation? Was screwed.
She’d planned to spend her mornings blissfully horizontal – book in hand, chilling in a sun-drenched hammock, ignoring everyone until at least ten. Then brunch, snorkeling, maybe a paddleboard yoga class to appease Elrond’s inner camp counselor. Afternoons filled with catching up by the pool with people she trusted not to detonate her emotional equilibrium.
Instead, he was here.
And her peace was already on life support.
She hoped Halbrand got the room with the leaky AC and the tiny, aggressive lizards that liked to nest in people’s shoes.
And if he smiled at her one more time like they shared a secret?
She was going to lace his cocktail with sunscreen.
In the midst of the cheerful chaos – laughter echoing, bags thumping against stone, Ontamo nearly walking backward into a planter with all the grace of a startled pelican – Disa peeled away from the crowd and made her way to Galadriel’s side. The air shifted slightly with that little curl of energy that always arrived when she smelled good gossip on the breeze.
“You holding up, sunshine?” she asked, her voice syrupy-sweet with just the tiniest buzz of curiosity beneath it.
Galadriel didn’t flinch. She didn’t even blink. Just tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear with the kind of poise that belonged in courtrooms and murder trials. Her eyes stayed trained on the chaos in front of them: friends bickering over room keys, someone shrieking that the Wi-Fi password is case sensitive, Durin loudly announcing his need for “pre-dinner hydration.”
“It’s been a long flight,” she said evenly.
Her sunglasses stayed firmly in place – like armor. Like a dare.
Disa hummed, mock-thoughtful, and leaned in closer, undeterred as ever, because if there was one thing she excelled at, it was poking at Galadriel’s armor just hard enough to find the soft spots beneath.
“You didn’t tell me he was going to be here.”
“I didn’t know,” Galadriel said, clipped and diamond-sharp. Her gaze flicked to the scrape on his jaw, just briefly. Then snapped back to safety. She didn’t care. Obviously.
“Mmm,” Disa hummed, her tone velvet-lined and full of secrets. She leaned in, just enough to make the air between them feel complicit. “You think he remembers that little... situation back in high school?”
Galadriel stiffened – not enough for a stranger to catch, but Disa? Disa saw everything. The fractional shift of her shoulders. The twitch of control tightening like a corset laced too tight.
“What was it?” Disa mused aloud, tilting her head like she was paging through an old scrapbook. “Bonfire… too much tequila… hands where they definitely didn't belong?”
“Disa,” Galadriel said, low and sharp, a warning.
But Disa only smiled, wide and bright and knowing.
“And you two...” she said, savoring it now, “...had a moment, didn’t you?”
Galadriel’s jaw locked. Her mouth flattened into a thin, furious line. The warmth crawling up her neck had nothing to do with the Caribbean sun and everything to do with memory – sand under her feet, lips grazing her throat, the slow drag of his fingers beneath her dress, and the sharp, humiliating heat of having wanted more... only to be met with restraint she hadn’t asked for.
Disa laughed, soft and bright and absolutely delighted. “Relax,” she said, waving a hand. “No one else remembers.”
She paused, eyes flicking toward the group with theatrical nonchalance.
“Well... except maybe Finrod.”
Disa made a thoughtful little tap at her lip.
“And Elrond. Obviously. And Bronwyn... she was definitely there.”
She gave a little playful shrug.
“Oh, and Ontamo might remember, but only because he was drunk enough to think you kissed him instead.”
Galadriel inhaled through her nose, slow and measured, like she was drawing calm from the very air itself. Then she exhaled, slower still, like she was letting go of the last threads of patience she had left.
Yes. There were definitely going to be multiple victims at that murder mystery dinner.
Her gaze slid to Disa, head tilting slightly in consideration. Or perhaps the murderer would gain an accomplice. She'd have to think about that one...
Something in her expression must have shifted, just enough to send a flicker of unease through even Disa’s sunlit bravado.
“You gonna be okay?” she asked, a little too casually. “You look a little... tense.”
Galadriel reached up and removed her sunglasses, folding them neatly as if she hadn’t just contemplated fictional homicide.
The smile she offered was razor-thin. Perfectly composed.
“I’ll survive,” she said, tone even.
Disa’s smile returned, slower but sure, edged with fondness and something that looked suspiciously like admiration.
“Oh, I know you will, love. You always do.”
[Private Chat: Finrod & Galadriel]
Galadriel:
Traitor.
Finrod:
Host.
There’s a difference.
Galadriel:
You knew.
Finrod:
I suspected.
Galadriel:
I hope your wine mysteriously disappears. Every night.
Finrod:
You think I didn’t tip the staff in advance?
Please. Amateur.
Galadriel:
You’re dead to me.
Finrod:
You’re still getting the villa with the ocean view.
Galadriel:
…Fine. Partial resurrection. 🥂
Notes:
Thanks for reading this far! 🫶 If it made you smile, drop me an emoji in the comments - or words, if you're feeling generous. 😉
More chapters will be trickling in eventually. You know... vacation pace. 🏖️If you're curious about a more canon-adjacent take, I’ve also got a fic that serves banter and existential dread in that setting. 🤭
✍️📜 Wild Card
And if you want the smut right now… well. There's a black goo-themed side quest waiting in my profile for the particularly brave ones. 👀
Chapter 2: Day 1 - Myths and Legends
Notes:
This... got a bit out of hand. Apologies in advance. 😬 More prose next time. 😆
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Galadriel stood in front of the mirror, holding a white sundress against her frame. Too innocent. She tossed it onto the bed, where it joined a growing pile of rejected options. The emerald silk? Too obvious. The navy linen? Too safe. She needed something that said I'm perfectly fine with unexpected arrivals and absolutely not overthinking this dinner without actually having to say it out loud.
Her phone buzzed against the dresser. Then again. And again.
She ignored it, reaching for a coral-colored wrap dress that looked effortless but had cost more than the therapy she was definitely avoiding. The kind of thing that photographed well and made you look like you'd just stepped off a yacht, even if you'd never been on one. Perfect for a dinner where she needed to appear completely unbothered by the presence of someone who'd once made her forget she had standards.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
The group chat was clearly having some kind of collective breakdown. Let them spiral. She had more important things to worry about, like whether coral made her look too eager to blend in with the sunset, or if that was exactly the kind of confidence she wanted to project.
Buzz.
On the other hand, they really couldn't be trusted unsupervised, especially with that fresh gossip bait in play.
And it wasn’t fair to leave disaster management to Elrond every time.
With a resigned sigh, she picked up the phone.
[Group Chat: 💥 The Usual Chaos 💥: 8 new messages]
Valandil:
chief disaster officer says vibe check PASSED 🔥🍹🏖️
i rate this chaos 11/10Eärien:
did you just rate your own arrival? 🙃Valandil:
damn right i did
someone’s gotta acknowledge my entrance
WE BROUGHT THE EX-BOYFRIEND ENERGY AND NO ONE EVEN THANKED US 😤😤😤Eärien:
valandil
explain to me
IN WHAT UNIVERSE
did inviting GAL’S EX seem like a good idea?! 🤦♀️🤦♀️🤦♀️Valandil:
his dive trip got canceled, the vibes felt right!
also he bought us beer at the airport so like. legally obligated. 🤷♂️
celeborn is coming too. it's fine. gal's chill with having exes around. 👍Elrond:
Just to clarify:
You believed adding another ex would somehow make it less awkward?Valandil:
two negatives make a party
that’s algebra, right? 😎Mairen:
did mercury dare you to do this or was it free will 😐Galadriel:
He’s not my ex.
We kissed once. It meant nothing.
Please stop acting like I wrote his name in a notebook.Disa:
oh come on, sunshine 🌞
tell the class how happy you are to see him again. 😘Isildur:
wait who? 👀Eärien:
you’re so slow istg 🙄Durin:
wait…
this is party incident guy isn’t it?
the one who vanished?Ontamo:
I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD
LIKE ACTUALLY ☠️👻
i swear i saw galadriel lure him into the ocean and just. let him DROWN 😭🌊Eärien:
you thought GALADRIEL committed homicide
and didn’t say a word for eight years???Durin:
ngl this makes me trust you less around crime scenesMairen:
my fiancé saw what he believed was a violent crime
and just... emotionally processed it
like a raccoon burying trauma under a beach towel 🦝⛱️😵Ontamo:
ok wow i feel VERY attacked rn
we were all under a lot of emotional pressure that night
honestly that’s why i never let it go past a kiss with Galadriel
SHE’S KIND OF TERRIFYING TBH 💀🫠🔥Mairen:
you never kissed her, babe
you kissed a towel
while calling it “justice” 🥴Valandil:
not this again 😭
you threw up on your own shoes and told the bonfire “she’s too powerful”Disa:
you hallucinated a whole kiss AND a murder
in one night
that’s talent 🔥💋⚰️Ontamo:
OKAY BUT
ARE WE SURE
this isn’t his EVIL TWIN coming for REVENGE?!?!?! 🩸🔪🧬🌴Galadriel:
I have never murdered anyone. Yet.
Check back after dinner.Ontamo:
WHERE DID HE GO THOUGH
no one saw him again after that night!!! 😱🌊Eärien:
calling it now: rehab. 🧃Mairen:
he did have the haunted eyes
but my friend’s cousin swears she saw him in costa rica
said he ended up in a beach cult called The Flame Undying 🔥🌴
but it turned out to just be a really intense yoga retreat
with like, chanting? and capes? Idk 🧘🧛Elrond:
This is absurd.
He didn’t join a cult.
He stole the AV closet key, Elrond Jr. exploded, and he vanished.
We are not reconstructing mythos from hallway gossip and stoner dreams.Valandil:
didn’t he hack the admin system to delete his detentions??? 💻🔥
legend behaviorDurin:
morgoth investigation around that time, maybe connected
cousin Regin swears reddit confirmed it
she follows 14 true crime blogsDisa:
omg YES
offshore gambling 🎲, smuggling yachts 🚤, cursed emeralds 💎💀
gal you almost became a MOB WIFE i’m screaming 💄👜💍Galadriel:
😐 ...No.Bronwyn:
You're all being ridiculous. 🙄
His family probably just moved. Like normal people do.Disa:
boring but probably true
still doesn't explain the VIBES though 👀Ontamo:
ok listen
hear me out
my cousin’s boyfriend’s podcast did an episode on shapeshifting criminals
one guy disappeared during a blood moon and came back 3 years later
fluent in some weird-ass language and allergic to silver
coincidence??
or prophecy??? 🌕💀🔗✨Elrond:
You’re describing the plot of three separate CW shows.Ontamo:
remember the beach bonfire when the moon turned red??? 🔥🔴
and halbrand just stared at it like it owed him money???
WEREWOLF.Disa:
or maybe he was pining after Gal 😩
you know how men get dramatic under a full moon 🌕🙄Ontamo:
or he had a CURSE 🔮🧬🐺Durin:
wouldn’t surprise me
finrod did say something once about halbrand and werewolves
figured it was just a joke thoughValandil:
wait wait WAIT
does that mean he's gonna TRANSFORM later this week?? 🐺🤯Eärien:
he already transformed
into someone hotter 🥵
which is arguably more dangerousBronwyn:
Guys please...
This is how horror movies start. 🎥😬Disa:
no no
this is how romance novels start 😏Isildur:
maybe he fought Celeborn
over Galadriel
lost the duel, vanished in shame. honor demands it 👀💔⚔️Eärien:
LMAO celeborn???
pls. at worst he’d send a sternly worded letter
the man signs his grocery lists 🙄Valandil:
"Dear Sir,
Regretfully, I must inform you that you’ve dishonored my soon-to-be ex-ex-girlfriend, and thus I am forced to dislike you from afar.”
- Celeborn, probably 📜🪶🕊️
[Eärien and Disa reacted with 🤣]Arondir:
Some ghosts return.
Others never left.Isildur:
arondir you say things like they’re poems
and then i stare at the ceiling for forty minutes contemplating life 💫🌱🫧
[Eärien reacted with 🙄]Galadriel:
Are you all done inventing the Halbrand Extended Universe?
Finrod says dinner’s ready.Durin:
just one more thing
there was that fire
and the stolen chemistry exam
and someone crashed the golf cart into the principal's koi pondElrond:
That was never officially confirmed.
But yes. The timeline is... notable.Valandil:
remember his old crew?
that weird intense friend group that all dropped off the map?? 😳🌪️Ontamo:
YEAH didn't one of them get ARRESTED??
dude tried to rob something with a crossbow 💰🏹Valandil:
and one just… joined a medieval reenactment commune? 🏰🛡️
like fully committed. chainmail. falconry. only drinks mead now.Elrond:
That’s not accurate.
I know those circles quite well.Disa:
oh my god
YOU’RE IN THE COMMUNE??? 😭🛡️🍻Elrond:
It’s not a commune.
It’s a living history society with a robust scholarship program and a highly competitive falconry league.Durin:
but what about the mead? 🍺🍯Elrond:
We don’t drink mead exclusively.
There’s an herbal cordial rotation.Valandil:
that’s somehow even nerdier.
anyway... what if halbrand got sent to military school??
or witness protection. hot people things. 😎Ontamo:
[image: meme of “I’m not saying it was aliens… but it was aliens.”]
i rest my case 👽🌕🛸🙌Galadriel:
You are all on thin ice.
Just FYI.Valandil:
and yet we dance
because we are who we are 😌🕺Elrond:
Everyone, this is getting ridiculous.
Please get dressed and go to dinner.
Leaving our host waiting is rude.Valandil:
halbrand said he’s doing “reef work” now?? 🪸🐠🌊
someone ask him at dinner! 👀🔎Ontamo:
OH I GOT THIS 🫡🕵️
“sir do you have any known enemies”
“are you familiar with ancient curses”
“were you in costa rica in 2018 OR NOT”Bronwyn:
Please don't. 🫣🙏Mairen:
he won’t.
he knows that taser in my purse is fully functional. 😊⚡Valandil:
he also said he remembers everyone 👀Ontamo:
he DEFINITELY remembers galadriel
he was like 👀 the moment he saw herMairen:
oh we saw. 😏Eärien:
intensely saw. 👀Isildur:
okay but like...
is this gonna be a problem? 🤔😳Elrond:
For whom?Disa:
galadriel’s self-control
(what little she has left 😇)Galadriel:
That's enough!
This isn’t a group chat. It’s a hostage situation.
I’ve survived law school, twelve-hour doc reviews, and partners who think ‘circle back’ is a strategy.
And yet, Valandil with Wi-Fi remains my greatest enemy.
Fifteen minutes. Be at dinner. And if anyone mentions werewolves, I stop pretending to be civilized.Ontamo:
yes ma’am 🫡Elrond:
I’ll meet you there. On time. As always.Valandil:
FIT CHECK 🪞🔥
[image: Valandil in an unbuttoned linen shirt, obnoxious gold necklace, sunglasses indoors, holding a beer like it’s an accessory
captioned: ready to cause problems on purpose 😎🍑🌞]Eärien:
you look like a cocktail named “bad decision” 🍸🙄Valandil:
and guess who’s gonna drink it 😎🍸
tradition’s tradition, babe
sunset’s at 6:52.
don’t be late 💋Eärien:
muted! 💅Durin:
dibs on sitting near the cheese
far from ontamoElrond:
This entire thread is going in the official group archive.
Title: Why We Can’t Have Nice Things - Exhibit A through Z.
Galadriel stared at the phone for a long moment, thumb hovering over the mute button.
She didn’t press it.
Instead, she threw her phone on the bed, focusing once again on her wardrobe. The coral dress suddenly felt like exactly the right choice - confident, unbothered, the kind of thing someone wore when they definitely weren't planning to commit fictional homicide over appetizers. And if an accident were to happen, at least fresh blood stains would look spectacular on this color.
She slipped it on, the fabric settling against her skin. In the mirror, she appeared composed. Serene, even. Like someone who hadn't just spent ten minutes reading increasingly unhinged theories about werewolves and witness protection programs.
Her reflection smiled back at her - sharp, controlled, dangerous in all the right ways.
She had survived worse than a group dinner with an ex who wasn't really an ex.
This would not rattle her in the least.
Whether she believed it didn’t matter. She looked like she did.
Notes:
Thank you for reading through the disaster! I hope it made you laugh (or at least wince in solidarity with Galadriel). 😅
There's now a little bonus nugget in the comments for those interested 😊:
The Halbrand Incident: A Timeline (As We Understand It)
Compiled by Valandil & Ontamo, Co-Authors, Chief Disaster Officers
Chapter 3: Day 1 - Dinner
Notes:
There's a spoiler for Murder on the Orient Express in here. So if you're sensitive to that, just skip the sentence after the mention of the title. 🤫
Not sure why I thought an ensemble cast of 16 was a good idea. 😭
Eight was already pushing it in my other story, but my brain said “yes, double the disaster” and then peaced out like “good luck babe, see you on the other side.” 🧠✌️😂
Anyway… here’s my best attempt at keeping them all fed, clothed, and emotionally unstable. 🥴
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The dining setup looked professionally staged - teak table polished to a muted glow, linen-draped chairs set at deliberately perfect angles. Amber lanterns swung like low stars, casting everything in that golden hour glow. Fresh orchids spilled from low arrangements, their petals catching the light like they'd been positioned by someone who understood that beauty should look accidental but never actually be left to chance. Even the muslin curtains billowed like someone had paid extra for mood.
Beyond that: nothing but ocean and sky.
Of course, Galadriel thought. Amarië’s handiwork. She had to admit - grudgingly - that it was gorgeous.
That was the thing, though. Growing up, she’d been dragged to a thousand versions of this same dinner: charity galas, boardroom functions, painfully curated social events where the wine was always too expensive and the conversation was always too bland.
Even now, work functions ran the same playbook - handshake, fake laugh, make sure your dress didn’t outshine the CEO’s wife. It was all perfect linen and artfully posed silverware. And absolutely none of it felt real. There were days she could feel herself drowning in it.
But tonight wasn’t one of them.
Because as stiff as this setup was, she knew her friends would wreck it in under five minutes. Someone would spill a drink. Ontamo would put a hat on a lantern. Disa would have that centerpiece in her hair by dessert and dare anyone to question it.
And maybe, Galadriel realized as she exhaled slow and steady, that was why she loved them so much. Not just for the chaos, but because they made things real again. Unpolished. Human. Hers.
A small smile tugged at her mouth. Even if they grated on her nerves like sand in a shoe, she wouldn’t trade it. Not for all the teak tables and linen napkins in the world.
She sat in her carefully chosen coral dress, positioned with strategic precision so she could see the ocean, monitor the group dynamics, and avoid making direct eye contact with the man sitting almost directly across from her.
Almost, because Amarië was too smart to create a direct confrontation. Instead, Halbrand sat one seat over, close enough that she could catch the low rumble of his voice when he spoke, but far enough that she could pretend she wasn't hyperaware of every time he reached for his water glass.
Disa had claimed the seat to Galadriel's right, ostensibly for moral support but more likely for premium access to whatever psychological carnage was about to unfold.
When the server arrived with two identical cocktails - each garnished with a delicate orchid and flecked with what looked suspiciously like gold - Galadriel arched an eyebrow.
Disa leaned in with a conspiratorial look. "I took the liberty of ordering for both of us," she said, then added with a wicked little smile: "It's called Sunset Confessions. Seemed appropriate."
"You expect me to confess something?" Galadriel asked, tone dry.
"I don’t expect anything." Disa took a sip, eyes sparkling over the rim. "But I did clear space in my schedule for the aftermath."
Galadriel rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched like it was considering a smile and thought better of it.
She checked her phone quickly - just to confirm that the group chat had, in fact, calmed down - then slipped it into the space between her hip and the armrest. Visible screens at Finrod’s dinners earned disapproving looks, but total disconnection after that moment was just begging for trouble.
With a slow sip of her cocktail, she let her gaze drift across the table.
Elrond sat motionless, gaze calm, already bracing for conversational shrapnel. Valandil had positioned himself strategically in the middle of the table, sprawled back in his chair with the loose-limbed confidence of someone ready to stir or settle depending on his whim.
The rest filled in around them like puzzle pieces: Ontamo perched on the edge of his seat beside Mairen, vibrating with the barely-contained energy of a kid who’d been told not to touch anything at a museum. His fingers were working a napkin into increasingly complex origami while his eyes darted between Halbrand and his creation. Mairen's hand settled over his wrist like a paperweight, her smile never wavering.
Eärien leaned back in her chair, thumbs flying across the screen as she compiled what looked like a pros and cons list. Her gaze flicked methodically around the table, pausing to add a skull emoji beside Valandil's name with particular satisfaction. Durin stabbed the menu with a finger, demanding clarification on whether ‘citrus reduction’ was culinary art or lemon hoarding.
Isildur tugged at his collar for the third time, shoulders rigid as he stole glances at Estrid across the table. She sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, that faint smile fixed in place like someone cast in a play she didn’t audition for.
Arondir and Bronwyn tucked in quietly at the far end, as always, content to orbit just outside the chaos while sharing some private conversation that made Bronwyn's eyes crinkle with silent laughter.
Finrod stood at the head of the table like he'd been waiting for his cue, champagne flute in hand, that golden-boy smile already settled into place.
He was insufferably good at this – the hosting, the charm, the way he could make a group of mildly dysfunctional adults feel like they were the most fascinating people he'd ever had the pleasure of gathering around his table.
It was one of the things she loved most about him. And sometimes, the thing that made her want to push him into the pool.
The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that would have been insufferably romantic under different circumstances. Instead, it felt like atmospheric foreshadowing for a night that would end in either group therapy or flight rebooking.
"Alright," Finrod said, lifting his flute in a smooth arc, waiting for the soft murmur of conversation to die down. "A toast."
The table quieted, faces turning toward him expectantly.
"To old friends," Finrod began, his voice carrying that warm sincerity that made it impossible not to believe him. "To new adventures. To the kind of memories we'll either treasure forever or pretend never happened."
There was a ripple of laughter around the table - not the loud kind, but the knowing kind. A few raised brows, shoulders relaxing into the moment. Valandil called "hopefully both," and glasses rose in a soft, scattered chorus.
For a moment, it felt like the old days - like they were all still kids and invincible and convinced that the world was full of possibilities instead of complications.
Galadriel lifted her cocktail glass with the rest of them, letting herself have the moment, the warmth, the familiar comfort of being surrounded by people who had known her when she was still figuring out who she wanted to be.
She didn't look at Halbrand. But she could feel the weight of his attention like the sunlight on her skin, and chose to study the condensation sliding down her glass like it could teach emotional detachment.
The toast ended, conversations resumed, and the evening officially began.
Resort staff moved with easy, practiced grace, refilling glasses and bringing out the appetizers with quiet smiles. Soft jazz began to drift from hidden speakers - the kind of painstakingly sophisticated playlist that made her want to check if Finrod had actually labeled it Dinner Party Ambiance: Island Edition.
She caught Disa's eye as another wave of bossa nova washed over them. "Karma," she mouthed. That's what you got for treating people’s emotional minefields like a romantic comedy.
Disa grinned, completely unrepentant, and lifted her gold-flaked cocktail in a mock toast. "Suffering builds character, sunshine."
The first course arrived in a flourish that suggested Amarië had provided the kitchen with a timeline and footnotes . The staff executed the drop-off like choreography. Coconut shrimp - endangered already, fish cakes perched on actual banana leaves - because apparently plates weren’t atmospheric enough - and plantain chips stacked in architectural spirals that practically screamed “please Instagram me.”
Of course Amarië had chosen sharing plates. Force everyone to reach across each other, create interaction, manufacture intimacy through the ancient ritual of fighting over the last shrimp.
Three seats down, Isildur hovered uncertainly over a small dish, bread in hand, staring at something glossy and black.
"Is this... supposed to look like that?" he asked, prodding it with the corner of his bread like it might bite back.
"It's black garlic aioli," Eärien hissed, shoulders tensing as she leaned toward him with barely contained mortification. "It's not cursed, Isildur. It's aged. Just eat it."
The wine came next - crisp, overpriced, and described by Finrod like he was unveiling a new fragrance line. But even Galadriel had to admit it was good. Good enough that she took a second sip before remembering she needed to pace herself.
Especially with Halbrand's voice drifting across the table, low and easy as he said something that made Bronwyn tip her head back with genuine laughter.
Galadriel noticed his fingers curl around his glass - water, not wine. Interesting. Everyone else was at least pretending to appreciate Finrod's carefully curated selection. Either he was one of those insufferable health purists, or... well. The alternative suggestions weren't exactly reassuring. She filed it away with all the other things that didn't quite add up.
He'd cleaned up for dinner - the cargo pants replaced by dark jeans, the gray t-shirt swapped for something in navy that fit him just a little too well. His hair was still damp from a shower, pushed back behind his ears, and that scrape on his jaw looked somehow more interesting in the sunset light.
Her attention snapped back to her wine glass before anyone could catch her conducting what was clearly just a tactical assessment. Know your opponent. Catalog the changes. Try to figure out if the scrape came from reef work or something less noble. It was basic strategy, not… whatever Disa's raised eyebrow would suggest if she'd been caught looking.
The sun was sinking lower now, painting the sky in shades of coral and gold that made everything look like a movie set. The wine was flowing, the conversation was getting louder, and somewhere in the distance, steel drums were playing a lazy melody that mixed with the sound of waves against the shore.
Galadriel took a slow sip of wine and let her shoulders drop for the first time all evening. Her gaze circled the table like a lifeguard off-duty but still watching for a splash. This was nice, she realized.
Elrond's hands carved clean geometric shapes in the air as he and Arondir traded notes on sustainable design - green roofs, greywater systems, and the boutique hotel garden Arondir's landscaping company had just landed.
Durin was gesturing proudly to his pineapple-print polo, telling anyone within earshot that it was breathable and that the pineapples were perfectly festive for such an occasion. Meanwhile Eärien pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something about 'fruit salad couture' under her breath. Normal dinner chaos.
Except…
Ontamo's gaze kept sliding toward Halbrand, fork frozen mid-air. His eyes had that glassy, determined quality that meant his three brain cells were firing in dangerous formation.
Valandil tilted back in his chair, fingers steepled like a villain in a spy movie, that worrisome smirk playing at his lips - the one he got right before asking someone's date about their 'damage' or their therapist's vacation schedule.
Disa swirled her cocktail with deliberate casualness, now squinting sideways with the expression of someone caught somewhere between I’m about to meddle and I’ve already meddled and I’m just waiting for the fallout.
Eärien had abandoned all pretense of texting, phone face-down on the table, eyes forward like a woman preparing to either spill secrets or throw hands.
Galadriel felt the mood shift, her fingers tightening imperceptibly around her glass. This wasn't heartwarming or whimsical anymore - it was something heavier. A powder keg, and someone had lit the fuse.
It reminded her of one of those old Westerns her dad used to watch - everyone standing in a dusty circle, hands hovering over holsters, waiting to see who'd draw first. Except instead of guns, they had inappropriate questions and too much wine.
Elrond had gone still, his conversation with Arondir trailing off as his fingers began a nervous rhythm against the table. His gaze swept the group like a beleaguered mayor watching outlaws roll into town - already calculating how much chaos he could contain before the saloon caught fire and the piano player quit.
Galadriel could feel it building - that electric, hair-prickling stillness before the storm. No one had said anything yet, but the air had thickened, heavy with the kind of pressure that comes just before lightning strikes.
The only question was who would crack first. Because every last one of them had a finger twitching toward the draw.
Five minutes, she calculated. Ten if they were lucky and the food proved sufficiently distracting.
Fine. She’d be the adult - the sheriff in this standoff, stepping into the dust with a smile and a distraction, hoping to disarm the room before a full-blown emotional shootout started.
"So, Estrid," Galadriel said, angling her body toward the young woman with her best welcoming-committee face. "Tell us about yourself. Eärien mentioned you work together? Interior design must be fascinating."
Estrid's fingers fluttered to tuck a curl behind her ear. "Oh, yes. I'm an admin assistant at the firm. I mostly handle scheduling and invoices. That part's not very glamorous."
"That’s... essential work," Galadriel offered, fighting to keep the polite tone from slipping. "Do you enjoy it?"
"It’s very organized," Estrid said cheerfully. "I like when the numbers balance at the end of the day."
Galadriel’s brain short-circuited. She was apparently allergic to bland. Come on. Give me something. A weird hobby. A controversial opinion. Tell me you believe birds are fake. Anything.
"What kind of music do you like?" she tried again, clinging to the conversation like a life raft.
"Oh, whatever's on is fine," Estrid said, her smile brightening. "I'm not picky."
Galadriel screamed silently into the void. She was out here trying to disarm a bomb with glitter glue and this girl just handed her a potato.
Worse: Ontamo had abandoned even the pretense of eating. He was now openly gawking at Halbrand like he was watching a documentary on cursed relics, fork suspended halfway to his mouth, a piece of shrimp threatening to fall. Three minutes, max, before he said something unhinged.
Meanwhile, Isildur leaned forward on his elbows, gazing at Estrid like she'd just revealed the meaning of life. His pupils were practically heart-shaped. "That's so cool that you're flexible about music," he said reverently. "Like... you’re open to the universe’s soundtrack."
Galadriel's fingers twitched toward the shrimp platter. Just one good throw. A cringe-seeking missile right between the eyes.
She opened her mouth, then pressed her lips together. Anything she said now would sound like a cross-examination. Which, to be fair, it absolutely would be.
Elrond, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat softly before the silence could calcify. "Estrid, do you have any hobbies?" he asked, steering the conversation with the gentle authority of a camp counselor on a rainy day.
"Oh," Estrid's face lit up. "I like museums. And baking. Oh! And I collect novelty teapots."
Isildur's jaw actually dropped. "That's so cool," he breathed, like she'd just announced she was secretly Batman.
That was it. Beige-on-beige with a side of earnest delusion. The conversation had flatlined, and Galadriel was left standing in the middle of Main Street at high noon, her distraction-pistol loaded with blanks while the real showdown was about to start.
She pivoted toward Ontamo just as the disaster began to unfold.
He'd finished chewing. His fork rose, steady and ominous - like a compass needle finding true north. Time crystallized, the way it did before car crashes and final exams and moments that would definitely require damage control. His lips parted, tongue already forming the first syllable of what she already knew would be the exact wrong thing to say, and she found herself frozen in the space between breath and catastrophe, watching her peaceful dinner die a slow, inevitable death…
"Speaking of cool," a voice cut clean through, but it wasn’t Ontamo’s.
Galadriel’s head snapped to Valandil, who was lounging like the human embodiment of his own cursed selfie caption: ready to cause problems on purpose. Judging by the satisfied tilt of his chin, he was making good on the promise.
He turned to Estrid with impressive ease, like this was perfectly normal dinner conversation. "Do you have a criminal record?"
Galadriel didn't flinch. She just stared, one eye giving the faintest twitch like her brain was buffering mid-crisis.
So they were back in that territory.
She almost admired the symmetry - back in murder mystery mode. Just with fewer costumes and way less etiquette.
Though at this rate, she mused darkly, this would end up as a reverse Murder on the Orient Express. They'd have one perpetrator and twelve corpses. Her, presumably, standing over the bodies with a bloody orchid centerpiece.
The silence hit that special pitch where everyone starts recalculating their life choices. Forks paused mid-air like tiny monuments to social disaster. Elrond's face had taken on the pained expression of someone watching civilization crumble in real-time. Mairen's hand was definitely on that taser now, though Galadriel wasn't sure if it was meant for Valandil or Ontamo, who looked personally offended that his interrogation had been hijacked.
Even Finrod's perpetual host smile had frozen into something that suggested he was mentally reviewing the resort’s cancellation policy. Galadriel didn’t say “This is your fault.” Her gaze did the heavy lifting.
Estrid's hands fluttered briefly before settling back in her lap. "Um… no?" she said, her smile faltering just slightly. "I’ve never even gotten a speeding ticket."
Galadriel caught Halbrand's attention shift to Estrid, his head tilting slightly as one eyebrow lifted in lazy assessment. That ghost of a smile played at the corner of his mouth - not mocking, but quietly amused, like he'd found something unexpected in the wreckage. Great. Apparently, even he could be intrigued by room-temperature milk.
"Fascinating," Valandil drawled, fingers drumming against the table as if her spotless innocence were somehow the most suspicious answer possible. "No secret arson history? Not even a little tax fraud? Shame."
Elrond's exhale was so controlled it barely disturbed the air.
Valandil swirled the wine in his glass once, for effect, then let his gaze drift lazily across the table.
"Well, surely someone here has a colorful past," he said, drawing out the syllables like a magician about to reveal his final trick.
Then, almost idly, he turned to Halbrand. "What about you?"
And there it was: a live grenade, gift-wrapped in small talk.
Halbrand didn't even pause in cutting his fish cake. His movements stayed smooth, unhurried, before he finally glanced up with the kind of calm that made you wonder what he wasn't showing.
"Not officially," he said, voice low and threaded with something that might have been amusement. It was the kind of answer that sounded like a joke until you realized he hadn't actually denied anything.
Galadriel found herself studying the easy set of his shoulders, the relaxed grip on his fork. That same lazy confidence that said he already knew the punchline and was content to let everyone else scramble to catch up. It was the same expression he'd worn in high school, the one that had made teachers suspicious and gotten him out of trouble in equal measure.
Valandil straightened like a bloodhound catching a scent. "Oh, now that's interesting. 'Not officially' implies there's an 'unofficially' lurking around somewhere. Do tell."
He abandoned his casual sprawl, elbows hitting the table as he leaned in, wine forgotten, fully committed to this new game. "Are we talking white collar? Blue collar? No collar?" He was building momentum now, that photographer's instinct for finding the perfect angle. "Did you steal a yacht? Run an underground gambling ring? Please tell me there was a secret alias. Bonus points for amnesia." His gaze slipped to Galadriel for just a beat - casual enough to look accidental, pointed enough that she knew it wasn't. "Or at least one high-speed chase…"
"Speaking of chases," Disa cut in smoothly, having caught that little glance, her voice carrying this particular tone that meant he had just crossed a line and was about to pay for it. "Remember when campus security chased Valandil through the fountain during finals week?"
Valandil's head snapped toward her. "That was-"
"Oh god, the arrest for public indecency!" Eärien chimed in, eyes sparkling with vindictive delight. "What was it you were wearing? Or not wearing?"
"It was a dare," Valandil protested, his investigative momentum thoroughly derailed. "And technically, I was wearing a Speedo." He shot Galadriel a look of pure accusation, his hand pressed to his chest like she'd personally stripped him naked and shoved him into that fountain.
She lifted one shoulder in a barely-there shrug, her face serene as a Renaissance painting. The gesture said everything: he'd been a grown man with free will and functioning brain cells. The fact that he'd chosen to ignore both wasn't her problem.
"Yes!" Ontamo practically levitated from his seat, hands waving with the barely-contained thrill of finally contributing. "The legendary flesh-colored Speedo! I was there! Campus security thought you were fully naked until they tackled you!"
"While you were screaming 'IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!'" Durin added helpfully, toasting the memory with his raised glass.
The table erupted in laughter, the tension breaking like a wave. Even Elrond's shoulders relaxed marginally.
Galadriel's gaze drifted to Halbrand and caught him mid-movement, his hand at his jaw, thumb tracing that scrape in a slow, unconscious rhythm while he watched the chaos unfold. The corners of his eyes crinkled with genuine amusement - not at anyone's expense, just quietly entertained by the whole production. He probably would've answered every question they threw at him with that same easy calm. Criminal records and all.
For a second, she was annoyed. Maybe they should have kept pushing. Not that she cared what he'd been doing for eight years, but some answers - even half-truths - might have prevented the inevitable spiral of conspiracy theories that would consume the group chat until he mercifully disappeared from their lives again. Hopefully soon.
Then his eyes found hers. When he noticed her looking, his hand stilled against his jaw before dropping to the table, fingers flat against the wood like he was grounding himself.
His smile shifted - not bigger, just warmer. His head tilted a fraction, a movement so subtle it barely disturbed the air between them. One finger began a slow tap against the table, like he was counting heartbeats or marking time until something inevitable. The candlelight turned his hazel eyes molten amber, and she could see him reading her the way she'd been trying to read him all night. Her stomach did something reckless and unsanctioned.
God, she hated this. Hated that the same lazy charm that had worked on her at eighteen still had traction eight years later. Hated that two seconds of eye contact could make her pulse kick sideways, that some traitorous part of her brain was already cataloging how the shadows played across his jaw.
She looked away first, fingers finding a plantain chip, then dragging it through one of the dips with unnecessary precision, like the perfect ratio required her complete attention. The warmth spreading across her face was annoyance. Obviously. Nothing else.
The laughter was settling down now, but Disa wasn't finished. She'd helped derail Valandil's interrogation, but her eyes still sparkled with curiosity as she turned toward Halbrand. Maybe the group chat would get its half-truths after all.
"So," she said, leaning forward with that particular smile that meant she was circling back for the kill.
"Saving the reefs now, love? Didn't have you pegged for the marine conservation type." Her voice lifted just enough to snag the nearby conversations. Not aggressive like Valandil's questioning, but precise as a scalpel.
Halbrand's posture didn't change, but something in his stillness sharpened. "What can I say? I had to clean up my act eventually."
The pun landed with a thud. Marine conservation. Clean. Ocean. Galadriel mentally awarded him negative points for creativity while her brain unhelpfully suggested that the only thing he'd cleaned up was his ability to fill out a shirt. She bit into another chip, as if crunching loudly enough might silence the intrusive thoughts.
"So what exactly do you do?" Bronwyn asked. She propped her chin on one hand, bangles sliding down her wrist with a soft chime, studying Halbrand with the focused attention of someone actually listening rather than waiting to speak.
Halbrand's shoulders straightened subtly. "Coral restoration, mostly. Reef mapping, planting coral nurseries in the deeper sites." His fingers wrapped around his water glass, thumb brushing condensation. "Fixing whatever tech dies underwater - cameras, buoys, sensors. If it breaks down there, I’m the guy. It's a non-profit based here. Keeps me busy. Not really the clipboard type."
"Wait, seriously?" Isildur practically bounced in his seat. "You actually dive for work?"
"Every day." The glass stilled in Halbrand's hands, and something shifted in his expression - not quite pride, but a quiet satisfaction. Like something real beneath the charm. "Sometimes twice if the conditions are good."
"That's..." Isildur’s hands lifted, then dropped again, like he didn’t know what to do with them - or this new life goal. "Do you see sharks? What about rays? Oh man, have you ever found anything weird down there?"
"Plenty of sharks." Halbrand's whole demeanor loosened, his forearms coming to rest on the table as he leaned in. His hands carved shapes through the air, mapping underwater landscapes. "Nurse sharks mostly, some reef sharks. The rays are my favorite though - spotted eagles that glide past like they own the place."
Isildur's jaw went slack with awe. "That's so cool."
"And that scrape on your jaw?" Eärien cut in, voice honeyed with false concern. "Work accident or do you get into bar fights recreationally?"
Halbrand's fingers found the mark automatically, a brief touch before his hand dropped to rest flat on the table. The movement was controlled, but a muscle jumped along his jawline - there and gone. "Mooring line had opinions about where I should be standing." His mouth quirked up at one corner, shoulders lifting in an easy shrug that invited them to share the joke - or wonder if there was one. "Occupational hazard."
"Right," Ontamo said, squinting like he was trying to decode a secret message. "Occupational. From the... ocean occupation."
Mairen's fingers circled his wrist with quiet authority.
"Coral propagation, is it?" Elrond asked mildly, cutting through the tension with surgical precision. "Heat-resistant genotypes or natural strains?"
Halbrand's eyebrow lifted, his head tilting as he reassessed Elrond. "Bit of both. Depends on the reef." He settled back in his chair, arms crossing loosely. "Why? You want to compare notes?"
"Just clarifying whether you're exaggerating or understating your qualifications," Elrond said pleasantly, fingers steepled like he hadn't just thrown down an academic gauntlet at dinner.
Disa bumped Galadriel's shoulder. "Is it weird that I'm kind of into this version of nerd slap-fighting?"
"Yes," Galadriel murmured back, though she was watching the exchange with reluctant fascination.
"We're working with staghorn and elkhorn mostly," Halbrand continued, uncrossing his arms to gesture again. "Some brain coral in the deeper sites. The heat-resistant strains show promise, but you lose genetic diversity if you're not careful. Natural selection's slower but more stable long-term."
"Oh!" Ontamo suddenly erupted, fork jabbing the air with enthusiasm. "Are you guys using those sexual coral orgies? The synchronized spawning parties where they all just…" His hands exploded outward in a dramatic burst. "Bloom into the water at the same time?"
The table froze.
"Like a massive underwater bukkake situation," Ontamo continued, completely oblivious to the collective horror spreading around him. "All timed to the moon! Very romantic. Very efficient."
"Jesus Christ," Eärien muttered.
"That's..." Elrond's mouth opened, then closed, his expression cycling through several stages of academic grief. "Actually accurate. Broadcast spawning. Many coral species do reproduce through synchronized mass spawning events."
Halbrand’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. He dragged his knuckles along his mouth, trying - and failing - to chase the grin away. When it broke free, it was wide and unguarded, the first genuinely delighted expression she’d seen from him. "Yep. Late summer, full moon. We plan dives around it."
Everyone stared at Ontamo.
He shrugged, taking another bite of fish. "What? I read Nat Geo sometimes."
"Since when?" Valandil demanded.
"Since Mairen started leaving them in the bathroom." He swiveled back to Halbrand, undeterred. "Do you ever feel weird about interrupting their sex party? Like, voyeuristic?"
Without looking at him, Mairen reached for her wine and said calmly: "Chaos bean, what affirmation did we practice earlier?"
Ontamo's shoulders slumped. "I don’t have to voice every passing thought."
Mairen smiled, nodded, and gestured toward Elrond and Halbrand. "Please, continue."
"Let’s pivot back to the transplant success rates," Elrond said, his tone suggesting they would never speak of coral reproduction again.
"Sixty to seventy percent in the nurseries. Drops to about forty after transplant, depending on water quality." Halbrand's voice steadied, the professional focus returning. His hands settled on the table, still now. "Better than five years ago. Still not enough."
Galadriel tracked the easy way he handled the numbers, how his fingers had stilled completely when he shifted into teaching mode. Either he'd rehearsed this performance down to the gesture, or he actually gave a damn about coral survival rates. She wasn’t sure if rehearsed sincerity or real conviction would piss her off more.
Anyone could memorize statistics. Hell, she'd seen junior associates fake expertise with less polish. That scrape on his jaw could have come from anything - a bar fight, a deal gone wrong, whatever criminals did these days when they weren't cosplaying as a Greenpeace poster boy.
But Halbrand was still talking, answering some follow-up question from Elrond about water temperature thresholds. His answers were specific. Unpolished. The kind of details you only learn underwater, not from a prep sheet. Galadriel frowned. If it was a performance, it was a damn good one.
"Interesting," Elrond said finally, in that particular tone that meant he'd gotten exactly what he was fishing for.
Galadriel watched him settle back in his chair, the subtle tension in his shoulders easing. Whatever test this had been, apparently Halbrand had passed.
Finrod caught her eye from across the table, his earlier host-panic replaced by something closer to relief. He raised his glass slightly - a silent acknowledgment that his dinner party might survive after all.
"Thrilling," Valandil said dryly, clearly tired of being upstaged by marine biology. "Can we go back to talking about bar fights now?"
"I vote we go back to eating," Durin interjected, gesturing at the depleted appetizer plates. "Some of us came here for the free food."
"It's not free," Eärien pointed out. "Finrod's paying."
"Even better," Durin said cheerfully.
Laughter rolled down the table, looser this time, like the tension had cracked just enough to let the old rhythm slip back in. Someone snorted into their wine, someone else stole the last shrimp, and just like that, it felt almost like a normal dinner again.
The sun had finally slipped below the horizon while they'd been eating, leaving the sky awash in deep purples and indigo. Tree frogs had started their evening chorus - that rhythmic peeping that meant night in the tropics. Candles flickered more prominently now in the growing darkness, and somewhere beyond the terrace, waves continued their eternal conversation with the shore.
The main course arrived - perfectly seared steaks for those who'd ordered them, grilled fish that looked like it had been caught that morning, vegetarian options that even Galadriel had to admit looked appealing.
As plates settled and conversations resumed, Ontamo suddenly leaned forward, studying Halbrand's plate with the intensity of someone who'd just found evidence at a crime scene.
"How rare is that?" he demanded, fork pointing accusingly at the steak.
Halbrand's knife paused mid-cut, hovering over the meat. His eyes flicked up to Ontamo, then back down to his perfectly normally cooked steak. "It's... medium?"
Ontamo's entire body deflated. "Not even a little bloody?"
"Were you expecting something else?" Halbrand asked, studying Ontamo like he was trying to decode the question.
"No," Ontamo said quickly, then reconsidered. "Well. Maybe rare. Really rare. Like... still-moving rare."
Thump.
Ontamo yelped. Mairen didn’t even look up - her heel had found his shin with the precision of someone who had done this many, many times.
Conversation fractured after that, breaking into smaller groups as people focused on their food. Galadriel was just starting to relax, letting Disa's chatter about their upcoming spa treatments wash over her, when a quiet vibration buzzed at her hip - subtle, but insistent.
Great. The group chat was probably exploding with real-time commentary. Her hand slipped beneath the table, fingers finding her phone with practiced stealth.
[Private Chat: Unknown Number & Galadriel]
Unknown Number:
Valandil said you're a lawyer now.
He thought I should have your number.
You know. In case I need legal representation someday.
Galadriel's spine straightened like someone had run a current through it. Her gaze snapped up, but Halbrand was turned toward Bronwyn and Arondir, hands moving as he described something about coral bleaching patterns. Not even a glance in her direction. She sat frozen, one hand curled around her wine glass stem, the other hidden in her lap clutching her phone.
To anyone watching, she probably looked the picture of composed interest. But inside?
A mess.
Because she had no idea what to think. Because he was different. The boy who'd disappeared after that bonfire had been all sharp edges and reckless energy, like he was always one step away from combustion. This version was... settled. Calmer.
But he was also exactly the same. Still too charming. Still too comfortable in his own skin. Still acting like nothing in the world could touch him, even when discussing criminal records and suspicious disappearances. Yet something underneath that felt like gravity. Like he'd learned to carry weight.
And the way he kept finding her with those eyes - patient, knowing, like he could read every thought she was desperately trying to hide - made her want to throw her wine in his face or climb across the table.
For one unhinged second, the image crystallized with disturbing clarity: glasses crashing to the floor, her straddling him in his chair, fingers twisting in his shirt to drag him forward. She'd kiss him until that knowing look dissolved into something desperate, maybe bite his lip just to watch that smirk falter. Make him stop looking so goddamn composed while she sat here coming apart at the seams.
She could already hear the fallout: Disa’s delighted shriek. Elrond’s horrified silence. Ontamo slow clapping like it was performance art.
Galadriel closed her eyes briefly and drained half her wine in one go.
She needed a concussion check. Or an exorcist.
Ignoring the message, she stabbed at her fish with renewed focus, nodding along as Disa launched into elaborate detail about tomorrow's hot stone massage - something involving volcanic rocks, cucumber water, and 'spiritual realignment featuring glitter oil.'
It bought her about ninety seconds of peace.
Then her phone buzzed again - smug, vibrating proof that he’d seen everything.
Unknown Number:
Your poker face needs work.
I can see you reading these.
The little furrow between your eyebrows gives you away. 😉
Her thumb hovered over the screen before she caught herself. She would not give him the satisfaction. She would not-
"You okay?" Disa asked, eyeing her with interest. "You look like you're trying to set something on fire with your mind."
"Fine," Galadriel said, voice perfectly level. "Just work stuff."
"On vacation?" Elrond's brow furrowed with concern. "You promised you'd disconnect."
"I am disconnected," she said, flipping her phone face-down with decisive force. "Completely."
Across the table, she caught movement - Halbrand's thumb sliding across his phone screen before he tucked it away. The corner of his mouth curved, subtle and amused. He shifted forward to rejoin the conversation, but not before his gaze swept past hers, quick and knowing, like a shared secret she hadn't agreed to keep.
Dessert arrived with the same seamless timing as everything else - chocolate mousse piped into edible chocolate cups, dusted with something glittery, key lime tarts arranged like tiny works of art, and something involving coconut and rum that made Durin audibly groan with appreciation.
Galadriel focused on her mousse with the kind of intensity usually reserved for hostile depositions. She would not check her phone. She would not look across the table. She would absolutely not think about that winking emoji or what it meant that he'd waited eight years to text her and opened with that.
"ATTENTION, PEASANTS!"
Valandil's voice cut through the dessert-induced calm like an air horn at a meditation retreat. He was standing now, brandishing what looked like a beach towel he'd somehow fashioned into a banner.
"What the hell…" Eärien started.
"Behold!" Valandil whipped the towel open with a flourish. Someone - definitely Valandil - had drawn what could generously be called a logo in permanent marker. It featured jet skis, lightning bolts, and what might have been flags or possibly flaming arrows. The words AQUA THUNDER SHOWDOWN: FLAG HUNTERS EDITION were scrawled across the top in letters that got progressively smaller as he'd run out of space.
"No," Elrond said immediately, not even lifting his gaze from his tart.
"Yes," Valandil countered, bouncing on his toes like a boxer. "Teams of two. Flags hidden all over the bay - some obvious, some deviously placed. You’ll need speed, brains, and at least one waterproof phone. Tomorrow after lunch. Two o'clock. You'll have no excuses. And then…" He paused, chest puffing with dramatic intent, gaze sliding to Galadriel. "It's on."
He did the thing. The full two-finger point at his eyes, then at her, then back at himself. His signature gesture for 'I see you and you're about to get destroyed.'
Galadriel set down her spoon with deliberate calm. "Cute arts and crafts project. Did you make that during naptime?"
"Mock all you want," Valandil said, draping the towel-banner over his shoulder like a sash of honor. "But we both know you're already strategizing."
"I don't need strategy to beat you at jet skis."
"Oh, but you will this time. Because…" Valandil's grin widened to concerning proportions. "I’ve secured the ultimate ally. The noble Arondir has joined my quest!"
The table erupted.
"Yes! Team Varondir!" Ontamo rocketed from his seat, arms shooting skyward like he'd just been named their unofficial fan club president. "It's happening! And fear not, for I bring the Kraken Strategy!"
"The what?" Isildur asked, already half-rising like he was about to miss sign-ups.
"You'll see," Ontamo said mysteriously, then began undulating his arms in what might have been octopus tentacle movements. Mairen's hand settled over both of his, gently but firmly pressing them back down.
Galadriel's fingers curled tight around her napkin. Arondir was basically a cheat code - the guy who never competed but somehow excelled at everything he tried. He did sunrise yoga, ran marathons for fun, and had the kind of core strength that made professional athletes weep. Getting him to compete in anything was like strapping a jet engine to a tricycle.
He usually teamed up with Bronwyn and they participated ‘for fun,’ so he had never been a threat. But this time something had changed…
Eärien gaped. "You poached Arondir?"
"Technically, I enlightened him," Valandil said proudly.
Galadriel turned slowly to Arondir, betrayal already prickling down her spine. "Seriously?"
Arondir finished chewing, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, then folded his hands on the table. "I realized something during meditation," he said, voice carrying that infuriating serenity. "The universe runs on balance. Chaos needs stillness. Noise needs silence. Otherwise, it all collapses."
Everyone stared.
"I have no idea what that means but YES, he's on my team!" Valandil practically vibrated with victory. He caught Galadriel's eye and mouthed 'you're going down' with all the subtlety of a soap opera villain in a dramatic zoom.
"Alright, alright," Finrod interjected, though he looked thoroughly entertained. "Perhaps we should all get some rest before tomorrow's... aquatic thunder showdown."
Galadriel rose from her chair with grace, shoulders rolling back as she arranged her features into the kind of composed indifference she usually reserved for opposing counsel. "Fine. I'll still make this work." She paused, letting her gaze drift over Valandil with calculated dismissal. "And make you cry in the process. Just like the habanero challenge."
"That was eye sweat!" Valandil protested immediately, his voice pitching higher. "From spice exposure! It's a completely different biological response!"
"Sure it was." Galadriel's smile was razor-thin. "Just like your 'allergies' every time the How to Train Your Dragon theme plays."
"That music is emotionally manipulative and you know it!"
"Mm-hmm."
"Eye. Sweat." He jabbed a finger in her direction. "There's probably a medical term for it. Capsaicin-induced lacrimation or something."
"Is that what you told yourself while Bronwyn held your hand and fed you milk?"
Ontamo perked up. "Oh! I have photos of that!"
"You do NOT," Valandil spun toward him.
"Check the cloud, bro. Filed under 'Valandil's Fails: Food Crimes.'"
Galadriel pivoted on her heel, coral fabric swirling. One hand flicked dismissively as she tossed over her shoulder: "Don't worry. I'm sure tomorrow's tears will be from losing. Much less embarrassing."
"CAPSAICIN-INDUCED LACRIMATION!" Valandil's voice followed her like a battle cry.
She didn't look back, but her shoulders straightened with satisfaction, chin lifting. Her smile was genuine now, tugging at the corners of her mouth. She might not have a partner yet, but she had something even better.
The absolute certainty that she was going to destroy him.
She just needed someone who came as close as possible to Arondir's physicality and Valandil's competitive insanity. Someone strong, skilled in the water, maybe with their own edge of recklessness...
Her eyes found Halbrand's across the table. Just long enough to feel it.
His expression shifted - the lazy amusement falling away entirely. For a moment, he just looked at her, still and intent, like he was seeing something he'd been waiting for. Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed by something that might have been respect. He gave the slightest dip of his chin. Well played.
Heat bloomed beneath her ribs - pleasure at being seen, at being understood. Then irritation at the pleasure. Then fury at him for making her feel anything at all with just a tilt of his head and eyes that seemed to read her like familiar text.
She turned away before he could see any of it register on her face, but her skin prickled with awareness. She could feel his gaze following her exit, warm and weighted with something that felt dangerously like approval.
People were beginning to scatter, voices calling lazy goodnights as they drifted toward their villas. The evening's energy softened, mellowing into tropical night sounds.
Disa materialized at her side, cocktail in hand, leaning in like they were sharing state secrets.
"Go get him," she murmured, lips barely moving, eyes cutting sideways with wicked precision.
Galadriel's head snapped toward her. "Excuse me?"
"For the competition, obviously." Disa’s grin was pure innocence with a devil's edge. "Unless you’ve got other games in mind."
Galadriel didn’t dignify that with a response. She said her goodnights and swept out of the dining area - absolutely not thinking about jet skis, partnerships, or hazel eyes that seemed to see too much.
Back in her room, Galadriel attacked her teeth with her electric toothbrush like they'd personally offended her. The bathroom mirror reflected someone who looked entirely too put-together for a woman whose brain was currently staging a civil war.
She'd changed into a matching cotton pajama set, hair twisted up in a clip. Normal bedtime routine. Meanwhile, her brain was drafting strategic alliances mid-mouthwash.
Options, she thought, spitting forcefully into the sink.
Elrond? Reliable, strategic, but would probably want to discuss the environmental impact of jet ski fuel before competing.
Durin? Strong but not exactly built for speed. Would probably try to ram Valandil instead of playing properly.
Isildur? Eager but inexperienced. Would probably crash into a buoy trying to impress Estrid.
Mairen? Actually not terrible, but Ontamo had probably already claimed her for his ‘Kraken Strategy,’ whatever the hell that was.
She rinsed, scowled at her reflection, and stalked into the bedroom. The ceiling fan whirred lazily, pushing around air that was thick with salt and night-blooming jasmine. She flung herself onto the bed, crisp white linens cool against her skin, and glared at the exposed beam ceiling.
Bronwyn? Normally reliable, but her boyfriend just defected to the enemy. Even if she didn't mean to, she might hesitate at a crucial moment, or worse - subconsciously help them win. Too risky when victory was this important.
Which left...
"Ugh." She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.
Disa was right. Of course Disa was right. Halbrand was the obvious choice - strong, competitive, comfortable on the water. He'd allegedly spent years diving every day. His reflexes would be sharp, his balance perfect, and he'd actually want to win instead of just participating for the experience or whatever.
Galadriel sighed. The room was trying very hard to seduce her into tranquility - all warm wood and clean lines, with shutters thrown open to the night breeze. French doors led to a private balcony where a hammock stretched between two posts and a small table with chairs waited - perfect for morning coffee or midnight overthinking. Everything whispered relax, you're on vacation , which only made her feel more wound up.
Her phone sat on the nightstand, screen dark but somehow still radiating smugness from those unanswered messages. She grabbed it, looking at them.
Your poker face needs work. The little furrow between your eyebrows gives you away. 😉
Who did he think he was, analyzing her facial expressions? Reading her like she was still that eighteen-year-old who'd dragged him behind a beach house?
The worst part was he was right. She did furrow her eyebrows when she concentrated. Elrond used to point it out during their study sessions, called it her ‘litigation face.’
She pulled up Halbrand’s contact - still listed as Unknown Number - and stared at it.
Change it, her brain suggested. Add his name.
Her thumb hovered over edit, then pulled back. Adding his name felt like giving the past a plotline. Or worse - opening the door to a sequel.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered to the empty room.
She was a grown woman. Fully capable of texting about jet skis without spiraling into an existential crisis.
Her fingers flew across the screen:
[Private Chat: Unknown Number & Galadriel]
Galdriel:
Hey. You up?
Delete delete delete.
What the hell was that!? She wasn’t trying to booty call him. She was trying to win a jet ski deathmatch.
Galdriel:
Tomorrow's competition. You interested?
Delete delete delete.
Too abrupt. Try again.
Galdriel:
Need a partner for Valandil's ridiculous jet ski thing. You in?
Delete. Too casual. Like they were friends. Were they friends? They weren't friends.
Galdriel:
Regarding tomorrow's competition-
"Oh my god," she groaned, tossing the phone onto the bed. "It's not a legal brief."
Through the open doors came the sound of waves, steady and rhythmic, mixing with the distant thrum of music from the beach bar. A gecko chirped somewhere in the darkness.
The night was warm, easy, alive. And here she was, sweating over a text like it was her final exam in Emotional Maturity 101.
She grabbed the phone again, sitting up cross-legged. One more try.
Galdriel:
Strategic question: How good are you on a jet ski?
Her thumb hovered like it was deciding whether this counted as surrender.
She hit send before she could delete it again.
Then immediately wanted to throw her phone into the ocean.
The typing dots appeared right away. Then disappeared. Then reappeared again.
Her pulse kicked up despite herself.
Unknown Number:
Is this a trap?
She stared at the screen, fingers tightening around the phone. Of course he couldn't just answer the question. Of course he had to make it... something.
Galadriel:
Depends. Are you bad at it?Unknown Number:
I’m excellent at it. But if I say that, it sounds cocky.
And if I say I’m decent, you’ll think I’m sandbagging.
Her mouth twitched.
Galadriel:
I’ll think you’re lying, actually.Unknown Number:
Fair.
I’m annoyingly good at it.
Why? You need someone who can keep up?Galadriel:
I need someone who can help me destroy Valandil.Unknown Number:
Sounds like fun.
But when did I get upgraded from ‘do not engage’ to ‘strategic asset’?Galadriel :
When Arondir defected to the enemy.
Besides, you kept your cool tonight.
Most people flinch under subtle group interrogation.
You didn’t.Unknown Number:
That was subtle?Galadriel :
Oh, that was them holding back.Unknown Number:
And you?Galadriel :
I don't hold back.
The typing dots appeared. Paused. Disappeared.
Then, after a beat…
Unknown Number:
Yeah.
I remember.
The phone nearly slipped through her fingers. She jerked upright against the headboard, grip tightening until her knuckles whitened.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Her mind raced through possibilities, each worse than the last. Was he actually - eight years later - slut-shaming her? After he'd spent that entire bonfire tracking her with his eyes until she decided to do something about it? After all those times she'd caught him watching before that, when she was still with Celeborn, his gaze cataloging every detail like he was memorizing her for later?
Or maybe...
Maybe he just meant he remembered how competitive she was? How she didn't hold back in debates? In challenges? In beer pong tournaments where she'd trash-talked the entire lacrosse team into humiliated silence? That had to be it.
But that pause between messages...
No. She wasn't doing this. Wasn't going to sit here parsing his texts like they were evidence in a deposition, trying to decode what was rattling around in his head. Like she actually cared what he thought.
Her jaw locked. When cornered, attack.
Galadriel:
Funny. Your follow-through needs work though.
She stabbed send before her better judgment could interfere. Let him decode that.
Three seconds. That's all it took for the typing dots to appear.
Unknown Number:
Wow. You really know how to sweet talk a guy. 😏Galadriel:
This isn’t sweet talk.
This is a performance-based recruitment strategy.Unknown Number:
Well then, guess I better make sure you get everything you want this time.
The words hit her screen like a match to gasoline.
Her mind immediately snapped back to that night - her hands at his waistband, his fingers still slick from her, the way she'd whispered exactly what she wanted next. How he'd pulled back, shaking his head. How she'd had to walk away with her chin high and her pride in pieces.
She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, that damn flutter that meant her body was already three steps ahead of her brain, wondering if he meant…
Nope!
Jet skis. They were discussing jet skis. Athletic performance. Maritime victory. Nothing else.
She stared at those fourteen words like they might rearrange themselves into something less loaded. Her thumbs froze over the keyboard.
Neutral. She needed neutral.
Galadriel:
Perfect. We'll talk strategy in the morning.
8 a.m. sharp. Beach café at the east end.
Don't be late.
Professional. Crisp. Nothing that betrayed the fact she'd just spent thirty seconds drowning in subtext.
Unknown Number:
Wouldn't dream of it. I've been waiting 8 years to see you competitive again.Galadriel:
Just bring your A-game.Unknown Number:
Always do, Princess. Sweet dreams.
Her eyes narrowed at the screen. Princess. Another stupid callback to the beach party. Her thumbs flew to the keyboard, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove that nickname, but...
No. That would just encourage him.
Instead she added him to her contacts with sharp, decisive taps. Unknown Number became Jet Ski Asset.
There. If he was going to be insufferable, at least she would keep things professional.
She slapped the phone face-down on the nightstand and snapped off the bedside lamp, as if darkness might help shut her brain up. With a grunt of frustration, she flopped onto her side, beating her pillow into submission. Eyes squeezed shut, teeth grinding, she told herself she was absolutely done spiraling.
Tomorrow was about victory. The fact that her victory strategy required working closely with someone who could still make her pulse stutter with a text was just... an unfortunate logistical detail.
I've been waiting 8 years to see you competitive again.
Her eyes flew open in the dark.
This was going to be a very long night.
Notes:
Phew. Thanks for reading. Taking bets on teams and winners starting now. 🚤🏆😉
Comments, conspiracy theories, and jet ski strategy suggestions are also welcome. 🤭
Chapter 4: Day 2 - Morning Chaos
Notes:
This group chat ran away from me (again), so you get it as a standalone. 😅 Main chapter’s pretty far along. Just a few more days, hopefully. 😄
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
[Group Chat: 💥 The Usual Chaos 💥 ]
Valandil:
📢 🌊⚡ AQUA THUNDER SHOWDOWN ⚡🌊 T-MINUS 7 HOURS UNTIL GLORY
hope everyone's been practicing their loser speeches 😈
[image: Valandil holding the towel banner at sunrise, an energy drink in one hand, hair dramatically windswept]Durin:
why are you YELLING at 6:47 AMValandil:
BECAUSE CHAMPIONS DON'T SLEEP THEY PREPARE
friendly reminder that TEAM VARONDIR 🔱💪 will be accepting your tears as payment after we DOMINATE
@Galadriel hope you hydrated babe 😘Disa:
someone's been pregaming with red bull already 👀Valandil:
it's called DEDICATION something you'll all understand when you're watching our victory lap 🏆😎🌊Ontamo:
THE KRAKEN RISES AT 2PM 🐙🌊
me and mairen have been strategizing ALL NIGHT
ok i was strategizing, she was sleeping, but STILL
[voice note: 17 seconds of what might be squid noises]Eärien:
blocking everyone who makes noise before coffee this means you @Valandil @OntamoValandil:
your threats cannot diminish my WARRIOR SPIRIT 🗡️⚡
2 PM SHARP BE THERE OR FORFEIT IN SHAME
Arondir is ready to unleash the ZEN MASTER FURY 🧘♂️💥Arondir:
There is no fury in zen, only flow. 🌊🧘♂️Elrond:
Has anyone actually confirmed team rosters?
We should have a list. For strategic purposes.Valandil:
elrond stop trying to make spreadsheets happen this is about VIBES and GLORYMairen:
okay besties, the stars are unhinged again so here’s your daily survival guide 🌙✨
🔹 mars in pisces = warfare on water, someone’s getting yeeted into the sea, possibly yelling “I’m fine” mid-flight. majestic starfish energy ⭐🌊
🔹 venus retrograde all month = exes, flings, and emotionally confusing “what was that??” people are BACK ON THE MENU 🫦
🔹 moon opposite pluto = secrets WILL surface… either offered voluntarily or ripped from the depths 😏
🔹 full moon + mercury retrograde = existential crisis soup. do not fight the current. float dramatically 😩
🔹 prepare for emotional side quests, collect your trauma tokens along the way 🗂️😘✨Disa:
some of these sound very specific 🤭Valandil:
🔮✨ the stars have SPOKEN and they said VALANDIL WINS I'm the one doing the yeeting, I'm the planner, I'm the secret champion the universe demands AQUA THUNDER VICTORY IS WRITTEN IN THE STARS 🌟⚡🏆Eärien:
can you CALM THE FUCK DOWN
what's wrong with youValandil:
you know how i get before a big win 😌
just relax and save your energy for the celebration after 🎉🔥😏Elrond:
Perhaps we could all commit to not circling back to old patterns this week?
For the sake of group harmony and my blood pressure?Valandil:
no promises 😎
the universe has a plotline in mind 🌌
we're just along for the ride 🤷♂️Eärien:
speak for yourself
i’m in full control of my behavior AND the drama 💅
as clearly demonstrated at dinner last night
Ontamo:
that dinner was WILD
and tense
and confusing 😳Disa:
that mutual staring at the end??? eyes were LINGERINGEärien:
do you mean how gal kept "not looking" at halbrand every 5 minutes
very subtle 🙄 we all saw itOntamo:
I SAW THAT TOO 😱 it was like those nature documentaries
where the lions circle before they pounce 🦁Mairen:
venus retrograde = reunion special 😌 the stars never lie babes ✨Ontamo:
WAIT. does that mean gal + halbrand are like… cosmically mandated endgame?? 💫Elrond:
Please don’t interpret Mairen’s horoscope as relationship commentary.
It’s astrology, not a matchmaking algorithm.Eärien:
says the man who’s been on more first dates than I’ve had hot dinners
your failure rate suggests you are the control group in this experiment 📊💔Elrond:
I prefer to think of it as extensive field research.
My dating history has yielded valuable data on compatibility indicators.
The spreadsheet is quite comprehensive.Disa:
WAIT you actually have a dating spreadsheet?? 😂
i need screenshots immediately!! 📊🔍Elrond:
It's password protected. For obvious reasons.
Eärien:
that… actually makes me sad
anyway back to dinner discussion!
because i totally called it 🎯
boy drank WATER all evening
rehab confirmed ✅
probably one of those fancy ones with equine therapyOntamo:
BUT DID YOU SEE HOW HE CUT HIS STEAK
MEDIUM
NOT EVEN MEDIUM RARE
werewolves need RAW MEAT this doesn't add up!! 🥩🐺Elrond:
Actually, according to folklore studies, the raw meat thing is largely a modern media invention. Historical werewolf accounts rarely mention dietary preferences at all. The raw meat craving appears to stem from 20th century cinema's need for visual shorthand to show loss of humanity.
Real wolves are opportunistic omnivores – they'll eat berries, vegetation, whatever's available. Domesticated wolves actually prefer cooked meat because heat releases more aromatic compounds. The whole savage raw meat thing ignores that wolves spend weeks eating mostly plants when prey is scarce.
Werewolves could probably eat basically anything. Except possibly dark chocolate, though the research on canine theobromine tolerance in theoretical lycanthropic metabolism remains... inconclusive.
Not that I'm suggesting Halbrand is a werewolf. Obviously. Since they don't exist. I'm just saying medium steak proves nothing except good taste in food preparation.Valandil:
...did you just write a dissertation about werewolf diets in a group chat 🥴Elrond:
I may have gotten carried away.Disa:
first medieval cosplay 🧙⚔️ now werewolf diets 🐺📚
if that’s what you’re volunteering, i’m terrified of the ones you’re guarding from being ripped out of the depths 🤭Elrond:
I'm simply contributing relevant information to dispel misinformation.
There's a difference between sharing academic knowledge and revealing secrets.
Besides, the historical society is hardly a secret. We have a newsletter.Ontamo:
WAIT. BACK UP. 🛑✋ the chocolate thing is INCONCLUSIVE???
is that why you always carry those fancy dark chocolate bars!! you're not being sophisticated, you're WEREWOLF HUNTING 🕵️♂️🍫
elrond I need you to casually offer halbrand some of that 85% cacao stuff you brought and WATCH HIS REACTION. for SCIENCE!! 👨🔬
normal people are like "no thanks, too bitter" but werewolves would be like "absolutely not, that could literally kill me" 🤔💭Mairen:
booboo…Ontamo:
I'M LEARNING, BABE. ELROND IS MY NEW MONSTER PROFESSOR 🎓🐺
GUYS. we might have a chocolate-based werewolf detection system 🚨
ELROND YOU'RE A GENIUS 🧠✨Elrond:
I deeply regret sharing this information.Ontamo:
TOO LATE. 🧪🚀 SCIENCE WAITS FOR NO ONEESDFGHHJKLLLoool000Mairen:
update: confiscated ontamo’s phone 😌Isildur:
I still can’t believe Halbrand works for like
The Sea. 🪸🌊Eärien:
you all saw how he smirked when he said it was a “non–profit” right?
and the way he passed elrond's coral quiz
suspiciously prepared like someone who studied for the testBronwyn:
Aww, come on. He seemed really invested in environmental health.Isildur:
I thought it was cool how much he knew about reef restoration
Maybe I should switch my major to marine biology. 🤔Eärien:
NO you've changed majors 4 times pick a struggle and commit
Isildur:
But life is full of possibilities, Eärien! How do I know which path the universe wants me to take? 🛤️
Maybe I need a sign…
Oh wait, guys look what literally just washed up at my feet 👀
[image: a single flip–flop with rhinestones and a broken strap in the wet sand,
captioned "Sometimes we lose parts of ourselves… and they wash up when the tide is ready. #solesearching2025 🩴🌊❤️🩹"]Eärien:
STOP philosophizing about random beach trashIsildur:
What if finding this means... I'm supposed to offer mine to the sea? 🌊✨
What if this is nature's way of teaching me about letting go?
Maybe I'm meant to walk barefoot now. more connected to the earth. 🪨🌾🐾Eärien:
you are not on a hero's journey, you're on a resort beach at 7am
the ocean does NOT want a shoe with YOUR FOOT SWEAT ON IT!!Isildur:
That's very material of you to say 😔Eärien:
@Valandil: please remove him from this group chat i beg you 🙏Valandil:
absolutely NOT 😤 this is PREMIUM CONTENT 🍿
PLUS now i'm invested in the flip–flop's backstory
who lost it? when? was there heartbreak involved?? 💔
ISIL YOU MIGHT BE SOLVING A MYSTERY HERE
keep us posted on any psychic visions you get from touching it 🕵️♂️👻Eärien:
are you kidding me?!Isildur:
Oooh guys… Estrid just walked by… should i go talk to her?? 😊
omg she waved. That's basically destiny. ttylValandil:
NO! WAIT!
YOU HAVE TO TOUCH THE NASTY FLIP-FLOP FIRST 😭
…i’ll give you $20? 🥺Disa:
not isildur abandoning his spiritual awakening for a girl 🤡
that enlightenment lasted exactly 3 minutes
mairen was not joking about those side quests 😂Valandil:
PLOT TWIST: the flip-flop is ESTRID'S 👀
isil's about to return her rubber slipper like a temu prince charming
romantic or creepy? 👑💕Eärien:
god i hate it hereArondir:
The flip-flop remains. Estrid passes by. All rivers flow toward their purpose. 🌊Valandil:
shit… my hands won’t stop shaking
is this the raw cosmic power of the 🌊⚡AQUA THUNDER SHOWDOWN FUTURE CHAMPION⚡🌊
…or did i just OD on 3 red bulls, 2 coffees, and that energy shot i found in ontamo's bag with the dragon on it? 😵💫☕🐉Eärien:
it’s called caffeine toxicity 🤦♀️
congrats dumbass
enjoy your new heart murmur 💀Durin:
win or die tryin, lad 🫡Bronwyn:
Sweetheart, take a deep breath.
Then go walk it off along the beach and drink actual water until you stop vibrating.
Please message me if it gets worse. I’ll brew you some nettle tea. 🌿
It’s either that or an enema. 💧🍑😊Valandil:
ma’am…
i came here to win glory upon the waves 🌊⚡
not to be threatened with medieval torture plumbing 😭🍑
water it is 💦💦💦 the TRADITIONAL way
gonna channel this jitter energy into content creation
beach pics incoming… 📷✨
if they're blurry, just call it impressionist realism and hype me up 😤Elrond:
Has anyone confirmed Galadriel's participation in the jet ski competition?
She hasn't responded to any messages.Disa:
she’s occupied… trust the process 😏
Notes:
Next stop: breakfast. 😉🍳🏖️☀️
Chapter 5: Day 2 - Breakfast
Notes:
These chapters are taking me longer than expected because I’m actually trying to level up my writing instead of just word-vomiting chaos. Also because I apparently can’t write a single line without falling down three research rabbit holes. I am now a self-appointed expert in astrology, werewolf lore, and marine conservation. 📚😌 Thank you for being patient while I wrestle with the craft! 📜🪶🤭
In the meantime, please accept another 8.5k words of your faves… sitting, eating, and talking. Then walking and talking. The high-octane, edge-of-your-seat content people sign up for. 😭✨
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The morning was offensively beautiful – enough to make you consider forgiving the universe for the last twenty-four hours. Sunlight spilled across the sand like honey, the breeze carried just enough salt to remind you where you were, and the water shimmered in those lying postcard shades of turquoise that suggested happiness was achievable.
Galadriel yanked her baseball cap lower and adjusted her sunglasses with the grim determination of someone who did not have time for tropical propaganda.
She stalked down the beach in what could charitably be called a disguise: oversized hoodie (stolen from Finrod years ago), with her hair pulled into a low ponytail and tucked inside, sweat shorts, and running shoes for plausible deniability. If anyone spotted her, she could claim an early jog. The fact that she currently had the cardiovascular capacity of a sedated sloth was nobody's business.
Sleep was a joke with a terrible punchline. Every time she'd drifted off, her brain had served up another creative interpretation of make sure you get everything you want this time .
Around 1 a.m., she'd given up entirely, dragged herself out of bed, and started outlining tactics on resort stationery – fueled by spite and surprisingly good mini-bar chocolate. She finally collapsed around 2 a.m., then spent five hours with her subconscious creatively remixing dinner conversations with fragments of that beach party eight years ago and increasingly elaborate jet ski victory scenarios, all scored to the phantom buzz of text notifications.
At 7 a.m., she woke to discover the phantom buzzing had turned real. She groped for her phone with all the coordination of a zombie reaching through grave dirt and squinted at the message preview. Two seconds of scrolling through the group chat's latest descent into madness, and she knew only caffeine could make this survivable.
Operation Coffee Liberation commenced at 7:10 sharp.
The scent had led her to a pristine breakfast tray outside Finrod and Amarië's door. Pastries, fresh fruit, and – jackpot – a thermal carafe practically glowing with promise.
It took three seconds of pretend internal debate about the ethics of theft before she bolted with the carafe and a cup, moving with shocking speed. One floorboard creaked on the stairs and she'd frozen mid-step, waiting for Elrond's ridiculously keen hearing to detect her, but his door stayed mercifully shut.
Two cups later, she was dressed, upright, and caffeinated enough to pass for a functional human being. The sleep debt still stalked her, waiting for the kill, but for now she was braced for whatever smug challenges the day decided to throw at her. Last night was a glitch. Today, she had her shit together.
When her phone lit up with Finrod's name and a preview starting with "Did you seriously...", she grabbed her sunglasses and fled before he could deliver his grievances in person.
The beach was mostly empty except for morning people – a few joggers, someone attempting tree pose in the sand, and a couple walking hand in hand looking disgustingly refreshed and in love. She calculated how much effort it would take to accidentally trip them.
Once she'd put sufficient distance between herself and potential retaliation, she opened Finrod's message.
[Private Chat: Finrod & Galadriel]
Finrod:
Did you seriously commit theft before 8 AM?
The coffee was for Amarië. She's pre-verbal without caffeine.Galadriel:
You left it unguarded.
Natural selection.Finrod:
I was IN THE SHOWER.Galadriel:
Tactical error.Finrod:
She just asked if we're "experimenting with suffering."
I hope you're happy.Galadriel:
Extremely. 🖤
They'd survive. She had bigger problems. Like victory. Or emotional damage. Possibly both.
But first, she needed intel. Which meant wading into the group chat.
[Group Chat: 💥 The Usual Chaos 💥 ]
Ontamo:
AAAAND I'M BACK! baring gifts… 🥳🎁Elrond:
Bearing or baring, Ontamo? Because one involves gifts and the other involves... well, let's hope it's the first one.Eärien:
ontamo if you send a dick pic to the group chat istg!!! 🤬Ontamo:
✨🎨 BEHOLD MY MASTERPIECE 🎨✨
[image: "woman yelling at cat" meme – Valandil's face pasted over the woman mid–shout, part of his hair awkwardly cropped off, captioned "CAPSAICIN-INDUCED LACRIMATION!!" – Galadriel's face on the cat, looking unimpressed, a quarter of Elrond's face also visible]Disa:
OMG 🤣😍
DIBS on getting this printed and framed for Gal's birthday 🎁
gold leaf, museum quality glass
little plaque that says "Woman v. Spice Boy, 2025"Durin:
already texting my cousin who works at that fancy print shop downtown
[Disa reacted with 😙]
Valandil:
WHY IS MY FOREHEAD MISSING
I LOOK LIKE THE TABLE FLIPPING LADY FROM JERSEY
THIS IS LITERAL CYBERBULLYING AND I'M CALLING THE INTERNET POLICE 😤👮♀️Ontamo:
bro the lighting in the bathroom was CHALLENGING okay 🚽💡
also the toilet auto-flush traumatized me mid-edit 💦😭
eärien said it would be absolutely devastating so blame her 😎
Disa:
ohhhh puppet mistress REVEALED 🧵🙆♂️Eärien:
and i'd do it again. 💋
that's what you get for encouraging isildur's nonsense ⚰️
some of us have to LIVE with the secondhand embarrassmentValandil:
hey i was just being supportive of his journey!! 🤷♂️Eärien:
his "journey" involved contemplating STRANGER'S BEACH TRASH for ten minutes
while estrid watched 😑
do you understand the levels of cringe i'm dealing with here???Valandil:
that's not an excuse for weaponizing poor dumb ontamo against me
especially during this difficult chapter of my life 😔
recovering from a crippling energy drink addiction. pray for me. 🙏🐉Ontamo:
HEY!!! 😲
but stay strong, king. 💪🐉👑Eärien:
thoughts & prayers won't save you when i bury you in the sand with a red bull can for a headstone 🪦Valandil:
fine then! hope you like waking up to a giant sand sculpture of your face tomorrow 😠
Bronwyn:
Sand sculpture sounds lovely! Very therapeutic. Maybe add some flowers? 🌺Valandil:
with VERY incorrect proportions 🗿Eärien:
bring it on, enabler 🖕 you just sealed your fateDisa:
a sculpture sounds kinda romantic 🫠Eärien:
please. this is only act one of my revenge arc
you'll know act two when the screaming starts 💅Bronwyn:
Let's not fight. Even Elrond looks ridiculous in that meme, and he's not complaining.
Just follow his example and take it in good humor. 🌞🫶Mairen:
elrond's half face is sending me 🤣
why does he look so disappointed even in meme formElrond:
Actually, I would really appreciate not being included in your artistic endeavors.
However, if we're commissioning artwork, might I suggest proper Renaissance styling?
Dramatic, thematically resonant.
"The Triumph of Galadriel Over Capsaicin-Induced Weakness" has a certain gravitas.Ontamo:
ELROND WANTS IN ON THE ART PROJECT 🎨
should i add more of your face to the next meme??
i'm thinking with like... a fancy hat 🎩
Disa:
ELROND… did you just go full passive-aggressive?? 😲Elrond:
Apologies. That was uncalled for.
I don't know why I imagined a Renaissance treatment would elevate a toilet meme.
You'll frame it regardless of my intervention, won't you?Disa:
omg i love this side of you. 😏
petty. cultured. ✨ lethal with a quill ✨
keep it coming
(and yes, the meme is already my lock screen 😇)Arondir:
All art reflects the creator's inner truth.
This suggests Ontamo's bathroom habits are... illuminating. 🌑🪞Bronwyn:
...I may have already ordered a throw pillow for Gal's couch. 🫣 And possibly a mug.Durin:
cousin says he can print it on archival paper so it'll outlive empiresGaladriel:
Immortalize it in bronze. Ontamo deserves to be worshipped as a minor god of chaos by future generations. 🗿🔥
Psychological warfare clearly didn't require much of her personal touch this morning – the others had Valandil cornered just fine. She muted the chat and pocketed her phone.
The Early Tide came into view, low-slung and easygoing, with weathered wood siding and floor-to-ceiling windows that folded completely open, turning the walls into wide breezeways. Fishing nets and buoys decorated the walls between vintage surfboards, and reggae played softly from hidden speakers. It wasn't tourist-polished so much as deliberately, artfully casual – the kind of place that could serve you a perfect mimosa or a hangover burrito with equal confidence.
Through the open walls, she spotted Halbrand immediately – back corner table, facing the door like someone who'd learned to never sit with his back exposed. Interesting habit for someone whose biggest daily threat was stepping on a sea urchin.
A violently green smoothie sat in front of him, alongside a fruit platter that had barely been touched, and a basket of mini-pastries completing the spread.
Her pulse did that annoying skip-stumble it had been practicing since his arrival. She let herself look for exactly two seconds. Faded blue tee, shorts, hair still damp, and a tan that suggested he belonged here more than she ever would. Somehow he looked well-rested, while she was still blinking herself into focus. Which was just rude, honestly.
Pausing at the threshold, fingers tight on the door, she reminded herself this was her idea – the text, the truce, the war council. She could manage civility. As long as he didn't smirk. Or got that look. Or said anything that started with "Remember that one time..."
Yeah. She could do this.
She pushed through the door with manufactured confidence, weaving between empty tables. The coffee machine hummed behind a counter stacked with fresh-baked goods, the air rich with caffeine and sugar.
He looked up when she was halfway there. The shift was instant – lazy indifference snapping into something focused and entertained.
His gaze swept from her baseball cap to her running shoes, then back up again, lingering just long enough to make her acutely aware of how much leg her shorts revealed beneath the hoodie.
By the time their eyes met, that smile was already tugging at his mouth – the one that made her want to throw something at him and then flee the country.
"Okay, Jason Bourne," he said. "What's the plan: jet ski competition or evading black ops? How worried should I be?"
Without a word, she pulled off her sunglasses in one smooth motion, fixed him with her flattest stare, and stole a piece of pineapple from his plate, popping it into her mouth as she slid into the chair opposite him.
From her hoodie pocket, she retrieved a pen and the resort-branded notepad, filled with her neat handwriting. Twenty pages, maybe twenty-five. Who was counting?
His brows lifted, fingers tapping against the table. "What's with the cryptic silence? Blink twice if the CIA is listening," he deadpanned.
She didn't blink. Just twirled the pen, weighing her options: writing or violence.
Mischief glinted in his eyes, unbothered, almost daring her. "Remember, you still need me for the competition."
Unfortunately, he had a point. She took a breath and let her shoulders drop. "Fine. Strategy."
He nodded, pushing the fruit platter closer to her. She caught the gesture – considerate, maybe a little presumptuous – and deliberately reached past it for a mini croissant instead.
"Here's what we're dealing with." She spun the notepad so he could read. "Valandil and Arondir are our biggest threat. Not because Valandil's skilled – his jet ski abilities are mediocre at best. Flashy moves, zero control. But he's desperate."
She tore the croissant in half, popping one piece into her mouth while she spoke. "He's been trying to beat me at something, anything , since we were kids. Current score? Let's just say it's embarrassing. For him."
"What'd you do? Steal his lunch money? Ruin his birthday party?" Halbrand leaned in, forearms braced on the table, his tone equal parts mockery and genuine curiosity. "That level of determination usually comes with an origin story."
"Sword fighting." Her mouth curled in wicked memory. She bit into the second piece, chewing with satisfaction. "We were ten, at some medieval festival Elrond dragged us to. They had these wooden practice swords, and Valandil was strutting around, convinced he'd destroy everyone because he'd taken a few karate lessons. I beat him in thirty seconds. In front of half our class." She brushed the fallen flakes into a neat pile with the edge of her hand. "He's been trying to restore his honor ever since."
Halbrand's laugh came sudden and genuine. "You crushed a ten-year-old's warrior dreams in public?"
"I was also ten. Fair combat." But she was fighting a smile now.
"No wonder he's been chasing redemption for sixteen years. That's childhood trauma that builds character." Something flickered in his expression, dangerously close to admiration.
The warmth that hit her was… inconvenient. She cleared her throat, grabbed a strawberry, and pointed it at him like a weapon. "Anyway. Arondir's the real problem. Don't let the zen gardener vibe fool you. He grew up near a lake, he's strong, perfect balance, and that meditation thing? Makes him obnoxiously calm under pressure."
Halbrand sipped his liquified lawn smoothie, still watching her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. "So how do we play it?"
"Let Valandil think he's winning. He'll get cocky, screw up. He always does."
"And Arondir?"
"Distract him without him realizing it's happening. He won't lose focus easily, but everyone has a weak spot."
"Even you?"
She shot him a look. "Especially not me."
"Confident as ever," he said, voice low as he reached across the table to flip through her notes. His fingertips grazed her knuckles as he turned pages. Not a big deal, except her body decided it was, which was unacceptable. She focused on imagining stabbing him with the pen instead.
Her gaze tracked the hollow of his throat, the steady pulse beneath skin. The stubble would complicate a clean strike. She sank her teeth into the strawberry, and let the juice linger on her tongue. Her gaze kept tracing the line of his jaw and she found herself wondering how the roughness would feel against her palm… or her throat… or–
"This is thorough," he said suddenly, glancing up.
Her spine snapped straight, the strawberry almost slipping from her fingers. "I'm always thorough," she replied, too quickly, hoping the warmth in her cheeks could be blamed on the morning sun.
His grin tugged wider. "I remember your color-coded battle plans. Elrond's spreadsheets had nothing on your rainbow highlighters."
She rolled her eyes. "Next up: Elrond and Durin. My inside sources confirm they're teaming up."
"Inside sources?" He settled back, clearly entertained.
"Disa texts me everything." She waved dismissively. "They're methodical, surprisingly strong. Elrond will have memorized the course, plotted optimal routes. Probably has researched wind patterns."
"They're efficient," Halbrand said, tracing a finger along her diagrams, "but brittle under pressure."
"Exactly." She scooted her chair closer to the table, drawn into the strategy now that he was fully engaged. "Elrond needs his sequences to run perfectly. Throw him off, and he'll burn precious time recalculating."
"While Durin's yelling at him to just go with it?"
"Yep. Durin's all instinct, Elrond's all algorithm. Under pressure, they pull in opposite directions." Their eyes locked – two tacticians recognizing the same opening at once. "So we create chaos. Splash zones, unexpected route changes. Force them out of their patterns."
"The level of psychological warfare here is… concerning." His lips twitched as a thought seemed to hit him. "Actually… hang on." He reached for his phone.
A few swipes later, he slid it across the table. "This came in at 3:47 a.m."
She glanced down at the message.
[Private Chat: Ontamo & Halbrand]
Ontamo:
bro i had to warn you 🚨🚨 if gal asks you to be her jet ski partner DON'T DO IT!! 😱 had a vision once where she lured someone into the ocean and just... LET THEM DROWN 🌊💀 might have been you?? can't remember if it was a memory or a dream or a movie?? but the VIBES were BAD bro. stay safe. wear a life jacket. maybe holy water? does holy water work in the ocean or does salt cancel it out?? anyway DON'T TRUST HER NEAR WATER 🌊⚠️💀
Galadriel read it once, then again, her frown deepening with each emoji. A small yawn slipped out, treacherous and infuriating. She clamped her mouth shut like she could erase it.
"You good?" Halbrand asked, too casual. "Want me to grab you something?"
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Already caffeinated beyond reason."
"Coffee's just a bandaid," he countered. "You need actual nutrients."
She didn't bother looking up, scrolling for further damage. "Congratulations, you sound like Elrond. Lecture denied."
Halbrand:
Thanks for the heads up. I'll pack a flare gun, extra holy water, maybe a pocket priest.Ontamo:
BRO IM SERIOUS 😰 the vision was VERY SPECIFIC
you were wearing red shorts!!!
…or orange?? definitely warm colors tho 🌈🔥Halbrand:
I'll stick to blue. Throw off the prophecy.Ontamo:
omg genius 🤯 but what if the ocean doesn't care about color theory???
what if it's about the VIBEHalbrand:
Then I'm probably doomed. She already asked me to be her partner.Ontamo:
NOOOOOOO 💀💀💀 she ASKED you???
bro that's literally how it started in my vision
did she mention underwater caves??? ancient curses??? a glowing eye???Halbrand:
Not yet. But the morning's still young.Ontamo:
I'M TELLING MAIREN TO BRING SAGE 🌿 STAY STRONG BROTHER 🙏
if you die can I have your room? probably has a better viewHalbrand:
Sure. Wi-Fi password is "drowned_by_galadriel_2025."
In hindsight… should've been a red flag.Ontamo:
NOT. FUNNY. 😭😭😭
Galadriel finished scrolling through the exchange, her mouth twitching despite her best efforts. Fine. He'd handled it with surprising competence, managing to keep Ontamo entertained without actually taking the bait. It was almost reassuring.
She set the phone down and met his eyes. Of course he was waiting for a reaction.
"Textbook disruption tactic," she said with clinical dismissal. "Amateur hour."
"Sure," Halbrand said slowly, watching her over the rim of his glass. "But just to be clear… you don't plan to drown me, right?"
She gave him her best smile. "Not unless you make me lose."
He laughed under his breath, the sound edged with disbelief. "That's the most reassuring threat I've ever received."
"Good. Now, moving on." She stole another piece of pineapple from the plate, popping it into her mouth. "Since we're already on topic: Ontamo and Mairen. He mentioned wanting to team with Isildur, but she won't let that happen."
"Because she knows he'll end up in the emergency room?"
"Or the morgue." She twirled her pen once, then wrote romance = liability in the margin. "Despite everything, she seems determined to keep him alive. That or the life insurance won't pay out unless they're married."
He leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Smart financial planning. I love how your brain works."
The casual way he said it – like her twisted logic was genuinely impressive rather than mildly concerning – made something tighten in her chest. Her friends appreciated her dark humor only because they’d had years to acclimate. Most new people were put off at first, some never learned to stomach it at all. But he never flinched. He seemed to enjoy it.
"It's called being realistic," she said, aiming for dismissive but probably landing closer to pleased. "Someone has to think these things through."
Halbrand tilted his chair back, still studying her. "So what's their weak point? Besides the obvious."
"Focus," she said, glad to retreat to safer ground. "Mairen will burn half her energy just keeping Ontamo on the jet ski."
"And somehow, he’ll still manage to look for sea monsters, secret caves, or whatever else pops into that head of his."
"Exactly." Her pen scratched across the page as she made a note. "Some problems really do take care of themselves."
"What about your brother?" Halbrand glanced at her notes. "Finrod's not competing?"
"Please. Finrod and Amarië consider themselves above such pedestrian entertainment. They'll be watching from the beach with champagne, offering commentary on our 'youthful exuberance' or whatever." She rolled her eyes. "And Disa's sitting out since she doesn't have a partner. Volunteered to be the unofficial photographer and scorekeeper. Which means she'll be documenting every embarrassing moment for future blackmail."
"So that leaves..." He gestured at her notes, prompting her to continue.
She opened her mouth, only to be cut off as a server swept in and set down two immaculate plates.
"Caribbean Breakfast for you both," she announced with a sunny smile, sliding a glass of grapefruit juice toward Galadriel.
Galadriel blinked at the spread – scrambled eggs, grilled plantains, sautéed callaloo, fried dumplings, half an avocado fanned out beside coils of sausage that still sizzled faintly in the morning air. Gorgeous. Also… not her order.
"Uh… thanks," she said, politeness failing to cover her confusion.
The server lingered. "Can I get you anything else?"
"Another one of these," Halbrand said easily, lifting his smoothie in a little toast.
Could he be any more insufferable? First refusing wine at dinner, now downing those green abominations like they were shots at a frat party. The health-conscious act was either genuine dedication or very committed theater.
Once they were alone again, she turned to him, one eyebrow climbing. "Is the unsolicited meal planning service part of the standard partnership package?" She gestured at the plate like it was Exhibit A.
He picked up his fork, utterly unrepentant. "Thought you'd appreciate the efficiency. More time for plotting Valandil's demise."
The logic was annoyingly sound. Still, she couldn't let it pass. "You're lucky I'm not vegan. Or allergic. Or one of those people who photographs food for forty minutes before eating."
Halbrand didn't miss a beat. "I remember you inhaling half a platter of wings at that bonfire. Pretty sure veganism wasn't a concern."
Her mouth opened, then shut again. The reference hit like a tripwire. Years later, and he still had details stored away she'd tried very hard to delete.
She reached for her fork, covering the flicker of unease with a deliberate bite, fully prepared to find fault with the food on principle… and immediately betrayed herself with the smallest hum of appreciation. Dammit.
The eggs were perfectly fluffy, the plantains caramelized to perfection, the sausage had just enough heat to wake up her taste buds. She swallowed quickly, forcing her expression back to neutral. The sound definitely hadn't happened. Even if her next bite was twice as big.
"We still need to figure out who Eärien teams up with," she added between bites, picking up the pen and tapping it against her notes with her other hand, like nothing could stop her. "She might act like competition is beneath her, but don't buy it. She's driven and enjoys throwing people off their game. And she's basically declared a blood feud on Valandil earlier."
"Blood feud, huh? That explains the daggers she was shooting at him yesterday." He tilted his chair back on two legs, fingers drumming once against the table. "But if she's that invested, she won't risk losing. And she's got the background – wasn't her dad in the navy? The one with the sailboat?"
"He's harbor master now," Galadriel confirmed. "But yeah, her and Isildur grew up around boats, so there's skill there." She took a sip of juice. "Eärien will do anything to avoid partnering with Isil, though. She'd rather fake her own death than be stuck with him trying to impress Estrid while steering a jet ski."
"So she'll pick one of the women," Halbrand said, following her logic.
"Bronwyn would be the smart choice – steady hands, excellent coordination, good instincts." Galadriel drew connecting lines between names, then put the pen down. "But Eärien might go with Estrid instead, which would be better for us. Sweet girl, but she'll probably spend the whole time apologizing for existing and asking if they're going too fast."
"Don't underestimate her." His tone stayed mild, but his attention sharpened as he watched for her reaction. "She's not as harmless as she looks."
Galadriel's fork hovered over a piece of sausage, stalled by the certainty in his tone. "Please. She's the human equivalent of stock photography." Her elbow found the table, chin propped in her hand as she considered him, before the jab slipped out, quiet but barbed. "But hey… if that's what you're into…"
"She's not my type." His gaze held hers, steady and unflinching. The intensity made her fidget – she tucked an escaped piece of hair behind her ear, then immediately regretted the tell.
He caught the movement, his head dipping slightly in response, voice dropping low. "But she's not as spotless as you think."
"Based on what?" She set down her fork before crossing her arms and leaning back. "Her scandalous stance on being 'flexible about music'?"
"Call it a hunch."
"A hunch." She studied him for a moment, noting the certainty in his expression. Like he knew there was a secret mural hidden underneath the beige wallpaper.
It irritated her more than it should have.
"Fine." She pulled out her phone and started scrolling through her contacts. "Let's run a background check. When it comes back boring, you owe me a favor."
"You want to investigate the admin assistant?" His tone was dry but tinged with amusement, like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh at her paranoia or admire the thoroughness behind it.
"Please, that's just Tuesday in my line of work. You're the one claiming she has hidden depths. I'm simply suggesting we verify." She found a number and typed a quick message, resisting the impulse to add his name, too. If the results came back messy… She didn’t need distractions right now. He wasn’t going to grift or murder them in the next few hours. Probably. Victory first, suspicions later.
She looked up. "Makes me curious what you think you see that I don't."
"And if I'm right?"
"You won't be." She dismissed it without hesitation; his inevitable loss wasn't a detail worth entertaining. Only then did she tack on, almost indulgently: "But you can name your price. Within reason. I'm not doing your laundry."
"Within reason? You're already backing out of your own bet?"
The challenge in his voice made her spine straighten. "I'm establishing parameters. There's a difference."
"Sure there is." His attention lingered on her a beat too long, that knowing look deepening like he'd just won something she hadn't realized she was betting. "Don't worry. I wouldn't waste my win on laundry."
She opened her mouth – to argue, to set more terms, to do something other than let him have the last word – when her phone exploded with notifications, the group chat icon flashing like an alarm. She sighed and swiped it open, already braced for chaos.
The picture hit like a splash of cold water.
Halbrand and her, heads bent together over food, the light falling just so. From the right angle, it looked less like a tactical meeting and more like the kind of breakfast where hands would eventually brush over the table.
She stared at the image, stomach dropping. When the fuck had she leaned in that close? And since when did she sit like that – one leg tucked beneath her like she was curled up in her own kitchen, elbow on the table, chin in her hand, gazing at him like some besotted idiot.
Wait. No. This was just Valandil’s photography bullshit. He could turn a sneeze into high art. It paid his bills and racked up stupid amounts of Instagram likes, even on drunk selfies. The angle, the light, the framing – it was all staged manipulation. Perspective was a liar. She definitely hadn't been gazing. Or glowing. Everyone looked romantic in this lighting. Basic tropical physics.
Her horror must have shown, because his voice came quick, almost amused. "What's wrong?"
"Our cover's been blown." She turned the screen toward him to show him the pic, while the chat detonated below it.
He shifted closer, forearms braced on the table, curiosity sparking.
[Group Chat: 💥 The Usual Chaos 💥]
Valandil:
CAUGHT IN 4K!!! STRATEGY MEETING OR BREAKFAST DATE??? 👀🔥
THE PLOT THICKENS
[image: Galadriel and Halbrand at breakfast, heads bent together]Eärien:
@Galadriel explain yourself immediately with DETAILSOntamo:
IS THIS THE DROWNING VISION COMING TRUE??? 🌊☠️
ARE THOSE RED SHORTS??? ZOOM IN 🔍
wait is she wearing his hoodie? 👀Valandil:
btw don't bother trying to find me
i move like a ninja in the mist 🥷🌫️
silent… unseen… unstoppable 🕶️Eärien:
you mean until someone hears the monster buzz of your 3rd energy drink 💀⚡Bronwyn:
The lighting in that photo is actually quite lovely. Very golden hour. 🌅
And it's sharp too. I'm glad the caffeine jitters are wearing off. ☕✨Valandil:
my hands are ROCK STEADY 💪
#championphysiology #rapidrecovery #builtdifferent 😤
Halbrand glanced past her shoulder, chin pointing toward the beach.
"Found your ninja," he said dryly.
Galadriel twisted in her chair just in time to catch a flash of pale linen and wild hair vanishing behind a palm tree, one shoulder sticking out clear as day. The fronds trembled like they'd just been body-checked.
A hand emerged, wielding a professional-grade camera, angling for what was clearly meant to be a covert shot.
"Is he seriously…" Galadriel started.
The hand jerked back. Valandil stepped out a moment later, attempting the world's least casual stroll, as if he'd been deeply engaged in botanical study and not espionage. He made it three steps before tripping over a decorative rope barrier. For one shining second, he windmilled violently, then somehow righted himself and speed-walked toward the beach bar with the tragic dignity of a man who knew he'd be memed again by noon.
"Silent and unseen," Halbrand repeated, deadpan.
"Truly a master of disguise," she agreed wryly, checking back on the group chat.
Disa:
well well well, looks like someone put something hot in gal's belly this morning 🌶️🔥Bronwyn:
DISA!Disa:
what?? I'm talking about breakfast!!
that sausage looks VERY satisfying 😏Eärien:
omg disa 💀💀💀Durin:
disa's having some sausage herself right now 🌭Elrond:
I'm pretending I didn't read that.Disa:
oh, get your minds out of the gutter!
i'm just appreciating good caribbean cuisine 🍳😇Durin:
[image: Disa at breakfast, holding a sausage mid-bite, grinning]Valandil:
DURIN. we have more IMPORTANT SURVEILLANCE to discuss here than your sausage 🕵️Mairen:
the way gal's looking at him... 👀 venus retrograde strikes againEärien:
that's STRATEGIC head tilting if i've ever seen it 😏
and look at that TACTICAL hair tuckBronwyn:
Well, they do look... cozy. 🤭Elrond:
It's 8:38 a.m.
This is clearly a breakfast meeting about the competition.Valandil:
EVIDENCE COLLECTED:
shared plates ✅
intimate leaning ✅
CLEAR CONSPIRACY TO DESTROY ME ✅
this is psychological warfare disguised as flirtation!!! 😤Elrond:
Perhaps we could respect people's privacy.Valandil:
elrond that's LITERALLY the opposite of what group chats were invented for 📱Ontamo:
THEY'RE IN PUBLIC
PRIVACY DOESN'T EXIST IN PUBLIC
I LEARNED THAT FROM LAW & ORDER ⚖️📺Elrond:
I'm begging you all to be normal for five minutes.
"See, this wouldn't have happened if you'd at least tried to look inconspicuous," she said, leveling him with a look. "All that gossip, and you still can't manage basic camouflage?"
Halbrand smiled. "Next time I'll wear a wig."
She just rolled her eyes, unimpressed. "I said inconspicuous ."
His grin didn't falter. If anything, it widened. "What's the problem? Afraid they'll think we're actually getting along?"
"Afraid they'll think–" She broke off mid-sentence, silenced by the sharper idea that was already forming. She tapped a finger against her lips, eyes narrowing.
Her screen was lighting up like a slot machine, the group chat already writing epic sagas out of one inconveniently staged shot.
A slow, calculated smile spread across her face.
"Actually..." She pulled the phone back, expression bright with purpose. "Maybe we should mess with them a little."
Halbrand leaned in, suspicious. "What are you–"
"Shh." Her thumbs were already flying, precise and merciless. "Psychological warfare comes in many forms."
Galadriel:
Fine. You caught us. Couldn't keep our hands off each other. Tragic inevitability.Disa:
HOW?! 👁️👄👁️Eärien:
DO NOT JOKE ABOUT THIS I'M AT THE OMELET STATION AND MY PHONE ALMOST FELL IN SALSAValandil:
wait WHAT when did this happen??? I DEMAND DETAILS
NOT in a pervy way!! but this gives you a COMPETITIVE EDGE
in the 🌊⚡ AQUA THUNDER SHOWDOWN ⚡🌊
but also I KNEW IT! DURIN OWES ME $50!!!Galadriel:
The tension was unbearable. One thing led to another. I don't kiss and tell but... 🔥🔥🔥
She angled the display toward him, satisfaction tugging at her mouth.
Halbrand's low laugh rumbled across the table. "Not bad," he said, eyes gleaming, "but could use a bit more flair."
He snatched the phone before she could stop him. Reflex had her grabbing his forearm, trying to drag it back, but he didn't budge. Solid muscle under her hand reminded her she wasn’t moving him anywhere.
Then her brain caught up, screaming about boundaries, and she yanked her hand back with a scowl.
"Relax," he said, already typing. "Just adding some credibility."
A moment later, he slid the phone back across the table with a look of pure mischief.
Galadriel read his addition and snorted – an undignified sound she immediately tried to smother behind her hand, but the damage was done.
Across from her, Halbrand's grin widened, triumphant.
"Stop looking so pleased with yourself," she managed.
"You're smiling," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Actually smiling. Not the ruthless smile. The real one."
She schooled her features back into something appropriately disdainful. "I'm grimacing. At your juvenile sense of humor."
"Sure you are." He snagged a piece of mango from the fruit plate between them. "Hit send. Let's see what happens."
Despite knowing this was absolutely going to bite her in the ass later, she did.
Galadriel:
Can confirm the rumors about guys who dive every day. The breath control is... impressive. 💀Disa:
ASDHJKFGJHSDGFJHSGF MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS HOLY WHAT AM I READING WITH MY BLESSED EYES RIGHT NOW 🫠
it's the beach party sequel we deserve 🥹🙏Eärien:
eat pineapple gal 🍍 lots of it you're welcomeBronwyn:
Oh honey, good for you. Make sure you eat lots of pineapple today! 🍍🍍🍍
For digestive health. And… other benefits. 😊Mairen:
😂 sharing a single brain cell 1️⃣🧠
(but also yes 🍍 😎 )
Durin:
so halbrand took the "exes are back on the menu" thing literally, eh?Ontamo:
WAIT
WAIT
what if… my prophecy… was metaphorical??? 😱Eärien:
🙄Ontamo:
NO THINK ABOUT IT 🤯
i said gal would drown him in the ocean right?? 🌊💀
BUT WHAT IF THE OCEAN WASN'T LITERAL WATER 👀Disa:
OH. MY. GOD. 💦🤣Ontamo:
the waves… the flooding… the drowning… it all MAKES SENSE 💦💦💦
I'M A PROPHET 🔮🙌 modern day nostradamus.
all i need is a quill, a cloak, and maybe a candlelit cave to write my prophecies in 🪶🕯️
just need to work on interpretation 🧙♂️🗒️
the visions are TRUE it's the CONTEXT that's tricky
(yes i saw a documentary on the history channel before you ask)Isildur:
Just walked the beach with Estrid 🌊🦀
she waved at a crab and honestly?? soulmates?? ✨💘
Anyway what did I miss 😅
Why is everyone spamming fruit emojis?? 🍍🍌🍑
Is this like… a fertility thing?? or destiny symbolism?? 🫠🌱💦
Someone pls explain before I embarrass myself 🙏Eärien:
OH MY GOD nobody tell himArondir:
Some knowledge arrives when ready. Some arrives too late.
This, Isildur, is neither. 🍍⏰Ontamo:
I'LL STILL BE WATCHING DURING THE COMP 👁️👁️
just in case there's ACTUAL drowning too
prophet's gotta stay vigilant about ALL possibilities 🌊⚡Mairen:
babe you're not nostradamus you're nosferatu after three daiquiris 💀Elrond:
Why am I still in this group chat?Arondir:
We remain where lessons await us.
Even in chaos. Especially in chaos. 📱🌪️Disa:
exactly, arondir gets it ✨
now log it in your dating spreadsheet, elrond 📊
breath control = competitive advantage ✅🤭Valandil:
COMPETITIVE ADVANTAGE IS WHAT THIS IS
if they banged they'll have relationship telepathy!!
I'M FILING A FORMAL COMPLAINT
this is MENTAL WARFARE
I RESPECT IT but also IT'S UNFAIR 😤Bronwyn :
Maybe focus on your own preparation instead? Just a thought… 🌸Valandil :
bronwyn you beautiful voice of reason
that's exactly what someone who's ALREADY BEEN RECRUITED would say 😠
I'M ONTO ALL OF YOU 🫵😎Galadriel:
Relax. Might skip the competition altogether. Found a better way to spend the afternoon. 😉Valandil:
DON'T YOU DARE GALADRIEL ARTANIS NOLDOR!!Eärien:
omg not the full government name 💀💀💀Disa:
one chalk circle away from summoning her like a demon 😈🕯️Valandil:
FACE ME, COWARD!! 🐔⚔️
skip the showdown and your name shall be stricken from the songs of glory!! 🎺📜
Ahh. There it was. Valandil spiraling. Right on schedule.
Galadriel scrolled once more, winced at the flood of pineapple emojis, and decided that was her cue to disengage, before it escalated to eggplants. She silenced the buzzing, locked the screen, and put her phone face-down on the table.
"Not enjoying the feedback?" Halbrand's voice was all lazy satisfaction.
"It's meant as a distraction for them, not us. Let them exhaust themselves with speculation while we achieve..." She pressed thumb to finger in a fake-zen pose, the picture of a wellness influencer hawking essential oils. "Inner peace. Harmony with the waves. All that bullshit."
"Convincing," he said dryly. "If I didn't know you, I'd almost believe you've meditated once in your life."
She allowed herself the smallest, smug smile. "I have layers."
He mashed avocado into his eggs with the back of his fork before taking a bite.
"Sharp ones." He said it like a compliment. Worse, like he enjoyed getting cut.
The server reappeared with another green smoothie, setting it down beside Halbrand's plate. Without missing a beat, he slid it across the table toward her.
Galadriel stared at it like it might be poisoned. "I'm fine."
"You've rubbed your eyes three times since you sat down, and no offense, but you're not looking your usual radiant self. Some nutrients will do you good." He nudged the glass closer. "Drink it."
"I don't want your grass clippings sludge."
His shoulders squared, chin dipping slightly as his voice dropped into challenge. "If we lose because you're too stubborn to take care of yourself and crash halfway through the competition, Valandil will carve it into his victory speech and recite it at every reunion for the rest of your lives."
She glared at him, already picturing Valandil on a podium with a mic in hand, milking the story until the day he died. The mental image alone was enough to make her grab the glass.
One sip and her face immediately scrunched in disgust. "This tastes like someone liquidized an entire garden. Dirt and worms included."
"Yep. Dirt, worms, spirulina, B-12... all the vital food groups. Keep going."
She knocked back half of it in one go, partly out of spite, partly because his eyes never left hers.
"Happy?" she demanded, her voice a little sharper than intended.
His grin widened, slow and devastating. "Ecstatic. Now we've leveled the playing field."
The smugness in his voice sparked the urge to dump the rest over his head. And yet, annoyingly, she could already feel the fog starting to lift, far too fast to be real. Placebo effect. Obviously. She hated when people were right about things she should have handled herself. With a mutinous pinch of her nose, she shot him one last glare and downed the rest.
"If I sprout gills from this concoction, I'm blaming you," she muttered.
"Just imagine the headline: half-mermaid dominates Aqua Thunder." His eyes crinkled with amusement. "Speaking of sea creatures… any idea what Ontamo's Kraken Strategy actually is?"
Her mouth twitched despite herself. Ugh. When had her defense system gotten so sloppy? She blamed the sleep deprivation. And the smoothie. Definitely the smoothie. Some kind of mood-altering algae, probably.
"Honestly? Nope. But knowing him, ten to one it involves him making squid noises to intimidate the competition."
"Squid noises?"
"Halloween. Sexy octopus costume. Don't ask. For once, the truth actually was worse than imagination." The memory made her shudder.
He shook his head. "I'm starting to understand why you're so confident about this competition."
"Mairen'll do the actual driving while he flails around making dramatic tentacle gestures." She demonstrated with her arms, nearly knocking over the juice glass. "Ninety percent squid mime, ten percent navigation. Let’s just pray he left the costume at home."
They both laughed, the sound carried off by the morning breeze and the low hush of waves.
"Although…" His tone shifted, thoughtful now. "It could be a swarming tactic."
Galadriel's laughter died. "A what?"
"Multiple teams working together. Surround the leaders like a kraken wrapping a ship. Create chaos, steal flags in the confusion, then scatter before anyone realizes it's coordinated."
She blinked at him. "That's… actually brilliant. And entirely beyond Ontamo's capabilities." She paused. "Unless he saw it in National Geographic."
"Some people do read that for the articles, not just the pictures," he said, perfectly straight-faced.
"Sure they do." But she was fighting back another smile.
She took a deliberate sip of her juice, using the pause to take in his expression. He was genuinely laughing at his own terrible joke, and she had to admit he was...
Problematic. That was the word.
Because she could handle arrogant bastards all day - her career was built on it. But genuinely attractive and witty? That was like fighting with one hand tied behind her back.
Temporary disadvantage, she told herself. Once she won this competition and proved her point, the novelty would wear off.
Halbrand finished the last bite of his eggs. "Pretty sure Ontamo didn't pick up last night's coral lecture just from the pictures."
"Please don't remind me." She pressed her fingers to her temple. "I'm still recovering from the phrase ‘synchronized spawning parties.'"
He chuckled. "Could be worse. He could fold it into the Kraken Strategy."
"Don't give him ideas." She pointed her fork at him in mock warning. "The last thing we need is Ontamo attempting reproductive sea-creature impressions."
"Now there's a mental image."
"Welcome to my life. This is what I deal with every group vacation." She said wryly, finishing the last of her breakfast.
The morning had gotten warmer, the café filling with other guests. But their corner felt separate – their own strategic bubble where victory was planned and disaster was mocked in equal measure.
It felt surprisingly relaxing. She reached for the pineapple… and froze. Eat pineapple gal 🍍 lots of it. The group chat chorus roared in her head, unholy and relentless.
Warmth crept up her neck. No way. Absolutely not. If she put pineapple in her mouth right now, he'd think… She jerked her hand back, aiming for casual indifference, but probably looking more like a guilty raccoon caught in a dumpster.
"Something wrong with the fruit?" he asked, sounding too innocent.
"It's fine. I'm just… full." She wiped her hands on her napkin and gathered her notepad and phone, then pushed away from the table. "Come on. Before Valandil wires the place for sound." Together they threaded through the café, past clinking glasses and fresh plates of food.
The sea breeze hit her face as they stepped outside, and she drew in a deep breath. Between the smoothie, the food, and the unexpected laughter, she felt almost human again. Not that she'd thank him for it.
Her phone screen lit up the moment she checked it, notifications stacking faster than she could swipe them away. She fell into step with him along the waterline, scrolling.
"Ontamo just asked if we need a chaperone for the competition," she read aloud, smothering a laugh. "Apparently he's bringing sage and… a whistle."
Halbrand's laugh rumbled low, the sound mixing with the waves. "A whistle?"
"For ‘maintaining professional distance between partners.' Valandil's threatening to file a formal complaint with the International Jet Ski Federation." She scrolled further, groaning. "Eärien's demanding photographic evidence, and Disa's… yep, she's evolved from sausages to eggplant emojis, as expected."
His shoulder brushed hers as he bent to look, and she caught him mid-laugh. Sunlight hit him differently here – no shadows, no careful distance, just warmth crinkling his eyes and loosening his whole frame.
She looked away and tugged her baseball cap lower, using the brim to shield her expression, kicking at a seashell.
Another notification lit up her screen. "Oh good, Elrond's writing a dissertation about the statistical improbability of vacation romances succeeding long-term."
"Is he citing sources?"
"Three academic papers and a TED talk." She pocketed her phone, shaking her head. "We’ll be getting relationship advice from someone whose last girlfriend dumped him for building a Notion dashboard for date night."
"He didn't."
"He did. Had contingency tabs for weather, traffic, and 'conversational lulls.'" She stepped around a piece of driftwood, moving closer to him. "She said it was like dating a very attractive flowchart."
His laugh rolled out again, rich and unguarded. This time, she let herself look properly, tracking the way he moved through the sand – confident but not performative, alert but relaxed. Like the last eight years had carved away the sharp edges and left something more dangerous in their place. Someone who'd learned patience. Someone who spent long days under the sun doing actual work instead of chasing chaos.
But hasn't that always been the problem? She kept underestimating him. Just like junior year, when she'd gone into their Much Ado About Nothing assignment convinced he was all surface charm and instead discovered a mind that could match hers, challenge her assumptions, make her laugh despite herself.
They’d spent hours arguing about everything from Claudio’s worthiness of forgiveness to whether Beatrice and Benedick’s friends were right to trick them into admitting their feelings. She'd taken the moral high ground about manipulation being wrong. He'd argued that sometimes people needed permission to want what they already wanted, his eyes never leaving hers. The way he'd said it had made her stomach flip, like he wasn't just talking about Shakespeare anymore.
She'd made sure never to be partnered with him again after that.
"You're staring," he said without looking at her.
"I'm assessing." She faced forward again. "Making sure you can handle the physical demands of the competition. Purely strategic."
"Find any weaknesses?"
"Your ego, mainly," she shot back, quick and sharp. "Close second is your health cult recruitment tactics."
He grinned, and against her will the corner of her mouth twitched in response.
And there it was again – the same trap, sprung the second she accidentally enjoyed his company instead of keeping distance. Apparently the universe kept recycling its little character growth challenges every few years, just to make sure you were paying attention.
Fine. She'd handle this one the same way she'd handled the last – get the task done, earn her metaphorical A+, survive the victory dinner, then spend the rest of the vacation perfecting her hermit impression. Room service, books, strategic avoidance of all common areas until her flight home.
Simple. Foolproof. Suck it, universe.
"I'll work on the ego," he said, not sounding remotely concerned. "Right after you work on your control thing."
"I don't have a control thing," she said flatly.
His eyebrows lifted. "No? What would you call planning every possible outcome, then?"
"Smart. Unlike some people who just wing it and hope for the best."
"Sometimes the best things happen when you stop trying to control them."
"That sounds like something Benedick would say."
The words slipped out before she could stop them, pulled from the memory still circling her thoughts. His eyes paused on her for a fraction too long before his amusement smoothed back into place. Great. Now he'd probably think she had every conversation they ever had catalogued and indexed.
They kept walking, sand crunching underfoot, the villas drawing closer through the palms. He glanced over at her, mouth curving with that same lazy sharpness. "And look how that worked out for him."
She scoffed, leaning into the bite. "He let people push him into a life he didn't even want."
The words came out sharper than she meant, too close to the truth – everyone’s quiet expectation that she’d be happy if she just accepted the tidy path already laid out for her. She shoved it aside, chin lifting like it had been nothing more than a winning jab.
"Right. Tricked into happiness. Tragic." His tone stayed light, good-humored, like he was entertained by her stubborn defense of pessimism rather than trying to score points.
Back then, neither of them had ever conceded an inch. She'd called him intellectually lazy. He'd called her emotionally constipated. They’d been kicked out of the library entirely and moved the fight to a café, scaring the barista instead of the librarian.
Now he just let it land and kept walking, giving her space to either double down or let it go. Growth? Or just a new way to get under her skin?
She gave him a side-eye, irritated by both his ridiculous comment and how hard it was becoming to argue with him.
They'd reached the villa she was sharing with Finrod, Amärie and Elrond, the path to the main entrance winding up through palm trees and flowering bushes. She slowed, reluctant to part – not that it had anything to do with him. No, this was about optics. They'd stirred chaos with the fake hookup. Splitting now would waste perfectly good momentum. That was all.
"We should probably lay low together a bit longer." She stopped at the path's edge. "Keep them talking."
He leaned against the villa's stone wall, clearly entertained. "So what's the plan? Hide in your room, keep comparing notes?"
Oh sure. Go full method, lock herself in a room with him. What could possibly go wrong.
"How about a swim? Check out the competition site."
"Already scouted it earlier," he said, pushing off the wall. "But I'll be happy to show you around."
Of course he had. While she'd been stealing coffee and scribbling battle plans on hotel stationery, he'd been in the actual ocean doing reconnaissance. Or whatever else he did out there when nobody was watching.
"Perfect. Let's get changed." She turned toward the path. "Meet you here in ten."
"It's a date," he called after her.
She didn't turn, just flipped him off over her shoulder.
"Delusion looks good on you," she shot back, disappearing around the corner, but her grin lingered.
The small pool area behind the first row of villas was mostly quiet with people still at breakfast, getting ready for the day, or in Valandil's case probably passed out at the beach bar after his caffeine crash.
Disa was stretched out on a lounger in a spectacular golden bikini, enormous sunglasses, and a hat that could have shaded three people. The moment she spotted Galadriel, she popped upright so fast her hat nearly achieved lift-off.
Her hands started flying in frantic signals, then making a cutting motion across her throat, then... was that supposed to be swimming? Running? Having a stroke?
"What?" Galadriel mouthed.
Disa groaned theatrically, snatched up her phone, and jabbed it in Galadriel's direction like look at your messages right now before the world ends.
Frowning, Galadriel pulled hers out, thumb already brushing the screen.
And froze at the sound of a voice behind her.
Polished. Precise. Painfully familiar.
"Good morning, Galadriel."
Her stomach plummeted, fingers tightening reflexively around her phone.
Oh... riiiight.
Notes:
See you in the comments... 😉
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