#Human Halbrand AU

[verecunda]

#human halbrand has stopped working and needs to rebooted #(tbh so has annatar but annatar is not waking up on that chest)

@malkaleh (copying your tags on a new post so save op's notifications XD)

Halbrand was planning, as part of his Seduce Celebrimbor Plan (much hardship! very stress!) to find an opportunity to get shirtless in the forge.

He was not remotely prepared for Celebrimbor getting shirtless in the forge.

(Mirdania has to gently lift his jaw back into place.)

[hazelmaines]

I made this to accurately represent my feelings about your "Closer" fic.

I LOVE THIS!!! 🩵🩷

The only bad thing in store in the Closer-verse is that Bronwyn and Hal will both die. So they both are hoping their elf widows will want to at least be platonic life mates or something when they're dead.

That's my hc for the story anyway. Future parts are on hiatus but certainly planned 😍

Thank you for making this iconic meme for our favorite ME polycule!!

[sun-snatcher]

( credits to @winterswake for this phenomenal gifset ! )

3/? | SEAWARDS, TO YOU. ; REPENTANT!AU

summ.  A continuation. Sauron learns what it means to be human— and what it takes to be one. or: Sauron experiences the best & worst of mortality. pairing.  (Repentant!Mairon/Sauron) Halbrand / f!reader , ( established in #SEAWARDSTOYOU ) w.count.  4k a/n.  Important tags in first chapter ! Warnings for implications to PTSD & slight horror , including Non-graphically implied Animal Death.

THE BARNACLES STARE.

They’re overgrown; marrow-white and clinging onto the cracks of the salt-licked rockface, breathing and blinking at him like the thousand, ever-watchful eyes of the Ainur. 

In his dreams, every single one turns to blazing stars that wink out in an instant as he passes them. The shadow of Morgoth is a powerful darkness: it can dim them into lightlessness and nothingness. He tells them he is neither Morgoth nor Melkor nor Sauron nor Mairon, that he is something new; something different— but they can’t hear him under the sheet of waves crashing like a tempest on the shores, pulling him down, down, down, and under.

(He drowns. Rarely does he choose to fight the currents.)

In other vivid dreams, the barnacles don’t listen. They don’t because they can’t listen; because they’re dead and lifeless and the colour of their shells look eerily vertebral and bone-faced. They’re skulls, he later realises. A thousand of them. Endless. Both young and old. Their missing teeth and gaping maws, frozen in terror, roll in masses that wash in from the bloody tides and take up the shore beneath his feet. They fracture and splinter and cry out in pain when he walks on where soft sands ought to be, begging for mercy with every black step he takes.

He wakes up restless. He wakes up mortified. 

A forest fire rips through Eldalondë.

It dies out as quick as it had come, however; by the grace of the Valar and their blessed storms! The Faithful cry.

“Blessed,” Galadriel hears Halbrand scoff underneath his breath. They’d both sailed down the river Nunduinë with the other locals to help with clearing out whatever the blaze had left in its wake, and the very air now is clogged with residual smoke and the stench of death. She doesn’t comment on his muttering. (He had yet to heal completely from the rope burns in his palms from when they’d been stranded at sea, after all.) 

“You think it’s a sign?” asks one of the arborists. 

A grave weight seemed to have sunken into Galadriel when the scent of the Mellyrn had greeted her, and she’d been brought to the heart of the massive grove, where she lay a hand on the now-sundered tree.

“These very trees were brought as seeds from Aman by the Eldar of Tol Erresëa. Elros Tar-Minyatur himself had hand in planting these.” She remembers Elrond, too, had come to sail and plant a tree of his own here. The forest had been so young then, in the early years of the Second Age. Now the woods seem unsettled— even the very winds that blow between its spaces.

“Not idly do the trees of Valinor burn,” she finally warns. “Even when ensnared by lightning.”

Halbrand had seen it from afar, coming downwind from the riverbank: the tree’s colossal trunk— thick as a Dwarven-hewn mountain pillar— torn in its center from the high canopies of branches, snaking all the way down to the spindly stretch of roots. The bolt of light had rent an ugly, gaping wound into its silver bole, hollowing out the wood and carving it out to look like a glaring crack into the Unseen World.

He can still see the gleam of red embers between the bark of the tunnelled tree.

He can still hear it crackling in its seams, even.

Or… no. That isn’t the fire— 

“Galadriel!”

Mallorn branches grow great and wide, so it takes out an entire stable when it crashes down. 

One of the horses get caught underneath. 

They cannot move the branch. (It wouldn’t do any good, even if they did.)

Abârzî, the sea-cadet weeps, stroking the mare before he went to braid the hairs of her tail and cut it off. He chants it like a prayer.

Abârzî. Abârzî. Abârzî.

(No one has the heart to finish the job.

Halbrand does not exactly offer— but they don’t stop him either when he begrudgingly enters the stables for them.)

“What was he saying?” Sauron asks, after, in some poorly attempt to clear his mind.

“Her name,” Galadriel translates, solemn. “Abâr holds several meanings. It stands for strength, might, endurance. ‘One of Valiance’, even. Perhaps: ‘Admirable one’—”

It’s the first time Mairon ever experiences throwing up.

Galadriel sits beside him, and doesn’t say a word more.

He’s glad. 

Or, maybe he isn’t.

He doesn’t understand what he feels these days.

The wine Sauron pours to the raven-haired elf in his dreams is thick.

Too thick to be wine— but just as deceptively sweet.

On other nights, he pours and it keeps going, and going, and going. It gushes down his palms and down the nameless peak he’s standing in, and cascades down the cliff- like a thundering waterfall— no, an open wound. Sometimes the elf pushes him forward from the back, and it stings like a stabbing betrayal. (Other times, Mairon simply chooses to fall.)

When he plummets, it’s into red seas. It feels like wading through molasses; exhausting a pain into his limbs more than the dull ache at his nape and the throb of his suffocating lungs. Then there’s the twinkle of starlight throwing him off every time he swims. He always mistakes them for the night sky, and he blindly reaches towards the surface— until they turn out to be the white-faces of barnacles instead, attached to the maws of a sea-wyrm deep in the ocean.

Tonight, however, he swims in the right direction. 

The raven-haired elf pulls him out with a trusting, helping hand wrapped in a gauntlet; and when Sauron breaches ashore, he’s not kneeling at his feet on sands or bones, but instead on the all-too familiar cracked, black stones of his old fortress up in the bleak frigidness of Forodwaith.

Mairon is garbed in soaking red robes.

This time, Adar coronates Sauron not with Morgoth’s crown, but with a rotting horse skull named Abârz—

“You have a strange shadow, ‘Maril,” Eärien tells you, not long after you’d come down to Nísimaldar to assist in the clean-up effort. “It’s shaped like… a funny-looking man who always seems to look as if he’s rolled around in the dirt for ten hours.”

You blink, puzzled, then turn to where she’s peering over your shoulder.

Halbrand’s eyes dart away just as you meet his gaze. 

“Friend,” you correct, levelling an unimpressed glare back at your table of teasing looks. “Halbrand is a friend.”

Isildur raises his brows once you begin gathering another fresh bowl of seafood. “Don’t forget the oysters. I hear they’re great for men’s libid—”

“Shut your mouth when you eat,” comes your sharp flick at his ear, going to leave as the rest of the cadets break into laughter. “Even Berek has better manners than you, airhead.”

Halbrand, shaded under a temporary forge set up by the treeline near the half-constructed stables, senses you long before he hears your voice. You’re appraising him again. He can feel it. It reminds him of the barnacles staring, and he has to actively remember not to be instinctively beset.

You’ve been kind, after all.

Frustratingly so. 

And Sauron, as uncertain as he has been of everything (and by everything, he means his entire simulacrum of an existence— or, reincarnation? Re-embodiment?) of late, is smart enough to know not to bite the hand that feeds him. You’d made it clear that night in the forge, after all, that you’re a friend. And if not that, then at the very least— an ally.

So it’s no surprise he sets the horseshoes he’s working on aside, and relents to your plate of food. It is a surprise, however, when a few minutes later you go:

“Thank you, by the way.”

He shuts your train of thought down before it can take off.

“Don’t start,” Sauron says, voice a low rasp. He knows where you’re going with this: You’ll thank Halbrand for going out of his way to help, for lending a hand with the rebuilding, for putting down a boy’s dying horse. He wants nothing to do with it. 

“Then I want to—”

“Don’t apologise either,” he interjects, failing to hold back the mild bite. (So much for biting the hand, huh?) 

Sauron had chosen, anyway, to take it upon himself to toil away in the forge, from sunrise to sundown; Dedicating himself to aiding the reconstruction by crafting everything from bridles, stirrups and bits, to metal brackets, hinges, and nails. He’d toiled because it focused him; because he’s utilitarian at heart and so despises uselessness; because it helps blur the waking haunts of horses and the seas under the hissing and clanging of working metal. 

(Besides, there’s plenty to improve in this part of the island, and Sauron is the type to not count flaws and cracks but to instead step up and fix them.)

So there’s no place for you to apologise. 

“You work quickly,” you redirect instead, avoiding the urge to bicker with him. “Some might say almost tirelessly. Seems you’re getting into our good graces, from what I hear.”

“Well, you ought to listen closer.” Local gossip is difficult to not earwig, especially if the topic is about a low-man from the South; even more so that they don’t expect said low-man to have a passable fluency in Adûnaic. 

You don’t bother to hide the amused look on your face. “Right. Well. They do say eavesdroppers never hear but ill of themselves. What have you gathered, jailbird?”

“That I would be their downfall,” he says, then after a mouthful, goes: “That I would squander their resources and drain their waters and steal their women,” which makes you laugh.

“Númenórean women are not so easily taken.”

He hums at that. “And are you?” 

“…Am I what?”

“Númenorean.”

You blink. Halbrand levels a gaze you suddenly can’t meet. It’s a game he plays, you guess right then, between the crawl of heat up your cheeks. Of sharpening ulterior meanings into both sides of his words like one would a sword’s edge. 

(“The low-man said that?” Isildur titters, much later. “What a smooth advance! I ought to give him a—”

“Beheading,” Eärien overrides, “You do know he also effectively implied your sister may be easy?”

Isildur cheers. “And he’s honest? Outstanding!”)

“I believe I am one, and that’s enough for me,” you lie. The thought has crossed your mind before— that you may very well be an orphan descendant of those who had sided with the Enemy, once upon a time. That it’s likely you’ll die long before your own foster family does. 

“And if you’re wrong?” asks Halbrand. He enjoys making you squirm. “Shall that be enough?”

“Then so be it,” you wrinkle your nose, displeased yet matter-of-fact. “It doesn’t matter what type of life we’ve been chanced to be given, jailbird, so long as we live it doing the right thing.”

Until it becomes part of your nature, Sauron abruptly remembers Diarmid; of his words; the necklace he’d cruelly taken from the old man that stormy night. The advice had been unwelcome then, and now it seems to haunt him still.

“Is that your heraldry?”

Halbrand loosens his grip. His hand has been flying to the pouch out of habit, lately. “No.” Then, after you scrutinise him, cocks his head and says, “Is it so hard to believe we might quite be the same— Lost and found at sea?”

“You have a past,” you point out, the same way Elendil had chivvied you then. (If you had noticed him blink away in a flinch, he’s grateful you don’t mention it.) “But no, not so hard to believe, considering that’s precisely how my father found you too. It’s just hard for me to believe someone would be so willing to sever ties with their history.”

“I found this on a dead man.”

“Then why keep it?”

“Thought it looked fancy,” he dodges.

“A pearl is fancy,” you reflect, unconsciously flexing your fingers. The ring he’d caught the first day you two met lustres now at certain angles of the setting sun, beyond the horses grazing lazily in half-barren pastures.

Your answer is hardly a surprise to him. A bereft orphan would likely covet something as insignificant as a worn-out emblem if it meant a potential link to their true heritage, no matter how thin or nonsensical. Yours just happens to be a pearl.

“Beauty is subjective, seabird,” he comments sagely, before letting curiosity get the better of him to ask, “Is that from the tidepool, too?”

No, you want to say. I like to think my mother gave it to me. “Yes. It was in my grasp when my father found me; so came my name.”

Halbrand finishes his bowl, and doesn’t say a word more.

You’re glad.

“You know, I meant to say earlier, before you interrupted me,” you begin out of the blue, voice possessing that Nienna-esque lilt that makes him unconsciously want to shrink into himself. “…You shouldn’t have had to be the one.” 

He follows your gaze to one of the Bay horses being herded away. Its body gleams; a vibrant, rich red-brown in the dusk that needles a strange grief into him. The colour reminds Mairon of his old form. 

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he agrees distastefully. Needless suffering also falls under the realm of uselessness, however. Perhaps, in a twisted, roundabout way, Sauron had chosen to put down Abârzî. “…But I’ve done far worse things.” 

You watch him tuck the necklace away beneath his collar, and he wonders, briefly, if you’d caught his shudder; his waver. 

“To survive,” you emphasise. Surely.

He laughs under his breath. It’s neither sad nor sordid, just empty. 

“Not all of it.”

Sauron opens his eyes to a crowned shadow and a blade.

Do not fear, it says. And when its hand had come away with a fistful of his long, braided hair, cut from his blazing red head— it repeats itself to him again, though this time in the commanding tongue of Black Speech.

Do not fret.

(He frets, and begs. He disobeys because he’s terrified— but it’s all happening under his skin. Black Speech cannot completely overpower the mind, you see, but it can command and seed an intent in it; a sliver of power over the flesh, if willed so. He can fret and beg all he likes; it will never translate to his body. 

Now he’s just a vessel, still as a Bay horse caught neath a great tree, watching and waiting; helpless and paralysed.)

He catches the glint of the dagger but he cannot scream.

Do not fret, Morgoth commands, in that divinely, beautiful way only a Valar can make all guttural words sound. Do not fret, Abârzî.

Mairon startles awake.

When the candlelight flickers with the moon, he mistakes them for blood on his hands and a stable floo—

“Y’alright, brother?” Someone claps him on the back.

It’s noon, now. It feels like he’s woken up for the third time today. 

The stables are coming up nicely (Quickly, because Halbrand works when everyone else is asleep). The clouds are thick, so the day isn’t beating down on the horses as they feed on bran and alfalfa, and there aren’t any damning signs of coming rain to hinder what little is left of the reconstruction today.

“Never better,” Halbrand says, after steadying his heavy breathing. The perfectly delivered lie is somehow miraculously seen through, however, and promptly called out, via: an insistent pint of ale into his calloused hands that’s supposedly the ‘cure to all ailments’. 

He learns the old drunkard’s name is Seamus.

He learns a bit of everything to nothing, really; until the sun had sunken too far beneath the canopies of the Mellyrn, and the dappled light faded into drifting spots, and all that was left of their drinks was a final sip. Sauron had found himself both inexplicably refreshed and exhausted between the overload that managed to distract him from the cavernous feeling in his chest.

“It’s a swallow bird. We sailors tattoo it as belief it’ll lead us back home when we get out at sea,” says the old man, between a tangent on island customs and traditions beyond the primly ‘Nobody kneels in Númenor’ ones. “Why? Lookin’ to get inked yourself?”

Halbrand blinks.

He had composed as Mairon among the other Ainur in the Timeless Halls for the Ainulindalë, once upon a time; and then served, much, much later, as Sauron alongside Morgoth in the Iron mountains of Thangorodrim. Neither exactly had been something anybody would call a home— One was simply a state of Being far beyond Eä, and the other had been both a fortress and a prison. 

“Don’t have a home to return to,” is all he decides.

It sounds a lot like a realisation.

“Aye, well…” The drunkard flails his hand to the chilly winds. “Swallows mate for life.”

Halbrand frowns in confusion. Seamus just laughs, mad.

He doesn’t understand what the crazy old shrimp had meant, until two days later (of which Sauron still had only understood half of what was told to him, if he’s being honest) when the stables had at last been completed and the locals put together a small feast for everyone who had come together to help.

Crab legs had been the catalyst, oddly enough. 

Or, rather, how you seemed to move amongst the people-who-may-not-be-your-people, and spoke to your family-who-isn’t-actually-your-family.

“Here,” you say, and idly lay skillfully de-shelled crab legs and a lobster tail on your bright-eyed sister’s plate. Then onto your even-more-bright-eyed brother’s plate, before doing the same to those within your reach at the table, including Halbrand— sitting adjacent and at a length, because nobody quite fancied sitting next to a brooding stranger.

“I can de-shell my crabs on my own,” he had wanted to huff, put out by the way he suddenly felt impeccably small by your limitless grace and social-butterfly-ness, but one of the cadets had beaten him to it.

Your answer is a smile that’d made Mairon think of Nienna again, followed by a winsome, “I know you can.”

He lingers on what you’d told him ere a week ago, at the forge when you’d come to him saying he looked most at home with a hammer and tongs in hand, and drafts in his head something he tells you much later, which is:

“You looked different around your not-people.”

You’re wrapped in a pelerine cloak that seems to do little with the cold Mallorn-fragrant winds, here at the Bay of Eldanna, where you’ve somehow convinced him to follow you down to at the crack of dawn. (It’s not like he could sleep through the night, anyway, now that the stables are complete and there’s nothing left to busy himself with for the time being.)

It’s early enough that the carpet of stars in the sky shines the rocky shoreline a blinding silver, and only the lantern-lit trawlers far out at sea are awake to fish for teeming shoals of shrimps in season beyond the reef. 

“My not-people?” you yawn, gathering up your cloak and shift dress to toe between the rocks. “Ah. I get it. Because I’m an outsider.”

He raises a tolerant eyebrow. “I’m the outsider, seabird.” To which you answer, breezily, as if it’s a simple equation: 

“Not to me. If it helps though, we can both be outsiders together.”

He barely has time to wrap his head around together when you begin skipping across the tidepools.

“I meant,” he trails after you, ungainly and tender-footed to the shallows compared to your well-versed steps. He had not been raised by the sea like you. “That you looked at home; with your people. And tha— Eärmaril, why did you bring me out here with a bucket?”

You peer at the crevices of the outcrops, turning over black slabs with a trained eye. “Have you ever had soft-shell crabs? They’re active around this time of night, so watch your step. If you’re not getting pinched by their claws, you’ll get stabbed by an urchin.”

“You loon!” he exclaims. “You brought me here for a hunting trip?”

“Hush, now! Or you’ll scare the fur seals further down the coast,” you hiss over your shoulder. “And no. I brought you here because I know you won’t be sleeping, anyway.”

The blatant accusation has him slipping from a jutting rock face.

You catch his hand to steady him.

(He’s warm. Some part of you wants to pull him close.)

“I overheard the farriers. They say the only reason the stables got put up that quickly is because you worked through the night.” You inform him as delicately as you can, because there’s a recognisable, vestigial haunt in his eyes you’ve seen in your father’s, under the shimmer of Eärendil’s starlight. “Is it nightmares, Halbrand?”

“See, Amm— Mother saved Isildur when he was a child.” Nobody in the family prefers to say drowned except your father, because the word is bitter to the taste. “I was there when it happened. Couldn’t sleep for weeks after. Do you dream of the waters too?”

The defensive frown he’d put up melts away, but you can see Halbrand steel himself, still, in order to answer.

“I dream of barnacles,” Sauron allows, brusque so as to cut the conversation short as he regains his footing.

You let go and narrow your eyes at him. 

After a long moment, you conclude, resolutely: “Valar, you’re a terrible liar, jailbird.”

And Mairon couldn’t help it�� 

He laughed.

(It sends your heart stumbling.)

“Believe me when I say, seabird, that if I were to deceive you, you would never know.”

“…Right,” you scoff, quick to turn away to hide the budding smile on your face as you carve his laugh and awfully handsome grin into memory. “Now, come and be useful, will you? Before the tide runs in with daybreak.”

He can do that. He likes to be useful.

So he does.

Sauron, however, gathers alarmingly quickly that he’s as helpful as an infant grappling the ways of the water for the first time. Some distant part of him enjoys it, though— learning. It reminds him of his long gone time with Aulë.

Learning to follow your effortless sea-nymph dance across the jagged shallows, memorising how to identify which rocks to flip and the right ways to harvest mollusks or crabs without risking a fingertip, all while unconsciously committing to mind the shanties you hum under your breath.

You tell Halbrand stories and Mairon listens despite the general inanity of it; because he’s a quiet sort, and because he likes the diluting distraction of it all. 

Little things, like how your mother had bequeathed the craft of pottery to you, or that your father had preferred to teach you to fight instead of fish (“I can hardly imagine that,” Sauron muses, which earns him a sharp look and a: “Well, you don’t seem the imaginative type, anyway.”); that Eärien’s artistic strength is adapted from her uncanny skill of observation, and that Isildur is often wayward because he’s as free-spirited as the sun.

The conversation whiles and goes until the sky slowly pales awake, and the fur seals begin to bark and bay at the shorebirds and skimmers diving close to the rolling surfs. When the stretch of Eldanna’s shoreline finally raises, peaks and tidepools drowning back below the cresting of blue seas, the both of you make headway back inland.

“I was telling the truth,” he says, abruptly, which made you stop in your tracks at the beach. Your cloak is billowing from the salt gusts, edges sticking to the wet of your ankles.

“You don’t have to tell me,” comes your honest answer. 

But he wants to. It feels right to. Here Mairon stands bearing witness to the intimacies of your life, while he had nothing to offer you in return beneath the veneer of Halbrand. It’s only fair to do the same. An exchange, if you will. It’s all he’s ever known.

He sets the bucket of skittering crabs on to the wet sand, and dips his feet at the lap of the tide. “I dream of the Dark,” Sauron admits. “Of a light I cannot reach. The ocean is always red— red as my hands— and the rock-faces are always white and blinking.”

Barnacles. You understand now.

“When I wake up, I feel like I’m bracing for something, but I don’t know what,” he says, which he’s quick to realise had been an instinctive lie, and so he amends it with an explanation. “Like I’m charging headfirst into the abyss, and I’m bracing myself for the impact. For a fight or a— punishment.”

Halbrand kicks at a bubbling bump in the water and out pops a shell. (It’s a whelk. Lightning whelk, if Sauron is being precise. He’d listened to you listing the different kinds an hour ago.) 

“Anybody home?” you peer.

“Mh.” Sauron assents and tosses the hermit back to the waves.

He looks at where the open sky meets the sea, thinks of the knee-high swathes of sea oats growing at the coastlines of Valinor if he’d set sail Westwards from Eldanna and choose not to look back. He entertains idly on the idea of home for a beast such as himself— if it’s even possible to tame savagery into such domestications. 

Then he resists on asking you if there’s a difference between making a home and inventing one (those are questions for another sleepless night, he supposes), and instead glances down to where you’ve stepped into one of the remaining tidepools and back out.

A smooth pebble with a perfectly circular hole in its centre, still damp from its discovery, sits in your palm.

“What in Eru’s name is that?” he furrows, watching you wink at him through the gap.

“A hagstone,” you say, unoffended. “My other brother Anárion has one, though he prefers calling it an adder stone. Ammê told us they were naturally-occurring talismans. They ward off anything evil and protects its keeper. Catch.”

He does so with attractive ease.

(…You commit that to memory, too.)

“You don’t actually believe this little thing, do you, seabird?” he asks, tossing the piece up in his hands.

His snort makes you roll your eyes. “See! You are the unimaginative type. Halbrand, it’s the nature of a thing that matters, not its form.”

Right. He’d forgotten you are You; who built a home in the people; whose wound is your geography and history— or lack thereof— and who’s chosen to anchor to Númenor, because your foster family is where you found your true port of call. 

“You Númenóreans are an odd lot,” he settles candidly, and curls his fingers around the hagstone.

“Odd?”

“Superstitious,” he clarifies.

“I prefer traditional,” you volley.

“Try paranoid.”

Your warm laugh breaks with the surf of the shore, makes him tarry on the sight and sound of you.

“Red sky in the morning; sailor’s warning…”

“Red sky at night; sailor’s delight,” Halbrand recites Seamus, scoffing humorously. “I mean… Boarding a ship right foot first? Nailing a horseshoe under the mast, laying a silver coin for Uinen or tattooing swallows to lead the way home? And no whistling on board, lest it’ll challenge the winds; Or so Isildur claims of Manwë.”

“Ah, but don’t forget—”

“—Never rename a ship,” he says in unison.

Halbrand shakes his head, but the fond look on his face is undeniable as you break out into another merry smile. Your plan to chase away his night-terrors seem to have worked perfectly. If you’d thought him handsome before, then he looks utterly divine now. 

“Well, I suppose you’re right. There’s another one, though,” you hum, eyes fixated at the gulls taking wing to and fro their nests, the trawlers sailing home with their morning catch. “Never ever bring harm to a seabird.”

He cocks his head. “If I didn't know any better, seabird, I’d say you were making a threat.”

“And?” you smile. “Do you, jailbird?”

“Do I what?”

“Know better.”

Halbrand laughs again. A charming peal of a sound, canine-wide and punched out. It makes your heart sing— makes you wonder when was the last time he laughed this freely.

“You!” he exclaims once more, but there’s a thunderdrum in his ribs to reckon with all of a sudden, from the way the first break of light begins to dawn on your face and the charming, affectionate grin flowering across it, and so he couldn’t finish his insult after all.

You offer him wine in his dreams. 

Soot blackens your fingers as he takes it, but the stains don’t seem to bother you.

Weighty is a hagstone in his palm.

The sea is blue and quiet—

And barnacles are just barnacles, now.

Footnotes in AO3!

[verecunda]

@malkaleh !!!!!!

celebrimbor and halbrand #CELEBRANDED 🔥🔥🔥

whoops, i sketched this when I was supposed to be working on something else. Just a WIP sketch, not finished at all, but i wanted to share 🙏

[verecunda]

I'm deep in my Human Halbrand/Celebrimbor feels, but d'you know what would also be cute?

Human Halbrand/Mirdania.

Like him trying the whole charming flirty thing with her the way he does at the gate in s2 (only obviously he's not a dickwad Dark Lord here), but she's still like "hm, nah." On the other hand, he is kind of adorable in his grimy patheticness, so she can't help herself.

Also, FELLOW SMITH NERDERY. 8DD

Celebrimbor oversees all the flirting and the feelings like "...is this how Turgon felt watching Idril and Tuor fall in love?" *proud dad emotions* 🥹 He and Galadriel congratulate themselves and each other on bringing them together. Not entirely sure how justified this is, but you know how that House of Finwë is smh.

[buffyfan145]

So glad "The War of the Rohirrim" NYCC panel had a live stream today as I was able to watch it and I'm even more excited to see it!!! 😀 Stephen Colbert moderated and revealed he got to see the movie already and loved it. Am tagging as spoilers but from what the writers, director, producers, and cast talked about today mostly does match what is in the LOTR appendices. Also tagging "Rings of Power" as they actually mentioned it when talking about Héra.

First off the creative team talked about the movie and how they wanted to expand of Helm's daughter Héra, as she was unnamed in the books but the story does revolve so much around her since the war all starts because of the rejected marriage proposal from Wulf's father to unite her and Wulf and their people.

Brian Cox, who voices Helm Hammerhand, said Helm and Héra's relationship is a very loving father/daughter one and sets up things that happen later in the story. Brian also told some funny stories too and loved being able to be part of a LOTR movie.

The producers want us to love Wulf before we hate him and he's very different at the beginning of the movie before his father's death. Sounded very similar to the "ROP" creatives about how they made Sauron/Halbrand on the show. Stephen also said he was impressed with how amazing Wulf's hair is the whole movie. LOL

Gaia Wise and Luke Pasqualino then both talked about Héra and Wulf's relationship and confirmed there is a whole "What if?" situation with them as it's hinted at they likely would've married anyway if what happened between their fathers never happened. They teased about it being similar to childhood friends growing up and falling in love if the worst hadn't happened. I had also seen from a preview of the upcoming artwork book that Wulf is in love with Héra, but for her character only teased that she never realized it and till that point never thought of it. I'm very curious where this is going to go as I've also seen she tries to use their friendship to get him to stop the war. This is also why I keep tagging my posts about this movie as Haladriel as it does feel similar to them on "ROP" and even some of our AU fics where we kept him as human.

Gaia also confirmed she used a few LOTR characters as inspirations for Héra including her descendant Éowyn (Miranda Otto also narrates this movie as her too), but she also named Galadriel. I've noticed this too not just from "ROP" but from the books and how younger Galadriel is described to be.

The producers also said they are thinking of other LOTR anime movies after this. Depends on how successful this movie is and they will be making live-action movies like "The Hunt for Gollum" too.

They also showed some clips but us watching the live stream couldn't see. One of these clips showed that there is a Ring of Power involved. I don't think it's the One Ring but very curious what that means, especially since Wulf usually does end up recruiting some of the Easterlings that work for Sauron.

There was a motion tapestry of scenes from the movie released and a new song by a well known singer called "The Rider" will be released in November.

[constellationofaster]

I love how haladriel is easy to have sooooo many different paths to go down with them. Not that I’m saying it’s really any different or better than other ships of any fandom, but I find their chemistry off the charts and it’s so fun to have so many various AUs and ideas, especially within the world of Arda that we all love.

We can explore human!Halbrand, Dark Queen!Galadriel, mind palace, modern enemies, redemption, etc. The story in itself depicts how many paths open up to these characters and the choices that they make. Having hundreds of different variations trailing from a central point is so fun. I also never get tired of a lot of tropes so it’s so fun to read variations of a similar style.

I just love how much we can “play dolls” as it were and how creative the fandom is. There are so many different ways to appreciate this ship 🫶

[verecunda]

Yes!! XD I love the idea of Halbrand going to Círdan, because hey, everyone says he's the wisest of all the Elves, only to get Círdan's hoard of random gossip. Not exactly net zero information, but more net zero remotely useful information!

Still, it's nice hanging out at the Havens, so he's not complaining too much.

Thinking about Cirdan in the context of the human!halbrand AU is just Really Fucking Great to me because on the one hand yes, Cirdan can absolutely tell Halbrand All The Gossip but also he’s just out there making Halbrand go !!!!! at all times.

(“No Feanor was a wonderful grandfather to Celebrimbor. Adored him. Would let him get away with anything. Everything else was a disaster”)

(Also @nocompromise-noregrets and I have a whole thing about Rumil being Cirdans shitty fuckboy ex boyfriend and now I’m combining with Gold Cages because when Cirdan shows up with his husband Adar in Valinor Rumil still wants to hook up with Cirdan).

[hopeforchanges]

okay I can’t stop thinking about this: reverse role AU where halbrand is just a Middle-earth dude and galadriel is a fallen eldar. I mean, is it really such a stretch? Our girl is always teetering on the edge of a knife. escaping valinor after her master´s defeat, swimming in the ocean five feet apart from death cause she ain´t going back she runs into a floating raft of raggedy ass humans but oh what´s this, is that the most chill, unbothered fellow she has ever met? mr im just minding my own business woman but hey get over here you. i like you. galadriel has indeed learned a lot of useful magic by morgoth´s side but none more useful than shapeshifting. and so the most famous fallen eldar who used to masquerade as numerous creatures of darkness is now just a human woman intending to hide in numenor and convince the mightiest kingdom of men she is their long lost sister and the gods are a bunch of assholes who deserve nothing but pain and suffering and their uber score dropped below 3 stars so no maiar could ever pick them up just so they could ride the backs of men like they´re not the ones doing all the work. if only this normal middle-earth dude didn´t get himself a job at a smithy, and wasn´t so kind and didn´t make her laugh and forge all sorts of trinkets with a deep connection to numenor which he like everyone else thinks is her home. and if only he didn´t pick a fight with Chancellor Pharazon defending her honor and didn´t get himself judged and sentenced to death, then perhaps galadriel could continue on with the plan to regain her dark queen glory of the first age and not think about how to destroy the people she needs for this one normal middle-earth dude …

[wreckedhead]

Guys, hear me out. Last night I had this insane dream where Galadriel and Sauron somehow got transported to our world, in the present day, but with all their normal modern human and their Middle-earth memories intact. I think this can be a really fun AU fanfic 😭

So, in this world, Galadriel(her modern name is not Galadriel btw) is a 20y.o something fresh graduate looking for a job, she still has both her memories from Middle-earth and modern world after she 'transported' herself from Valinor out of boredom. The same thing happens to Sauron, he has all his memories intact just like Gal. Things get spicy when Galadriel ends up applying for a job at Sauron’s company where he's the director. He’s reviewing applications for fun and spots one that stands out the most, her name might be different, but the resemblance from the picture is uncanny. Naturally, he sets up a personal interview to see if it’s really her.

Galadriel, confused because she had both her memories of Middle-earth and modern time at the same time, she’s confused, but since her current memories tell her she’s supposed to be job-hunting, she shows up to the interview anyway. It’s some kind of corporate lawyer gig (can’t remember exactly), but when she sees the interviewer, she’s stunned. Sitting across from her is none other than Sauron, the man she despised, longed, and the last person she wanted to see in her new life, except this Sauron looking man is sporting a modern look, short hair, Halbrand but very clean, and all that. Galadriel has to keep her cool and act like she has no idea who he is, all while trying not to blow her cover.

Anyway, Sauron calmly interviews Galadriel, who is stumbling a bit as she talks. In reality, Sauron knows exactly who the woman in front of him is, but he chooses not to reveal his identity (again), because there's a chance this woman might not be the Galadriel he once knew and longed for, so he obviously accepted her to the company with no hesitation.

Now, here’s the twist: While it’s Galadriel’s first time living in the modern world, it’s not for Sauron. He’s been stuck here for ages after THE one ring is destroyed. After countless failed attempts to return to Middle-earth, dying a bunch of times, and realizing world domination doesn’t really work in the 20 something century, he’s settled for just trying to blend in. But now that Galadriel has shown up, his heart is beating out of his chest (damn these weak mortal bodies!). He’s determined not to mess this up and is even entertaining the idea of a intimate relationship with her. This time, he’s not going to let her slip away even if he’s not sure if this version of her is the real deal.

Of course, both of them try to act like they don’t remember Middle-earth and this modern world is where they belong. But it’s harder than it seems, especially since Sauron still has some power over Galadriel at their workplace. Eventually, Galadriel gets so frustrated and accidentally blurts out something in Sindarin (oops). That’s when Sauron realizes she’s the one and only Galadriel of Lorien, and he’s beyond ecstatic. Finally, he’s not alone in this strange world anymore yayy.

Naturally, Sauron being Sauron, he starts getting possessive, and maybe a little obsessed. He even follows her home after work (yes, YOU style). He watches her closely at the office, keeps an eye on her at home, and tries to keep her around by piling on extra work. He’s trying to show his “affection,” but let’s be honest, it’s still kinda creepy. He tones down his sadistic and creepy side a bit though. Meanwhile, Galadriel is all mixed up. Deep down, she still has feelings for Halbrand, and she’s always fantasizing about him turning to the good side. But after seeing how much this Sauron’s attitude has changed, she starts to soften.

Their relationship gets intimate, to the point where Galadriel invites Sauron over for dinner at her place. But honestly before this, she was already suspicious of him and kept testing whether he was really Sauron or not right here in her flat. Sauron, however, plays it cool and convinces her that he’s just an ordinary harmless corporate slave in this world.

After dinner, they’re chilling on the couch, watching TV. Galadriel, exhausted from cooking, falls asleep on Sauron's thigh. While she’s asleep, Sauron starts stroking her hair and whispers, “For thousands of years, i searched for you and waited for you. I can’t believe you’re actually here, with your face, your body, your beauty that never changed. Don’t ever leave me again Galadriel.” He says it all in Black Speech, for no reason.

What Sauron doesn’t know is that Galadriel is only half-asleep. She hears everything and is freaked out but also thought that maybe what Sauron said was just part of a dream, since she was only half-conscious. She tries to stay calm and pretends to still be sleeping. The next morning, Sauron is gone as expected and Gal heads to work as usual but starts watching Sauron closely, spying on him to see if anything is off. For weeks, nothing happens. No weird behavior, no red flags.

Finally, she decides to invite him over again to see if he’s really Sauron. She uses the excuse of wanting to cook dinner again, because she had found a new recipe (Sauron and Galadriel often talked about food, since they both turned out to be big fans of cooking and trying new cuisines). but she’s secretly planning to confirm once and for all if this man is the Dark Lord himself.

After that, things in my dream got blurry, as they often do, but the gist of it is that during their second dinner, Galadriel invited Sauron to cook together. She was keeping a close eye on him the whole time, especially when he was chopping the ingredients. And of course, Sauron, with his usual expertise, sliced everything perfectly. It wasn’t enough to confirm anything for Galadriel, but there was a moment when he sharpened the knife using a technique she knew wasn’t from this era. That’s when she finally decided to say something.

“You know, there was someone i once trusted deeply, his knifing skill is legendary, and i admired him a lot, but he betrayed me… and basically everyone i cared about,” Galadriel said gloomly.

Sauron replied, “Oh? What did he do? Can you tell me more about him?”

“He did too many things for me to explain in just one dinner, but for short, he's a megalomaniac asshole. Oh, and also he had many names,” Galadriel added.

Sauron gave a small smile when she mentioned that the person from her past had many names, but also pissed she called him a megalomaniac asshole

“Tell me one of them. I’d like to know why he had so many names,��� Sauron asked.

“I… don’t want to remember him. I’m happy with my life now, haha,” Galadriel replied, brushing it off with a laugh.

In that moment, Sauron could only stare at Galadriel as she focused on the meal she was preparing. Inside, he was wrestling with his emotions, he desperately wanted to tell her that he was the one she despised, the very being she had trusted and then lost. He longed for her to love him for who he truly was, not the shadow of his past nor the suave of a man he is right now. This was the first time Sauron felt genuine fear creeping in.

Fear of rejection. Fear of his identity being exposed. And fear that the deep longing he felt for her might never be returned. As he watched her stirring the vegetables, the walls he had built around his heart began to crumble, revealing a vulnerability he hadn’t faced in centuries. Would she ever see him as more than the monster he once was?

After that, things started to get jumbled in my dream, and I could only recall bits and pieces of what happened next. I guess you can let your wild imagination take over for the rest.

Honestly, in this dream, Sauron was pretty creepy. At one point, he even sneaked into Galadriel’s room while she was away and began sniffing her bed and clothes. It’s almost like Sauron was tapping into that possessive side of him, getting a little too carried away with his feelings for her. Maybe this is just who he is deep down, haha!

This has all the makings of a chaotic, toxic, fun AU with a mix of modern world absurdity, supernatural tension, and romance ofc. What do you think?

[athenasnina]

Haladriel Serial Killer au chapter 2

These two are nuttier than a fruitcake. But Galadriel definitely scares me more.

What would she do if he tried to hit on her? If Halbrand assured her that just because he murdered a human being, there was absolutely no obligation on her part, that she should in no way take this as any hint that he was seeking anything non-consensual, what would she say? She'd say something like "I just dug half of my husband's grave. Are you kidding me?" She's insane, though. At least a little bit. She might be experiencing some sort of weird sexual thrill from the whole thing, and she might be waiting for him to make a move. They could do nasty things right there in the open grave. That would be a very appealing concept, if not for the bugs. She's probably into bugs.

[verecunda]

That twink will never succeed! Human Halbrand is scruffy and slightly pathetic, and we all know that's catnip to Elves. :D

I love the Human!Halbrand AU,

Just Celebrimbor with his human boyfriend!

And the twink that tries to come between them.

[eowyn7023]

This is set in an alternate Season 1 AU, in which Waldreg fails, Orodruin never erupts, and human King Halbrand of the Southlands defeats the Uruks with Númenor’s help. Sauron is still dead, so there is no fading crisis (yet) for the Elves.

Galadriel is fascinated by the Uruk leader, and seduces him after his capture. Then she lets him go (Adar in Chains). He pulls the Uruk survivors together and finds safety for them in the Misty Mountains. Now she has coaxed Adar to visit her in Lindon. Or, Galadriel ties Adar up in the woods.

[dreamlandcreations]

Make it make sense...

Look away fragile canon and show canon likers, this is an attempt to make an unholy merging of the two (bc I like Halbrand, okay?! I'm weak 🙈)

Okkkkkkay so....

in canon canon making the rings took like 300+ years, right? So Annatar is in Eregion for this time, teaching the elven smiths the crafting he learned with the Valar... (EXTRA SLOWBURN OPPORTUNITY HERE!!! HELLO!!! Why isn't anyone writing this???)

Anyway... the Halbrand issue...

It could work as far as he was in hiding from the Valar... maybe even lost his physical form at some point after the defeat of Morgoth... I'm not sure about that goo concept but I'm not entirely against it. Let the blorbo suffer ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What I cannnnnnnnot swallow is that ridiculous plotline of Sauron pitching to the orcs like it's election day (and the actor and whole scene is just noppppppppppppe for me) - purged by this unholy merge!

Adar is also a no for me, sorry not sorry...

On second thought... Let's go with Sauron trying to heal Middle-earth motivation and experimenting with the unseen world's power... Maybeeeeee something went wrong and puff his physical form... Then Adar can take over... 🤔

Slight detour... Galadriel... just no... I have not much further to comment on that, just no... THIS is not Galadriel! I stopped watching at the first attempt bc of her, I didn't even get through the first episode of the show then (not that I didn't skip most of it now but you know)... just no... she could have been a random made up elf like Tauriel and I would be less mad about it... anyway... no...

Back to Halbrand... he is picked up by Elendil at sea, taken to Númenor... aaaaaaand I know nothing of Númenor ooops 🫣

Okay, no problem... to be wiki-ed: Númenor, Sauron scheming at Númenor (he did lose his form there with the bye bye wave from the Valar right? *confused noises*), Númenóreans fighting on Middle-earth, what was Galadriel doing at this age at all???

Galadriel could come into the picture with Númenor, making a random Númenórean take her place as the overeager warmonger wanting to defeat evil and be interested in the stranger coming from the worst of it...

Miriel sending our overeager to-be-later-killed-off filler character as an envoy or messenger or whatever to get more info and consult with the elves - Elrond - enter Galadriel...

Speaking of characters to be killed... Elendil's daughter whatshername... Eärien... sheeeeee could work as a weird version of Éowyn wanting to play with the boys and whatever she is on the show... (Is she supposed to live according to the lore??? nevermind, doesn't matter)

Anyway, Halbrand needs a littttttle peace and quiet in the human paradise on earth... few months? a year? - just needs a fic of its own, idk

Finally, we are at Galadriel meets Halbrand... the supposed king who they will help fight evil... (Issue: Galadriel (and elves in general?) see into people...) WAIT! wait wait wait... Mordor... SA1000... Rings... SA1200-1600 🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯🤯

...

okay okay this could still work

We are fighting Adar at the South in 1000 as Halbrand... he remains king and after saving Galadriel in battle they became friends even... until something happens... maybe she finally senses darkness in him or whatever... he is sent away from Lindon or wherever Galadriel was at the time and returns to rule the South as Halbrand....

(OMG EPIC FIC IDEA!!!!!!!!!!!!! soulmate au? definitely reincarnation starting with human reader from Númenor being his queen and later somehow (he tinkered with dark magic and stuff) she returns as an elf in Eregion!)

uhm where was I????? Oh yeah, Halbrand is presumed to be dead after 200 years or so, and Sauron returns as ✨Annatar✨ (not even going to Galadriel or Elrond but to Gil-Galad or straight to Celebrimbor? 🤔)

[lisenberry]

Lizzah's Haladriel (Halbrand + Galadriel, The Rings of Power) Masterlist

Series:

Chef Halbrand - A spicy modern restaurant AU.

The nightly escapades of the staff at Shenanigans, with Galadriel as the new waitress, Celeborn as her boyfriend/boss, and Halbrand as the ex-con line cook.

The ocean is holding all the kings - A collection of related canon adjacent AUs.

Begins with a missing scene of Halbrand crafting Galadriel's suit of armor, and ends with the Galadriel sailing for Valinor at the end of the Third Age.

Completed:

Over the hills and far away - Haladriel Valentine's Week February 2025

Galadriel travels from New York City to post-Gold Rush California to finally meet her new husband. Of all the candidates who answered her ad, he was the one she fell in love with. She quickly learns upon arrival that almost all of what he told her was mostly completely true.

My house of stone, your ivy grows - Haladriel Secret Sindar Exchange December 2024

Sauron is haunted by a spirit and spends the rest of his days trying to make things right.

Love is heavy and light, bright and dark - Haladriel Fic Exchange Spring 2024 Entry

A Regency fairytale featuring a ball, a pair of star-crossed lovers, a peculiar dagger, a borrowed dress, and revenge.

No Crying (In Baseball) - A League of Their Own AU

While her husband is missing in action and presumed dead in WWII, Goldie O’Finarfin signs up to play baseball in the All Arda Girls Professional Baseball League to distract her from the grief of losing so many of her loved ones to war. She clashes with the surly team manager, Hank Smith, a recently returned veteran battling his own demons.

All the dead seem to know where I am - Hellbrand and Ghouladriel Halloween Week 2023 Entry

One was never to speak of Sauron in the dark, or alone. For his very name was an abomination. A curse. A cautionary tale of what happened to lesser beings who dreamed too loftily, aspired too greatly. Who coveted the power only held by the gods.

It burns like hell when two souls meet - Hellbrand and Ghouladriel Halloween Week 2023 Entry

A horror/noncon, in the vein of the Exorcist, where the demon Sauron possesses human Halbrand, and the nun-in-training Galadriel does her best to save him.

Where you drew the line, I would cross the line (a thousand times) - The Cutting Edge AU

A dubcon romcom with Galadriel as the rich figure skater, and Halbrand as the injured hockey player looking for another chance at glory.

WIPs:

Come on love, draw your swords - Roman Empire AU

Galadriel Artanis is the last princess of an ancient Celtic tribe wiped out by General Sauronius, under the command of Emperor Melkor. Sauronius wishes to keep her as his war prize, but she has other plans.

Take care of the blood that your love runs through - Milkman/Appalachia AU

Celeborn leaves his new wife Galadriel home at his dilapidated family farmhouse while he's away on business. Dairy farmer Halbrand stops in to check on his pretty neighbor every now and then.

[verecunda]

Also, I feel it's important to stress that while Halbrand is going 🤨🔎 at every conversation between Celebrimbor and Annatar, he's also feeding Mr Mouse crumbs from his lunch. This is very important, actually.