#black hand of Sauron

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

What the deal with Sauron’s hands in “Rings of Power”?

We all know of the “eye of Sauron”, but what about the “hand of Sauron” subtext the show has going on?

Even stone cannot hide the mark of one whose very hand is flame unquenched. He was here. Sauron was here. (Galadriel; 1x01)

Come on! Give me your hand! Bind yourself to me! (Galadriel; 1x02)

Do you know what it is? It is no sword. It is a power. Fashioned for our ancestors by his master's own hand. A beautiful servant. He who was lost, but shall return. Have you heard of him, lad? Have you heard of Sauron? (Walbreg; 2x04)

Sometimes to find the light, we must first touch the darkness. (Galadriel; 1x05)

Touch the darkness once more. (1x08)

The powers we forge today must be for the Elves alone. Untouched by other hands. (Galadriel; 1x08)

He [Sauron] never touched them [Three rings of power], High King.  (Galadriel; 2x01) 

Elrond: Perhaps it was not Celebrimbor's hand that produced that effect.   Círdan: If what you've told me is true, these three Rings were made without Sauron's touch.  (2x01) 

Sauron used me. And under his hand, I was played like a harp to a melody not of my choosing. (Galadriel; 2x02)

In Sauron's hands, they could work an evil beyond reckoning, dominating the minds and wills of all. This is why they must remain in the hands of Elves. (Círdan, 2x02) 

The hand of darkness has closed around Khazad-dûm. (King Durin; 2x03) 

It's there, sire. You... You took it off. You said your hand was feeling heavy.  (to King Durin, concerning one of the Seven rings of power, 2x05) 

I assure you, I have the affairs of the city well in hand.  (Sauron; 2x06) 

Unhand me, friend. (Celebrimbor; 2x06) 

Once he [Elrond] arrives, he will seal off the city, loose Celebrimbor from Sauron's grasp, and then together, Uruk, you and I will eradicate all trace of Sauron from this world. Never to return [...] Any Rings that have known his touch must be destroyed. (Galadriel; 2x06) 

He is Sauron! If you do not believe me, cut him open. Look at his hand, look at his blood. Black as pitch. (Celebrimbor; 2x07) 

Celebrimbor: You shall not find them here. They will be far from your reach by now. Sauron: Then you are going to bring them to me and place them in my hand.   Celebrimbor: Your hand will never touch another Ring again.  (2x07) 

Your only craft is treachery. So pure, it shall betray the very hand that forges it. (Celebrimbor; 2x08) 

[princessfantaghiro]

MY HUSBAND/PRINCE/KING ETC ETC

The Smolder™ 🥺🥺 by Sauron

[galaxyspeaking]

“Would you show me a friendly face, once more?” (more writing below)

It was with the familiar smell of ashes burning her nostrils that Lady Galadriel came to the realisation that there was no fight left in her.

If she closed her eyes, she could feel them— the last flickers of a fire long burning finally leaving her body. As she stood there alone, amid the smoke blackening her sight and a tapestry of bodies she could no longer distinguish at her foot, the yearning for the pale waters of the Sea made itself known at last. She welcomed it with great bitterness.  So this was her end. The daughter of Finarfin was to set sail home to Valinor. She felt him approach like she always did: a large shadow engulfing soil, corpses and hopes alike, the blade of betrayal still fresh against her skin. She could continue to fight him— she’d done so over and over again, with different faces, different blades, each trying at eroding figments of a once shared kinship to no avail. He would remain Sauron. She would forever be Galadriel. He could not slay her just as she could never rid herself of him in full, and the acceptance of this truth once made her chest cave with grief, right between the puncture points of the crown he’d once pushed against her. “Galadriel,” he greeted her. He considered her curiously. Beneath his helmet, his eyes were glowing embers, nothing like his—witnessing the change in Galadriel, no doubt. She had never given up on an opportunity to deal a blow before, and there he stood before her, tendrils of his armour reaching to her like a black flame, yet she was not moving. He took a cautious step forward. “Are you not going to fight me, today?” She stared blankly at him—through him, through what once was, what could be, what would be. “Would you show me a friendly face, once more?” She asked instead. Tired. She was so tired. As she let her head fall against his shoulder, he stood very still. “I would,” he simply said, southern vowels scraping against his throat, low, barely loud enough for her elf ears to hear. Against all odds, he had granted her her request. Stubble scratched the side of her head as a hand gingerly held the back of her neck, and she allowed herself to feel the solace of his embrace, just this once.

She had started to diminish the day they had met, after all.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Remade (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you nurse Sauron back into his physical form, eager to be reunited with your great love once more

Warnings: I somehow managed to write fluff with goo!Sauron, I guess? You hold and kiss goo!Sauron. You suffer a minor injury by goo!Sauron. You get animals and one person killed to feed goo!Sauron. Heavy make out and implied smut (with non-goo!Sauron). Can you tell I love writing the words ‘goo!Sauron’?

Note: Yet another Sauron x evil!reader fic cause I can’t stop apparently. Can be read as a prequel to the others or as a stand alone.

“Oh, my love,” you breathe out, “what have they done to you?”

What have they done indeed. For you are speaking with the one that is your love, your husband, your very soul—but if he hears, or even understands, he cannot show it. What’s left of him has no mouth no speak, no arms to wrap around you at long last, after an eternity of separation. What your tearful eyes are looking at is a black, amorphous mass, no larger than the heart hammering within your chest, writhing helplessly on the ground.

But it is him. Of that, you are certain.

When you felt his presence again, it was so faint you thought you were dreaming it. Nothing but a glimmer of darkness in the back of your mind, weakly calling out in agony. But as you searched your feelings, reaching out with every sliver of power you could muster, you found that it was real.

You found him.

Long had you travelled since, guided by the unseen thread connecting you to him. Until at last, it had led you into the heart of a mountain where his presence was so strong, it felt as though his skin was beneath your fingertips.

And yet, he was nowhere to be seen. Not until a sharp squeal had caught your ear, and you had found the source of it to be a rat being devoured into the blackness of a small, but lethal predator. At once, you had understood, and nearly fallen into despair. But in the end, you reminded yourself—he has endured. You have been reunited. That is all that matters.

Slowly, you kneel at his side. The mass ripples like the surface of water under a light breeze, and it gives you hope that, somehow, your presence is known to him. A sole rivulet of him begins to slip towards you, painfully slow. No wonder he has been in this state for so long, helpless to nourish himself lest some unfortunate creature stumbles upon him in the dark.

“I am here,” you whisper as you reach out. “I am—”

The moment your fingertips touch his cold, viscous form, black tendrils of him latch onto your hand, greedily clawing at your wrist. You gasp at the unexpected force of it, the searing sting where the liquid-like matter solidifies to dig sharp needles into your skin. Beads of your blood emerge, and he swallows them into himself with hunger.

You stare in awe as he grows ever so slightly larger. A twisted part of you is elated to be the object of his craving once more, even if he is trying to devour you whole. Especially then.

Unfortunately, that would not do in the long-term.

You shush him gently, caressing him with your free hand as though he were a purring kitten. Instantly, a tendril of him latches to one of your fingers, but you give him a firm squeeze.

“Shh!” you say sharply, fingers sinking into the soft surface of him as you reach out with your mind as well, nudging at his. “Easy, love,” you coo. “Easy. You know this hand. You know me.”

His mind is a mess—mad with hunger, alight with rage, lost to despair. But you keep caressing it with yours, tenderly bringing to the surface his memories of you. His love. His wife.

His grip on you weakens then. He deflates, withdrawing himself from your wounds, and you are left with a soft, pliant mass, which you delicately scoop into the palm of your hands. He rocks slightly against your skin, almost as if caressing it—and through your bond, the ghost of his regret reaches out to you.

“Do not fret, my love,” you murmur, smiling gently. “All will be well now.”

And so you go to dwell in the forest. At first, you bring him small things, no larger than he is himself—insects and rats, the occasional snake. The venomous ones seem to be quite nourishing, aiding in his growth more visibly than the other animals you feed him. Still, the progress is slow, and could not be endured without a great deal of patience and love. Fortunately, you lack neither.

Days turn to weeks, perhaps months. You don’t keep count, nor do you miss the comforts of the Elven realm where you had dwelt for years, waiting on the day your husband might return. A tent and your skills are more than enough when you finally have your love by your side, even if he is... temporarily different. You always keep him close, cradling him protectively at night and speaking loving words to him throughout the day. And in his own way, with ripples of his form and distant echoes of his slowly recovering mind, he holds onto you.

Eventually, he grows large enough for you to embrace at night, and develops a certain manner of breathing that feels as though you’re resting your head upon his chest. Its rise and fall is odd, ragged and irregular, but it brings you great joy nonetheless. With time, you bring him larger game, watching with grim amazement as deers and wild boars are slowly devoured into the beloved black mass that still is your husband. After a time, he grows nearly limb-like extensions, allowing him to more easily crawl around or reach out, and you often wake to find yourself in the closest thing to an embrace he can manage in this state. It never fails to make your heart soar, and he shudders as you press loving kisses to the parts of his surface closest to you.

So the days pass, until it’s time. Between your own instinct and the shape of his thoughts, not quite spoken but slightly more focused through your bond, you know he’s strong enough to finally regain himself completely.

But for that, he will need something more than an animal.

It’s easy enough to stop the first wagon you see passing by, acting confused and lost and asking for direction. The woman at the reins, though half-drunk, is even gracious enough to offer that she give you a ride to the closest village. You decline, of course. Your purpose was never to climb into the wagon yourself.

It was to halt it long enough for your husband to slither inside from the back.

It’s barely a few seconds after the woman has bid you a good journey and gone on her way that the wagon halts yet again—this time, with a piercing scream from its occupant. The wagon shakes, its horse breaking loose and galloping away.

Then, silence settles. From your angle, you can’t see inside. Your feet are glued in place, your breath barely there as you watch and wait. You’ve been waiting so long that now, so close to the end of your suffering, each moment feels neverending.

Finally—finally—a man emerges from the back of the wagon. He takes his time putting one bare foot, then the other, down onto the snow-covered ground. He takes in his surroundings, as though opening his eyes to the world for the first time. Then his gaze lands on you, and his lips curl into a smile filled with relief.

And you know, you’ve always known, but it feels as though you only then realize that this is not a man. Or an Elf, or a Dwarf, or any other being of less than godly nature. It is him. Remade into a form with eyes, and hands, and flesh, same as your own.

Your feet carry you towards him blindly as you stare and stare, almost unable to believe that you are finally standing close enough to touch once more.

“I would not blame you,” he says, his unfamiliar voice rough from lack of use, “if it was you who failed to recognize me now.”

But you know it’s absurd. His appearance may not be as it used to—his hair is shorter, darker, his cheeks covered in stubble, his features nothing like the ones you knew—but there is no form he could take you would not recognize, not as long as your mind still served you. His had been broken, unamde, when he had begun to feed on you as he would any other stranger. None of that matters now.

“This is... different,” you murmur, greedily taking in every inch of him that isn’t covered by the rags he’s wearing. His chest is partially bared to your eyes, and both of your breaths shudder as you lay your hand over his new heart, the smattering of hair there delightfully rough beneath your fingertips. You gaze there for a moment, mesmerized by the sight, then lift your eyes to meet his. The curls that fall in his face are so endearing your chest aches as you brush one aside.

“I love it,” you breathe out. “I love you.”

A dam that had been built over years of longing shatters at your words, and your lips meet his furiously in a long-awaited kiss. His looks may have changed, but his taste is the same, and so is the desire that overwhelms you to the point of insanity. You’re falling into each other, clawing at each other, crumbling to the ground in an unceremonious tangle of limbs. The snow is cold against your back, but your husband is warm and solid above you, and your world becomes reduced to him and him alone.

You whimper when he suddenly pulls away, chest heaving as he gazes down at you with raw yearning.

“You came for me,” he says, breathless with elation.

“Of course I did,” you retort, nearly indignated. As if you would do anything but. He goes to kiss you again, but you wrap a hand around his throat and hold him back. Mischief dances in your eyes as he glares and you scold, “And in return, you nearly ate me.”

His eyes darken, and you almost moan at the sight alone.

“I still wish to,” he growls, prying your hand away from his neck and diving in to devour yours instead. “All those years I hungered...” he speaks between ravenous licks and bites of your skin, making you writhe and whimper beneath him, “to feel you once more... even when I could no longer remember... what it was I hungered for...” He lifts his head, wild eyes boring into yours as he lays his hand upon your chest, relishing your heartbeat as you had done his before. “My love,” he pleads, voice trembling with need, “join me in flesh. Let me feast upon yours. Devour mine. Remind me what it is... to feel.”

The last time you felt such unbridled joy was so long ago, you can’t even remember it. And either way, you doubt it held a candle to the bliss bursting within your soul in this moment. This is all you ever wanted. This makes every single moment of torment, past or future, worth it.

“Feel me, love,” you offer most sweetly, your lips brushing his with the last words you speak before you consume each other whole, “Feel everything.”

Next fic with same reader -> Tides of fate

[misty-slays-blog]

I just had a thought I need to explore. We know that Galadriel was falling in love with who she assumed was Halbrand. She basically admits this herself during the log scene, but when she does, she seems insecure, likely wondering about the implications of loving a mortal man as an immortal elf. So when Halbrand revealed himself as Sauron, it must have left her feeling so humiliated, hurt, ashamed, and probably stupid. At this point, she likely believes that it was all fake: a deception on his part, toying with her emotions for his own gain.

But now we’re starting to see that Sauron actually has feelings for her too, which means it was real, and he was sincere when he was Halbrand. I'm not sure how exactly, but given what both Charlotte Brändström and Morfydd have said, the finale will likely move in the direction of Galadriel realizing that it had been real all along, and no deception.

So now I’m wondering: what would be worse for her? That she was deceived by Sauron, who made her fall in love with him for his own sick and twisted purposes? Or that Sauron, who she considers the epitome of evil and deceit, is actually in love with her?

On one hand, the revelation that Halbrand was Sauron might feel like the ultimate betrayal. She trusted him and even began to love him, only to find out it was all a facade, used against her by the greatest evil in existence. The shock, shame, and humiliation of being manipulated would be overwhelming.

But then, there’s the realization that Sauron actually has feelings for her. What does it mean if someone as dark as him is in love with her? That’s an entirely new layer of complex. His feelings might be obsessive, possessive, and rooted in control, but they’re real, which means that, in his own twisted way, Sauron admires and desires her.

It forces her to confront the uncomfortable truth that something about her drew him in, that she’s connected to him in ways beyond being mere enemies. It complicates the black-and-white view of good and evil she’s clung to, making her question her instincts, self-worth, and her very identity.

[dinsbeskar]

In the Dark of the Night (Sauron/F!Reader)

Reader is long starved of her lover, after centuries apart, these are the fantasies that plague her in the night

Prequel: Wicked Game // Sequel: Evil Will Find Her

AO3 Link

Warnings: smut! 18+, female masturbation (reader), unprotected P in V sex, Sauron likes eating you out apparently?? Begging, praise kink, biting (only a little), kinda rough sex?? Lots of yearning, he absolutely adores you

A/N: I wrote this at 3am instead of sleeping, it is very much a "bashed it out and now I'm running away" type of fic. Is he there or isn't he?? Idk, it's up to you!! I imagined him as Annatar in this, but you're welcome to imagine any face you fancy, he is a shapeshifter after all!

There is an unending, seeking void in Middle Earth. You know it well, for it resides deep in your own being, hungry and desperate and vicious like a starved dog. It hadn't always plagued you, but after an age without your lover at your side, the void has filled the aching hole in your heart, tendrils of heavy nothing reaching out into the gloom of your bedchamber and threatening to engulf you whole.

It is in the black of night, when the darkest sky is overhead before dawn begins to break, that the void fills you the most. Sobbing has long ceased to ease your emptiness, so you lie in your feather bed, high in the elven city, and think of him, your lover's phantom figure nestled into you, fingers tracing your sides while whispers of sweet nothings pass between you. At least for a moment, you are not alone. Sometimes you swear you can hear him plain as day, your mind soothing your aching heart with memories of his scent pricking your nose as if he were right there beside you, holding you close as he used to, centuries ago. It is with those memories, those fantasies, that you think of him and touch yourself as he loved to, hand between your thighs, dancing across your chest, on your lips, needy for more.

He was quick to anger, and his wrath was nigh unchallenged, but never had you suffered it. The most gentle words and soft touches were reserved for you alone, revered and exalted in his bed, protected from the carnage his master had wrought on your kind. His soft hair grazing your face as he held himself over your trembling form, caressing every inch of you for the thousandth time as if it were the first.

You feel him next to you, on top of you, surrounding you, the smoky metallic smell of the forge permeating your bedsheets as if he'd spent these long, lonely centuries ravishing you. Your hand moves faster as you near your peak, biting back the deep moan in your throat as you picture him at the apex of your thighs, wicked tongue bringing you closer to your pleasure, tugging at your swollen clit and delving into your wet folds.

"All this for me?" You feel his smile against your mound as real as the pillow under your head. "My good girl, so ready for me, always so willing and waiting and wanting..."

His murmurs are lost to even your sensitive ears as he resumes his task, long fingers digging into your thighs so deliciously, nails dragging on your soft skin as you pull him closer, deeper, knowing he'd only beg if you refused him. Not that you ever would, at least not in jest, as you had many times before, just to see his hungry gaze grow dark and desperate. The games you used to play.

You slide a finger inside yourself, then another, always feeling him and only him, hearing him tease you as you whine for his cock.

"Good girls beg for it, my love. Are you my good girl?" You keen at his words and nod your head frantically, his fingers tracing your slit, dipping in and out at his pleasure, as he holds your gaze and fuels the fire pooling deep in your abdomen.

"Please... only yours, only for you..." Your words tumble from your lips, as a wolfish grin spreads across his handsome face.

His hands knead your flesh as he grasps your thighs to pull them apart, reverently taking in your dishevelled state, your blown pupils and swollen lips a masterpiece even Eru himself could not have imagined. His perfect creation, soft and pliant and oh so needy for him; any semblance of self control is lost as he takes his cock in hand and drives deep inside you with one thrust.

He steals every breath from your body with ravenous kisses that leave you clawing at his back, filthy wet sounds filling the air as he ruts into you, claiming every moan and whimper as a victory to his cause. You cry out his name, his real name, chanting it like a prayer, as he purrs in your ear. He pulls you apart with every touch, fingers raking through your hair, cursing in Black Speech as his orgasm approaches.

"I want to hear you, love, I need to hear you as I make you mine," he growls in your ear, low and deep, reverberating through you as he buries himself within you as if he means to never resurface.

You're only too happy to oblige, your moans unleashed from your throat as you no longer attempt to stay quiet, uncaring if anyone should hear you now. His name falls from your lips over and over as you plead for your release.

"I will make you my Queen, my love, and all Middle Earth will worship at your feet as I do," he praises you, his promises falling on deaf ears as you edge closer to what you crave.

He bites at the soft skin of your throat, licking the sheen of sweat that has collected thanks to his efforts, like a man starved of water at a desert oasis. The stretch of his cock inside you is almost too much but you take it so well for him, and he is a loving lord after all, one must be rewarded.

With one hand behind your head supporting his weight, his other hand travels from your swollen nipple downwards to your clit, circling the nub before pressing and stroking just as he has so many times before. He picks up the pace and slams his hips into yours, almost brutal in his all-consuming lust for his Queen.

You see stars and the world falls away, your walls clenching around him as he collapses onto you, the two of you entwined in body and enjoined in soul as you dissolve into pleasure, the spring that had so deliciously coiled deep in your belly finally releases, and he kisses you so sweetly you forget your own name.

As the first rays of sunlight peek through your window, you gasp, the spell broken. The bedsheets are rumpled and your fingers are wet, but the warm body that had encompassed your own only moments ago had vanished into the ether. The scent of the forge lingered long after in your nostrils, filling your heart once more with longing that could not be satisfied with one night's pleasure.

The yearning of the void was always present, and its black embrace was oh so tempting.

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (II)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — You only have a few days to convince Adar that he should keep you alive and choose you as his companion. You get to know him better, which makes you start feeling sorry for him – but not sorry enough to forgive him for defeating your lover. In the meantime, Adar's suspicions about Sauron's comeback give you hope.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Hello! 🤗 Thank you for liking the first part of this story and I am sorry it's going a bit slower than I expected but I am job hunting at the moment and I might actually get one, which is an opportunity for me. Because of that, I was pretty busy those past few days + I have started a different multichapter fic as well. Please, keep your fingers crossed! 😊 Although, if I don't get the job, I will have more time for writing... 🤣 Either way, I hope you enjoy this chapter! 🥰

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship

WORD COUNT — 5,120

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (II)

You spent the rest of the day in your chambers, watching the courtyard carefully from your window. The orcs were walking around it carefreely as if the saint trees did not grow there. They could not care less about anything holy. And at night they started a fire to sit around it while talking and laughing loudly in the most obscene manner. But because they went to sleep so late, they also were not up early – unlike you.

You got dressed in a black mourning gown, which was a beautiful piece made of velvet and lace. You were grieving in many ways after all – you were grieving your life that you could lose very soon and you were grieving the downfall of the fortress that had been your home for such a long time.

When you were finishing getting dressed, you looked out of the window and furrowed your brows at the sight of Adar approaching the holy trees and sitting on a bench underneath them. Was it possible that he prayed? You highly doubted that – even you were finding it difficult these days after the time you had spent with Sauron. An Elf as corrupted as Adar just could not pray, of that you were sure.

In that quiet moment in the early morning, you found your first chance to approach him but with a different attitude than on the day before. However, you were aware that the change of behaviour cannot be too sudden – otherwise, it would reek of falsehood.

Taking light steps, you walked up to Adar and even though he had to hear you coming, he did not even flinch. Only when you were very close to him, he turned his head around to look at you without a word. You did not say anything either and took a seat on the other side of the bench, clasping your hands on your lap and staring at the tree above you. He eventually stopped observing you and went back to looking at the tree as well.

“Do you pray to the Valars?” You asked calmly but with a hint of curiosity. Your eyes still remained on the benches of the tree, though. You refused to lock your eyes with him. Not yet.

Adar was not answering for a while, which made you grow nervous. But, thankfully, he eventually answered your question. Well, kind of.

“Do you?” He inquired without looking at you either.

“Nobody listens to my prayers,” you said, “but I like to come here and think.”

Adar nodded and the long silence occurred again. You were fidgeting with your fingers nervously throughout all that time but you didn’t mind him noticing that. You knew what kind of person you had to play – tough, mysterious and intriguing in a way. With a hint of darkness that would make him curious but also with a hint of innocence and nervousness that would make him feel compassion. You were sure he was still able to do it since he could treat the Orcs like children. You wanted him to pity you in a way – to pity you enough to keep you alive. And to intrigue him enough to make him want to keep you with him.

“You wore black today,” he pointed out with a smirk and finally looked at you. You turned your head around to meet his gaze and you felt your cheeks heating up. His eyes were intense and so far you caught yourself feeling all the things you wanted him to feel towards you – you were intrigued by him but you also felt sorry.

“I mourn Ostirith,” you informed him and watched his reaction but there was really none. He was as cold as a stone on the outside like he was on the inside.

Adar looked up at the benches with leaves. You looked there, too, following his gaze and from the corner of your eye, you spotted him staring at your exposed neck. You wondered what was going inside his head. Was a man like him ever thinking of women in the same way as other men did? Was he ever craving someone to be by his side? He had to be lonely.

Perhaps, you had to make him realise how much. And that he did not have to be anymore.

“What happened to you?” You broke the silence and looked at him again, which made him furrow his brows with a hint of anger. You expected this sort of reaction, so you quickly backed out. “Forgive me…” You lowered your voice and looked down, nervously.

You hoped he wouldn’t walk away and indeed – he did not. That was part of the success already, you thought. You waited patiently for his next move.

“Morgoth happened to me. Sauron,” Adar explained after a long while of silence. At the sound of your lover’s name, you felt shivers go down your body and you moved uncomfortably. You hoped he hadn’t noticed but why would he suspect you to know any of these men personally? You were only a naive daughter of the Lord Guardian of the Southlands.

“What do you mean?” You laid your eyes on him again and batted your eyelashes, trying to show him compassion with the way you looked at him. Adar hesitated before answering more of your questions.

“I followed Morgoth out of my own curiosity and thirst for knowledge and power. And then I paid the price,” he explained, sparing you the details. You wondered if it was because they were too painful to talk about or was it because he found you too delicate for them.

“Is it justified to blame them for your downfall, Lord Father?” You dared to ask. “Was it not your own pride and greed that caused it?”

Adar chuckled at that as he tilted his head to take a better look at you. You did not shy away this time, showing your inner strength.

“You are not afraid of me, my Lady,” he pointed out.

“Why would I be? I only have a week of life to live,” you reminded him. “For an Elf, that is nothing. It makes no difference to me if you kill me then or now.”

“Why would I kill you for asking questions?” Adar shook his head. “Curiosity is no stranger to me,” he added and looked away, sadly. You remained silent for another long moment, allowing him to make a decision if he should keep talking or not. “I know I have only myself to blame for what happened although I have to admit I was naive. I hoped for more than suffering. There was only pain,” Adar’s voice turned into a whisper and he looked away. 

You felt sorry for him now. You knew Sauron’s nature and you knew it was a result of Morgoth’s training of pain and suffering. You were not surprised to find out that your lover could inflict the pain on others as well. Everyone Morgoth had ever hurt turned out to be broken creatures who wanted nothing but revenge.

“Well, they are gone now, aren’t they? Morgoth and Sauron?” You asked, playing naive.

“Morgoth, surely. I cannot be completely convinced about Sauron. He is of a cunning nature. I have defeated him once but I shall defeat him again if I must,” Adar’s jaw clenched as he explained and your heart skipped a beat.

So there he was – the murderer of your beloved, right in front of you. And even though you hated him with every fibre of your being, you had to play it cool and bat your eyelashes, hoping to seduce him enough to make him want you as his companion.

But the fact that even Adar did not believe in Sauron’s disappearance from this world was giving you hope. He would come back… Of  that you were sure. He would come back and make you his Queen.

Adar’s eyes were filled with fire and hatred whenever he spoke of Sauron, so you didn’t want to continue this conversation for now. You nodded and you stood up to leave after hearing that some of the Orcs were already entering the sacred courtyard and approaching their Lord Father.

“I shall retire for now,” you explained. “It was a pleasure to talk with you, Lord Father.”

“You do not have to lie,” he snorted.

“I do not lie,” you lied. “You are different than what I thought. Forgive my rapid judgement but I was driven by fear. Have a good day, Lord Father,” you bowed your head and walked away.

On your way out of the courtyard, you walked past the filthy Orcs. You were trying your best not to flinch or wince as their eyes were following you with curiosity that was deeply uncomfortable. You did not want creatures of this sort to have any interest in you.

Even though you were trying to view them as any other species of Middle-earth, you simply couldn’t. They were too hideous and too disgusting. You knew how unfair was your judgement but you were sure that all Elves would agree when it came to the Orcs. And so would humans. Perhaps some species had only been created to make others feel unsettled.

You spent the rest of that day with your mother, cheering her up. You felt bad for her because she would pay for the sins she had not committed. You were not pure anymore and in many ways you deserved to die. Your father had turned out to be a vile creature of no backbone. But your mother was pure and innocent and she had been begging for you all to run away. She could have run away alone but she would never abandon her family. And now – because of how dutiful and loyal she was – she would die…?

You could not let that happen.

On the second day you were informed that Adar was in the library, looking through your father’s ancient collection of manuscripts. You pretended that you had not known about it and you entered the room very naturally, without paying any attention to your guest. You picked up some random volume and sat by the table, a few chairs away from the Lord Father. You were wearing your black dress again.

Adar looked up at you for a moment but when he realised you were not in the mood to talk, he just decided to ignore you as well. In the meantime, you were looking through the pages of the book you had chosen and pretended to read it in silence but in reality you were observing him from the corner of your eye.

“Are they your children because they remind you of yourself?” You asked all of a sudden while biting on your lower lip. Adar froze and looked up to lay his eyes on you. He did not say anything, so you explained. “They are damaged and do not belong with any other species. Nobody loves them but you because you know what it is like to not be loved at all,” you pointed out.

“Your father was right about your nature,” Adar cracked a smile. “You have a great intuition, my Lady,” he bowed his head to you and you smiled at his compliment. “That is not all, though. My children and I have more in common. We were all hurt by Sauron,” he explained.

“How?” You asked and titled your head.

“He wanted to enslave my children and use them like mindless tools but they are not… They deserve to live in freedom and peace,” Adar explained to you. In many ways, you felt as if he was your father who was explaining things to you in a gentle and soft manner. He was explaining to a naive daughter how the world worked.

But that was not the dynamic you were aspiring for.

“You speak of peace as if you haven’t burnt villages on your way. As if you haven’t killed the men and women who had denied to follow you. And those who had bent their knees, you have marked them like cattle. Do not talk about peace to me, intruder, when you are the one who brought the war to these lands,” you spat out and closed your heavy volume angrily.

The sound echoed through the walls as the dust raised up and danced in the air. When it fell down and the echo subdued, Adar spoke again.

“If we came in peace and asked for a piece of land to live there, would your people accept us?” Adar asked and you pursed your lips. You knew very well your answer would be a lie. Elves and humans would never accept the Orcs. Even the dwarves would not do that. “Some creatures are born with their right to live and others must fight for it,” Adar added and went back to the manuscripts.

The doors opened with a squeak and one of the Orcs entered the library. He was the one you had spotted many times before around the Lord Father and you assumed he was the closest to Adar.

The Orc took a step back at the sight of you and lowered his head a little. You could not blame him for that because you were staring at him with so much intensity and anger that it would intimidate many. Still, it felt oddly nice to see they respected you just because they could see that your kin was equal to their Lord Father. 

Despite Sauron’s corruption, you still were the bearer of the light. Nobody could tell just yet that the very root of this light was rotting deep inside of you. Especially not a common Orc. To him, you were the beacon in the middle of the ruins.

“What is it, my son?” Adar asked him but the Orc only shook his head, refusing to speak. You spotted his small eyes staring at you and you only smirked. “Do not fear her. She is a friend,” Adar explained and you furrowed your brows at that but you did not say anything.

“Well, then, my Lord Father, I just wanted to bring you the message from our scouts,” the Orc walked up to the table and handed Adar a small piece of paper.

“Thank you,” Adar took it from him gently and read it. The Orc kept staring at you with curiosity.

“I shall retire to my chambers,” you stood up and walked past them to approach the doors.

The Orc bowed his head down after you and Adar looked up at him with a furrowed brow.

“What are you doing, my son? She is not your master,” he pointed out but you didn’t hear the rest of the conversation because you walked out of the library. You wished to hear the rest of it but it would be too suspicious.

You wondered, though, why the Orcs really treated you this way. Perhaps it was not because of the light you were carrying – perhaps it was quite the opposite. What if it was them who could smell Sauron on you? Your lover had been the one who had tried to enslave them in the past. Sauron would never treat them like children and he would never be their father. He had wanted to be their master.

Seeing their fearsome and filthy army profanating your home, you somehow wanted to be their master, too. You understood Sauron now – having such an army could make you feel invincible. They respected nothing and they were hungry for blood. The only thing you could not understand was how Adar was able to trust his own children. Perhaps that should be the next question you would ask him.

On the third day you approached him in the courtyard again, still in the same black dress. This time he was sitting by the fire with the Orcs but when you walked up to him, you froze at the sight of a baby Orc sitting on his lap. You kept staring at this strange little creature with a mix of emotions – the baby was still innocent but it was not pure by any means. Because of its kin, it was doomed like the rest of them.

“Are you quite alright, my Lady?” Adar’s voice made you snap back to reality and you cursed yourself for not being the one to ask him a question first on that day.

“Yes, thank you, Lord Father,” you nodded and took a seat next to him that was empty. At the sight of you getting near the baby, the father approached Adar to take his offspring. It was the Orc from the library.

“He does not trust me,” you pointed out, although you would not trust yourself either if you were them.

“His name is Glûg,” Adar told you. “None of them trusts you. 

“Do you?” You asked and batted your eyelashes while laying your eyes on him. Adar turned his head around to look into your eyes but he was visibly confused, so you changed the tactic. “Do you trust them?”

“I do,” he nodded. “They are my children.”

“I would not trust them if they have so much in common with you,” you teased. “Do you trust yourself?”

“They are all I have,” Adar opened his hands to show you the emptiness of them.

“You are lonely,” your voice saddened as your eyes filled with compassion. It was forced but you were a trained actress and your greatest power was that no one knew about your studies or your teacher.

Adar did not like your insinuation. He moved uncomfortably and sighed as he shook his head.

“I thought higher of you, my Lady… But you are here to help your father’s agenda, are you not? You are trying to convince me,” he smirked. “I am not interested.”

“My father’s agenda is not my own. It has never been and never will be,” you clenched your jaw as your eyes filled with anger and hatred. You despised him being even mentioned and you had been successfully managing to avoid him those past few days. In fact, every reminder of being his daughter was making the blood in your veins boil. “I simply wanted to say I know what it is like to be lonely. I am, too. I have always been,” you looked into the fire, following the dancing flames with your eyes.

That was not a lie – not fully. There had been a time in your life when you hadn’t felt lonely and that was the time you had shared with Sauron. But it had not been a long time, especially compared to your whole long Elven life.

“It must be lonely for a young Elven woman to grow up in Ostirith,” Adar admitted. “Isolating.”

“It was,” you nodded, refusing to look at him again. You were scared that your current vulnerability would reveal your true self to him. “I understand you… In some ways. To have so many children, to be loved… That would surely feel good,” you admitted.

“No,” Adar shook his head. “You do not understand me. You would, if you were able to see them as your children, too. You would not preach to me about war and peace then but you would feel the need to protect them no matter what price,” he said.

“We protect what we love,” you agreed as you nodded. All you could think of was him – Sauron. Dying somewhere, all alone, killed by his own army, betrayed. And you had not been there to protect him but even if you had been… What would you do? You were not powerful enough to do anything but watch. “Even if it is a hopeless case,” you finished.

A short silence occurred and you could feel the Lord Father watching you with curiosity.

“My children are not a hopeless case,” he only said.

You stood up and wiped the single tear that had escaped your eyes before. The Orcs around the fire stopped their conversations and they looked up at you, observing your movements.

“I shall go to see my mother now,” you informed Adar and he nodded at you but you could feel his eyes following you out of the courtyard.

On the fourth day you wore a crimson red gown that had been a gift to you from Sauron. It was a risky move but your parents had believed it was a dress you had gotten yourself in Eregion so why would Adar question it? 

You felt somehow powerful while walking down the hallways of Ostirith with all the Orcs moving out of your way, staring at you with a mix of curiosity, hatred and respect. You were on your way out of the fortress because you had seen through your window Adar walking out earlier. He was probably taking a walk in the forest surrounding the fortress and you missed walking, too.

The Orcs standing by the gate did not want to let you pass, though.

“Lord Father says your family can’t leave,” one of them drawled out as he looked you up and down, pointing his dagger at you.

“I am going to him. To your Lord Father,” you tried to reason with him in a calm manner.

“I don’t believe you, Elf,” he spat out as if your kin was an insult.

“Let her go,” another voice interrupted you. You turned around and spotted Glûg. His small eyes found yours and nodded before looking down again. “Lord Father says Dark Lady is a friend.”

“Dark Lady?” You asked, surprised, but there was no time to question it because the Orcs standing by the gate hesitantly let you pass, so you just decided to use the opportunity to walk out of the fortress.

You knew they were observing you, so after crossing the bridge, you went down the same forest path you had seen Adar taking before. But when you found yourself deeper inside the woods, you actually considered taking another turn and disappearing forever.

Where would you go, though? To Gil-galad? He would immediately sense the darkness inside of you because he was made of pure light himself. And you would never forgive yourself for abandoning your mother.

No, because of her you had to follow the same path Adar had chosen. And so you did, until you found yourself by the cliff. He was sitting on the edge and staring at the Southlands below him. Those were the lands he still had not conquered.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps but he did not question how you had managed to get out of Ostirith.

“Are you not mourning anymore?” He asked at the sight of your dress.

“I have accepted my fate,” you took a seat next to him and took a deep breath at the sight of the Southlands. “Are you going to conquer it all?”

“If I must,” Adar nodded and you looked at his hands. He was holding a piece of paper there like the one Glûg had brought to him on the second day.

“Why do you send the scouts? What news do they bring?” You bit on your lower lip. You were not scared of asking questions anymore because he was not angry at you for being curious, which he had proven already.

“I have reasons to believe that Sauron is back,” Adar looked at you and you flinched. Thankfully, he must have taken that reaction as fear or disgust instead of blooming hope inside of your chest.

“And what about it?” You raised your eyebrow.

“I shall destroy him again. And again and again until my children are safe,” he answered with anger as his eyes filled with rage. Sauron was his weak spot.

“You hate Sauron more than you love your children,” you risked the statement. “You would do anything to avenge what he did to you, no matter the cost. Many of your children will die while you chase him,” you explained.

“I shall not watch him turn my children into slaves!” Adar squeezed his fist with the paper inside of it. His anger did not scare you, though. Somehow, the news about Sauron made you feel more fearless and more peaceful. Everything would be alright, all the pieces were coming together.

“Because if he does… You will be alone again. All alone,” you only pointed out softly and you stood up to walk away and go back to the fortress. “But you do not have to be.”

“Why would you follow me if not to save your life?” Adar asked and you froze after turning around already. You smiled to yourself nervously.

“Why do your children call me a Dark Lady?” You asked.

“They have not met an Elf like you before. You are different. Dark,” Adar explained.

“And you?” You turned your head around, confused.

“I am an Uruk,” he explained and you nodded.

“If I died now, I would still see Valinor. It would heal me and save me,” you revealed, “if I followed you, I would be doomed forever. Following you is not cowardice. It is an act of courage and a sacrifice.”

“Why?”

“I have always wanted more,” you admitted and turned your head around again to take the first step towards the forest but Adar wanted to ask one more question before you would go:

“If you could save only one person out of the whole fortress, who would it be?”

You did not hesitate with your answer. She was the reason for this all.

“My mother,” you told him.

On the fifth day you were sitting in the courtyard on the bench under the holy trees while the Orcs were sitting behind you by the fire. You could feel their eyes observing you but they were not bothering you and you were not bothering them. You were waiting for their Lord Father to join them to continue your game. You knew that you were running out of time.

Sitting there and looking up at the leaves, you were lost in your thoughts. You sighed and then you felt something pulling on the fabric of your dress. When you looked down, you saw the baby Orc staring up at you. At first, you winced out of disgust but you quickly hid that expression and the baby was too little to snitch on you later.

You looked around but you could not spot any worried parents looking for their offspring, so you assumed they still had not realised the baby was gone and you did not want to raise the alarm and bring everyone’s attention to yourself.

The baby Orc tugged on your dress again and then it lifted its hands up. You decided to give it a chance… Perhaps it would make you understand Adar better.

You picked the baby up gently and put it on your lap. The little Orc was actually interested in the leaves of the sacred Elven trees and it made you chuckle. You reached your hand to pick one of the leaves and use it to tickle the baby a little.

You heard familiar and heavy footsteps behind you so you turned your head around and you spotted Adar with Glûg beside him. They both froze at the sight but you did not care about the Orc at all, you focused on the Lord Father. You were staring into his cold eyes intensely as if you were challenging him.

“Forgive us, Dark Lady!” Glûg ran up to you to take his child from your arms. “Forgive my son for bothering you,” he bowed his head down.

You did not say anything to that but you handed the leaf to the baby so the little one would still have his new “toy” for a while longer. When Glûg walked away with his son, you laid your eyes on Adar again and he approached you slowly and sat next to you.

“I spoke with your father,” he started and you winced at yet another reminder of whose daughter you were. “Tomorrow at dawn by this tree,” he said and you could not understand the meaning of his words at first and then you realised he was handing you something.

A silver ring.

You nearly gasped at the sight. He claimed to be an Uruk but the traditions he followed were Elven. Where had he even taken it from? You assumed your father had given him one. You, however, were not prepared.

“I… I do not have one,” you admitted in a whisper.

“That is alright. Just have the golden one for tomorrow,” Adar attempted to actually make a joke and you cracked a nervous smile as you reached your hand towards him. “Are you sure, my Lady? There is no going back from this.”

“I am sure,” you nodded, trying to sound as firm as possible.

Oh, you were sure. You were sure that Sauron would come for you soon and he would be pleased with your cunning schemes that would help him in the end. That he would kiss you again like in the old days, that he would put the crown onto your head and make everyone in Middle-earth to bow down for you. And that he would be grateful for your sacrifice just to bring him justice… You were sure.

Adar nodded and put the ring onto your finger. When the act was done, long silence occurred between you two. Your heart was beating fast in your chest and he eventually held your hand in his, which nearly made you feel sorry for him for a moment.

“The days of loneliness are about to be over for us,” you tried to sound sweet but not too much because it would be suspicious. “I shall serve you with advice and companionship, Lord Father.”

Adar nodded at those words and his cold hand squeezed yours even tighter.

“I shall build a new life for us where we can be ourselves freely, Dark Lady.”

And when he let go of your hand to stand up and walk away, you truly felt bad for him. You hated him for hurting Sauron but he was more than that – he was hurt and sad. His pure Elven nature was twisted and the light of Valinor was gone from his soul. What he truly needed was healing even though it was too late for him now.

You would not bring that to him, though. You were a treacherous bearer of death and all you could think of on that night before your wedding was the moment when Sauron would save you and put a crown onto your head.

MASTERLIST

[kasagia]

In death's arms

Pairing: Annatar/Sauron x fem!maia! reader Summary: There was nothing Sauron regretted doing. Every nasty thing he did to gain power paid off for him, and given the choice again, he would do it all over again. Or so he thought, until his path was crossed with someone from his past. It turns out that some of his mistakes are destined to haunt him forever. Author's note: A little sth that stuck in my head after watching Agatha All Along... this is pure fiction and probably wouldn't work in Middle-earth, but since I've written it... 😅 I've been completely out of it lately and everything's been going so fast in my life lately, so I'm terribly sorry if I've missed any messages/comments from you! I'm trying to catch up slowly! Anyway, enjoy! Halbrand's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

“Have you come to torment me again?” He asks, gathering the last of his strength to mock you as you appear before him.

From the nasty grin you give him, instead of being angry at his mockery, he realises how bad a state he is in. Morgoth has just put him through one of his tests. Sauron no longer remembers what he had to do. But he remembers his master's anger when he failed. He remembers clearly every cut he inflicted on him, every wound, every spilt blood that stained his skin and clothes, or at least the shreds that remained of them.

He no longer counted how much of his blood had soaked into his clothes and how much into the stone floor and wall behind him. And the seemingly irritating digging of the bars into his neck and skin stopped bothering him as the metal and his body became one.

"Contrary to appearances, your new master is not willing enough to hand you over to me. Too bad. You'd look pretty in your grave, Mairon. Oh, forgive me. Old habits die hard, Sauron."

He trembles when you speak his true name. The name given to him by the Valar. It sounds both sweet and deadly on your lips. A reminder of what he has lost, of what he could have had, had his lust for power been kept in check, had he never left the forge…

"He needs me. He knows that only I can lead his army to the victory."

"Victory, death. What's the difference, right?" You reply with a smirk that sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

He feels... uneasy around you. It wasn't something he was used to. Your presence always brought him some kind of comfort and peace, but now... now everything was different. He and you had changed. Not necessarily for the better.

"I suppose it makes no difference to you whether you take me in a dungeon or on a battlefield."

"But your honour wouldn't allow you to be beneath me, would it, my sweet deceiver?" You mock him and laugh, which sends a cold, unpleasant shiver down his spine.

Your laughter is so different from the one he remembers. It is bleak and harsh as the blade he once forged for you, and which you now carry at your side.

He remembered loving to bask in the glow of your laughter, in the halls of the Valar, as you feasted and danced, living as carefree a life as could be. Sometimes he longed for those days... to spend another one like this, so that he could engrave it forever in his memory and cling to it to save himself from total corruption and rottenness.

"Why do you keep showing up? You know that you can't get your claws on me."

"I am aware about that. But every moment like this will only sweeten the day when I finally take you in my arms, my dear deceiver. And believe me... you will not escape once I finally get my hands on you. In the end, all paths lead to one person. And it is not Morgoth. It is not any of your Valar. It is not any being that you know. In the end, you will come to me. And you will suffer more than Morgoth ever made you do, my Dark Lord."

You press your lips to his forehead—the place where Morgoth smashed his skull into the wall and split his head. He trembles as your lips press against raw, bleeding skin. You groan, running your tongue over his wound, tasting his black blood. And he cries out as you send waves of pain through him worse than any Morgoth had inflicted on him.

He holds his breath as your other hand lazily caresses the skin of his arm, tracing patterns with your black nails, only to suddenly dig them into the open wounds Morgoth had inflicted on him. Sauron groans in pain, trembling in your arms. You press your lips to his, drinking in his every cry as you caress him with your gentle touch and send waves of pain shooting through every tiny particle of his body.

"I will drink in every one of your sweet screams, my dearest. I will bask in every pain your being feels. Until all you remember, all you know, is me and my blade." You whisper your promise, and as suddenly as you came, you disappeared.

You leave him trembling and crying on the cold stone floor, dirty with his blood. And though he hated the times you came to mock him, he was relieved that you didn't leave him completely alone. Even if you only came to drive the knives Morgoth had placed inside him deeper.

He needed you. As pathetic as it was, he needed those little moments with you to keep him from going completely crazy during his darkest hours and the tests his master put him through.

But he lived with the hope that one day he would be able to repay you with the same sweet torture. That one day he would be the one to listen to your sighs of pain... or cries of pleasure. He wasn't sure yet whether he loved or hated you more—even though you seemed to already have your mind set about your feelings towards him.

Adar has betrayed him. He has betrayed him in the worst possible way. Sauron lies on the floor, surrounded by Orcs who drive the blades of Morgoth's crown into him as their Lord-Father looks on passively.

This couldn't be the end. He couldn't end like this. He couldn't be defeated like Morgoth had been, not by the filthy stinking Orcs and someone he had considered a friend. His master had been right; if they didn't fear you, you were nothing to them. There was no ally so powerful, so loyal, and true as fear. And now he was learning his lesson once again. In the most painful way possible.

He took small, ragged breaths that burned his body every time his lungs tried to expand and draw in air. Blood dripped from almost every inch of his body. And suddenly, in the distance, a few feet from those nasty orcs, he sees you.

You watch his fall with complete calm. You play carelessly with the blade he gave you, waiting for his end, letting the orcs finish their work. He sees no emotion on your face. Ironic, considering that this is probably the best day of your life. He will finally get his punishment from you. There was nothing he could do to escape you... unless...

He gasps especially hard when one of the orcs plunges a blade into his heart. As if through a haze, he sees Adar above him, who, after making sure that his physical body has been completely destroyed, says something to his orcs. Sauron hears only a screech in his ears as his battered heart gives its last beat. And then there is only darkness. Bleak darkness, which is quickly interrupted by a song all too familiar to him.

"Come, come, my lost soul, you will find your peace. Come, come, down your road, straight into my arms."

Sauron remembers the countless nights after Morgoth's torture, when you sang it to him and mocked him, giving him a taste of what you would do when you could finally take him in your arms.

Once it was a simple lullaby. A lullaby you made up for him when he couldn't calm his mind, when he spent too much time in Aulë's forge, too absorbed in his work to see you. Now you were attracting souls who were about to meet their end.

But he is not ready for death yet. He does not want to go like this. Not when he has known no power, not when the sacrifice he made of himself has brought him nothing at all. He does not want to go into your arms, knowing that he has thrown away everything he had with you for nothing.

"Look where your lust has taken you, my darling." You tell him with a smirk, taking your time as you walk towards him.

He kneels, swaying as he tries to keep his balance. He falls on both hands in front of you, taking in shuddering breaths as the black bonds of your magic close around him, crushing him in a tight embrace.

"I thought you loved my embrace? You told me so. Remember? When we lay together in the halls of the Valar, each held tightly, when you swore to me that you would not yield to Morgoth's influence, that what we have was enough, that you would never dream of more than what we have? Tell me, did you plan to betray me even then, or did you forget your promises in time?"

After each of your mockery comes a blow from you. Sometimes it's a simple kick, sometimes a punch delivered from your fist, and sometimes you pierce his body with a dagger, tormenting him even more and twisting him so that the blade grazes every single muscle of his. You were going for your revenge. And nothing was going to stop you.

"Pathetic. You wanted power. You wanted power so great that millions would kneel before you, and now you are on your knees. You were willing to do anything; you gave up everything just to fulfil your dark desires. Tell me, Sauron, was it worth it? Because I am truly happy with this turn of events."

He gasps as you grab him by the neck, forcing his gaze to meet yours. He trembles, staring into your black, dilated pupils. Your face is nothing like the one he remembers. You look like death. You are the real death. He trembles, seeing what the Vaalr did to you after he left and what punishment they gave you for loving a traitor. He looks away, wanting to momentarily ease his guilt and helplessness, but your tightening grip on his neck won't let him.

"You have no idea how long I've dreamed of this. You have no idea how long I've wanted to tear out every last piece of you just to put you back together and present you to the Valar, to give you into their hands so you could suffer as you should. Do you think that what you became was all your fault? That they wanted to punish us for our love? I asked them to make me something you fear, something you must reckon with. I am what everyone sees at the end; I am what takes everyone, even the mightiest of men. I am the end of Morgoth, the end of all evil, all good, the end of everything. I am death." You growl and throw him across the room.

He groans in pain, but he doesn't try to run away from you anymore. He knows that without his physical form, without any power, he won't hide from you. He was in your world, in the thrall of your power. And if he wanted to somehow escape from your grip, he had to play his cards right.

"I never wanted this for you... I never wanted this for us." He gasps, glancing at you. You walk slowly toward him, your black outfit billowing behind you, giving you an ethereal, trash-like look. As much as he fears you, he yearns to have you by his side. But he's not foolish or naive enough to believe you'll ever be on his side again.

"You left me! You left me to rot in the light of the Valar!! You tore my heart, all my humanity, destroyed everything I was, and left me alone. What did you want then, deceiver? What did you want, if not my absolute destruction, so that the vestiges of my past would not torment you in your greedy quest for power?"

He grunts as you drive your sword through his side. He grabs your hand, the one resting on the hilt, and pulls you toward him. You land on the floor with him, and before you can react, he's straddling you, placing the metal against your neck as he leans over you. His blood decorates your skin as his hand cups your cheek. Any attempts to fight him die inside you as his skin touches yours. You freeze for a moment, unused to someone's touch after so long alone, and he takes advantage of it as much as he can.

"I… I've always wanted… I've dreamed of you standing beside me… as my queen. My equal… I… I would never turn my back on you completely." He mumbles, pressing his nose to your temple. You break your dark vision of death for a moment and show him the face he knew so well, the one he had missed for so long that tears came to his eyes. You kick him in the chest and push him away, trying to regain some control. You reach for your neck and wipe away his blood. Without taking your eyes off him, you lick your fingers clean.

"You would trade me for the power Morgoth had at the first opportunity. You have no heart. You never did. And I was too naive to see you for who you really were." With a flick of your wrist, the bonds around him reappear. His wrists and ankles are bound and he is immobilized as he waits for you to make your final move and take his soul from this world forever.

"I have a heart. As black and rotten as yours. And it beats for you. Always has, always will. Even if you seek to destroy me utterly… even if you are left all alone after you have done your duty to the Valar and taken me into your sweet, hellish embrace." He says, only half-feigning contrition for what he had done.

He loved you. If there was one thing he was certain of about his old life, it was that he had loved you deeply. But not enough to become just another servant of the Valar. He wanted more. He had to have more. If he couldn't have you by his side, he would be content to fight with you. Until death do you part.

"If you loved me, you would never leave me." The slight tremor in your voice gives him hope that this meeting will go as he had hoped.

He lifts his gaze to you, studying you as you stand before him. The dagger in your hand is still a painful reminder of what it could cost him if he doesn't say the right words, but for now all he can think about is how wonderfully terrifying you look, standing before him in all your glory and power.

You captivate him. You tempt him. The Valar knew what they were doing when they made you the Lady of Death. You would be his undoing. He knows it. Eventually he will fall, and there will be no turning back. But before he does... he wants to make sure he remains legendary and eternal.

"It was because I loved you that I had to leave you. I didn't want to taint you with my darkness. You were pure. You were the sweetness that I wanted to drink and destroy at the same time for my own pleasure. You would not have had a better fate with me." He tries to defend himself by touching your most sensitive spot. He sees your ardour slowly subside as you begin to really consider his words.

You hesitate. He can see it in your gaze. He can see that the vision of your dream future he's presented to you is starting to tempt you. If he'd pushed you just a little further, if he'd said a few more words, maybe you'd really join his side? Maybe you'd be a force against the world? Maybe if he hadn't left you completely alone, maybe you could have had it all?

You walk up to him and stop a few millimetres away from him. If he takes a deep breath, his chest can gently brush against yours. He wants so badly to drive the blade into you and simultaneously capture your lips in a kiss that it's a confusing feeling in his current situation. You wanted him dead. That's what you came here for. To take him away. And yet you still had your ways of making him want you.

You lean forward, your hair brushing his cheek as your tongue traces the shell of his ear. He shivers as your cold breath contrasts with the warm saliva you spread before you bite down on his skin teasingly.

"I was soaked in it long before you even thought about leaving, my sweet deceiver. Now, I am just darkness." You whisper in his ear. You move away millimetres, far enough to look him in the eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you raise your blade, preparing to deal the final blow and take his soul forever, locking him away in a cell next to Morgoth, most likely.

So in a desperate act of self-savement, or perhaps out of the lust you've awakened in him, or perhaps out of the pure desire to taste your lips one more time before he leaves this world, he leans down and kisses you.

And it surprises you. Sauron hears the dagger fall from your hand to the floor as you reach for his hair, tangling your hands in it. He groans and tugs at the bonds you've trapped him in so he can wrap his arms around you and take you in his arms like he wanted to all along, but you don't let him move an inch. He growls in rage and bites your lip in retaliation, drawing blood—a random action that saves him from his predicament.

With each drop of your blood, he feels the power within him begin to bubble up again. Before you know it, he breaks your bonds and pushes you against the wall behind you. You groan in protest, trying to push him away from you. You try to summon your powers to immobilise him again, but he plunges his blade into your arm, effectively distracting you.

You cry out in pain, cursing his name, but he has only one goal in mind. He tears your clothes and burrows into your skin, biting and caressing every exposed part, feeding on your blood and power, restoring his soul the vitality it needs.

You are a mess of black blood and tears as he feasts on you, outsmarting you and binding you in your own shackles that you used against him.

"You won't take me as easily as you take these mortals." He growls against your skin, drinking your blood as he uses his knife to carve tiny cuts into your skin, decorating it with both black liquid and hickeys, marks from his bites and fingers.

“You’ll pay for this.” You moan as he bites into your neck, leaving a messy, bloody trail. He licks his lips and grabs you roughly by the waist, pulling you closer so you can feel the bulge of his cock against your thigh.

"Then, my sweet death, you will take me as a happy man." He growls in your ear before smashing his lips against yours in another kiss. You don't register the moment he takes your amulet from you.

His kisses numb you to the point where you don't register anything but him. All that matters to you is the way his hands caress your body, the way his lips defile every little inch of you. It feels so good to finally feel someone's touch on you…so good to finally feel HIS touch on you.

"I think that few people have the privilege of saying that they fucked death..." He mumbles in your ear, drunk on the feeling of you beneath him.

And just when he's about to bring you the greatest pleasure, just when he's teased your core long enough that you clench around his fingers desperate for more, he does something far worse than drive your dagger through you. He leaves you completely alone again.

You scream, furious and frustrated, both for having him deceive you and sexually for not giving you the release you deserved. You pound your fists on the ground and scream long and shrilly—enough that he will surely be able to hear you, whatever pathetic form he has taken since breaking out of your realm.

And driven by hot fury, you know only one thing—he will pay for this. Even if you were to seek him out and ignore your duties. You'll get him in your arms.

There was something addictive about the way people were drawn to him.

Ever since Sauron took the form of Annatar, the people of Eregion had flocked to him like moths to a flame, seeking gifts from the great messenger of the Valar. He liked the power he had over them. How one of his (false) words could turn them into his obedient puppets who would do anything to fulfill the prophecy he had foretold.

However, with the number of creatures circling around him, he had increasing difficulty maintaining the illusion he had cast over the city.

This is exactly what has happened now.

Annatar/Sauron was cleaning up the mess he had made by killing one of the elves who had discovered too quickly what was happening beyond the walls of his safe illusion. He could not afford for the whispers of panic to reach the ears of the only blacksmith whose skills were satisfactory.

Lifting the body, he freezes suddenly as a cold shiver runs through him. The atmosphere in the room changes. The only lit torch goes out, the smell of sulfur begins to fill the air, the rats that were roaming the basement disappear, and the only sound in the room is his breathing. He looks around, trying to see through the darkness of the room, but all he can see is red blood on his hands..

He frowns, looking around him as he realises the body he was supposed to get rid of is gone. He walks over to the extinguished torch and relights it, illuminating the room once more. He looks around for the body, but all he sees are the empty corridors of the underground. He frowns and focuses his senses, trying to sense any additional presence or power that would mess with his head.

And then he hears it. A soft humming from down the hall. He automatically reaches to his side, where his sword is strapped to his belt, and slowly walks toward the sound of soft singing.

"Come, come, my lost soul, you will find your peace. Come, come, down your road, straight into my arms." He freezes in mid-step. Goosebumps rise across his body, and he feels his breath quicken.

Memories—unwanted, painful memories—flood his mind as he stands in the empty hallway, wondering if he should go down. Involuntarily, his memories go back to the day he survived one of Morgoth's most demanding trainings—the day he found out what the consequences of his actions brought to you...

"I didn't know you were a coward, Y/N! Are you going to show yourself? Or should I leave you to your work and go back to mine?" He asks cheekily, trying to get you out of your hiding place. He knows how dangerous you've become, and as much as it fascinates him, he doesn't want to be on the receiving end of your blade... or claws. "I bet you're as busy as I am these days." He mumbles, pacing the empty hallways where your humming still echoes.

He glances over his shoulder a few times, wanting to make sure that you won't surprise him with a dagger to his neck.

Sauron won't admit to himself that he's afraid of you; he just knows the threat you pose to him. There was nothing worse than a mad woman—especially an unpredictable woman. And he was foolish enough to get on your bad side, to betray you, and don't look back. But how could he possibly know that you would get punished for his action? How could he predict that you will be paying off his sins to Valar? That only showed how unjust they were. Not only to you, but to him as well.

"Won't you show me your face?" He asks, still searching for the slightest sign that will give away your presence. But your soft singing, the haunting song that makes his heart beat faster, pumping adrenaline through his body, makes it impossible for him to fully devote himself to the task of finding you. Not if he doesn't want to end up with a sword in his chest. "Valar knows how I missed looking at it."

He turns around and, as if on cue, you appear to him. He presses his lips together tightly, refraining from gasping in surprise when he sees you in all your glory. He swallows hard when his gaze falls on your deformed face that you show him. A bloodthirsty smile, full of black fangs, sunken cheeks, and no nose, is one of the less... drastic forms in which you like to show yourself lately. Sauron knows how much you want to scare him; he hopes he doesn't give you too much entertainment.

"I would have a lot less work to do, my sweet deceiver, if you would just give yourself to me as you should and stopped playing Valar. You won't fool me a third time." You warn him, stepping closer. You see his throat tremble as he swallows, and he gently closes his eyes for a moment to inhale your scent and take in a little of your closeness.

You were so damn dangerous, deadly even... and he wanted more. Even though he knew full well that this desire would probably lead him to his grave.

"But wthout me you'd be terribly bored, wouldn't you?" He asks, giving you one of his smirks. He was playing with death, literally. He wondered how many times he could get out of your cruel clutches before he finally ran out of escape routes.

He freezes when you gently place your hand on his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertip. He grits his teeth, staring at you wordlessly as you play with a strand of his blonde hair.

"Where's your elf?" You whisper against his lips, leaning in close enough that it’s a challenge for him to stay away from you. You should be a repulsive threat to him, nothing more than an enemy to be defeated. But for some reason, whether it’s your past, the pull that’s always been between you, or the power that’s bound you together, he can’t feel anything for you but pure lust.

"She left." He says shakily, wondering if you were jealous of him, if you watched him and Galadriel, if you planned her death when he declared that he wanted her to be his queen...

"Too bad... I would gladly take her in my arms. I guess I can only wait then. There is nothing more pleasant than meeting them all at the end of their path. They act as if they were truly immortal. You have no idea how surprised most of them are when they cross my path. Almost as surprised as you were when you first saw me in this form."

"I would appreciate seeing you more often if it weren't related to your current… job position." You chuckle darkly and grab his hand at his words.

You lift it between the two of you and pull out your dagger. You cut his palm, and he can only stand there, dazed, watching as you lick his black blood. You hum, tasting your power as it courses through his veins.

"Oh… but then it would be too boringly easy for you, right?" Your voice is velvety, like a balm to his frayed nerves. He allows himself to cling to you, completely forgetting that he should always be on guard with you. A mistake you won't fail to remind him of. "Tell me, Sauron… have you never heard of such a thing as being utterly charmed by death?"

Before his mind can process the meaning of your words, you have already pierced his hand with a dagger through and through. He groans in pain and tries to rip his hand from your iron grip, but you won't let him. You rip off your amulet that he stole from you, which he hung on a necklace around his neck, and you place it on his wound. You chant the appropriate words and drain him of all the power that he stole from you all those years ago—the power that helped him be reborn again.

"Next time you lay your hands on something that doesn't belong to you, I'll chop them off. I think I can find a much better use for them. A more… satisfying one, if you still know what I mean." You mock him, twisting his wrist.

He growls in pain and shoves you back, sending you crashing into the wall behind you. You raise your blade higher, pressing it against his neck as he steps closer to you. You laugh as you feel him press his own weapon against your chest.

"Well, well, well. I see you've learned something after all. Tell me, my beloved, are you afraid of me?" You whisper hoarsely, licking your lips as you lean into him. You make a move to bite into his neck, but he pulls away from you at the last second, frowning at your amused, dark chuckle.

"Only a fool wouldn't be afraid of you."

"Like calls to like, right?" You pose the question, raising an eyebrow at him. You take advantage of his momentary distraction and push him against the wall. You press yourself against him and capture his lips in a bruising, hungry kiss.

He gasps into your mouth and tangles his hands in your hair, pulling you even closer. Your darkness is addictive. He wants to bask in it, to experience it so deeply that he can become intoxicated by it. He wants to bond with you and experience the same kind of limitless power that you possess. A force that borders on death itself.

As the kiss deepens, he begins to feel you slowly draining his life force. He knows he has to pull away, but not yet. He wants to taste your lips, your sighs, and your soft moans as he caresses you through the material of your night-black dress for as long as he can. But he knows that with each little touch, kiss, and soft moan, he will want more, and it will be harder for him to pull away from you.

That's why he's reluctant to push you away. But when he does, he feels how much you've weakened him with that little kiss. He gasps, laughing thoughtfully as he struggles to even out his heartbeat and his breaths. Now he understands all that talk about deadly kisses. But if he had to choose how he died, your lips were a very tempting option.

"Enjoy the time you have left. We both know that eventually you too will find me at the end of your road. On the way… try not to bother me too much with all the dead bodies and souls you've forced me to take care of." You wink at him and blow him a kiss before disappearing, returning to the other side where the soul of the mortal he killed was waiting for you.

Sauron is surprised that you let him go so easily after his last... antics. But he knows that you didn't leave him alive out of the kindness of your heart. You enjoyed the cat and mouse game between you; you enjoyed tormenting him with the idea that you could take his soul at any moment. So he had to think of a way to make it harder for you.

He returns to the forge and absently strokes the box with the 7 rings for the dwarves. If he had divided his soul… left fragments of it in each of them, it would be impossible for you to gather them all and drag him to the world of the dead, where you could torment him as you pleased…

Or perhaps, in time, he would find a way to tame death itself and submit it to his will?

One thing was sure. At the right time, you will come for him. And you will take away everything he has worked so hard for.

Just like you always do.

He had a few centuries to figure out how to cheat death again. And how to make sure that you will be the one to fall into the trap of his arms. Not the other way around.

[weclassygirl]

deception

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: years pass in Eregion and reader learns how much connected she is with Sauron

warnings: some blood, but none really

word count: 2,2k

author’s note: finally the fun begins. also keep in mind this is a story that spans over hundred of years. enjoy! (previous part -> visions)

It was no secret why you pursued the dark arts in the first place. A forgotten book in your father’s library when you were a child. A child. Who in their right mind would let someone so young to read upon the cursed texts? But what happened could not be undone.

You learned in secret, became obsessive at times, your family believed you to study, to one day become a respected diplomat for the realm. How disappointed they were to hear what you have done from the mouths of others.

Cast out and alone you made your new life. You never saw them again and yet you knew them to be long gone.

It became your solace, powerful and unpredictable but you preferred it that way. You had your days when you tried to leave it behind, stop this pursuit but it always lingered, drew you even more back in.

You look up from under the tree and up into the sky, your hand picks at the skin on your palm unconsciously.

The faint scar on your finger makes you wonder what his intention was. He drew blood that day in the cell and you never questioned, never thought that there may be an intention behind it.

The man you saw in the garden looked nothing like the Sauron you knew, but you heard he could take whatever form he liked.

He survived then. That beam of light was his doing, the pain you felt was his work, but how? You trace the scar and head to the library.

It’s been some time since that day in the forge, the High King has been informed and you’ve been confined to the forge, cleaning rather than creating. Celebrimbor saw with time how quickly the blackened fingertips faded with each good deed and requested for your freedom to be expanded.

There were some Elves who deemed it uncertain of what your time would be like if you started to dwell into Eregion‘s tomes and scrolls. Celebrimbor assured them that it would be supervised. And so you took out every piece of parchment you could find, book and a passage to ensure he did not do it.

You spend a whole evening in the library when you come across it. A short mention but nevertheless clear as day. He planned it, he smiled when you healed the small cut and there was this gnawing feeling within you when he did so.

The black blood looked indistinguishable from the one over your darkened fingertips.

You rush out of the library and the guards barely catch up with you, but let you be as they see you heading to your bed chamber. You lock the door and lean against it, your breathing heavy. Your feet carry you to the bathroom and you rub at your fingertips where the small scar is left, you move so harshly that you draw blood.

It drips down and you stare in horror, black mixed with red.

He bound you… to him.

You’ve heard of rituals involving exchanging blood but for this one you hope he did not speak the vow that sealed it.

“It suits you.” you turn startled to see him standing before you. A shadow this time, almost human like, not the man you saw before.

“Get out of my head.” you snap and storm out of the bathroom, he follows you and leans against the doorframe. You hope there’s no guards outside if they were to hear whatever you would say to a ghost in your mind.

“I told you we’re bound.” his voice is distorted, like a spell cast over it.

You scoff at his words and speak through clenched teeth. “To path to darkness, not to each other.”

“Not yet.” he moves closer.

You step back until your back hits the wall, he’s not truly there but his presence alone makes you move according to his rhythm. “You cannot think I would willingly give myself to you.” it’s a twisted thought and you tip on the axis of whether you want it to come true or not.

“With time, perhaps.”

Your eyes go ever wider. “You’re insane.”

He leans above you and you avoid his gaze as his phantom breath lands next to your ear. “One day, you’ll need me just as I’ll need you.” when he pulls back he looks at you with such adoration. If he were truly here, people would mistake you for lovers.

He’s right though, you will need him. Who wouldn’t want the help of a feared sorcerer? The one person who can show you the craft you so longed to learn.

A knock comes at the door and you tear your gaze from him, he vanishes in your mind and you run your hand down your face. Persistent shadow.

You open the door to a guard. “Lord Celebrimbor wishes to see you.”

You give him a short nod. “I’ll come by the workshop later.” you start to close the door but his spear stops you from doing so.

“He wishes to see you now.” you sigh but follow his lead.

When you walk down to the forge a distinct conversation dies down as you enter. You see Celebrimbor standing with… the High King. You march closer to them, the forge is quiet, the fire crackling in the pit.

“High King.” you give him a nod. It’s been a few hundred years since he sent you to Eregion, you wonder if he comes to judge your progress or to put an end to it.

“Lord Celebrimbor has informed me of your growth in your punishment.” he starts, though his voice sounds as if the words were poison on his tongue. You knew he never took liking to you and you never hid your disdain. His next words make you rethink that perhaps he had a heart after all. “We’ve decided to free you of your confines.”

You stare agape. “What?”

Celebrimbor steps closer. “Your hands are clean, have been for many years now. I believe this could be a start of something new.” he says as he takes your hands in his and cuts the metal around your wrists.

You feel as if a weight has been lifted from your soul, like you can finally breathe. You pinch yourself, this could be another dream, another illusion from Sauron but you feel the sting on your arm.

Gil-Galad comes closer. “This does not mean that you will be less watched. The moment you dip back into your old craft, the archers will kill you without hesitation.” a threat and you see the honesty in it.

“Of course.” you respond. The High King bids goodbye to Celebrimbor and you don’t know whether to feel elated or frightened. You’re free, no more chains to hold you down, after so many years. You look down at your hand and hesitate to conjure up the smallest speckle of light. Celebrimbor notices it.

“Go on.” he encourages you. “I must admit, I’ve never seen a wizard, much less a witch to create something without using a staff.”

You gather the courage and bring up a small mist of light, scattered across your palm. You laugh and your eyes fill with tears.

“Freeing, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” you whisper. You form an orb of light and almost caress it. You close the palm of your hand and the light that illuminated your face fades out in the wind. You feel a presence in the back of your mind but pay it no mind, you turn to Celebrimbor. “Shall we continue with our work?”

He smiles. “We shall.”

Time passes as you become a well-respected Elvensmith of Eregion and in those years you learn to create a perfect illusion of the effects from using dark magic. It didn’t take you long to be pulled back into it, a scroll here and there, you took many notes, crafted your own spells for your needs. Celebrimbor never suspected. Gil-Galad never knew.

And your shadow remained and with time you started to tolerate his presence but still refused to bind yourself completely to him.

You used him as much as he used you. You were his eyes in Eregion whether you liked it or not, you could not avoid it. He was a cunning sorcerer, that much you knew from your time under Morgoth’s and yet you never realized how inventive he could become. You’ve learned more from him than in all your years of studying the craft.

“Focus.” he tells you as you try to form your own illusion over your body. Your bed chamber is quiet, no guards posted outside, the balcony slightly opened to let the fresh air of the night. You pin your attention to your hands, the dark fingertips motionless in the air as they glide over your other hand.

After a moment your hand once youthful and smooth turns wrinkled with speckles of old age. “Good. You listened for once.”

“Believe it or not but your instructions sometimes prove useful.”

“Sometimes?”

You tilt your head at him. “Don’t mock.” your hand returns to its former beauty, the effects of dark magic visible in the comfort of your own chambers.

“You could leave Eregion. The High King has pardoned you, Celebrimbor believes you pose no threat. Why haven’t you?” he asks.

You could, but you needed to stay, you knew he would come here in the future.

“I can bide my time here a bit longer.” you admit. You did not wish to part from Eregion yet, you waited until Greenwood had all but forgotten your name before you could return to the calmness of your cottage. It may take years but you could wait, time was at your side.

You stand up from your spot on the bed and close the journal that lay beside you. You go over to your desk and hide it from any prying eyes. Your spells, your creation, your precious.

“Tread carefully.” he says and you turn to face him. He stands right next to you and you could almost feel his breath on your face. “They may have fallen under your deception but sooner or later you’ll slip.”

You lift your hand, the scar barely visible on your finger. “Then I’ll need you more than ever.” he looks down to your finger and gently takes your hand. Even through the illusion, the shadow you can feel the dulled touch.

“And you claimed you’ll never give yourself willingly.” he teases and raises your hand. You tilt your hand and move your hand further to place it where his cheek would have been. For a moment you think he’ll melt into your touch, a Dark Lord at your mercy. You grab his jaw forcefully and bring it down to you, even as an illusion he complied with whatever you wanted to do with him.

His gaze is unyielding and he smirks. “I won’t. At my deathbed I might, but not before.”

“I can arrange that.” you let go of him and his hand goes over his stubble. “In time, you will beg me to.”

He disappears once again leaving you alone in your chambers. This man… you grunt in annoyance and close the door to the balcony. Your sight lands on the desk, you’ve grown quite irritated at his constant disappearances. You lock the door to your chambers and sit up on the bed, your journal lays before you once more with hopes of mastering the spell once and for all.

You concentrate and lay back on the bed, you close your eyes trying to pin point where he is. You hear the water surrounding him before you see him. He lays there or so you think, below the deck, his eyes open as he senses you. The old man sees him looking around, not aware of your presence.

“Nightmares again? What haunts you so?” the old man asks. It’s then he notices you, you never sought him out that was his task but there in the shadows you stood just like he has before.

“I’ve done evil.” he says while looking at you.

The old man leans closer. “All of us have done things that we care not to admit.”

“Not like I have.” the silence weighs, you dare not to respond. The old man lectures him about choosing good, you scoff. You could never imagine him being in the light, every good act he’s done has been for his own gain. You understand, you’ve done the same.

You come closer and kneel before him. He watches you and when you try to speak to him the words caught up in your throat. He smiles for a moment, such a fleeting expression. You may have learned how to reach him but conveying a message would take time.

His eyes grow wide when he feels the beast beneath the deck and he aims for your head as if to push you down to the side. You disappear from his sight as the water crashes through the boards.

You gasp as you sit up on the bed and your hand flies to your head. You curse under your breath and try to get back to him but you’ve reached your limit.

You’ll have to wait until he reaches out again.

next part -> scheme

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine the broken promise between you and Annatar (Sauron)…

He did not want this. He did not plan for it. You had found a way into his shattered soul and your light became the binds that held the fragments together. You lived in his heartbeat and he had only himself to blame.

Eregion was under siege.

Celebrimbor forged his rings under an illusion.

And you? He had convinced you to stay in a tower above where the ring-maker worked. One that he kept shielded to resist the war outside.

Making his way to the top of the stairs, he reached an open archway and stopped at the threshold. He lifted his hand with every intention to knock against the wooden pane.

But when he looked at your peaceful face seated by a tall window and staring out at a false, blue sky with calming winds and a town below full of mirth… he could not will himself to break the spell.

There was a fond smile playing at your mouth as you watched on. And while his heart would never tire of the sight and the feel of those lips on his, he needed you to remain.

His victory could not be achieved with distraction and, if you were to fall in the crossfire, he would eviscerate Eregion - Middle Earth be damned.

And so he kept you wrapped tight in his deception. Safe and his. He understood that the aftermath risked your hate but he could withstand it. His eyes caught onto a silver band on your finger, woven with black gems like an eternal night and a memory surfaced.

One that he had tried to ignore.

“Make me a promise.” You requested.

Under the guise of Halbrand, he laughed only to receive a playful shove against his chest. He took hold of your wrist and held you close, fingers skimming over yours where they traced the ring. He was prepared to listen before giving a reply.

“Promise me that, regardless of the danger ahead and your fears, you will not interfere with my choices. Promise me that you will let me decide my path for myself.”

He did not know why but he leaned forward and whispered against your lips, “I promise.”

It was a true sadness that he could not keep it - not for himself, and not for you.

~ More imagine here ~

A/n: And so on my day off from work, I chose to write angst with an open window and gentle music. I’d apologise but I love how this piece turned out. And yes, the scene and gif don’t match but look at that smile x

[queenlucythevaliant]

Reepicheep could just walk into Mordor. Easy-peasy.

He could definitely get there, but he wouldn't be my first pick as Ringbearer. I definitely don't think he'd have it any easier than Frodo and Sam. If I had to send Narnians to do the Fellowship's jobs, here's who I'd send:

Reepicheep could kill the Witch King of Angmar

Puddleglum and Hwin could take the Ring to Mordor

Caspian could take the Paths of the Dead, with assorted Old Narnians (Trumpkin, Trufflehunter, etc.) as backup. Drinian is along to sail the ships.

Puzzle could unwittingly contact Sauron via Palantir

Tumnus is my pick for improvising Boromir's funeral lament. We know he's musical and HHB shows that he thinks fast on his feet

On the flip side:

Faramir could stamp out the Green Lady's fire

Bilbo could joyously take the coracle over the edge of the world (unless it's the First Age, in which case it's definitely Eärendil)

Sam would do the Jill thing and rescue Puzzle from the stable, then immediately speed bond and refuse to let anyone hurt him

Any number of Middle Earth warriors could do single combat with Miraz, but I think Aragorn would come up with the plan on the spot the way Peter does. Very similar vibe to the attack on the Black Gate

Also:

Father Christmas could hand out gifts and cryptic advice in Lothlorien; Galadriel could arm the Pevensies and patch up the Beavers' dam

Lucy stands the best chance of anyone at finding the Entwives

Pippin and Cor would have a lot to discuss re: first experience in battle. Pippin and Corin would have a lot to discuss re: everything else

Ramandu and Coraikin have a biweekly book club with Tom Bombadil and Goldberry. Gandalf is also invited, but only pops by once in a great while

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Tolkien Legendarium:

Understanding Tolkien Legendarium: A Mythology of its Own

Concerning the “Laws and Customs among the Eldar” chapter in “Morgoth’s Ring”

"Rings of Power" meta:

Galadriel/Frodo and Sauron/One Ring in "Rings of Power"

Has anyone noticed the similarities between Sauron and Gollum in “Rings of Power”?

What's the deal with Sauron and Elrond connection in Season 2?

Concerning Sauron

Sauron and his Demonic Facets in “Rings of Power” and Tolkien lore

What are Sauron’s powers in “Rings of Power”?

“I have many names”: Halbrand, the Repentant Mairon in “Rings of Power”

Of Sauron [Hypothetical] Redemption

Is Sauron a narcissist?

No, “Evil” doesn’t “love only itself” in Tolkien lore

Black Hand of Sauron in “Rings of Power”

Concerning Galadriel

Galadriel in Season 1-2 of “Rings of Power”: Valiant, Prideful and the Darkness Within

“some wounds that cannot be wholly cured”

What would happen if Galadriel joined Sauron?

Sauron x Galadriel (Tolkien nerd edition):

Could Saurondriel actually happen in Tolkien lore?

The Physicality of Sauron x Galadriel: Cosmic Connection and Physical Attraction

Of Lust and Sex on Tolkien lore: Sauron x Galadriel in “Rings of Power”

Of Sin and Sinners

Virgin Mary, Galadriel and Sauron x Galadriel in “Rings of Power”

Galadriel x Sauron: One Royal Couple to Rule Them All

Symbol Analysis

Freudian Symbolism: Sauron x Galadriel in Season 1 of "Rings of Power"

Freudian Symbolism: Sauron x Galadriel in Season 2 of "Rings of Power"

Season 1

The Tragedy of Haladriel - Part I

The Tragedy of Haladriel - Part II

Season 2

Sauron's Masterplan in Season 2

Halbrand vs. Sauron from Galadriel POV

"Elrond = Sauron in Adar's tent in 2x07" Theory:

Elrond's Arrival at Eregion in 2x07

Adar and Sauron Recognition in Season 2 (Halbrand/Elrond) and Saurondriel kiss

Megathread: All Clues concerning “Elrond = Sauron” in “Adar meeting/Kiss scene” (2x07) - Part I

Megathread: All Clues concerning “Elrond = Sauron” in “Adar meeting/Kiss scene” (2x07) - Part II

Elrond = Sauron (2x07): Melian of the Valar and Lúthien/Beren parallels

Wrapping-up the loose ends of “Elrond = Sauron” in 2x07 tent scene theory

Sauron and Galadriel scene in 2x08:

"Evil takes Root": The Temptation and Fall of Galadriel

A Darker and Sinister Interpretation of Sauron and Galadriel scene in “Rings of Power” (2x08)

Binding, Force Marriage and Free Will in Tolkien Legendarium

“Last Temptation” because “only blood can bind”

About Morgoth’s crown

What did Sauron meant by “Not All of It” in 2x08? - Sauron's visual and color code analysis

Sauron showing off how truly powerful he is in his fight with Galadriel (2x08)

Galadriel wanted to join Sauron, freely

Why did Galadriel jump off the cliff? #2

Nenya refusing to surrender itself to Sauron (2x08)

Season 3

Let’s talk 1x08 and 2x08 epilogues and how they set up next season

Let’s talk Saurondriel Season 3: Predictions

“Dark!Galadriel" needs to happen in “Rings of Power” Season 3

"The Demon" by Mikhail Lermontov, and parallels with Sauron x Galadriel (predictions for Season 3)

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Theatrics (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Celebrimbor tries to expose you and your husband to the people of Eregion, but you play the role of the innocent maiden to perfection

Warnings: evil!reader, murder, manipulation, mentions of wounds, smut, light choking, blood licking, fingering, p in v, slight roleplay, slight voyeurism kink

Note: part of the evil!reader collection of fics. okay I finally said fuck it and wrote smut *throws it into the wild and runs away*

Mature content below the cut—minors DNI!!!

Chaos roars around you as you step out into what were once the beautiful streets of Eregion. Walls are crumbling, arrows are flying, Elves are scurrying about every which way.

You suppress a smile. All is going according to plan. But what pleases you even more is that at long, long last, the moment which you had been most eager to savour has finally come to pass.

Celebrimbor has learned the truth.

No more tiptoeing around him, playing the unassuming Elven smith. No more taking orders from him, no more assisting him, no more pretending like you are anywhere close to kind and innocent and sweet.

Well, with him, at least. But he is the one you had most strived to fool, ever since you came to Eregion all those years ago, not knowing how long you would have to endure the life you would craft for yourself there until your husband regained his form. When the moment came that you were finally able to stand at your husband’s side in the crumbled forge as Celebrimbor realized who ‘Annatar’ was and what you were to him, when you took in the horror in his eyes as he pointed accusingly to your beloved’s pitch black blood only to watch you lick it hungrily off his hand instead of running in terror...

It nearly made up for all the times the words ‘my lord’ had tasted foul on your lips, spoken to the smith in false submission. You serve no one but your husband—and even that can hardly be called service, when he serves you in return with equal devotion.

You wonder how much of a fool Celebrimbor will have already made of himself even before you find him, wherever he has run off to in the wake of his terrible realization. You and your husband had ensured that by the time Celebrimbor manages to speak against you, all ears would be shut to his words. The Elves once loyal to him now believe him fatigued to incoherency at best, dangerous in his madness at worst. When you had last emerged from the forge, it had been crying and holding a bloody hand, claiming that Celebrimbor had brought Fëanor’s hammer down upon it in a moment of cruel impatience with your work. An illusion, of course, conjured by the part of your husband’s power which lives within you. You have bandaged that hand now, mindful to keep up the charade.

You make sure to fill your eyes with as much dread as any other Elf’s as you run through the chaos, searching for Celebrimbor. Your husband is out here as well, but not with you—it would serve you better to arrive separately for this little special occasion.

By the time you find Celebrimbor on the rampart, he is already quite the pitiful sight—he and Mirdania stand near a section of the parapet which had been wrecked by an Orc boulder, leaving it horribly easy to fall over the edge through the resulting gap. He is screaming at Mirdania that she has to believe him, over and over. She eyes him warily, drawing ever so slightly away, no doubt unsettled to find herself in the proximity of such a disturbed individual and a dangerous fall, all at once. Of all the Elves he could have run to, it had to be the one most taken with your husband’s charms. Oh, this is too perfect.

“My Lord, there you are!” you exclaim. His eyes widen in horror at the sight of you. Yours are awash with concern as you reach for his arm. “It really is not safe for you to be out here—”

Celebrimbor recoils, so violently he nearly knocks Mirdania off her feet as he stumbles into her. She yelps, rushing to your side instead.

“Don’t you dare come near me, you witch!” Celebrimbor spits out, jaw trembling as he yells at the guards, “Seize her!”

You don’t need to see your own face to know you have made it into the perfect picture of confusion and hurt. You exchange a glance with the guard closest to you, Captain Malendol. You’ve shared some laughs over the years, the occasional friendly conversation, even a dance or two at celebrations and the ever-so-subtle flirtation under the supposed influence of a wine glass or two. He likes you quite well, if you do say so yourself. Which makes the bafflement on his face, unlike yours, genuine.

Celebrimbor swallows painfully as realization dawns on him—his own guards no longer obey him. “She is no friend of yours,” he insists, “she never has been! She—”

The words die in his throat when he catches a glimpse of your husband. He has finally joined you, silently making his appearance on the steps behind Celebrimbor, and now the smith is effectively caught between the two of you, even if the trap is utterly invisible to those around you.

“Seize him,” Celebrimbor scrambles to order, “seize them both.”

Malendol stays put. All eyes around Celebrimbor regard him with nothing but sympathy.

“He is Sauron,” he claims desperately, as truthful an attempt as it is fruitless. “Seize them! They have been lying to you all along.”

“No,” Mirdania shakes her head at your side. “Lord Annatar has been protecting us.”

“While you’ve been in your tower, giving orders that might have been the end of us all,” Malendol adds reproachfully.

You allow yourself the slightest raise of a gloating eyebrow, visible only from the angle of Celebrimbor and your husband. As intended, it fuels the rageful despair in the smith’s eyes.

“No,” he all but pleads to be believed. “No, that was him. He is Sauron! And she...” he points a finger which trembles with anger at you, “His foul lover! His depraved mistress! I saw it! Before my eyes, she tasted his blood as if in some... deranged coupling ritual!”

“By the Valar,” you breathe out, swaying on your feet. Such vulgar words would weaken the knees of a faint-hearted maiden. So, accordingly, you begin to fall in Mirdania’s direction, leaving her to scramble into a hasty attempt at holding you upright. Malendol is at your other side in an instant, helping her to support you with a firm arm around your waist.

“My Lord, please,” Malendol says, appalled. “She has been a loyal friend to us for a long time, one who cares for you greatly. How can you say such degrading words about her?”

“Was it not enough,” you burst out tearfully, holding up your bandaged hand, “that you crushed my fingers with Fëanor’s hammer? I believed it to be an accident, but... To have you question my virtue as well...?”

You dissolve into sobs. Your supposedly wounded hand flies to cover your face. The other one, Malendol takes in his, endlessly sympathetic.

The briefest brush of your husband’s mind through the bond you share tells you that the captain is unlikely to survive the siege.

A chuckle bursts from Celebrimbor’s throat, the sound of one driven to insanity. It is funny. All of it. The trouble for him is that you, your husband and Celebrimbor are the only ones who get the joke. And the poor smith is the butt of it.

“Let not yourselves be fooled by her false tears,” he strives, in vain, to convince them. “She has no shame, no care for any of us! Her heart is black—black as his blood.” He turns to your husband as if in sudden realization. “His blood... Cut him open!” he orders. “Look at his hand, see for yourselves!”

He’s nearly gleeful as he says it, genuinely believing he has found the answer to ending his torment. Some of the pity in your eyes is genuine as you look at him with the same dismayed expression as the others’. Your husband knits his brow, as innocent as ever—and lifts his hand to reveal a cut smeared with what appears to the others as utterly natural, perfectly ordinary red blood.

Any trace of hope is drained from Celebrimbor’s eyes. He stares, wordless, jaw quivering as your husband speaks in that calm and composed tone of his.

“You may speak of me as you wish, Celebrimbor. But I will not have you besmirch a kind Elf maiden’s honor, even out of frailty of mind,” says with great sadness Annatar, the divine messenger who has most certainly never laid one pristine finger upon your most demure self. “Please,” he addresses the guards, “escort him back to the forge.”

But the guards exchange glances, hesitating. It was one thing taking orders from your husband when it came to defending the city, but it appears they do not yet dare lay hands on their supposed true lord. They are very close, though, merely in need of the slightest nudge over the edge. Such as a word from their captain, but Malendol wavers, just as torn. Ensuring that you are indeed steady on your feet, he releases you and lays a hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip as if to ready himself, but hesitates to give the order. You exchange a nervous glance with Mirdania, who is still at your side, hands on your arm.

A nudge... over... the edge.

You wouldn’t even need the bond between your minds to know that you and your husband are thinking the exact same brilliantly awful thing.

You release a shuddering breath, leaning on Mirdania only the slightest bit more. At once, her hold on you tightens reassuringly.

“Come,” she says, beginning to tug you away, “let us get you some water.”

You nod, visibly grateful to follow her. You halt after a couple of steps, however, just as you are passing Celebrimbor, and turn to him as if with sudden determination. At your back stand Mirdania, a gap in the wall and the field of raging Orcs below, and before you is the smith glaring daggers filled with more disdain than you even imagined he possessed. You meet that scornful gaze with nothing but a pained smile.

“I forgive you, you know,” you murmur, only just loud enough for the guards to catch your words as well. “Get better soon, my dear friend.”

Whether it’s your words, imbued with such sickly saccharine affection, or the hand you lay upon his shoulder with utmost gentleness, Celebrimbor loses his last shred of restraint.

“Get your hands off me!” he roars.

It happens quickly, much too quick for anyone to notice exactly what occurred (as was, of course, your intention). Celebrimbor shoves you away with all his strength, causing you to crash into Mirdania, and—perhaps she might have been able to catch herself, if not for the flick of your husband’s wrist which makes her trip over her feet and tumble over the edge of the rampart, screaming all the way down into the Orc-riddled mud field below.

You certainly possess the power to keep your own balance, but you still yelp and stagger through the couple of backward steps that have you nearly slipping off the edge as well. Malendol, however, manages to catch you in the nick of time, as you had seen he was already desperately rushing to do. He yanks you toward him, and you collide with his chest only for your legs to play the part of finally giving out. The heroic captain keeps his hold on you as you crumble to the ground, hyperventilating.

Celebrimbor’s “No!” rings out as he stares down at the fallen Mirdania, but she is just as lost as any sympathy the guards still held for him. You scramble on your hands and knees to look over the edge just in time to see an Orc bring a hatchet down upon her, and shriek her name as you burst yet again into sobs. You keep them coming, loud and miserable, as Malendol helps you to your feet and you fall into his arms with enough force to push him a few steps back, burying your face in his neck.

Discreetly glancing over your shoulder, you see your husband speaking with Celebrimbor. But so loud are your cries, and so intent is Malendol on offering you words of comfort over them, that the others cannot hear their trusted Lord Annatar strip Celebrimbor of the last of his fight with a final threat. Finish the Nine, and I will spare your city.

This time, when your husband turns to the guards and repeats, “Escort him to the forge, please!” they comply without question.

It’s only once Celebrimbor is out of sight that you begin to quiet your sobs, pulling away from Malendol.

“It’s all right,” he comforts you, releasing you from his embrace but still resting his hands on your arms. “He shall trouble you no longer.”

“He meant to throw me over that wall,” you whisper, voice laced with terrible guilt. “Poor Mirdania died because of me!”

Your husband is standing a few feet away, gazing sorrowfully down to where Mirdania lies dead. He had, after all, made his preference of her quite apparent to the others. It would seem odd if he did not spare a moment to mourn.

“No, not because of you,” Malendol insists. “It was but the doing of Lord Celebrimbor’s troubled mind. You must not hold yourself responsible for anything he has done or said.”

“What he said... Oh, what he said!” you whisper, mortified, and lean closer to Malendol as if to conceal your words from your husband, “How am I to face Lord Annatar now?”

“Please,” your husband speaks, and you turn as if startled to find him coming to you with a most sympathetic gaze. “You have not the slightest reason to be ashamed. I only regret that you had to endure such vile accusations, and witness such tragedy. You must not blame yourself for it.”

“Such is her nature, my Lord,” Malendol says, his hand now at the small of your back in a gesture of kind support. “Of all the Elves in Eregion, she is least deserving of such scorn, and suffers the most for it.”

Oh. Between embracing you as you cried on his shoulder and the sheer affection in his voice as he sings you praises, he might as well have gone for a little tea with the Orcs, too. Forget the whole siege—now you doubt your husband will let him survive the hour.

Lord Annatar, however, offers the captain a most gracious smile.

“Thank you, captain,” he says, “for being a most loyal friend when your friendship was most needed. I shall see to it that your honourable deeds are well rewarded.”

Malendol bows his head respectfully, blissfully unaware that his ‘reward’ will very much resemble Mirdania’s.

“Performing one’s moral duty is a reward in itself, my lord. Come,” he turns to you, “let us bring you to safety.”

“No,” your husband says—a fraction of a second too quickly. The slip is much too brief to be caught and the recovery utterly seamless. “You are needed in battle, Captain Malendol. I shall see to it that she makes it safely back inside.”

Malendol exchanges a glance with you, and upon your slight nod, he says, “Of course.” As if on a sudden impulse, he turns to face you, taking your hand in his.

“Fear not, my friend. We shall prevail,” he vows. And leaves a gallant kiss on your knuckles before he takes his leave.

It’s all you can do to school your expression as you are left alone with your husband—well, ‘alone’ in the sense that no one’s focus is trained on you at the moment, but you can hardly risk one of the soldiers catching a glimpse of your triumphant smile when you had gone through so much trouble to earn their sympathy. As such, you meet your husband’s composed gaze with a somewhat shy one, quickly lowering your eyes as though you do not dare hold it for long.

He does not speak a word as he walks you back into the tower, never once attempts to place even so much as a guiding hand at the small of your back. There is the sound of destruction around you, the screams of Elves, but loudest in your mind is the tumultuous blend of emotions within your bond. So proud, so satisfied, so hungry for each other the high of victory in your wicked plans has made you, the very air thrums with the vibrancy of it.

And as if that was not potent enough, there is also that sweet possessive ire you love to rouse within each other, even when you are well aware that no being in existence could ever truly come between you. For them, to merely glance in longing at one of you is a death sentence from you both. Mirdania had sought out your husband’s touch, Malendol had dared embrace in comfort one who belongs solely in her husband’s arms. It matters not that they were allowed, even led into it. When you and your husband play such games, collateral damage is a given.

The moment you are inside the tower, you expect some kind of climax to the tension—you are most eager to be ravaged by its force, whether he should devour your lips to celebrate your flawless performance or crowd you against the wall to thoroughly replace the captain’s innocent touches with his ruinous ones.

But he does neither. He remains as impassive as though you are still being watched. Provoking you into lighting the fuse of the impending explosion yourself. Very well, then. You shall do so gladly.

“Pity about Mirdania, though,” you remark nonchalantly as you ascend the steps to the forge. “I would have liked to see her face when she realized the object of her little infatuation was the Dark Lord himself.”

“Fear not, my love,” your husband says, eerily calm and without looking back as he walks ahead of you. “We shall soon have the pleasure of a similar realization on Captain Malendol’s face, right before I run him through with his own sword.”

Unseen by him, you smirk.

“Well, he was rather eager to save my life,” you goad. “Perhaps he has earned the privilege to die in blissful ignorance after all.”

Only your footsteps fill the following silence until you reach the top of the stairs. You’ve barely climbed the last step when he turns around and—you yelp as your husband quite literally sweeps you off your feet, whisking you bridal style towards your bedchamber, instead of the forge. A giggle escapes you as you cling to him, quite pleased with the reaction you have elicited.

“Tell me, my love,” he says, kicking the door shut behind you, “what need have you of a common Elf captain to save you from falling,” you are unceremoniously released onto the bed, with your husband climbing over you not a moment later, “when you are bound to one of the Maiar who would sooner destroy the foundations of the earth than let you slip from his grasp?”

His hand is sliding up your thigh, lifting your dress on its way. He is a Maia possessed, caught between the high of triumph and the thrill of the chase at which you two so like to play, and you can hardly think of a witty answer when his fingers are only a breath away from where your flesh aches for his touch the most.

But a wicked thought prevails, and you shove him away with all your might. Still, it’s the shock of it rather than your force which knocks him to the side, allowing you to scramble off the bed. It’s almost comical, the half-confused, half-enraged look he gives you.

“Lord Annatar!” you gasp, ostentatiously doe-eyed and quite scandalized as you smooth down your dress in haste. “Surely you do not mean to lure me into some... ‘deranged coupling ritual’?” A little smile flashes through your little act while you savour Celebrimbor’s earlier words on your tongue. “And in the midst of a siege as well!”

You back away from him with slow, tantalizing steps, watching in delight as his gaze darkens in a deliciously sensual threat.

“You loved it, didn’t you?” he says, standing from the bed to walk towards you with all the patient grace of a wolf stalking prey. “Acting the innocent little maiden. Prone to fainting at the merest... suggestion of impropriety.”

His strides are larger than yours, and before long he is close enough to surge forward, swiftly closing the distance between you and grabbing hold of your neck with his blood-coated hand. You gasp as your back suddenly hits the wall, closer than you had realized it was, leaving you pinned between the cool stone and your husband’s body. Your hands fly to his wrist and his lips hover close to yours, teasing you with the promise of a kiss. You chase it just to be cruelly deceived as he evades your mouth, a wicked smile upon his as he lightly but decidedly pushes your head back against the wall.

“Be grateful, my innocent little smith, that there is a siege,” he says in a lurid whisper, releasing your throat to bunch up the skirt of your dress with both hands, “for your fellow Elves are far too distracted to hear you fall apart beneath my touch.” Your undergarments are pushed to the side, and you are so wound up that even the maddeningly light press of his fingers between your legs draws a loud whimper from you. Your husband leans into your ear as you shut your eyes, hips helplessly chasing the slow little circles he makes around your aching bud. “I should hate for anyone to ‘question your virtue’.”

His tongue makes a mockery of your own words from earlier, just before you feel its warmth at the hollow of your throat. You arch your neck as he licks upwards, long and slow, towards your jaw, gathering the blackness his wounded hand had smeared onto your skin. That same hand is now splayed over your rampant heart, holding you down as you fist your hands in the fabric of his garments and writhe with the pleasure he languidly stokes between your thighs. He kisses you, and when his tongue plunges past your lips, your mouth fills with the sweetly metallic taste of his blood, more intoxicating than the strongest liquor. You moan, long and wanton, whining for the firmer, faster, deeper touch he is withholding.

Your husband chuckles. It infuriates you.

“Oh, but you loved it too, didn’t you? When he—ah!” You suck in a sharp breath as he slips two long fingers inside you. Your wetness makes it easy, your body welcoming the familiar intrusion with nigh unbearable delight. It takes great willpower not to shut your eyes, to hold his gaze as he curls his fingers expertly, right where he knows it feels the most divine. “Did you not like it when he called me yours?” you insist, breathlessly. “Did you not want to show them yourself?”

If possible, his eyes darken even further, and his fingers pump inside you with more vigour. “Had it not been utterly counterproductive to our purpose,” he says, voice low and gruff, “I would have taken you right there upon the rampart and proved him right.”

The image is so sudden and vivid before your eyes, it pulls a pitiful mewl from your throat.

“I would have let you,” you gasp, and crush your lips to his with desperate abandon. “I want them to know.”

A guttural sound escapes his throat, and all of a sudden he withdraws his fingers, leaving you achingly empty. You think your legs might give out if it weren’t for his firm hold on you as he pulls you to the nearby window, twisting you around so that your back is against him and you plant your hands on the waist-level windowsill for support.

“Look,” he rasps out in your ear. “Do you see our soon-to-be army, my love? The very first of our devoted subjects?”

In the distance, Orcs holler crude names at each other, ready battle devices, send an endless rain of arrows over the walls of Eregion. It isn’t a pretty sight, but the terror it strikes in the hearts of their enemies and their power of destruction shall be wielded by you and your husband in the near future—and that is no small thing.

You nod, letting the thought sink in and add to the onslaught of elation already driving you wild. Your husband coils one arm around your stomach as the other wraps around your throat once more and he pulls you into him. Your bare folds meet his clothed erection, and you push back against him with a wanton moan, desperate for the friction.

“They shall be followed by Men,” he continues, rutting against you with animalistic greed, “and Dwarves, and Elves, until every single soul in Middle-Earth has been brought to their knees to worship at the feet of their King and Queen. Then, we shall at long last stand together before them all.”

“A love greater than ever was or ever will be,” you say, high-pitched and breathless, as if you are repeating words you have told yourself a thousand times. “All shall aspire to be us, yet none shall succeed.”

You are released abruptly. You hear the shuffle of fabrics, and sure enough, the swollen tip of him is soon nudging at your entrance.

“And how beautiful you shall be, my love,” your husband whispers, the sheer reverence in his voice a stark contrast to his lurid words, “with a crown upon your head, and my cock buried deep within you.”

He slides in to the hilt, quick and powerful, and you cry out. You could take him a million times, in a million different ways, and yet the perfect fit would never cease to steal your breath. He withdraws only to thrust back in, then again, setting a punishing rhythm which is nearly enough to obliterate any semblance of coherent thought from your mind. It would be so easy to let him plough into you just like this until you come undone, yet you crave something else. More.

“Wait,” you plead, planting a hand onto his hip to push him away. “Let me... let me...”

He does, letting himself slip from you with a rueful grunt. You turn to face him on unsteady legs, to look upon his face as you had so longed to—the only reason which had given you the will to interrupt your pleasure as you did. Your eyes never leave his as you seat yourself upon the windowsill, lifting your skirts once more. “I want all that,” you confess as he nestles his hips between your spread legs. “But I want you more.” He groans as you stroke his length, then guide the weeping tip back to your entrance. “I want it with you, or not at all.”

Your voice is so thin, it nearly chokes out at the end, your chest constricted with emotion—with the fear of being forced to let go as you have been before, always present in the deepest corner of your hearts. Something flickers in your husband’s gaze, the same anguish which wrenches at your soul.

“My love,” he breathes out the words as though they are the last thread by which his very existence hangs. “My love,” he vows and prays and fiercely claims as he nestles himself in your tight heat once more. You don’t know which sinks deeper into you—his swollen cock or the look in his eyes, which remain devastatingly locked with yours as he joins your flesh. Perhaps there is some innocence left in you to be ruined after all, for so raw and disarmed you are left by this union, tears spring in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. Your husband gathers them with his lips and tongue as he rocks into you anew, far from gentle but less brutal than before, with deep, long thrusts that leave you too weak to sit up if it weren’t for his arms holding you to him.

Outside, the battle rages on. Inside, you fight to prolong this, to wring every last drop of the sweet torment that is your ascent to the peak of your pleasure. You lay a hand over your husband’s heart, feeling it hammer on in tandem with yours as he drives into you with increasing urgency. You are reduced to a string of incoherent mewls as you bury your face in your husband’s neck, mindlessly licking and biting at his skin.

His sounds of pleasure are less loud, but much deeper as they reverberate beneath your lips. You want more—so you fist your hand in his hair, with no mercy for the carefully-crafted bow at the back of his head. Crafted by you, on a playful whim the very morning before the siege began—he’d teased and claimed you were sure to ruin your own work the next time he would bed you. You don’t even think of that now, consumed by pleasure as you tug and pull with abandon, feeling the fair tresses come apart beneath your fingers. It drives your husband even wilder with lust than he already was, and he grabs your face to devour your lips as he spirals closer to his release.

Your own takes over you in an abrupt instant, right as your husband reaches between you to rub your swollen bud above where you are joined. You sob into his mouth, trembling as your hips thrash in a confused attempt to both escape and chase the unbearable height of pleasure thrust upon you.

Your husband fucks you through it, pulling you close and cooing in your ear, calling you his and ‘love’ and all sorts of adoring things in Black Speech through his own heavy breaths. Your name falls from his lips in a ragged moan as he finds his pleasure, and you feel it echo through your bond with nearly as much power as your own. His seed will not take unless he wills it so, and neither of you wish for that, but you still clench around him longingly, greedy to draw every last drop of him as deep within yourself as possible, because it is him. You’d spend each second of your life with him inside of you, if not for the impracticality of it.

Once spent, your husband remains as he is, simply holding you to him. He cradles your head in his hands, pressing sweet kisses to your hair, and you are too weak to do anything but sag against him whilst you regain your breath.

“Why, Lord Annatar,” you whisper, smiling tiredly, “I’m starting to suspect you might have impure intentions towards me after all.”

He gives a soft chuckle, pulling away to look at you. “Whatever gave you that idea, my lady?”

The innocuous words are followed by your husband gently withdrawing himself from you, leaving a great, leaking mess between your legs. The only response you can give is a soft groan as his fingers gather some of his spend from your sensitive folds, and gently press it back inside of you where it belongs. With a small, satisfied hum, he steps away to tuck himself back into his garments. You press your legs together, sighing contently at the delightful ache left in the aftermath of your lovemaking.

“However will you keep up this innocent act of yours,” your husband muses, “now that I shall be dripping down your beautiful thighs with every step you take?”

“Please,” you say coyly, standing up and fixing your dress as though your undergarments are not soaked beyond hope beneath it, and your legs don’t still feel a bit unsteady. “I’ve managed before.”

He smiles knowingly. “Indeed, you have.” He pulls you close by the waist, as if you haven’t just parted from one another. “Always so eager to wear me,” he praises, and there is nothing insincere about your flustered little smile now. It’s true that you delight in wearing what he gives you, whether it be his spend nestled between your legs or a less secretive gift. Which reminds you of the gift you had given him to wear. You lay a hand on his cheek and coax him to turn his head silghtly, pouting when you glimpse the mess of tangled tresses you have made in his hair.

“You were right,” you admit, somewhat regretful, “I did ruin the bow.”

“Like the merciless creature that you are,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. When you pull back, his appearance has already been restored. It isn’t quite as meaningful, now that his power did the work instead of your hands, but you suppose you’ve been gone long enough already. Now that your hunger for each other has been sated, your husband shares that sentiment.

“Come, now,” he says, taking your hand and making for the door. “I believe Celebrimbor is in need of encouragement with his work.”

“What are we, if not encouraging?” you quip, and gladly follow his lead.

Previous fic with same reader -> Reveal

Next fic with same reader -> Old wounds

[sun-snatcher]

( credits to @perryabbott for this phenomenal gifset ! )

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

summ.  A continuation. You & Halbrand find common ground. Philosophies are debated. A bond is formed. or: A Smith and a Sculptor begin their friendship. pairing.  (Repentant!Mairon/Sauron) Halbrand / f!reader , ( established in #SEAWARDSTOYOU ) w.count.  4k a/n.  Important tags in first chapter ! Two artisans share their craft and debate their disciplines. Grumpy x sunshine trope coded in this one !

       WEARINESS IS NOT the word, he learns very quickly, when the hammer and tongs had been placed in his calloused hands at Númenor, and he’d been put to the test to earn his Guild crest and prove himself useful to the master blacksmith. 

(They’d tasked him to create the best blade he could, and the finest steel sword is what he’d forged for them. When they’d asked if he knew how to shape a sturdy anchor, he laughed and said, “How many would you like?”)

It is, for all intents and purposes, still a hammer and tongs; still a weighty familiarity where the memory of Aulë rests in one hand and the blackness of Morgoth in the other. But now all attributions coalesce and measure to some… distant nostalgia. 

Homesickness.

He wonders if a Maia could even be capable of such trivial things like a sickness. Wonders if maybe it’s borne from this mortal flesh he’d awoken in; if perhaps Melian had fretted too over this fatigued, adrift state of sense when she bound herself to her corporeality and the menial necessities that came with living in such a body.

Is this what it’s like to fall from grace?

He’d found himself in an endless loop of madness in trying to decipher his Judgement the day he first awoke: Why the Valar had allowed him— Sauron, the Abhorred, Gorthaur the Cruel, Shadow of Morgoth— a second chance; a rebirth. It doesn’t feel like mercy. Is this punishment? A test? Is he truly as free as they're making him believe?

Why, if anything, these hammer and tongs— his age-old solace— just feel like another shackle binding his wrists. 

It’s both too good to be true and not at all.

Perhaps this is the play. To have his uncertainty drive him into insanity. To be the architect of his own demise. Or maybe this is just another part of a grand design amongst the Ainur he isn’t privy to anymore— but surely not; Who would want to give a role of any significance to him? He is Sauron. The Great Deceiver. He cannot be trusted. 

By his very own hands, he had ensured that.

…Except you. Eärmaril. The one who’d offered him wine and proverbial bread and a new beginning. 

Foolish, he thinks, pursing his lips. But with whatever few days of time he chanced to spend with you sitting in that cell, there’d been a graceful naïveté to you he found (charming) himself envying. A mortal innocence. An excitable youth he’d long since grown out of. This seemingly bright wonder and an ever-light in your eyes he deemed frustratingly blinding— like the blaze of a sun, or the glare of a moonglade— that he surprisingly couldn’t help but be drawn into out of pure fascination.

Even moreso, now, since he’s discovered:

“You’re a craftsman?” says Halbrand, stunned. “You didn’t tell me.”

In the clear midday afternoon, you pause to look up from your potter’s wheel. 

He’s fascinated. It shows in the curious dart of his eyes. 

Earthenware line the front of your atelier, all in odd colours, shapes and sizes, still dewy from catching the remains of the late morning shower. They trail into your workshop; great pots and elaborate vases dotting the floor while the flatware stack neatly on shelves lining limestone walls. The ceramics are all set aside in a way one could see a careful path to your throwing wheel, where you’re nestled behind and idly washing the slip off your fingernails in a bucket of water.

“You don’t tell me a lot of things, either,” you snort, drying your hands on your apron. Your tousled hair is tied neatly away, and there’s a spot of clay marking the edge of your jaw. “Besides, is it so surprising I am?”

Halbrand had seen you at the docks, just this salty morning when he stood at the forge (that you’d spent hours cajoling the Master blacksmith into accepting him into the day prior); barefooted on the docks among the local sailors, casually dirtying your pretty alabaster skirts with wet sand and seawater to help tug the ropes of a wayward skiff, dainty sleeves rolled and rumpled up to your elbows as you moored it with the unwomanly ease of a seasoned sailor.

“How unladylike!” he’d overheard the chinwag of the traditional Númenorean mothers when she came upshore. “What a mess!”

(What a mess, indeed. But it explains plenty, and as a Smith, Mairon can understand it. An esoteric signature between all artisans is to be a mess; to rebel against the orthodox. It had been what set him apart from the other Maiar— And it had been precisely what led him into Morgoth’s hands.)

“No, I suppose not,” says Halbrand, sounding somewhat breathless. You stamp down the prickle of alarm when he picks up a piece to study it; the instinctual urge to warn him to be careful.

There is a thread of… something, after all, no matter how unconsciously thin it may be, between you two. You cannot call it trust— not yet, but you’re determined to get there— so perhaps understanding would do; And if it starts with something as small a step as trusting him not to mishandle your works, then you’ll chance it.

Craftsmanship appears to be the only bridge to a version of Halbrand you’ve not yet seen since you’ve met him, after all. You want to hold on to it. No, you want him to hold on to it, more like. To this lifeline; this rare flicker of radiant light in him.

“Have you ever tried pottery?” you ask, noticing the acuity of his appraising gaze.

For a moment, his gaze had fallen inwards, and he was not in the room with you when he spoke with a longing look. Sauron is far away, in the place where Aulë first taught Mairon all there is to know of the joys of creation. 

“I’ve tried my hand in plenty a craft before metalwork, believe it or not,” Halbrand says, and sets the plate back down with a clink. “Admittedly, clay is my weakest medium.”

“Oh?” you smile, suddenly curious, and Halbrand meets your inquisitive look once you’ve set your finished piece— a jug it looks to be— alongside the rest of the unfired clay prepared for the kilns.

“Clay is ever elusive,” says Halbrand, mildly as he can to avoid offense. “It is the inferior material to work with. The most fragile after being tempered.”

It had sounded almost recited, the way he said it, and so you frown, “Right. And who told you that?”

Morgoth. “…My old master.”

“Valar, then your old master must’ve been as good as…” you wave, face twisting in incredulity to find the words. “A netless net cast on shallow shores.”

There’s a pause, and you wonder if you’d crossed a line at the sudden seize of him— until he lets out a breath, akin to a wheeze, almost. 

It’s a small sound, but enough to catch you off-guard nonetheless. You've never heard him laugh before. 

“You disagree?” asks Halbrand, amusingly. 

“Not entirely.” You cock your head, sidling a hip at the table as you playfully stare him down. “It is elusive and fragile, yes. That it is an inferior material? No. Shaped correctly, pottery can endure centuries. It does not rust like steel, erode like stone, or decay like wood. It can outlast an age. Outlast even us.”

Us. He tarries on the word more longer than he should. He suddenly remembers he isn’t Mairon the Admirable— not just a craftsman speaking to another craftsman— but Sauron, hiding beneath the veneer that is Halbrand, a mortal man with a seemingly inevitable end.

He looks at the pot sitting underneath the table beside you. Bright green and lustrous, with elegant filigree of cresting waves and boats adorned with sails carrying the sun. Then he looks at the bucket by his feet, filled to the brim with broken shards of colourful ceramic, toeing it with his boot. 

“And yet,” is all he says.

You wrinkle your nose. “Those will be repurposed. That is its very beauty.”

“There is no strength in fragilities.”

You uncross your arms with a narrow look, as if he’s missed your point, and pick up a cup from the tray of bisqueware. Then, to his utter surprise— toss it casually aways from you. 

Reflex serves him well.

He catches it before it can shatter. “What—?!”

“The nature of the claypots strength relies solely on how one holds it,” you correct his previous statement. “And therefore, its value.”

Sauron looks at you then, and realises what it is you’re doing; what it is you’re asking of him. 

The thought should not have been that frightening, frankly— but there lingers still an ache in his nape and the unseen scars of a thousand daggers across his chest. There sears still a phantom hole in his beating heart, however much he decides to stubbornly ignore it.

“Trust,” he states, finally. The word sounds bitter to hear coming from him as he grips the delicate cup in his hand. “You know, I can very well crush this, Eärmaril.” 

“Yes. You could.” That is to say: Exactly my point!

He huffs out his nose, bristling. Halbrand moves over to return the cup in your palms. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

There’s the Judgement of Eru and Manwë echoing like a chorus in his head. There’s Mairon long gone, and Sauron that remains. The Great Deceiver. The one who cannot be trusted, because he had made it so with his bare hands.

“I am asking a man—”

“I am not—” A man, Sauron very nearly overrides. “—who you think I am.”

“What about who you can be, then?” You catch his wrist just before he can step back to retreat, and he can feel the ignition of a flame running through his arm like a frisson. “Isn’t that what this all is?”

“Halbrand, you told me you’ve done evil; irrevocable, irredeemable sin. Yes, so what shall you do now, then? This repentance of yours— to whom are you atoning for? The dead? The Valar? They are not here. What can they do with it? It is your life, after all, and your freedom.”

You let him go. Sauron stays rooted, prickled by how this feels alot like one of his unspoken, one-sided conversations he’d have with Uinen’s statue back at the cells.

“I will carry this regret with me forever.” His voice is heavy with a fell conviction. “It is not something your seas can absolve me of, or whatever other metaphor it is your people like to believe in.”

You hum at that. A reluctant assent of agreement. It’s infuriatingly patient. (This is an unfamiliar battleground. He’d expected you to be put off by him; to be angry— instead he’s been unsteadied with startling kindness.)

“Well, I am not asking you to forget, Halbrand. I am asking you to be free of it,” you roll your eyes, voice light and matter-of-fact. “You can choose to spend it wallowing in misery; shackle yourself to your past like a victim of your own villainy; But that would be the true evil— a disservice to those you’ve so claimed have suffered under your deeds. The real victims.”

Another voice interrupts the both of you. Apologies! says the young messenger, shifting timidly at the foot of your atelier with a scroll in hand, It is urgent. 

You wave in assent, then look back to Halbrand.

“You pace so long in your cage you’ve conditioned yourself to its unseen shadows,” you muse, and Sauron can hear your steady voice, both as delicate and as mighty as freshly-fired clay. “Remember this: What you do with the second chance the seas have granted you is what will define your atonement— nothing more, nothing less. Do not waste it on being a jailbird.”

And then—

And then.

You’re off, brushing past him like the sweetness of a saltbreeze, leaving him standing in your wake and staring at the cup you’ve left purposely behind.

It’s set precariously close to the edge of the table.

Open invitation.

(Mairon’s finger twitches in instinct.) 

He looks at the cup, and thinks, then looks and thinks again— only to conclude he couldn’t think at all, that you make it irritatingly impossible to do so. His mind is too far fixed on the fond smile of your face and your sunburst laugh carrying up the docks; the striking touch of your hand when you’d grabbed his wrist and the sincerity in your eyes.

No. He shan’t take your bait.

He ought not to entertain this little exercise of yours— this petty endeavour. Ought not to give in to this fairytale you fancy yourself a saviour in. 

He shouldn’t.

He’ll leave everything untouched as you left it.

…The cup is pushed noticeably further— safer— into the table, pristine despite the telling thumbprint of soot, by evening when you return.

You smile.

He had been unprepared for how aimless this would all feel, even in the dusty comforts of a forge and the timely strike he makes on every metal he wills to bend.

What could a great, primordial Being in the material shell of a common, mortal man do? For as much as Mairon now sought peace, he had no idea what to do with it. Where to go from here— much less begin. 

“Lost the way to your rookery, fair lady?” says Halbrand, not blinking an eye from his worktable. 

Even between the thick silt and smoke of the blazing forge, your nebulous presence sticks out in the air like a phantom itch he couldn’t ignore. 

“Do all Southlanders bite the hand that feeds them?” 

Puzzled, he pauses mid-polish of a blade, looking over his shoulder to see you’ve set a lidded claypot of what he assumes to be dinner, to heat on stray coals of the hearth.

“Wolves do,” he muses warningly, going back to turning his sword in his hands to scrutinise it for any flaws. “They tend to have an appetite for harmless little seabirds who don’t know any better than to fly too close to the snap of jaws.”

You laugh.

It feels like a tender caress.

Halbrand fails to resist the urge to turn to the honey-sweet sound.

“I suppose a hound was, indeed, how you looked like,” you tease, feigning distant recollection. “Locked in a cage, backed in a corner…”

He raises his brows. “I remember being right at the bars of my cell.”

“When we were at the Queen’s court,” you correct, remembering the way he seemed to shrink before you when the guards had unshackled him. “I didn’t mean the prison. Though— ah, pass me the tongs, would you?— you did look quite like a wet dog in there, too. ”

The casual request knocks him from getting scathed at the passing insult. He passes you the tongs, and watches as you use it to lift the lid of the claypot and examine the braised Snapper between the steam, before setting everything back down, back wholly turned against him.

Something about how easy you move around him, how easy it is to turn your back towards him so calmly— flickers a spark of annoyance in him. It isn’t so much that he felt less of a powerful being around your aloof-self— he still is a Maia, after all, even if constrained in certain aspects; and his entire plan is to appear mortal, anyway— but moreso in that you are vexingly… trusting? Foolish? 

“Shall I toss the spoon?” you heartily jest. “I imagine Great Halbrand the Wolf hardly needs one—”

“I’ve had time to think,” he interrupts rudely, finally putting aside his sword to cross his arms accusingly. “That if it’s not 'grand adventure and finer things' you seek, seabird, that it must then be something much more intangible. Personal.”

“So tell me, what do you expect this kindness will bring you? Is this your version of penance? Are you— as you’ve so eloquently described it— defining your atonement?” He dips his head to meet your gaze from where he’s leaning against an anvil, and the firelight paints him razor-sharp. “You pace a cage of your own, too, Eärmaril. I can see it.”

A beat. If you had been rattled, you didn’t show.

You look up at him, and your face is impassive. 

Sauron decides, then and there, that he hates it. He’s decided a lot about you, lately; That he detested your courage, your blind faith, your pestering kindness, and your utter unpredictability— though none so much as the look on your face here and now: startlingly dim and devoid of your usual sword-bright light. 

He has half the mind to rescind his words.

“I’m glad to see you’re not your old Master, Halbrand,” you comment, and mistake the flinch he’d made for a timely shift in his weight. “Who was as pitifully brittle as a sand dollar and outwitted by something as simple as clay.”

“Yes, I pace a cage. But it is not entirely of my making,” you allow, and leave out: Not like yours. 

Unlike him, your cage is being unhistoried and irreconcilable, found as a waif with no one but a white seabird standing guard by moon-water and jagged black rocks. Your cage is a sandbar between diaspora and anemoia, appearing and disappearing now and then like the ebb and flow of tides.

“So no, it is not an atonement, rather a purpose I have given myself. Something you ought to do, really, lest you become aimless.” 

Too often do mortal men reduce regrets into nothing more than abstract performance; do not tread the erroneous path of causeless martyrdom— is probably the more appropriate way to warn him, but you decide against that. 

“Is that what I am to you, then?” he finds himself snapping, the same tone he’d used on Galadriel when they’d been stranded at sea on that raft. “A project to bide your time with? A means to an end?” 

“No!” you bite, aghast and suddenly severe. That jars him. He very nearly averts his gaze when you level him with a stricken look. “You’re my—” 

—Friend, you mean to say, just before you felt dwarfed by the admission. I hoped for us to be friends.

You let it hang tenuously in the air instead. It’s the first he’d ever seen you look so small.

“You have far too much faith in the hands of others,” Sauron begins, calmer now. He remembers the light weight of a white cup in his grasp, the thin daintiness of its handle. “Trust broken is far worse than trust never first given.”

(He’s far away again, with a carafe in his hands, by a shape upon a dark and nameless peak.)

“Yes,” you recognise. “Though one would lead a terribly lonely life without taking that risk.”

“But I will leave you be, Halbrand, if you so desire. You need only to tell me,” you say, solemn and abrupt. “I can go back. I can leave you; to your hammer and your tongs and your metal; like the lone wolf you fancy yourself to be.”

Your expression is solid— but not cruel. 

He doesn’t think you’re capable of that, now that he thinks about it. 

You’re not like Sauron, not like him.

He is a Smith, after all; And Smiths value strength and resilience above mercy and benevolence. Every hammer strike must be measured and every blade sharpened to its finest point. Mairon is born with the endogenous instinct to craft nothing short of mastered perfection and intention; and more often than not that calls for an unyielding, iron fist— to control instead of cradle as you do.

(The claypot is spared the dilemma of the steel sword; that is, preservation of peace through necessary violence.)

It’s no wonder Morgoth was quick to corrupt him into Sauron; Into a Being with too cruel a grip, too demanding a voice, too pragmatic a soul and too utilitarian a heart. 

And yet—

“…No,” he remarks quietly, suddenly inconceivably panicked at the very thought of you (and your light) turning away from him. 

But his answer had made him feel too vulnerable— too exposed, and so he says, “My days of commanding people are over.” And is quick to deflect before you could question him, by going: “Regardless, I hardly believe it’d take that little to stop a pesky seagull.”

“Seagull?” you hiss, diverted by the non-sequitur. “What happened to seabird?”

“I see no difference.” 

You scoff, but without heat. It relieves him more than he should’ve allowed it. “Then you’re a—! How does the saying go? An albatross around one’s neck. Except you’re the albatross, and you’re around your own neck.”

You childishly swat at the space between you, and with it went the uneasy tension in the air as a gust blew in. It had simmered the furnace, and he caught the scent of you between the coals and the dish you’ve slid off it, and he found you smelled like your earthen clay and the salt of the seas.

You smell like— not life, per se, but the very act of living.

“I was like you, once upon a time,” Sauron blurts. “Young and unbearably credulous.”

“You mean young and at peace.”

An indefinable muscle tics in his jaw. “Peaceful, but not as ignorant.”

“You’re just cynical.”

“I’m a realist!” Mairon states, sounding offended. 

“Pessimist.”

“Agree to disagree, then,” Halbrand finally sighs, rolling his eyes as he uncrosses his arms after a dismissive wave, feigning surrender. 

Your eyes reflexively travel up the rugged curl of them, before settling on his face. You’re surprised to see there’s a ghost of a smile across it— As if he’d enjoyed the mindless banter.

“Very well.” You offer a friendly shake to end the mock-parley, only to catch him by surprise when you playfully tug him a step forward after he meets it. 

“What?” blinks Halbrand, after a quiet moment.

“You look different in the forge,” you say fondly, looking up at his towering figure, “Less a jailbird, more a… More at home, maybe. Walls down.”

There’s green in his eyes— Viridian. Verdigris. Otherworldly, almost. You never quite noticed it until now, this up and close to him. It’s beautiful. (He’s beautiful.)

A powdery streak of black soot marks the smooth of your skin now. It feels less like a dirty stain, and more like a sacred covenant of sorts— as if both of you have piously hallowed into your bones the dawning of something he couldn't quite yet fathom; as if an uncrossable threshold has miraculously been crossed, or an act set in sacrosanct motion, and neither of you could ever turn back from here.

It feels like a bind.

“Walls down…” Halbrand repeats, voice a low rasp that sends a shiver through you. His thumb slides tentatively across your forearm as he hums. “Must I put them up, Eärmaril?”

Your voice is endearingly light. 

“Not around me. Didn’t you call me a harmless little seabird?”

Then you’re laughing. Soft, susurrus, dulcet; Fair as the sea and sun—

And a terrible, fleeting catharsis blooms in Mairon as he realises: it’s a sound he doesn’t mind drowning in.

Footnotes in AO3!

[dinsbeskar]

Subjugate the Devil (Sauron/F!Reader)

Sauron has a nightmare. You are only too happy to oblige in making him forget; or:

Sub!Sauron makes a lengthy appearance. Plot, what plot?

Set in my In The Dark series, but works as a standalone (alludes to trauma mentioned in other chapters, but it is literally just smut) // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: Disease by Lady Gaga, Don't Let Me Go by Raign, Like a Prayer by Madonna, Oh You Are Not Well by Chloe Foy

Playlist!

Warnings: 18+! Dom/sub - gentle dom, needy sub; just pure smut; literally Plot What Plot (though there is a bit if you squint); P in V sex; oral sex (male and female receiving); copious amounts of bodily fluids (sorry, like for real); cockwarming; dry humping; handjob; begging/denial/teasing; praise kink; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; unresolved trauma; tiny bit of violence but it is just an illusion; very soft!Sauron, so tender. We make him cry and that's all I wanted to do.

A/N: I've been working on this for a few days, it is ummm filthier than anything I've ever written, like I really don't know where it came from. The warnings are just what's on the menu at this point idk.

I pictured Annatar for this one, but you guys can imagine whomever you like (@troublesomesnitch he's got that chest hair though!!) Sub!Halbrand would be a treat ngl.

Excuse the gif guys, I just want to see him cry :)

Word Count: 4.2k (!!)

Sauron does not sleep. Ordinarily.

However, you make it look so peaceful, he has to try it occasionally. Of course he usually finds you in your dreams, takes all the attention you can spare and more, leaving you wanting until waking when he can ravage you again.

Sometimes however his dreams come unbidden. Instead of slipping into your mind, he falls deeper into his own, unearthing old memories he'd rather stay buried, burned beyond recognition.

You always know when this happens; your usually calm and collected lover wakes in a cold sweat, clutching at your skin, his face in your neck, desperate to forget what his mind has shown him. He has never told you the details, but you can only assume it has something to do with his master, with his cruel and unusual forms of punishment.

Tonight is one of those nights, worse perhaps as he moans and writhes in his sleep, rousing you immediately. You can't seem to wake him from his torment, every gentle touch, every kiss to his temple only seems to fan the flames. You end up atop him, each of your thighs either side of his abdomen, trying to shake him awake.

Visions of Morgoth in his wrath; illusions of you partaking in his torture at his master's hand; pain and terror in his heart, as the nightmare refuses to cease, even as you try to soothe him.

What makes you think a servant as worthless as you deserves a love like hers?

Morgoth's words hold him in a vice grip; he can't break free, the unshed tears behind his closed eyelids threaten to leak onto his cheeks, stricken with fear and pain.

"I've got you, you're okay, you're here with me." You stroke his face, your hair brushing his chest, unsure of what to do except hold him.

When his eyes finally fly open, he grasps your arms, and with a leg hooked behind you, flips you onto your back, a dagger at your throat.

You're fairly sure his weapon isn't real, but he is a master of illusion, and pain is merely a construct of the mind; he could hurt you if he wanted to.

In this state, you're reminded of just how dangerous your husband is, even between dreaming and waking. His eyes are black, unseeing, with a terrifying expression you're sure would have annihilated any enemy he could have been dreaming of.

Your hands shaking, you reach up slowly and try to take the knife; surely enough, when you clutch at it, it disappears like smoke between your fingers, so you take his hand instead, still clenched unfeeling around his shattered illusion.

You pull his hand to your chest, letting him feel your racing heart flutter against his fingers.

Slowly but surely, you bring him back to you, his daze broken but his psyche bruised and bleeding.

Your shallow breathing evens out as the light returns to his eyes, and for a moment he looks at you confused as if his position above you is of your own making.

His eyes dart from his hand on your chest, to your fiercely fixed expression, attempting to soothe his nerves but unable to hide how shaken you are.

"Is this real?" He's still breathing hard, for someone who doesn't really need to breathe. "Are you really here? Is it you?"

He's so tender, tracing your cheekbones, your cupid's bow, gently raking your hair with his fingertips.

"Of course, beloved, I'm right here, I'm always right here." You try to hide your confusion, assuming he's still walking the line between dreaming and waking.

He slowly pulls himself away to nestle at your side, reluctant to break eye contact with you as he does so, still clutching at you to ground himself.

"What did I do? Tell me I didn't hurt you, love." He's so quiet, it's unnerving, but you take him in your arms anyway, crading his head to your chest.

"All is well, my love, it wasn't real, you're here with me, no one can touch you here." Some nights, holding him close and murmuring sweet reassurances in his ear is enough to soothe him; tonight he needs a little more from you.

All you want to do is tell him you love him, that he deserves you, that you're his, that he deserves everything you want to give him, that you ache for him when he's not by your side.

But he's hard against your hip, a fact you're trying to ignore; taking advantage of him is the last thing on your mind, not that he would protest, even when he returns to his right mind.

He listens to your heartbeat for a while, focusing on the strong rhythm to forget his waking nightmare, marvelling at how your heart beats in tandem to his, running his trembling fingers across your exposed skin, up your arm, across your collarbone to your throat, watching the artery jump in time with your heart. He knows you so well, so intimately, that when you notice his erection, your heart skips a beat, and he can guess exactly what you're thinking, not needing to peer into your mind for himself.

You feel him grind against you and you release a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

"Love..." You murmur into his hair, absentmindedly running your fingers over the sensitive pointed tips of his ears. "Come now, you need to rest, darling."

He can't show you what he saw, what he went through, the horror and the agony of his master's worst torments. The image of you performing the worst of it is tattooed on his eyelids, a reminder of Morgoth's favourite form of punishment. He can't show you, can't tell you, but he can ask you to make him forget.

"I need you," he whispers in your ear, strangled groans peppering his sentiments, making you gasp, "need you to feel good, need you to know how much I adore you-"

Your eyes widen as blood rushes to your cheeks, the heat of his words enflaming your core.

"I want you too, love, but right now? Are you sure?" You ask him through ragged breath as he turns his attentions to your neck, licking and sucking and blowing cool air over your wet skin, before warming it with his tongue once more.

You're so close to giving in, wanting to give him all he craves and more, and he knows it.

"Use me," his breathy moan breaks on your skin like a wave on the shore, tingles washing down your spine, filling your core with empty warmth as he bucks his hips into yours, which respond in kind as you turn your head to meet his hungry kiss.

"I'm yours. Make me yours."

His words thrill you, but his tone makes you feel incredible; needy, wanton, desperate to please you.

You glide your hands over his torso, relishing in his hot velvet skin and the soft hair that covers him; taking your time as he tries to kiss you senseless, his heated skin glowing with sweat that you can't resist tasting for yourself, salt and smoke on your tongue.

"Use me... take me... love me..." he begs you, with less and less breath left in his lungs with each command, as you gently lay him on his back, straddling his thighs, grinding your core into the hard muscle.

You slide your hands between the layers of fabric separating your skin, stripping him slowly and laying him bare for your viewing pleasure alone.

He arches his back for you, baring his neck and thrusting his hips into the ghost of your touch, chanting your name and praying for you to take his aching cock in hand.

You trace the contours of his thighs, his firm abdominal muscles, the stiff peaks of his nipples, earning you a shudder and a moan that shoots straight to your core, hot wet arousal dripping onto his thigh.

His fingers move to gather your nectar instinctively, wanting to savour every taste of his wife, but you grip his wrist and raise it above his head, and he gasps. You've never denied him before, not in the eons you've adored him, but it turns him on beyond belief.

Sauron watches you hazily, through heavily lidded eyes, in disbelief that the goddess above him is his and his alone to enjoy and to ruin. You are a sight to behold, as your hair cascades down your back, lips parted and breath ragged; your breasts bounce as you ride his thigh, hypnotising him, drawing him deeper into your thrall.

He tries to lean up to kiss you, lave every inch of your skin with his desperate tongue, but you push him back to the bed.

"Not yet, soon but not yet." You want his mouth on you, the aching between your thighs only amplified by the distinct lack of your husband’s throbbing length inside you, but tonight is for him; he needs to surrender to you first.

"I don't think you've let go quite enough yet." Your warm breath breaks on his sensitive neck, washes down his spine, straight to his cock, throbbing in his need for you.

You haven't touched him yet, hands firmly in place on his chest; his eyes plead with you to be lenient, and as his loving wife, you're only too happy to oblige him as he continues to beg for all the care and attention you can give.

"Please, love, please, need you to-" he gasps as you run your fingers over the head of his cock, gathering the copious amounts of precum pooling on his stomach to ease the glide over his flesh.

"Is that better, love?" You can't help but smirk at his pained gasps, as you languidly stroke his shaft, circling the sensitive head with your thumb, your eyes locked on his.

His cock twitches in your hand as he moans your name, begs for release, begs for your cunt, begs to be remade.

"That's it, love, let yourself go. All you need to do is feel good for me, my love," you lean down, whispering in his ear, "please me, show me how much you deserve your release."

His breath hitches and you hear him swallow hard; his expression is a masterpiece, eyes wide, jaw slack, as he begs you to show him mercy, groaning and whimpering as you pump his length.

"Please..." It's only one syllable, but it feels like a lifetime as he chokes out his plea, tries to touch you to no avail as you hold his hands above his head, placing them in a death grip on the headboard.

"Please, what? You might need to be more specific, my darling." You edge down the bed, holding him in place as he tries to follow you, until your head rests on his thighs.

"Need you to... fuck!" He growls and curses and grips the headboard as his hips jerk and writhe to meet you.

"Need me to...? What, my sweet, tell me?" You are enjoying teasing him, perhaps a little too much, and you will pay for it later, but right now he's so deeply needy for your love and attention that he'll take whatever you bestow upon him.

"Touch me..." he groans, as his cock visibly throbs with need, "your fingers, your mouth, I don't care, I need you, you're the only one, only one who can make me feel like this..."

His pleas and whimpers cut off with a sharp gasp, as you take his cock in your mouth as deeply as you can manage. He feels the opening of your throat on his tip and loses his mind, his oversensitive flesh shooting stars up and down his spine, heat pooling in his abdomen that almost immediately spreads like wildfire throughout his body, as your fingers and tongue and lips work together like an orchestra, drawing an irresistible melody from the depths of his pitch black soul, and all the seed his cock can muster.

You pull away and let him spill himself over your thighs, your abdomen, your hands; he looks mortified but he can't stop now he's started, pearly white splattering your skin, making you his.

"I belong to you," he keens and stutters but you hear him through his orgasm, his whimpers becoming moans that reverberate through you.

You can only watch him adoringly as he finishes quaking and moaning beneath you, unable to quite believe that he is yours, even after all this time.

You sit up, licking him from your fingers, and your smile is so radiant, he forgets where he is, who he is, all the evil he has ever done. For one shining moment, it is just you and him, all he'd ever need.

"Proud of you, love, so good for me." You murmur as you lean down to kiss him softly, giving him that tiny confirmation of your affections he needs right now.

"...thank you, needed you. Ahh- Need you." He is grateful, oh so grateful, but his still-hard cock betrays him, and you can't help but grin.

"Oh love, did I not do a good enough job? Have I left you wanting?" Your faux sincerity pains him and he immediately starts apologising.

"No, no, not that, never that, always so good to me, my beautiful wife, love you so much, my sweet..." His cunt-drunk ramblings are adorable but you put a finger to his lips.

"It's okay, I know, I've got you," you smile at him; he returns it so radiantly, you have to kiss him, to be the one to destroy it.

His pretty moans flutter to your cunt, arousal dripping from you like honey from the hive, and he looks up at you, gloriously wide eyed, begging to be allowed to taste your nectar, to sate his thirst for you.

You can't help but feel absurdly powerful, a Maia fallen apart at your fingertips, never mind this Maia, this beautiful demon who vowed to never relinquish his control again. It's an honour and a privilege to see him submit to you like this, submit to himself like this, let himself just feel without exercising his need to dominate, to just let go with the one person in the world he knows he is truly free with.

"Please, my love... remake me, make me yours," His breathless plea is like no music the Valar have ever sung, his moans a spell all their own, enrapturing you even as you hold the key to his release, as you take command of the Maia who values his control of others above all else.

"I do believe, dearest, that you made quite the mess, actually, perhaps you'd be so kind?" You gesture to the cum that still drips down your thighs, sticky and uncomfortable and definitely ready to be washed from your skin.

He is only too happy to oblige.

You lie back and beckon him to you; he works his way up your body, methodically but no less desperately, licking up every drop to please you, content to savour every inch of you. When he tries to make a detour to your mound, you gently yank his hair, reminding him of his task, revelling in the absolute control he's given you.

"Oh love, you did make a mess," you moan as you stroke his hair, "so good for me, cleaning me up, such a good husband, always so good to me."

Receiving such praise is almost cruel and unusual for Sauron, who is frankly more used to giving it to you, and receiving wrath from all others. A tiny voice in his mind tells him he should be embarrassed; but what is worship if not praise? Your devotion, your care, your undivided attention; all for him, giving him that for which he yearns above all else.

He can't resist stealing a kiss, crashing his lips to yours as he cradles your face. You taste his seed on his lips, something that feels strangely forbidden, thrilling in its taboo. The aching in your core has only intensified with his efforts, and you feel it is about time he served you with his silver tongue in the way you both crave. You push his head to your cunt, with which he gladly complies, settling between your thighs, gripping your legs firmly apart to allow him to feast on you.

Before his tongue can delve into your folds, he holds back, locking his gaze on yours.

"Please? Let me taste you, let me show you how much I love you."

"Fuck, yes, love, yes," you chant his name as he finally puts his tongue to excellent use, seeking out your swollen clit, lapping at your entrance, sucking at the velvety skin of your inner thighs.

He keeps his hands in view; you haven't told him he can touch himself, and he won't break this spell now.

Like a starving man at a banquet, he indulges in you, exquisitely. Every tiny moan that escapes him vibrates over your folds, making you whimper in return; he flicks his tongue over your entrance before sliding two fingers deep inside you, hooking them and stroking that delicious sweet spot inside you that makes your toes curl. He watches you the whole time, basking in the chorus of your pleasure.

You feel the heat coil in your abdomen, and you pull him away sharply; his disappointment is evident but you want him inside you when you finally claim your orgasm.

"Lay back, love, hands on the headboard." It is intoxicating, having your husband obey your every command, and as he settles into the mattress, looking up at you expectantly, you vow this won't be the last time the two of you play this game.

Sitting astride him, you feel as if he's never been so deep inside your cunt before now. You hiss a little at the intrusion but he's so familiar, every time he enters you, it feels like coming home. You grind your hips into him, capturing with your lips every whimper that forces its way past his clenched teeth. Tracing his firm chest, running your fingers through the smattering of soft hair, feeling every curve and contour slowly, languidly, while he writhes beneath your thighs, caging him inside your wet heat.

His strangled moans and gasps echo throughout your chamber; every time he reaches for you, you press a kiss to his palm and hold it above his head, until he learns to behave.

"No one could love me like you, care for me like you, knows how to take their pleasure from me like you, beautiful wife, only yours." He feels like he's losing his mind, slipping further into some deep quiet space where it's just the two of you, where nothing matters but you on his cock.

"Only you can put me back together, can sing the song my soul yearns for-" you interrupt his pretty words with your fingers in his mouth.

"Hush, my love, focus on me, only me, you don't have to speak, you don't have to beg for me unless you want to, just let it happen." You trace the shell of his ear with your tongue, savouring the tiny sighs that escape him, before nipping the pointed tip and relishing his sharp moan.

"Bound together, you and I, for all eternity... and I wouldn't have it any other way, sweet husband." You groan out between thrusts, every movement within you the sweetest form of torture.

No other thrill in the world will ever compare to this; your divine husband laid out beneath you, looking up at you with blissful wonder, eyes black with lust, golden hair mussed and tangled by your fingers, your name tumbling from his swollen lips like a prayer and a curse. Right now, you'd take either.

"Darling, please," his broken gasp spans an octave, jumping to a breathy moan as you descend on his cock once more.

"I know what you need, love," you moan as you ride him, the drag of his cock inside you fucking delicious, but the look on his face is a feast in comparison.

His eyes widen as he clutches the bedsheets, refusing to look away but requiring every iota of self-restraint to stay present with you, not to lose himself to the unearthly sensations you've introduced him to tonight.

"I've got you, just let it go, give yourself to me, beloved, let your mind empty-" you kiss him deeply and swallow the groan building in his chest.

"So proud of you, so good for me, doing so well," you let out a throaty moan as you clench your walls around him, feeling his cock throb within you.

"I know what you need..." You murmur as you lean over him, slowing the rhythm of your hips, "nothing in that head, cock wet and wanting, heart full and happy."

His ragged breath hitches as the last shred of self-control slips through his fingers. He thrusts up deep inside you, throbbing, aching to fill you, as you grab his hands and pull them to touch you finally, a precious relief to you both.

As he runs his hands up your bare skin, he kneads your soft flesh, worshipping every inch as if he's never beheld anything so perfect in his long life. His large hands encircle your abdomen, grasp your hips, pull your ass impossibly closer until you can't tell where you end and he begins; not that the distinction is important anymore.

He rests his hands on your back, fingers splayed as if to encompass you within his flesh, as if being wrapped around you, caged inside you, isn't enough contact, like the two of you enjoined in body and soul isn't enough, will never be enough to sate his hunger for you.

Finally, you let him lean up to join you, his torso flush with yours, gliding against you, slick with the sweat you've provoked in your teasing. He kisses you hard, tongue tangling with yours, teeth hungry, lips swollen, your breath mingling just as your souls are entwined, a maelstrom of pleasure in which you'd be happy to be imprisoned forever.

You brush back his soft hair, grip the roots, and pull his head back, bearing his throat to your greedy lips. You grind on his cock as you press harsh kisses, soft bites, to his tender flesh, laving his skin and savouring his moans under your tongue. He fucking whimpers under you, and you pull away to take him in, in all his ruined glory.

There are tears in his eyes, his lips wet and parted for your kiss; his expression is nothing like you've ever seen, so completely has he given himself to you and your pleasure.

You softly trace his throat before grasping him firmly, feeling every breath, every sob, every whimper, reverberating through you, inflaming every nerve in your body.

His Adam's apple bobs under your fingers, firm in your grip but tender in your passion. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, falling down his glorious face and filling your heart with such love, such adoration, such utter and complete devotion, that it scares you for a moment, pushing you over the edge at last.

You clench around him, milking his sensitive cock for every last drop of seed, as you ride this new high, this indescribable feeling of power that his submission has wrought in you. You think if you could just hold onto that feeling-

"I feel it too-" his strangled moan is cut short, all the stars in the sky paling in comparison to the pleasure he feels beneath you right now.

You feel him paint your insides, his cock throbbing and twitching inside you until he is spent. Your foreheads pressed together, your limbs entangled, every breath shared in tandem; you would stay here forever. And he would gladly grant his goddess that wish, and any more that your heart desires.

You roll onto your side, limbs shaking with exertion, pulling him to join you, refusing to allow him exit from your wet heat. He huffs a small, relieved sigh, not wishing to be parted from you either.

His iron embrace never fails to comfort you, and it is especially firm tonight. Your heart swells at the thought that even after surrendering to you so entirely, so perfectly, he still needs to hold and shelter you, can't give up his role as your protector even at his most vulnerable.

"We should do that again, love." You murmur, feeling his smirk against your neck.

"Whatever you desire, my Queen," he peppers your neck with tender kisses, sensing you are close to sleep. "I am yours, you are mine-"

"And always will be." You interrupt with a sleepy smile, provoking a chuckle.

Sauron can only watch you enthralled, as you drift off, content, your limbs entwined with his, reluctant to follow you into sleep after tonight's events. Perhaps, yielding control is something he should master, he muses; after all, you did seem to be utterly delighted with the turn of events, and he is nothing if not a loving Lord, a devoted husband enthralled by his wife to distraction.

You slip into dreaming, holding onto him as if for dear life, relishing in the feeling of being so loved, so obeyed.

Your brain is empty, but your cunt is full, and your heart is happy.

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (VI)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — Your marriage is slowly getting better and more intimate as you become the Dark Lady of Mordor and you have the Orcs' respect. While dealing with the aftermath of your conquest alongside your husband, you meet a very special prisoner – your lover who has finally returned.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The longest chapter so far but I didn't want to divide it in two separate ones because this fic is already getting longer than I wanted it to be (I suspected this moment of the show would happen in like chapter 3 lmao 🤡). As I have promised, there is finally a reunion between Sauron and the Reader. 💕

WARNINGS — forced/arranged marriage, Reader is NOT a good person – she is proud, greedy, fake and corrupted by Sauron, "love" triangle situationship, every trigger from S02E01 (death of the people imprisoned by the Orcs etc.), it is mentioned that the Reader is lowkey scared (?) of Sauron's anger sometimes, which might imply some sort of domestic violence in their past + mentions of sexual activities (no actual smut)

WORD COUNT — 8,260

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (VI)

You were sitting by the long table full of wine and food that had been found in the cellars of the human villages nearby as the Orcs and the men who had chosen to follow you were partying and celebrating their new home. At least the Orcs looked truly excited about it because the humans were smiling much less and you just knew that most of them were only there to save their own lives. But that was not something you wanted to worry about now. You earned your rest, so you were just sitting next to your husband and picking on the grapes on the plate in front of you with your new sword resting on the chair. You kept glancing at it, proudly.

You focused on the song in Black Speech that the Orcs were singing and you furrowed your brows, understanding only a few words. The speech was not difficult to learn so you already could recognise a few phrases but still, it felt not enough.

“Will you teach me the Black Speech, too?” You asked your husband and Adar didn’t react at first but then he turned his head around to meet your gaze as if he was surprised to hear your question.

You cracked a smile at him. It was not only him who was perceiving you differently now but you were seeing him in a new light as well. He was making you feel powerful and in charge but his very presence was also ensuring your safety and taking some responsibility off of your shoulders. And the more he could teach you, the more useful you would be to Sauron later.

“If that is your wish, my Lady,” Adar nodded at you and reached his hand out for one of the grapes as well but you grasped it delicately, making him look surprised again.

“I have something for you,” you batted your eyelashes at him and smiled shyly as he furrowed his brows. You moved one of your hands lower and showed him the leaves from the holy trees that you had been hiding inside your sleeve. “I picked them earlier today in Ostirith,” you explained.

“What for?” Adar asked and perhaps his question was a little hurtful but the voice remained soft.

“We were wed under these trees. I thought it would mean something to you. Forgive me, my Lord…” You took your hands away and hid them underneath the table, squeezing the leaves and looking down.

Adar lifted your chin up with his thumb and made you look into his eyes. They were filled with adoration once again just like earlier on that day after realising you had truly finished his task and brought doom to your homeland.

“It does. I had no idea it meant anything to you,” he confessed and let go of your chin to open the palm of his hand in front of you. With a smile, you placed some of the leaves there and he clenched his fist to take them. “Thank you,” he whispered in Quenya. 

You nodded at him and dared to reach your free hand out to caress his cheek gently, brushing a strand of his black hair behind his ear. He was pretty startled but did not flinch.

“How long have you endured without anyone’s kind and gentle touch before me?” You asked, wondering out loud.

“A touch like this comes from a blurry memory of a long time ago, in a different life,” Adar whispered. “I had a different name then, too.”

“What was it?” You asked, curiously.

“It does not matter. Adar is my name and your husband. That man I once was is a stranger to you, my Lady. He should not concern you,” he explained and you smiled sadly.

“He had to be quite special to be chosen by Morgoth,” you whispered but Adar chuckled as he shook his head. “No?”

“No,” he answered. “Not special. Just a fool.”

You removed your hand from his cheek slowly and gave him a sympathetic smile.

“I am exhausted,” you announced. The nap you had in the forest had not been enough after such a long and eventful day. “I shall retire now, my Lord,” you stood up and Adar nodded at you. “Can you tell me what happened to my dear friend Arondir? I forgot to ask you before.”

“I do not know but I do believe he is still alive,” Adar explained and you sighed with relief. Even though Arondir had angered you, now when you were calmer and back to your senses, you worried a little again.

“I hope he is away from here and builds a new life for himself,” you said out loud, squeezing Adar’s arm before taking your sword and walking out towards the village that you had overtaken earlier.

Adar’s house was the biggest one – right in the centre, near the market square. You had been offered your own next to his but you wanted to share a place with him. There was no need to get a separate house and you had to work on earning more and more of his trust. Especially now it seemed it would become an easier task.

But when you sat on the edge of the bed and began undressing yourself slowly, you sighed after realising that the more you were trying to make him like you, the more you were beginning to like him, too. And it could possibly lead to you feeling guilty later.

In nothing but your underdress, you felt extremely sleepy. You did not even consider waiting for your husband or trying to seduce him. Not on that night, surely.

So, you just laid down under the covers and despite the sounds of the party from afar, you fell asleep as soon as your head touched the pillow.

You woke up and turned around, surprised to see Adar still in the bed with you. He was laying on his back and asleep. You watched his chest rising up and down for a quiet moment before leaning in to touch him gently. In moments like these, he was the most vulnerable.

But so were you.

Oh, how you missed Sauron. You loved the mornings in his arms; all the sweet kisses and murmured promises, compliments and sweet nothings – all of that while tangling your bodies together to finish whatever had been started on the night before. How you longed to wake up next to him again and brush his hair gently, imagining a crown upon his head.

But on that unusually quiet morning you did not mind being in Adar’s bed either. You woke him up very softly with your touch and he cracked a smile at you when he realised it was his wife bringing him back to reality.

“Forgive me,” you whispered softly. “I am just so surprised to see you in my bed in the morning. Usually, you are always gone before I wake up.”

“Usually,” Adar nodded and cleared his throat. He hesitated before putting his arm around you but you allowed him to do so and you moved closer to him, resting your head on his chest. “It is still very early in the morning and my children were celebrating for a long time last night. The whole village is asleep and we have no more battles to fight for now,” he explained.

“And I like that very much,” you mumbled and laughed softly.

You felt Adar’s fingers caressing your back and you looked up to meet the gaze of his cold eyes. At that moment, they felt nearly kind.

Kind in a very genuine way. Something you had never felt around Sauron when his face had been trying to look kind. Sauron’s rage and hatred had been genuine. His devotion, his love – yes. But never his kindness.

“I saw you with those villagers. You were so cruel,” you breathed out. “And yet, with me, you are so soft. I am far less innocent than any of them.”

“You are my wife,” Adar explained. “My lady,” he added. “Why would I treat you like an enemy?”

If he only knew…

“I want you,” you confessed in the Quenya language and you truly did – you wanted him. It had been centuries since you were so close with a man, yet alone a man in power who treated you so special.

“I can feel it,” he whispered with a nod.

“What have you been waiting for then?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“For you to say it,” he smirked and rolled you over onto your back in one swift movement that made you yelp and chuckle right after.

What a different lover he was from Sauron, too. How surprisingly soft, slow and gentle. Taking his time, observing your reactions to make sure you were feeling alright. In fact, he was focusing more on you than on himself.

Sauron’s worship had been greedy and hungry to the point of pain very often. Not that you had ever minded that pain but you had absolutely no idea that you could be worshipped in a different way as well – attentive and delicate as if you were made of the most precious Elven glass.

In Adar’s eyes you had to be. Despite the seed of evil he could feel in you, he had to see you as something pure and innocent compared to his corrupted and rotten self. You could feel that when he was making love to you like he was trying not to hurt you too much or show you too much of his darkness.

Laying on his chest and catching your breath as his hand caressed the strands of your hair, you were listening to his heartbeat and slowly drifting off back to sleep. The hour was still early and there were no sounds coming from the village.

“Can I ask you something?” He started and you froze for a brief moment, already suspecting the question. He had every right to want to know the truth.

“I know what you are about to ask,” you sighed, looking up at him. 

“I am not angry,” he assured you. “You were forced to marry me, I could not have any expectations. And I am not exactly an image of perfection myself but–”

“There was only one before you,” you interrupted him and he closed his mouth, staring down at your face. “One too many for an unwed Elf everyone thought of as smart and innocent.”

“You do not have to tell me,” Adar only whispered.

“It is quite alright,” you shrugged your arms. “I was a very young Elven maiden sent by my parents to study in Mithlond. He was a young Elven boy and we fell in love. At least I thought we had…” You faked a sad smile and looked away with melancholy. “We spent many nights together and I know we should not have done that before the wedding but I was so sure that he would be the one I would be wed to… And, one day, after my classes, I ran into the courtyard where he was standing amongst his friends. And I overheard his announcement of being betrothed to another. I learnt my lesson then,” you shook your head and met your husband’s gaze again. He seemed to be sad for you.

“In the eyes of the Valars, you are wed to him,” he pointed out with a smirk and you knew he was teasing because you had wanted to solidify your union for so long before, meanwhile you had already belonged to another in a way.

“I have never worn his ring or sworn any oath,” you explained. “Like I have for you, my Lord.”

Adar nodded and caressed your cheeks gently before cupping them and leaning down to peck your lips.

“We shall drop the formalities when we are alone,” he suggested.

“I agree,” you nodded and smiled softly.

“Good,” he laid your head down onto his chest again and wrapped his arms around you. You hugged him back and took a deep breath in.

“Let us go back to sleep for a short while. We still have time,” you yawned a little and he did not protest as both of you closed your eyes and drifted off once more.

Weeks passed and even though Mordor was your land now, there were many things to do. The land was nothing without its citizens and your realm needed a brand new structure. At first, the Orcs were searching through the forests and villages while looking for the humans who were still wandering around. Some of them would choose to serve Adar and you out of fear.

Your relationship with your husband was developing just like Mordor under your rule. You had some misunderstandings and you still were a bit distant because you had not known each other for very long but you also did not mind to spend time in the company of one another. And you certainly did not mind sharing the same bed although sometimes you simply had no time to get intimate.

Sometimes you had some free time, though. Like right now, your husband was teaching you how to wield your new sword and you groaned while trying to lift it up one more time.

“It is much heavier than any blade I have ever been taught to fight with,” you confessed and Adar chuckled.

“It was crafted by Morgoth,” he reminded you. “It is no ordinary blade,” he moved his own sword close to you but he did that very slowly, so you could defend yourself.

And so you did lock your blade with his but your sword was too heavy to keep it still without your hands slightly trembling.

“It is not only its weight you are carrying but also its history,” Adar pushed his sword further and made you take a step back. “Its darkness.”

“I am aware,” you drawled out through gritted teeth. You wanted to prove to him and yourself that you were worthy of carrying it. Therefore, you refused to give up.

“Let me,” Adar retreated all of a sudden and put his sword aside only to approach you and stand behind you as he tried to show you the right position. “While carrying a sword of this sort, you must change your approach a little. It is heavier and it was not crafted with a woman in mind,” he reminded you.

“Oh, so you think I cannot handle it for I am a delicate maiden?” You teased and Adar rolled his eyes slightly.

“I can see that you barely do,” he remarked.

“Lord Father!” One of the Orcs ran up to you and interrupted your little sparring session. “The new prisoners have arrived! Glûg says he has captured someone special!” The Orc added, excitedly. 

Adar nodded at him and squeezed your arms before walking away to gather his sword. You waited for him and you both walked to the centre of the village where the prisoners were usually being brought. Adar had some sort of a throne there, made of iron and burnt branches of the trees. It was big enough for you both to sit on it but you preferred to stand by his side either way – that was how your mother had taught you since she had always been standing behind your father.

Adar’s throne was too large for you to simply stand behind him but you just remained by his side with your back straightened and the most serious expression upon your face as that filthy human Waldreg was standing on your left and addressing the prisoners while trying to impress your husband and you with his loyalty.

“Welcome to Mordor,” he announced now and you gave Adar a meaningful look, cracking a smile. He smiled back at you before you two went back to your usual, serious expressions. “Work its land well and you’ll be fed well,” Waldreg continued. “Work it badly and you’ll feed the soil,” he finished his little introduction as he addressed one of the new prisoners – a poor looking villager. “You, lad, do you swear allegiance to Adar, Lord Father of the Uruks and Dark Lady of Mordor?” He asked.

Dark Lady of Mordor – that was how they were calling you now. It was not a name you had given yourself or chosen but it was the name you had earned by being the one who had opened the dam. You had been the one to create Mordor and as much as this title was making you feel proud and strong, you also wondered what Sauron’s reaction to it would be.

Would he accept the fact that you ruled over something yourself, too? Or would he be angry that you dared to?

The poor villager hesitated for a moment, not knowing what to say. Therefore, you had to watch the Orcs attack and murder him by sticking the blade into his stomach as he groaned in pain.

At first, such images had been dreadful. But now you were growing used to it and it was a good thing – a good sign. By Sauron’s side you would have to endure much more.

“It is the Southlands no more! In Mordor, ya bow or ya bleed,” Waldreg reminded all the prisoners and then he looked at another one coming your way. “Right, you there. Do you swear allegiance to Adar and his lady?”

The man fell down to his knees and bowed his head. And when he did that, the Orcs took him by his elbows to mark him with a branding iron. An image nearly as dreadful as the other villager getting murdered but this one at least could live.

Although what a life it would be?

You did not care. You were standing on the other side – by Adar’s throne, wearing a blood red gown and a small headpiece made of iron that some of the Orcs had crafted for you from the swords they had found amongst the dead bodies. It had been their gift for giving them home.

You spotted Glûg leading another prisoner your way and this one had to be that special one that he had mentioned to his friends. He was also being kept still in chains and with an iron collar around his neck. Looking like an ordinary man – but quite handsome, you had to admit – yet, he seemed to keep his dignity amongst all this chaos.

You felt it. The twist in your gut, the change of the air around you. The disturbance of energy, the same pulling force that you had felt before while hiding inside a hut in the forest. Sauron was back. 

Sauron was here.

Trying to keep yourself composed, you looked up with your jaw clenched and back straightened and then your eyes locked with the man’s blue ones. And the gasp you tried to stop from escaping your lips had nearly made your rib cage explode.

It nearly felt wrong and surely it did feel surreal to meet with your lover again. To be in his presence and be looked at through his eyes. All those centuries of yearning and missing him, you had always imagined your next meeting differently.

First of all, you had never imagined him in a different form but the man in front of you was not the Sauron you had remembered. His hair was no longer ginger but it was brown now and he looked like a human. His face belonged to a different person but that did not change anything for it had never been his body or his flesh that you loved the most. It had been his mind and his power.

Second of all, you had always imagined him coming to you in all his glory, taking you away and sweeping you off of your feet. You had never suspected he would come to you in chains, dirty from the mud, looking like a beaten dog. And yet, here he stood.

And you had to fight every fibre of your being from running up to him. From releasing him and kissing every inch of his body, from devouring him and praising him, holding him as close as you could…

You adjusted yourself slightly and spotted that his eyes squinted. He was observing you and he looked quite intrigued with your new position.

“The King of the Southlands turned himself in, Lord Father,” Glûg announced and led Sauron by the chain attached to the collar around his neck to make him stand in front of you and your husband.

The King of the Southlands… You pursed your lips. Your husband had mentioned him to you before when he had been describing to you what happened during the attack of the Númenóreans. He had mentioned a human named Halbrand who had arrived from Númenor alongside Lady Galadriel and the cavalry. That he had claimed to be from the forgotten bloodlines of the kings.

You had been intrigued by that man from your husband’s stories already but now there was no mystery around it anymore. It was obvious to you that this persona was nothing but your lover’s scheme.

And that when you had felt his presence back then, inside the hut, he truly had been around. But you had been reaching out to him, you had been trying your best to contact him and yet… There had been no answer.

Or maybe there was. Perhaps Sauron coming back here as Halbrand was the answer to your calling.

“Says he wants to negotiate,” Glûg added and you did your best to appear as contemptuous and angry as you snorted at that.

“Human king,” you mocked his title, trying to avoid his eyes at first because even though you were putting on an act, you were still scared of your lover’s rage. “There is no such a thing,” you finally met his intense gaze and at first it startled you but you continued your little show. “The reign of a human king is always short and weak for his body rots quickly and his mind gets corrupted fast,” you explained with contempt.

Halbrand did not say anything to that. He kept staring intensely at you and Adar. In fact, he gave you a hateful stare that caused a shiver down your spine. You hoped it was nothing but a play-pretend.

“Let my people go,” he finally said in a very determined tone.

But those were not his people because he was no king. However, you had to pretend that you believed him. Waldreg and Glûg laughed at his words and you looked up at Adar.

Your heart skipped a beat when you realised that your husband was very suspicious. The way he was staring at Halbrand was making it clear that he simply knew that this man was more than he was claiming to be. And now you knew that no slip-ups from you were allowed in your little game.

“Or yours will die,” Halbrand added calmly and perhaps his threat meant nothing to the Orcs surrounded there but you knew that he was capable of hurting everyone here without using much, therefore you did not laugh.

Adar finally reacted, however, as he looked away with a slight eye-roll.

“My people defeated the men of these lands,” he reminded Halbrand. “We defeated the Elves who came to their aid,” he stood up from his throne. “We even defeated their allies, the men from beyond the sea,” he walked down and approached Halbrand as you held your breath as seeing your husband and your lover so close and face-to-face was making you feel physically sick. “There is no one left for us to fear,” Adar added.

“There is one,” Halbrand teased and you tilted your head, wondering what his game was. “Since Galadriel’s defeat, she sought out a new ally. An ancient sorcerer, to instruct the Elves in forging a new weapon,” he started and you grew more and more curious of his scheme, so you approached your husband.

You stood right behind him as you wrapped your hands around one of his arms like a dutiful and loyal wife that you were.

“One you first told her about. A power over flesh,” Halbrand continued and you just knew that all this talking so freely about… well, himself, just had to be a part of a scheme much greater and bigger than what you could have even imagined or suspected.

You felt Adar’s body tensing and you squeezed his arm tighter, trying to show him support and comfort.

“Do you remember those words?” Halbrand kept toying with him. “A power that will allow him to use your children as slaves in his army once more.”

“Ignore him,” you quickly spoke before Halbrand could continue. “He is playing with you, my Lord, can’t you see? He is using your fear against you but he is not worthy of our time. A human king?” You snorted. “Most likely a liar.”

“Set my people free and I will tell you where he can be found,” Halbrand cut you out immediately after, giving you no time to speak anymore. “So you can destroy him and rid us both of his evil,” his voice quivered, pretending to be scared.

“No, Your Majesty,” Adar shook his head after giving you a quick glance and moving away from you, forcing you to let go of his arm. He took a step further to be even closer to Halbrand but you made sure to overhear everything. “You will tell me everything you think you know of this sorcerer now… Or I will spill the words from your throat,” he threatened.

“If I die, all that I know dies with me,” Halbrand answered calmly. “You can’t kill me.”

“In time, you will beg me to,” Adar whispered to him and you reached out for his arm once more, sensing his nervousness.

You pulled him closer to you and that was when Waldreg punched Halbrand, which made you look away. Seeing your lover being treated this way was making you feel physical pain as well. You couldn’t bear to watch how that filthy human dared to treat him and how he dragged him away to one of the houses that would now serve as Halbrand’s prison.

“He has upset you,” you caressed Adar’s arm, trying to focus on him now.

“You know why,” your husband answered.

“What he said, Lord Father,” worried Glûg interrupted you two. “Sauron… could never return, could he?

“No. Sauron is dead,” Adar lied to him, shaking his head. “Your Lady was right. That man was trying to use our weakness against us,” he added and walked away but you furrowed your brows and followed him.

Grabbing Adar by his sleeve, you pulled him behind you and led him around the corner of the house nearby.

“You know it is not true,” you whispered into his face, your noses brushing each other as he kept staring at you with a puzzled expression. “When we were in Ostirith, you had received messages that were making you think Sauron was back. I thought those messages were from your children. What are you hiding from me?” You asked, perhaps a bit too aggressively.

“I hide nothing,” Adar answered, way softer than you. “The news my scouts had been sending to me… They had no idea about their meaning and I was not sharing my suspicions with anyone but you. I did not want to worry my children and I do not want to do that now either,” he explained. “That man, Halbrand… I have a feeling he might know something. If my suspicions are true and Sauron is back, I will have to tell the news to the Uruk. And we will have to march again for I shall not rest until he is defeated.”

You took a step back, giving him his personal space as you fixed your gown nonchalantly and cleared his throat.

“I am sorry. I do not like being kept in the darkness,” you tried to make up excuses for yourself. Of course your rapid reaction was the result of the fact that the matter was about your lover. But Adar could not know that.

“I am glad you asked me in private instead of calling me out in front of Glûg,” Adar nodded at you and held your wrists gently. “That was very thoughtful.”

You looked up, a little surprised. You had just accused and attacked him and he was thanking you?

“We are a husband and a wife. I might scold you or question you but this is our private matter for nobody else to see,” you cracked a nervous smile and he squeezed your fingers tighter.

“Let us go back, the rest of the prisoners are waiting.”

You nodded at him and took a deep breath in, trying to compose yourself. For some reason, out of the loud noise of all the people around, your ears picked only on the sounds leaving Halbrand’s throat as Waldreg was beating him up. And for the rest of the day you could not stand still, trying to fight the tears pricking your eyes.

Sauron’s pain was your pain.

It was the middle of the night as you gathered your skirts and walked through the mud to get to the house where Halbrand was kept in. Your heart was pounding in your chest as the Orcs guiding the door turned around to look at you.

“Leave us,” you ordered, a little harshly. They looked at each other but they would never dare to question you, so they just walked away.

And only when you could see them disappearing behind one of the buildings, knowing that you were completely alone with Halbrand, you took a deep breath in and pushed the door to walk inside.

You spotted him sitting on the ground, looking miserable and exhausted. For a short moment, you kept staring at each other in complete silence.

“My love…” You whispered in the Quenya language eventually as you dropped to your knees and crawled on the floor towards him. He kept looking at you without any expression on his face. “My love, you’re back… You’re back, I knew you would be… My love, my master, my Sauron,” you whispered the last word nearly inaudibly, cupping his cheeks with the most devoted and hurt expression since it was painful to see him humbled like this. 

“Shush, my gentle darling,” he finally spoke to you and you sobbed at his soft voice; filled with so much love and affection still. “You cannot let them hear you,” he added and you nodded, pressing your forehead to his as your tears washed some of the dirt off of his face.

“I have been waiting for you for the centuries. Yearning for you, craving you… With every inch of this body, this soul, this heart…” You were assuring him between deep gasps of air even though this very morning you had shared your body with your husband.

But it was all for the grand scheme of your lover. It did not matter, did it?

“I called for you… On that day when I made the mountain erupt. I called for you,” you moved away slightly to be able to look at his face better.

“I know,” Halbrand cracked a smile. “My love, you have to trust my plan. Although I can see you have taken the matters into your own hands.”

“I have been forced to but I saw an opportunity,” you nodded through the tears, brushing his hair with your fingertips. “An opportunity for you.”

“That is good. You are the most devoted and cunning lover just like I taught you,” he said.

“Tell me, my love, tell me what to do now. Give me orders and I shall follow them until we are united again as–” your voice quivered again as you hesitated.

Perhaps it was because of his current state, perhaps it was because of the centuries of separation and perhaps it was because he was in a new form that you had not grown used to yet but… He seemed to be more distant than you remembered. A bit colder despite his gentle words.

“Say it,” you pleaded. “Say it again and I shall do whatever you ask me of,” you promised.

Sauron looked you up and down and his lips curled up in a smile. He tried to reach out for you as if he had forgotten his hands were in shackles. You shushed him and caressed his wounded wrists wherever you could reach.

“I shall make you my Queen,” he whispered. “All Middle-earth will be brought to its knees to worship you by my side, my love,” he added and you sobbed some more. “The very thought of you has been the only thing that kept me alive for so many centuries. To know that I have to return to you gave me strength. I craved your touch for eternity but we shall wait a little longer to be together on our own terms,” he breathed out. “You have to make Adar believe that Sauron is in Eregion and lead his army to me there. I have my work to do in the meantime, but you will be on my mind constantly like you have been for the past few centuries,” he finished as you shut him up with a hungry and desperate kiss, tangling your hands messily into his hair while straddling his lap.

“I shall be your Queen,” you whimpered between the greedy kisses. Those, he seemed to give you back eagerly. “I shall reflect your greatness and your power, I shall bring you an army and whatever else you ask of me. I am yours, yours completely…”

Your dignity seemed to disappear whenever Sauron was near. You had nearly forgotten how overwhelming and soul crushing devotion it was whenever you actually found yourself around him.

“I know that you are, my darling,” he whispered after one of the kisses. “To be able to lay my eyes upon you again is the most satisfying reward.”

“No, it is not,” you shook your head. “The crown upon your head will be,” you pointed out as he raised an eyebrow. “Yes, my love, I know you very well,” you chuckled through the tears. “And I shall bring you the crown, too. I shall be the one to place it upon your head.”

“Are you not a little bit too greedy, little dove?” Halbrand chuckled.

“Greedy? For you? Always,” you teased and pulled his head back by his hair to place yet another hungry kiss upon his lips. He kissed you back, pushing his tongue inside your mouth as you moaned. But then he broke the kiss as you raised an eyebrow at him and he laughed.

“You taste like an Orc,” he said.

“Have you kissed many?” You tried to joke back even though his words had hurt you. All this sacrifice was for him… Could he not see that?

“I am only jesting,” he shook his head. “You look, taste and smell like heaven and I cannot wait to claim you as mine once again.”

At those words you could feel the heat in your cheeks as you looked down for a short moment.

“You should go now before it gets suspicious,” Halbrand leaned in to join your foreheads. “Go, you know what to do.”

“I do,” you agreed and cupped his cheeks before pecking his lips once more. “Everything for you.”

Glûg couldn’t stop thinking of Halbrand’s words. He had been approaching you for many days now and trying to make you assure him once more that the words the man had said were not true. At some point, you began to feel a little bit guilty for lying to him since you could spot so much fear in those eyes.

“You have to trust your Lord Father, Glûg,” you smiled at him that morning. “When he says there is no reason to worry, then there is not.”

“He says one thing but I see he is worrying, my Lady,” Glûg shook his head. “Can you not see it, too?” He was genuinely surprised.

You had realised a little while ago that most of the Orcs had no idea about the deal between your father and your husband. Perhaps the whole concept of political marriages and alliances was something unfamiliar to them but most of them truly believed that you shared a deeper connection with your husband. Love – however the Orcs understood this feeling.

But those past few days, ever since Halbrand’s arrest, the relationship between you and Adar was more distant again. He was worried indeed – way more than he had been before when there had only been signs of your lover’s return. You, on the other hand, did not complain about it because your own mind was focused on Sauron as well. Only for reasons much different than his.

“Glûg, no husband ever tells his wife everything,” you tried to cheer him up as he nodded.

You were walking around the village, trying to see if everything was working out smoothly. The closer you were getting to the house where Halbrand was being kept, though, the more sick you were feeling. You hadn’t visited him again after the first night but he was constantly on your mind either way. And the sounds of his screams of pain were giving you nightmares.

Adar joined you all of the sudden, making Glûg walk away from you a little bit. Your husband took his place by your side and you looked up at his face, noticing that he was worried again.

But before you could ask, a familiar scream reached your ears.

“Oh,” you winced and looked away. “I do realise he is a prisoner but what Waldreg is doing to that human king is starting to make me sick,” you complained. Perhaps it was risky to try to stand up for Halbrand but you thought you had done it in quite an innocent manner.

You knew Sauron would not want you to do that because it could possibly reveal your true self to Adar in case he knew who his prisoner truly was, but you loved Sauron too much to let go of this opportunity to make his suffering stop.

Adar did not say anything to your words but he squeezed your arm before walking away again to join the other Orcs that he had originally been on his way to before spotting you with Glûg.

You sighed, defeated.

However, it was no defeat. Or rather, you liked to think it had been your words that made Adar finally find some mercy for Halbrand. On the very next morning he announced it was the right time to finally settle down the matter with the human king and he even ordered to set his people free.

And so you found yourself inside the house where Halbrand was being kept. He was asleep when you walked inside, laying on the cold stone floor covered with a bit of dirty hay. You wondered if he was truly asleep since he did not truly need it.

The state of his face nearly made you weep – the bruises, the bloody lip, the dirt and sweat mixed. He should be treated like a God and yet he had to endure such a treatment. They were fools not to see that he was the one who would heal Middle-earth.

You kept standing next to Waldreg and Glûg but your husband stood above him and kept staring at Halbrand’s sleeping face. You had a feeling he knew – knew something, knew more than you’d like him to. But he surely did not know that the man in front of you was Sauron. Otherwise, he would bring the Iron Crown with him and push it deep into your lover’s heart once more.

“I was in your place once,” Adar scoffed and walked away after Halbrand finally woke up and your husband’s face was the first thing he saw. “In the eldest of the Elder Days,” he continued his story and crouched down to be closer to Halbrand, who kept staring at the ceiling without any expression on his face. “Thirteen of us were chosen to be blessed of Morgoth’s hand, with the promise of power. A new birth,” Adar explained and you moved uncomfortably.

He had never told you the full story. Would he do it now? Would he tell it to that human king as you listened? Maybe it was easier for him to let you know about his past like that? 

“I was led up to a dark and nameless peak. Chained and left,” Adar continued his story and at that moment, your heart mourned for him.

Despite his cruelty, he had always shown you lots of compassion. He was treating you like a delicate thing that had to be protected as much as empowered, so she could fight for herself, too. He had no idea it was a viper that he had in his bed. And this very viper moved closer to him to put her hand on his shoulder as she faked contempt while staring down at Halbrand. He found your eyes and then he looked at your hand on Adar’s shoulder, only to look back at you. He didn’t like how well you were playing your role – of that you were sure. Sauron had always been the most jealous lover.

But now his anger could not reach you so you toyed with him a little bit more, although teasing him was not your intention. You truly wanted to bring Adar some comfort.

“And after what seemed endless thirst and hunger…” Your husband lifted his hand to squeeze yours. “I saw it. His servant’s face. Sauron’s face,” he whispered and you squeezed his fingers tighter but in that very moment you felt that you were interrupting something intimate between them two. Something you were no part of.

There were tears in Halbrand’s eyes and in yours as well. Perhaps you were a part of it, after all. You were another thing that connected these two, another thread, another betrayal, another affection that they shared.

“And it was… beautiful,” Adar admitted. “He offered me wine, red as a blood moon. He offered me wine, and on that dark and nameless peak, I drank it. I drank it all,” he confessed and Halbrand moved his head slightly to take a better look at your husband. “Your people have been set free and my wife here cannot stand your screams of pain anymore,” he informed him and Halbrand moved his head up to rest it on the wall behind him, shooting you a glance. “Now, tell me what you know of Sauron.”

Halbrand kept staring at you two with a smirk on his face. He was looking you up and down with contempt and a hint of curiosity just like during your first meeting when you had been by Adar’s side, standing next to his throne.

“Sauron has returned in a new form,” Halbrand announced and you looked behind you, knowing very well that Glûg would not take the news well. And indeed, he was affected. “I am not yet certain what shape he has taken.”

“Then of what use are you to me?” Adar asked, angrily. He stood up slowly and you allowed your hand to drop down from his shoulder as you looked down at Halbrand again.

“I have something you don’t,” Halbrand answered. “The trust of the Elves. Release me and I’ll go to them and seek him out, so you can marshal your legions to destroy him.”

You looked at Adar again and he seemed to be overthinking Halbrand’s proposal as the pace of his breath quickened. You quickly put your hand on his chest as you stood by him.

“If he speaks the truth…” You started, changing your tactic. “What I’m saying is… Even if he lies, what can you possibly lose? He is no use for us anyway,” you pointed out.

“Weren’t you the one telling me he was a liar?” Adar whispered and even though Glûg and Waldreg could not hear it, you knew that Halbrand could.

“You had your signs of Sauron’s return and this man proves them. I called him a liar then to calm you down and to not worry your children; to avoid making any decisions in haste,” you explained and then you lowered your voice even further. “I can see how the possibility of Sauron’s return torments you,” you looked into his eyes intensely.

Adar kept staring back at you like that for a while and then he looked up to nod at Waldreg. The man approached Halbrand but not without his usual monologue.

“Do you vow allegiance to Adar, Lord Father of the Uruks and Dark Lady of Mordor?” He asked Halbrand and you swallowed thickly. Despite standing proud, you glanced down at your lover, a little scared of how he would react to your new name but his face remained unchanged.

“Yes,” he whispered after a while of hesitation, during which he did not look up to meet your gaze even once. He was a much better actor than you were and perhaps you should stop concerning yourself so much with what he would think or react since it was all a game anyway.

“Then kneel,” Waldreg ordered and you watched Halbrand struggling to get into this position since he was still half-lying down and his hands were in shackles.

You kept standing by Adar’s side with your hand on his chest and once again you felt the tension in his body rising as his stare was the most intense. His intuition was not failing him and you only hoped it would not turn out to be even better than you suspected.

“Now, swear it,” Waldreg barked at Halbrand who had just finally made it into the kneeling position. Nothing but the sound of his chains filled the room and you felt really bad for your humiliated lover. You wished you could make it all stop for him.

“I vow–” Halbrand started.

“With your head at her feet,” Adar spoke suddenly in a very harsh tone and you looked at him briefly. Heavy silence occurred between you, him and Halbrand.

You did not understand why Adar wanted this to happen and it felt utterly wrong to be in this position. It was Sauron – your lover, your master, your King. You would never dare to even imagine him bowing down to you because you were the one serving him with your body, mind and soul.

Adar was not fully aware of the complexity of the situation he had just created. You nearly wanted to cry out that no, he did not have to. You wanted to spare your lover the further embarrassment.

But then, after a very long while of hesitation and swallowing his pride – a task incredibly difficult for Sauron, of which you were aware – he did what he had been told and he placed his head at your feet. And in that moment, a shiver went down your spine as you realised that it could be the only opportunity for your lover to be out of his dignity in front of you as much as you usually were in front of him. It was only fair, after all.

And it felt so oddly… good. Satisfying,

“I vow to serve the Lord and Lady of Mordor,” Halbrand whispered. “To the end of my days… and theirs,” he added as a malicious feeling creeped through your body.

Halbrand was given a horse and you watched him ride away slowly while standing next to Adar. Your husband was sitting on his throne with Waldreg by his right side and you by his left. You kept staring at Halbrand’s shoulders but he did not look back even once.

“See that he’s followed. Every step,” Adar told Glûg who had just approached you two. The Orc nodded, still visibly affected by the news of Sauron’s comeback.

Waldreg walked away to clean the house a bit and feed the warg, leaving you alone with your husband. He looked worried and sad as your heart clenched in your chest when you remembered the story he had told Halbrand earlier.

Softly and carefully, you sat on the throne next to him and held his hand gently with the both of yours.

“What are you thinking of?” You asked him.

“I had my suspicions but now… Now I am certain that Sauron is back and…” Adar laid his eyes on you. You were taken aback by the amount of pain you found there. “I cannot let him enslave my children.”

“We… We will not,” your voice broke a little as the guilt creeped in. “The story you have told him… Is that what happened to you, really?” You changed the subject and Adar nodded. “I am sorry,” you admitted, truthfully, while brushing his rough hand with your fingertips.

“Do not mourn me,” Adar asked of you and you cracked a smile.

“Why did you tell him to vow at my feet?” You asked one more question as your eyes met his and he forced a smirk despite his sadness.

“Have I not told you that I would make the whole Middle-earth see the Dark Lady that you are?” 

MASTERLIST