#halbrand x reader

[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.

[notreallythatlost]

i know exactly what you’re talking about 😭 i mean, one look at him and it’s over 😫

i’m so glad you enjoyed it, it means so much to me 🫶🏽

if you bled

halbrand/sauron x fem!elf!reader

summary: you fell in love with halbrand because he was everything you ever wanted. but you didn't know who he really was. not until now.

warnings: angst, reader gets disappointed (i mean it’s sauron??) but wants to give in to the darkness

word count: 1.4k

author’s note: here i am, writing another fic about our beloved dark lord. i listened to syml’s where’s my love - alternate version and let myself just go with it. this is how it turned out and i really hope you like it. xx ps: i think there’s gonna be a second part. 🙂‍↔️

part 2

You already knew that you would fall deeply in love with him when you first saw him.

He was beautiful.

His soft lips and his hands that felt so perfect in yours. And there were these little wrinkles that formed at the edges of his eyes whenever he smiled.

But it was his green eyes that managed to cast a spell on you. They were so deep that it seemed almost impossible to ever let go again.

With each passing day, you could see more in him. The lost king who would never stop fighting until his last breath. With every second, you began to understand him more and fell in love with the idea that he could save you. From the pain that had happened to you in your past and the pain that would await you in the future.

You always felt a little less broken by his side.

And when Galadriel found out who he really was, everything you should feel was contempt. But you could never hate him. It was too late for that.

There was only the pain of not telling you the truth himself. All he had said to you was an illusion for what you had most desired. It had never been real.

“Have you been listening to me?” Galadriel’s voice tears you away from your thoughts. “Halbrand is not who you thought he was! He deceived you, he deceived us all,” she says and waits for your reaction. But all you can do is to look at her.

Memories started to play before your inner eyes. Of what had happened and dreams of what you wished would happen.

Above all, Halbrand, who touched you in a way that no one ever had before. In every possible way.

You can still feel his warm breath on your skin and his fingers gently stroking the fabric of the dress on your hip while he stands behind you.

His voice, just a gentle breath in your ear and the goosebumps it causes on your body.

His promise to take away the darkness inside you.

His lips gently dancing over your neck and making you sigh.

And the following kiss that set everything inside you ablaze. The harbinger of a fire that could burn down all of Middle Earth.

“No…” the word comes out in a whisper and you shake your head as a tear runs down your cheek.

Before Galadriel can say anything else, you turn away from her and leave the room to run up the steps of the tower to the top where the forge is located.

Your eyes immediately fall on Celebrimbor, who is looking down at something with a smile. Elrond is standing next to him and looks less thrilled, his gaze first on you, then back to the stone table.

You step closer and now you can understand why Elrond's gaze is so serious.

There were three rings lying there, each one more beautiful than the other. You are drawn to them as if by magic, you can no longer look away.

“They are... beautiful.” You slowly stretch out your hand, wanting to touch one of them, when Elrond clears his throat.

Your gaze wanders upwards and you see him shaking his head. It was a silent warning which makes you lower your hand again.

Galadriel slowly enters the forge behind you and also comes closer. “I can't believe it actually worked,” you hear her say, but your attention remains on the rings.

They sparkle in the light of the slowly setting sun and remind you of the glow in his eyes.

You hear Galadriel and Elrond talking to each other, but you don't understand them. It was if they were far away from you. All you can think about is Halbrand and the pain he left behind in you. As well as the never ending longing in your heart.

The desire to finally surrender to the darkness, now that it threatens to devour you from all sides.

Only when your name is mentioned and Galadriel puts her hand on your arm, you are torn from your thoughts.

You pull away from her touch, shaking your head and you see the pain in her eyes. But you don’t care about it, just as she doesn’t seem to care about yours.

“I... have to go. Don't try to stop me,” you say quietly and look one last time at Elrond and Celebrimbor, who are both frowning worriedly, then you turn around and run down the stairs again.

You don’t see that Galadriel tries to follow you, but Elrond stops her. He seems to know, that you needed to be alone now.

When you get downstairs, you hurry through the hall that is still lit by the last rays of the sun. You wanted to get away from there as far as possible.

But you stop at the sound of a voice. It is his voice, no doubt about it. You slowly turn around as he steps out from behind a pillar.

He looks different than the last time you saw him, but still so beautiful. Your gazes meet and it takes your breath away, just like always.

All you can do is to watch, as he comes closer. But when he holds out his hand to you, you flinch away.

He immediately frowns until he seems to understand and a certain hardness flashes in his eyes. “So Galadriel told you?” he asks.

You nod slowly and look him in the eyes to find out what he must be feeling, but he doesn't let you in.

“You should have told me yourself, Halbrand,” you begin, looking him dead in the eyes. “Oh wait, that is not your name, right?”, you add, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

But no matter how strong your disappointment is, you know, that you could never escape his darkness. Not now that you know, that this darkness also lives in you. Not when he holds your heart in his hands.

Halbrand holds your gaze and takes another step towards you. This time you don't back away. Not even when he carefully separates your arms. “And what would it have changed if you had known?” he asks with a rough voice and looks down at you.

“It would have simply changed everything. Because you would have never deceived me like you did,” you answer and you can hear your own desperation in your voice. “All of that was an illusion of what I always wanted. And you used that against me. You used me. It was all a lie,” you add with a whisper and you can't hold back another tear.

Halbrand raises one of his hands to your face and catches the tear with his thumb. He smears it on your skin as he strokes your cheek, watching as it glistens in the sunlight.

He looks at you with a gentle gaze, even a little desperate. As if your words touch him deeply.

As suddenly footsteps sound behind you, he gently pulls you into the shadows, the part of the hall that is no longer lit by the sun.

You feel the cold stone wall at your back and resist the urge to lean into his touch.

“You're wrong,” Halbrand finally says and you look him in the eyes again. “I never lied to you. I was just not completely honest about one thing...” he pauses and slowly moves his face closer to you. “I never intended to take the darkness from you. I wanted you to surrender to it,” he finally breathes against your lips and you close your eyes.

His arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you closer to his body. “I wanted you to surrender to me,” he adds, his mouth now on your ear.

You can't help but shiver as his breath brushes over your neck, causing goosebumps on your body. But instead of kissing you there, he pulls away from you again and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“As much as I would like you to do it right now, this is not the right time,” Halbrand whispers and you begin to understand.

“You're not really here, am I right?” Just then you notice the blood on the right corner of his mouth. It hadn't been there before.

Suddenly he seems completely different, as if he was dropping his facade. His face is dirty and his clothes have seen better days too. You put your hand gently on his cheek and caress the blood with your thumb.

“What has happened? Where are you?” you ask quietly and raise your gaze to look into his eyes, but there is secrecy in them. He wouldn't tell you.

“Please, Halbrand, tell me where you are. Let me come to you,” you say, but he shakes his head and takes your face between his hands.

The look in his eyes leaves no room for protest and you know you wouldn’t resist him. You never could.

“No. You will stay in Eregion. I will find my way back to you, i promise.” Those are the last words you hear, then you find yourself alone in the hall again, surrounded by complete darkness.

And you are more than ready to drown in it.

2024 | notreallythatlost

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn pt 11

Pairing: Sauron/Halbrand x Reader

Summary: The Deciever has a question for his Sweet One.

Tags: fluff. Like FLUFF. He may be deranged but he's got a soft spot. Also, told you I was gonna make the Annatar bow angsty.

Notes: the fic is out of order now because I have a lot going on and ITS MY FIC OK OK. Not having to have everything in order has given me so much inspo that within the next 24 hours there could be 2 more parts and 2 other things too soo. I love you all. Thank you for your support. My dms and inbox are always open, also if you wanna give me like a lil tip it would be appreciated.

Halbrand leaned against the archway to the library and watched you as you read through the scrolls and histories. It's how you'd spent your days since coming to Eregion. He worked on the elven rings, and you were here, reading. It was endearing to him that you sought knowledge in such a way. Proof that he had made the right choice in you.

There had to be three. Just as there had to be three rings.

Him with his power and darkness.

Galadriel with her wisdom and light.

You with your goodness and warmth to balance them out.

Three.

Though, he only desired you. Only loved you. You were what he was doing all this for. He had to create a lasting peace. He had to make Middle Earth safe and perfect. He had to overcome this pesky issue of your mortality. He could not allow you to live in a broken world. He would not allow you to come to harm, and, selfishly, perhaps, he could not let you die. The rings were for you. His ambitions and goals revolved around you.

All for you.

At least, that is what he made himself believe. If he was truly honest, he had different motives as well. Motives of power and control. Motives that would have driven him down this path if you'd never met. His deception was so great that he was able to hide that away. He was able to believe the ends justified the means. And if you were what was at the end, there was no depravity he could not justify.

Watching you now, you were breathtaking with your eyes focused and strands of hair falling in your face. You'd taken full advantage of the beautiful wardrobe and styles of the elves. Intricate, delicate strands of silver were braided through your hair. You wore a dress of light blue with more silver, and the delicate chains only served to accentuate your curves. He had thought you were beautiful in the Numenorian garb, but now you looked stunning. Breathtaking. He'd seen the most beautiful of the elves, the Silmarils, the light of creation. Yet you were greater than them all.

“I know you're there,” you spoke, the ghost of a smile playing at your lips, but your eyes never moved from the page.

“And yet you stare only at your books. My heart can not help but break.” He teased. “I will not be shamed for staring at the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on.”

He smirked at your blush, approaching you and wrapping his arms around you from behind. He noticed that the back half of your hair was pulled up and tied into a bow. He chuckled softly and rested his chin on your shoulder. “What do you read now?”

“A tale of a human and elf falling in love,” you relaxed into his embrace.

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, your neck, up to your cheek before turning your head so he could capture your lips in a soft kiss. “Last week, it was the fall of elven cities. This week, it's romance. You never cease to amaze me.”

“You are easily amazed, then.”

“Do not doubt yourself, sweet one.” He pressed a kiss to your nose, turning you around in his arms and lifting you to sit on the edge of the table. “I am in awe of you always, but recently, I'm in awe of these things you do with your hair. A bow?” He teased softly, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Do you not like it,” The way you looked up at him, seeking his approval, it mirrored the expression you wore when you were on your knees begging for him. His fingers tightened on your hips, restraining from taking you on the table.

“I do. It suits you.” He smiles softly, his eyes softening as he sees your bright smile.

“Perhaps you could grow your hair, and I can do it to you. I've seen elves of all kind wear it,” there was an excitement to your voice as you spoke.

He chuckled, “Perhaps one day, if we are parted, I will wear it as a reminder of you when my heart yearns for you.”

“You jest.”

“I do no such thing. You have plenty of things to remember me by,” his fingers traveled down to the intricate necklace of copper he'd made for you at the forge in Numenor. You always wore it. “I shall have the hair bow.”

You frowned, and his thumb traced the downward turn of your lips, his head tilted in a silent question. “Perhaps if I were to have more coin, I could get you something. Perhaps…”

Your words were muffled as he pressed a kiss to your lips. His hands held your face as he deepened it. It was only when he felt his body react that he pulled away. His nose brushed yours. “You have given me more than enough.”

You smiled up at him, face flushed and lips swollen. His thumb gently caressed your cheeks.

“I don't intend to ever be parted from you,” he whispered softly, tucking your hair behind your ears. “I mean it.”

He pulled away, searching his pockets for a moment before pulling out a ring. It had a silver band and a small blue gem at the center. He knew it was more than a simple band. He knew of the power he placed in it. The materials he snuck from the forge to add to it. It would need to be perfected in time to come, but for now, it would do what he needed it to. It would increase your lifespan, heal your wounds faster, and It created a connection with him, wherever you were.

It also served as a symbol. That you were his. That his feelings for you were real. His intentions were true.

He looked at it for a moment before looking at you. “ In elven culture, it's customary to give your betrothed a silver ring that you wear until marriage. At that time, they were traded for gold bands. I added a bit more. A gem as blue as the waters that brought us together.”

You gasped softly, looking at the ring and then to him.

“It's the custom of your people to ask the family but you have none. The family who warded you is gone as well. I have no one to ask for your hand but you. As such, I felt that I should give you the same proposal in which I would have given your father.”

He stood up straight, one hand on your chin directing you to look at him. “You fill me with a warmth I've never known. I no longer know who I am if not with you. I was lost and astray, without hope or purpose. It was as if the gods themselves put you on my path. You are a beacon of hope, your smile my purpose. There is nothing I would not do for you, no trial I would not face. I love you. I adore you. I have never thought of children until I met you, and now I know I want to make you a mother. I want to make you my wife.”

He brushed away a tear that had fallen from your eyes, “I give you the choice, I would never force anything upon you. Do you want that? Do you want me?” He took a deep breath, shaking his head. “Fuck, I'm so nervous I can't talk. Just tell me, yes or no? Will you marry me?”

You laughed, nodding your head. He slid the ring onto your finger before lifting you and twirling you around. As he set you down, you looked at the ring on your finger.

“I never thought I'd be betrothed. I never thought I'd choose who I could marry.” You smiled up at him, and it filled him with joy unimaginable.

“I never thought I'd give a woman a romantic speech or truly want to settle down.” He rested his forehead against yours once more. “I'm a changed man thanks to you. Near unrecognizable to that drifter on the raft.”

“That is true. You will be a king soon.” You gasped suddenly as a realization dawned on you. “ I'm going to be a queen. Me? A queen” you laughed softly at the thought.

He chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “That is true. As soon as my business here is done, we can return to the southlands and be wed, and you can meet all your subjects.”

You wrinkled your nose, “I'm not sure I like the thought of having subjects.”

“Of course you don't, “ he rolled his eyes but didn't stop smiling. “Why don't we go back to our chambers, and I can show you how devoted of a subject I am?”

Your cheeks turned red, and you buried your face in his neck. He placed a kiss on your head, “I'll kneel and worship my queen.”

“Halbrand,” you spoke, pulling back and giving him a look.

“I'll fill you with my warmth.”

"Stop it!” You smacked his arm,causing him to laugh deeply and wrap his arms around you for a tight hug.

[sansaorgana]

— DECEPTION (VIII)

DECEPTION MASTERLIST

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

SUMMARY — Your conversation with Lady Galadriel makes you realise a very difficult truth about the nature of your relationship with Sauron. You wish to keep your dark secret from your husband but you are trying to make him realise that perhaps attacking Eregion might not be the best idea after all.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I could not wait to write this chapter from the very beginning the idea for this fic showed up in my head. Even though the Reader is not really talking much during the scene with Galadriel (it was never my intention for her to talk there much), the conversation she is witnessing makes her realise all the things that make her deeply uncomfortable and cause her whole life's purpose to shatter. 👌🏽👌🏻 This fic is slowly coming to an end, by the way.

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

WORD COUNT — 6,900

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

DECEPTION (VIII)

Everyone knew who Lady Galadriel was. Not just the Elves but nearly every being in Middle-earth, including the Orcs because she had slayed so many of them. In fact, you were sure that some Uruk mothers were telling their children scary stories about Lady Galadriel. Known for carrying so much light and beauty and yet so fiercely determined to purge Middle-earth from all filth. In a way, she reminded you of Sauron in this.

Lady Galadriel was everything you had wished to be back in the day – known, respected, beautiful beyond comparison. Back in the day when you had remained incorrupt by your lover, before you had begun to dream about becoming his terrific Queen and rule alongside him. Now you could not care less about her qualities because you had your own – very often contradicting hers.

You walked together with your husband amongst the Orcs as the night was slowly turning into a foggy day and you could already see Eregion from afar.

The sight alone was gut-twisting to you because you knew that your beloved was there – so close to you. Soon, you would be in his arms as his Queen. No more secrets, no more hiding, no more lies. 

But when you imagined that, your heart ached for the man walking by your side. What would happen to him then? You were certain Sauron wanted Adar dead but you… You did not.

You could never admit it to your lover, though. He was jealous and possessive. It would only make him want Adar’s death even more. And he had other reasons than you – his own revenge. The revenge you craved as well after all. Adar had been the one to take Sauron away from you by killing and humiliating him. He had his own reasons to do it, too, though. The situation between them was very delicate and difficult on many levels.

Your plan had been so easy at first – to play pretend and hand Adar out to Sauron on a silver plate. But your heart – not as rotten as you’d like it to be – kept complicating things.

“How well do you know Galadriel?” Your husband asked you and you turned your head around to raise an eyebrow.

“Not much personally. I have seen her a few times, talked to her twice maybe, except for the official affairs since I was a daughter of the Lord Guardian of The Southlands. But she mostly resided in the North, therefore there were never many occasions,” you explained. “Why?”

“I was only wondering if you might be useful when we negotiate with her,” Adar told you and you tilted your head.

“I have a feeling you hide something from me. Why did you even take her as a prisoner?” You furrowed your brows. “You promised me… You promised me that we would be equals and that you would tell me everything,” you reminded him.

Adar stopped walking for a moment and you stopped, too, staring at him and trying to show off your best hurt expression. The Orcs kept passing you by and glancing from the corners of their eyes when your husband extended his hand to hold yours.

“I have no secrets from you,” he assured you. “But I am so used to loneliness, I forget to share my thoughts often,” he admitted. “Galadriel might be our ally. She is after Sauron, is she not?” He asked and you nodded, squeezing his hand back.

“She devoted her life to fight him and other forces of darkness,” you replied. “But we are the very forces of darkness. What makes you think she is going to treat with us?”

“If she does not, we might use her. It is her who is our prisoner, not the other way around,” Adar smirked and pointed his chin in the direction where he wanted you to follow him – where some of the Orcs were already toying with Lady Galadriel, recently released out of her cage and the others were busy building a war camp for your army to reside.

When you approached them, you spotted Glûg holding his dagger close to Galadriel’s face. It suddenly made you realise how you truly became one of them – how it was nearly impossible to imagine any of the Orcs to ever turn against you the same way. From being scared of falling asleep around them, you walked confidently amongst them and you even dared to scold them sometimes as they would look down shyly.

In their eyes, you surely were no Elf anymore – not in the same way Galadriel was.

Adar stopped Glûg by putting his hand on the Orc’s arm and shaking his head as Glûg walked away, a little frustrated. Lady Galadriel’s beautiful, bright eyes found yours and she seemed to be pretty fascinated. Therefore, you straightened your back.

And after a very short while of holding each other’s gazes, she suddenly took out a dagger that had been hidden discreetly in her sleeve and pointed it at your husband. The Orcs around you groaned at that as they became alarmed and so did you – you let out a small yelp as your heart skipped a beat and your hand already grabbed the hilt of your sword. Even though you knew that you would never be an opponent worthy enough of her when it came to sword duels.

Galadriel turned around, moving Adar alongside her. And now her blade was pressed to his neck as Glûg jumped in front of you to cover you with his own body just in case.

Yes, you were definitely one of them now. Your light was all gone, your blood turned black and your skin turned cold. Valinor was awaiting you no more.

“I brought you here not as a prisoner…” Adar turned his face around to look at Galadriel as he spoke in the Sindarin language, “but as a potential ally for we share a common enemy.”

After a while of hesitation, Galadriel’s surprised eyes found yours behind Glûg. You nodded at her as if you were more trustworthy than your husband – in fact, you were less. But she did not know that and she still must have considered you to be sort of a friend. A friend enough to let go of Adar as the Orcs calmed down and you ran up to your husband to put your hands on his chest and cling to him, grateful that he was still in one piece. You knew how fierce Galadriel could be.

Adar caressed your back soothingly and you could feel her eyes on you, probably wondering about the nature of your relationship. 

“Lady Galadriel, please, feel yourself invited…” Adar pointed at the biggest tent that had already been there, waiting for you two to sleep in. “Let us talk,” he added and you watched her hesitantly go inside.

Your husband followed and you began walking right after when you felt a strong pull towards Eregion. You turned around rapidly and kept staring at the forest, knowing very well that behind them the city stood and inside the city there he was – Sauron. Looking out and sensing your presence, looking out for you. You smiled to yourself and focused all your will and might to let him know that you were close and you would be reunited soon.

And with a heart so full of love for him and a brand new inspiration to carry on with your plan, you finally joined Adar and Galadriel inside the tent.

They were sitting on the opposite sides of the table as some female Orcs were bringing you food. It was a small feast in a way and you knew it was Adar’s way to make Galadriel feel like your guest indeed. You took a seat next to him and put a small portion on your plate before beginning to eat it. Adar’s portion was much bigger than yours but Galadriel’s was none. Her plate remained empty and she just kept sitting there and staring at the two of you, which was awkward in a way but you tried to ignore her.

You wondered if Sauron knew about her. Was she also a part of his plan or was she an obstacle he had no idea of? You could not decide for yourself, therefore, for now, you decided to just sit there and observe how the situation would evolve.

Eventually, she just could not hold herself back no more as she addressed you.

“Lady (Y/N) of The Southlands… Your mother arrived in Lindon some time ago,” Galadriel spoke and you looked up at her, immediately. The mention of your mother made your heart clench.

“Then you must be surprised to see me,” you smirked, “for I have instructed her to speak of me as dead.”

“On the contrary,” Galadriel raised an eyebrow at you in a challenging manner and you furrowed your brows. “She has told the High King everything.”

You clenched your jaw and gritted your teeth, nervously looking at Adar but he only nodded at you to calm you down and soothe you.

“Then you know what treachery my father was capable of,” you answered, avoiding her gaze. You did not want her to see the betrayal you felt after your mother’s broken promise.

“And what treachery you were capable of as well,” Galadriel nodded.

“My mother blames me for the fall of Ostirith, but I had no idea of it. It was no scheme of mine,” you finally met her gaze again. This time you didn’t care if she could see the pain on your face or not because it was too big to hide it anyway. “Why can she not trust her own daughter?”

“She loves you but she does not believe you,” Galadriel informed you. “She revealed to the High King that there had been something rotten about you for a while now. Ever since you had returned from Eregion–”

“Stop it!” You banged your fist on the table, angrily.

“Be at ease, she is provoking you,” Adar’s voice was calm as he put his hand on your arm to give you comfort. Then he shot Galadriel a glance.

You nodded at your husband and relaxed, which made her roll her eyes a bit.

“You seem to quite fit in. Even the sword you carry is Morgoth’s,” Galadriel pointed out.

“I had to fit in to survive. Something a grand lady like you has never known and will never know,” you remarked.

Adar seemed to be a little frustrated with your girly chit-chat as he leaned back on his chair and sighed. He raised a hand to shush you both since he wanted to finally speak of the matters that were the most important to him.

“We must not argue now,” he reminded you two and then, after a short while of silence, he looked at Galadriel. “During my brief time in your capture, you seemed intent on finding Sauron. One might even say, consumed by it,” he told her and Galadriel looked down.

You leaned back on your chair as well, with your hands clasped on your abdomen as you observed her reactions. 

“The way one always is, once he has wormed his way inside your mind,” Adar kept talking and his eyes were on Galadriel. Her own eyes were rather glancing down, avoiding his gaze. Therefore, your own eyes were allowed to wander and for that you were grateful. His words about your beloved were making you feel deeply uncomfortable.

“You know nothing of my mind,” Galadriel replied to that and a smug expression lit up her face. “You yielded to him. I resisted.”

Resisted?

You swallowed a lump in your throat. What was she talking about? Since when was she ever so close to Sauron to be offered anything from him? Back in the First Age, the only time Galadriel had been mentioned by your lover was when he had been complaining about the Elven armies to you. She had never been any part of his plans – except for the one to get rid of her for once and for all. 

And yes, you were aware that Galadriel had been the one to spend time with Halbrand in Númenor but you had never seen her as anything else but his tool. Was it possible that there had been more depth to their relationship? That he had shown her his soul and offered her a piece of it?

Did his soul not belong to you wholly?

“For a while, perhaps,” Adar remarked in a whisper. “But sooner or later, he sees you. Not just who you are, but who you wish to be,” he added and you clenched your jaw as you looked down to stare at your fingers.

You began to fidget with them nervously while you remembered your first meeting with Sauron. How luring and tempting he had been, how he had seemed to know perfectly well what had been your desires. And he had promised you to fulfil them all.

“His eyes bore a hole and the rest of him slithers in,” Adar kept talking and at that moment, his voice was starting to make you sick. It was becoming too much to hear all these things.

He had known Sauron – he had known him better than you in lots of ways. You were no young Elf but your husband was much older and he had known Sauron for a time much longer than you. They had fought together for Morgoth and then for themselves. The only thing you had been doing was warming your lover’s bed and listening to his sweet nothings.

And that… That was enough to make you become obsessed with him. To make you yearn for him each day and each night of your separation. To make you abandon all else – because only Sauron mattered.

“For a while, he even makes you believe that his power has become yours,” Adar kept his monologue and you took a deep breath. As you raised your chin, you spotted the look on Galadriel’s face…

The look that made you realise what the nature of her relationship with Sauron had to be…

You felt dizzy but you managed to keep an emotionless face on even though your mind began to drift away and get foggy.

“Irresistible power… that makes every desire’s fulfilment seem inevitable,” Adar smirked as he had noticed Galadriel’s facial expression as well. “An ocean of colour against which everything else feels forever thereafter–”

“A dull grey,” Galadriel admitted and you regretted eating your meal in an instant when the anxiety squeezed your stomach and you felt even more sick now.

It was her confession and the both of you knew it. You watched Adar’s face change its expression in an instant as he realised he had found an ally in her indeed – that they had both been deceived by Sauron in the past.

And you were sitting there, too. Like a fool.

“What did he promise you?” Adar asked Galadriel.

“An army,” she lied. Her eyes glistened and she shook her head and you knew – you just knew – that she lied.

You knew because you knew what it meant to love and trust Sauron. You knew what he was doing to a woman he had such a strong effect on and what it was like to share a bond with him. And all these things, you could see in her now, too.

It felt like a punch right into your gut, piercing you through and through, leaving you behind to bleed out slowly, drop by drop.

Was it possible that your lover… Your one and only, your whole purpose in life, your dream, your master, your King… That he was merely using you?

That you were nothing but one of many other women he had been finding a use for? And if Lady Galadriel was one of them – the Lady of Light – what chances did you stand? What was giving you any guarantee that it was her he had been deceiving and you that he had been genuine with?

The chances were zero.

Your whole world crumbled down in an instant and you could not let it show. You closed your eyes for a longer while and tried to focus on your fastened heartbeat instead.

“Do you want to know what he offered me?” Adar inquired.

“I care not,” Galadriel admitted.

“Children,” your husband answered anyway.

And how pure his wishes and desires seemed to be compared to you. You had been greedy, you had made Sauron promise you to make you his Queen. You had wanted to be worshipped and admired.

But now you were not so sure. Having a taste of it by being the Dark Lady of Mordor was truly making you realise what a burden and responsibility it was to lead others. Sometimes being Adar’s wife and watching over the Orcs seemed to be more than enough.

And then Sauron would slip back into your mind again��� And you would be reminded once more what a great power you could have if you only dared to unleash it.

“Then it would seem he gave us both what we desired,” Galadriel pointed out.

“You see, it is not his lies which must be extinguished. It is him and I can help you do it,” Adar admitted and you felt a shiver go down your spine.

Despite everything you had just found out, you still felt awful whenever the possibility of Sauron’s death was being mentioned.

“I can help you destroy Sauron,” your husband leaned in over the table to reach Galadriel more effectively.

“What help could you possibly provide, Orc?” She snapped at him and it finally gave you an opportunity to glance at her with all your anger and jealousy that you had been feeling for a while now.

You had never cared much about that slur until now – because in her lips it sounded just so awful.

“Uruk,” you finally spoke, interrupting them as they both looked at you surprised. Whether they were shocked by the fact that you cared or they simply forgot you were there with them – you did not care.

You did not care about anything anymore. Your whole life, your whole love and devotion, your whole sacrifice – they might have been a lie. How could you care about anything or anyone?

Adar stood up and briefly caressed your cheek with his finger as he walked away from the table to approach the wooden chest with Morgoth’s crown. He took it out to show it off to Galadriel and as he walked towards her with the item, she seemed to be startled by its darkness.

“Morgoth’s crown… I was told–”

“There are many stories of what happened, after the Silmarils were pried from its settings. But I was there when Sauron re-fired it to fit himself,” Adar confessed and you kept listening as your lips nervously twitched and formed a sad smile as silent and dry tears streamed down your cheeks – they were invisible but you could feel that you were on the verge of crying. “I was there when he kneeled to be crowned and I was the one who used its power to slay him,” Adar continued his story.

Each time you were told it or you thought of it, you relieved it in your mind. You had not been there but you had enough imagination to see it with your eyes. And each time your heart weeped for your betrayed lover but it seemed to weep no more… Because you were a betrayed lover now.

Adar put the crown on the table in front of Galadriel and you looked down, hoping they would forget about your existence once more.

“If what you say is true, why did he return?” Galadriel asked.

Exactly. Why?

Until now, you had foolishly been thinking that perhaps you were one of the reasons. That the very thought of you had been keeping him strong. He had even mentioned such things when you had reunited with him in Mordor for a brief moment.

But now you could see it even more clearly – how cold and distant he had been to you while you had been the one to devour him after centuries of separation. Oh, what a fool you had been and how you had humiliated yourself… 

“Because I had not yet found you,” Adar addressed Galadriel and you looked up angrily. You did not like his choice of words.

“What part am I to play in this?” Galadriel asked.

“It is said that the Three Elven Rings saved your kind from fading,” Adar told her. “Is it true?”

You wondered that, too. You had been with him when you both had received such “news” or rather “gossip” as you had thought of it back then. Lady Galadriel refused to answer, though, as she looked away.

“If it is, then perhaps together, this crown and your Rings would be powerful enough to truly destroy Sauron forever,” Adar informed her.

And once again you were torn – because even if it was true that Sauron had been using you and only that… If he was to be defeated, your whole life would lose its purpose. You had abandoned the Valar for him – your new and only god. If he truly stopped existing, a part of you would die with him surely. The part you had given away to him freely – nearly all of you.

“The Deceiver believes he is still beyond my grasp,” Adar continued, “but I know he hides in Eregion and I suspect you know for certain…” He hesitated with a smirk. “Halbrand is Sauron, isn't he?” He asked and you felt your blood turn even colder when you realised that your husband had seen through your lover’s disguise.

You had a feeling in your gut that he did but he had never told you anything about it, so you were hopeful it was only you being paranoid. But now, you were anxious again that he had seen through you as well.

Galadriel did not answer but what you saw on her face only proved to you once more that she loved the human king – one of your lover’s forms.

“The fate of that city now rests on your ability to put aside your pride,” Adar crouched down to look more intensely at Galadriel’s face. “I suggest you find the will to do so… If you can,” he added with contempt before standing up to take away Morgoth’s crown.

He returned to her to put her wrist in a shackle because she could not be trusted after her stunt with the dagger before but also – despite his sweet assurances – she was your prisoner.

“We will speak again,” your husband told her and offered you his hand to help you stand and leave with him but you shook your head. Adar nodded and left you two alone.

Long while of silence occurred between you two, in which you were debating with yourself on how much to reveal.

“An army,” you mocked her and she furrowed her brows at you. “He promised you to be his Queen,” you added and finally stood up to leave the table even though your legs were weak and trembling, which you managed to hide. You approached Galadriel slowly and leaned in to be face-to-face with the most beautiful of the Elven women.

“You reek of an Orc,” she pointed out and you laughed at that. It was nearly adorable how she was trying to change the subject. 

And, you had to admit, the only good thing coming out of this whole situation was to have her at your mercy. To toy with her was your greatest pleasure – to feel in control and to feel even more powerful. There was a time you had wanted to impress her but now you were disgusting her and it brought you nothing but satisfaction.

“How can you know anyway?” She asked as she met your gaze eventually, after a while of feeling your intense eyes on her and realising you were not willing to change the subject at all.

“I am gifted with an extraordinary intuition,” you teased. “Oh, how pathetic you must feel now… To know that Sauron himself offered you to be his Queen and you considered it for a while. What does that make you? Do you think you are worthy of all your titles now, Lady of Light?” You asked with contempt.

“And were you not offered the same?” Galadriel asked and your heart skipped a beat as your smirk froze. Did she…? Did she know…?

“What are you talking about?!” You barked at her, angrily, as you straightened your back.

“Adar,” she explained and you breathed out of relief. “Did he not promise you the crown? You accepted it. How does that make you feel? What does it make you?”

“He does not wish to be a King and I do not aspire to be a Queen by his side,” you informed Galadriel, which was no lie. “What we wish for is a home. You can pretend to be so righteous and strong amongst your kin, Lady Galadriel, but you and I know how weak you truly are,” you smirked and left the tent.

It was suffocating you at this point. The air inside of it, her intense gaze, the words spoken. You wanted to breathe in the forest and gather your thoughts because there were so many as your heart was broken into a million pieces.

You stared once more at the trees, in the direction of Eregion, and you wanted to reach out to Sauron but he was not answering, probably too busy with his schemes. The fact was – he never answered your calls. If there were any glimpses of the connection between your minds, it was always him initiating it.

“What are you thinking of?” You heard Adar’s voice behind you as he put his arm on your shoulder. “You seem to be upset.”

“I… I think we should go back home,” you turned around to face him now instead of the trees, Eregion and Sauron inside of it. And at the sight of Adar’s scarred face, your heart suddenly filled in with warmth.

“What do you mean?” Your husband furrowed his brows. “Were you not the one convincing me eagerly about marching to Eregion with our army?”

“Yes, but I am not so sure anymore. Please, trust my gut. Something has changed, I am not sure… I have a bad feeling,” you grabbed him by his sleeves as you clenched your fists around the fabric, desperately. Your eyes were looking up to meet his blue ones in a pleading manner and he was staring at you with so much devotion that you were sure he still had no idea of who you truly were despite finding out the truth about Halbrand.

Perhaps it was better this way. Perhaps it should stay this way. You wanted to go back to Mordor – to that godforsaken place you had turned into your new home recently. You wanted to live in peace and safety there alongside Adar. And you were not even sure if Sauron would ever come looking for you. He would eventually show up to get his revenge and his army but perhaps you would be able to prepare for it in time. But you doubted he would come there for you.

“I know the vision of this battle is unsettling to you,” Adar cupped your face gently, “and that you wish to be back home – so do I. We shall,” he nodded. “We shall go home but not until Sauron is defeated,” he reminded you and you smiled sadly.

It was a trap and you could not make him see it… You would have to reveal your part in it for him to realise it and that was something you were not ready for. So, instead, you went for something else.

“Can you hold me?” You asked and Adar was a little surprised but he did not say anything. “I want to feel safe.”

“Of course,” he nodded and wrapped his arms around you. You clinged to him like a little girl, wishing that you could freeze time.

To beg and plead for Adar to turn his army back after all the weeks of convincing him that it had been a good idea to march towards Eregion would be highly suspicious now. But you knew that the game was over anyway – it was too late to make him realise it was a trap without telling him the truth. And perhaps even after finding out about your purpose by his side, he would still decide to attack the Elven city.

You spent a whole day wandering around the forest nearby the camp. You found a tree that had fallen over and you sat under it, feeling the grass under your hands. In a way, you wished you had not found out the truth about being Sauron’s puppet – most likely.

Most likely, because you wanted to believe – you truly did – that his devotion and love towards you were true. However, if you started to believe that, wouldn’t that make you an even bigger fool?

You had ruined your maidenhood, your family and your home for him. And now you would ruin your new family, too. You would hand him out Adar to be killed and his children to become Sauron’s slaves. And what would you get in return? A dagger in your back since you would not be useful anymore? Or a crown? Would he truly give you any real power?

You were not even so sure if you wanted it, after all.

Tears streamed down your cheeks. Real, genuine tears. Because, for the first time in a long while, you did not know what to do – until now you had been waiting for Sauron, living for Sauron, worshipping Sauron. And now you were stripped of your faith and of your god but you still remained his servant. How could you stop it? You couldn’t even pray to the Valar anymore to help you – they would not listen to a fallen Elf.

When you heard a noise behind you, you suspected it would be Adar. But no, it was Glûg. You quickly sniffled your tears back and wiped your cheeks before cracking a smile at him.

“My Lady?” He asked, unsurely as he tilted his head at the sight of your tears.

“Yes, Uruk?” You asked him, trying to hide the deep amount of your sadness.

“Lord Father is looking for you,” he told you and you nodded before getting up and approaching him to go back to the camp.

“It is a pretty area of the forest, is it not?” You tried to ask him while pretending to be cheerful.

“I guess,” he shrugged his arms. He kept staring at you intensely with his small eyes. “Why are you sad, Dark Lady?”

“I already mourn all the Uruks that will die in the upcoming battle,” you smiled sadly at him.

How easy it was to spit out such soothing lies. It was not like you didn’t care what would happen to them – you had grown used to being around them. But it was also not like you truly mourned for them. However, such a lie rolled off of your tongue without much thought put into it.

Sauron had taught you well. But this time you felt bad about it instead of being proud about it.

Glûg nodded his head at you, sadly. That was when you entered the camp again and you spotted Adar amongst his children, explaining something to them. You ran up to him and wrapped your hands around his arm. He smiled adoringly at you.

“Come with me, let me show you,” you tried to convince him and you could see him hesitate. There was not much time to waste but he eventually agreed with a sigh and allowed you to walk him out of the camp.

You were starting to become his weakness.

You took him back to where Glûg had found you. It was truly a very beautiful place in the forest; so green and calm. The light was creeping in through the trees and you smiled at your husband as you caressed his cheeks and brushed his hair strands behind his pointy ears.

“Something about you in this light makes me believe I could truly be good once again,” Adar whispered to you in the Quenya language and you felt your heart clench inside your chest.

How could you betray him…?

“Damn the good. And damn the evil. Let us just be ourselves,” you answered. “Let us go home…”

“You know that we cannot. Not until he is no more,” your husband carefully and gently held your wrists to lower them away from his face. He placed soft kisses upon the palms of your hands and caressed them.

“Why do we have to come for him? Why can he not come for us? We could fight him in our own land, on our own terms,” you tried to convince him. “You know that this feeling in my gut… It is never wrong.”

“Yet it often changes its mind,” Adar smirked at that and you sighed.

You even opened your mouth, gathering courage to confess the truth in this beautiful place but the moment you were about to admit your sins, the very same courage abandoned you.

“It is beautiful here and I know you yearn for peace but we must go back,” Adar let go of one of your hands to caress your cheek with his rough fingertips. “You are the most beautiful lady in all Middle-earth,” he added in the Quenya language and you furrowed your brows at that when you began walking back to the camp.

“Where did it come from?” You asked with a nervous chuckle.

“I could sense your jealousy when I spoke with Lady Galadriel,” he answered. “As if her beauty could ever match yours.”

“You must be blind then, my poor Adar. She is known for being the fairest of the Elven ladies,” you shook your head but a playful sparkle lit up your eyes.

“That is an easy kind of beauty and I do not seek easiness in anything,” your husband answered with all seriousness.

And the thing with Adar was that you just knew that his words were genuine and they were not prepared beforehand with some hidden agenda.

It was dark already when Adar and you were informed that Lady Galadriel was ready to speak again. You went back inside your tent where she had been kept for a whole day and you stood in front of her, still sitting on the chair.

“Yes. Halbrand is Sauron,” Galadriel started as the silence was growing heavy between you all. Your jaw twitched slightly as it clenched at her words. “He’s in Eregion to craft Rings that will allow him to dominate my kind. And yours.”

“Every kind in Middle-earth,” Adar added.

“But he will not attempt escape until his task is complete,” Galadriel laid her eyes upon you now. “And that gives us a momentary advantage.”

“Us?” You raised an eyebrow at her

Galadriel moved her hand in shackles and looked back at your husband, angrily.

“Unlock me,” she ordered.

Adar looked at you and you nodded at him even though you were not sure if it was a good idea to do so. He approached her to unchain her and she kept glancing at him with a mix of anger but also curiosity.

“As we speak, Elrond hastens from Lindon with an army of Elves,” she revealed. “And Nenya – my Ring.”

“I see,” Adar turned around to join your side again.

“Once he arrives, he will seal off the city,” Galadriel stood up as she spoke, “loose Celebrimbor from Sauron’s grasp, and then together, Uruks, you and I will eradicate all trace of Sauron from this world. Never to return,” she finished.

Uruks. You had been told by her or by your lover that you reeked of them. But you had never been called one.

“And what then?”Adar asked.

“Any Rings that have known his touch must be destroyed,” Galadriel stated.

“I meant, what then for the Uruk?” Adar furrowed his brow. “Will your High King permit us to return home in peace? Or will he proceed with his plans to invade Mordor?” He asked and Galadriel did not answer because what could she possibly tell? She was known to be an Orc-slayer. “The shadow has not only overcome you, it has overcome all Elvendom. In the end, your drive to prove your virtue will work right into Sauron’s designs.”

“You speak lies,” Galadriel shook her head as she spoke through gritted teeth. “Hoping I will reveal something.”

“You have already revealed everything I hoped you would and more,” Adar answered calmly and walked out of the tent.

He did not even look at you because he was so focused on the battle that was to come – he had his confirmation about Halrand being Sauron. About him being in Eregion. Now he was an unstoppable force.

“Adar…” You called out for him but he was out of the tent already.

You looked at Galadriel with a sigh before gathering your skirts and rushing out after him. So did she.

“It is time!” Your husband announced in Black Speech to his children. You were pretty fluent in this language by now. 

“All of Eregion may well be under Sauron’s control by now,” Galadriel was trying to make him realise the truth. “It will take far more than a legion of your children to lay siege to it!”

But Adar was leading her to the edge of the hill from where the real power of your army could be seen. The truth be told – most of the Orcs had left Mordor to march towards Eregion. You had been the one insisting on that back in the day.

“Did you really think I would attempt to challenge the might of Sauron with a single legion?” Adar asked and stopped as he looked down at your soldiers below the hill. You stood behind him and you had to admit – the view was admirable and was filling you with pride. However, you knew very well that those poor and filthy creatures were being led into a trap.

“Now that you have confirmed beyond any doubt who he is and told me who carries your Ring, Eregion will fall,” Adar turned his head around to look at Galadriel with a smirk. “And Sauron with it.”

“No…” Galadriel looked down, visibly overthinking something. “This must be what he wants. Sauron has no army of his own, so he’s lured yours here instead,” she laid her eyes upon Adar as your heart skipped a beat.

She even found your eyes, too, as if she was trying to make you see the truth your husband could not. She was able to see the treachery but she still could not see the deceiver. You suddenly realised Halbrand’s task had not been very difficult.

“He wants you to attack Eregion,” she added but you remained still. It would be suspicious to agree with her words eagerly but you hoped she would make Adar change his mind. After all, he wanted to protect his children the most.

“Bind her. She will be useful later,” he ordered instead and three Orcs hurried to your side to grab Galadriel.

Of course. The love he had for his children would always be overshadowed by his hatred towards Sauron. His personal revenge, his own retribution.

“I beg you…” Galadriel addressed Adar but he ignored her so she laid her eyes upon you. “Do not let your husband be a fool! Do not do this! Do not take his lure!”

Her desperate words and her behaviour as she was being dragged away by the Orcs were sending a shiver down your spine because you could see yourself in her – you could see yourself doing the same to protect him but you could not.

You were terrified of Adar’s reaction after finding out the truth about you. He would never trust you again.

And, after all, Sauron’s grasp around your heart was still tight and painful. Perhaps you were only a tool in his scheme but you still did not wish for his downfall or his death.

“I will make him choke on it,” Adar remarked.

“No!” Galadriel shouted. “You mustn’t. This is all his design! This is what Sauron wants! Whatever forces were encouraging you to come here were his!”

You looked away, nervously.

Thankfully, your husband was too occupied with his thirst for the battle to truly think about Galadriel’s words. She had no idea, of course, that it had been you encouraging Adar to march with his armies towards Eregion. But she had said one sentence too much.

Glûg handed Adar a war horn but he did it hesitantly, causing his Lord Father’s impatience. The Orc was visibly worried and startled by Galadriel’s screams and warnings.

Adar was not, however. He blew the horn and a malicious feeling filled your heart – there was no way back.

Your betrayal was definite as you had just brought Sauron his army.

MASTERLIST

[thyras]

→ dark!reader masterlist

PAIRING → mairon | halbrand | annatar (sauron) x f!elf!reader

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - dark!reader, mentions of abuse, pregnancy, smut, dark themes, manipulation, murder, mentions of blood, possessiveness

SUMMARY → in which you have spent ages with your beloved husband and carved a life out for you both, even if it may lead you down an irredeemable path toward despair and destruction.

In the First Awakening, when the stars were young and the light of the Valar shone pure, a maiden was brought forth, fair beyond mortal ken. Her hair was spun like the finest strands of silk weaving, and her eyes were set with the light of Eä itself, kindled from the stars that Varda had strewn across the heavens. Her skin glowed like the first light of Ithil upon the world, for Ilúvatar himself had fashioned her, giving her the grace of the Valar, yet with a spirit of unknown depth.

In time, she bore a child—a child whose beauty struck awe and unease in the hearts of the Elves, who whispered that her spirit held a shadowed aspect. They feared her as they feared the night, and some spoke in hushed voices that she was wrought not by the hand of Eru alone, but by the dark forces that lurked, unseen, in the depths. For a purpose shrouded in mystery and woe, it was said, had woven her spirit.

When Oromë, great hunter of the Valar, found her people, he drew them forth with words of light, but when he beheld her, he turned aside. At the pleas of her mother, who implored his mercy, he spoke in solemn prophecy, saying, “This child was fashioned in love, yet bears the mark of shadow. Sorrow and ruin shall follow in her steps; she is not counted among my beloved Eldar.” So it was that her mother went into the West, grieving deeply, leaving her child to grow under the twilight’s hold.

In those days, the maiden’s heart darkened further, though surrounded by the praise of her new kin, who marveled at her beauty. Yet her spirit grew chill, filled with bitterness toward the Valar, until the allure of the Moriquendi path ensnared her wholly, and in the dark she became enmeshed, bound in heart and thought to the shadow’s deep call.

Far away in Angband, a dark being stirred. He felt the lure of the shadow growing within her, the darkness that had woven itself into her soul. She, who was fair as starlight yet rotten with hate, would not find her place in Aman but would suit his own grand purpose. And though his desire burned, he withheld himself, for patience was his art. And in the fullness of time, his waiting would be repaid, for she would be his Queen.

. . . p a r t s ( c h r o n o l o g i c a l ) 🌋 → smut

your divine 🌋 → you have been sauron's betrothed since the days of old, his faithful servant. you spend your days carrying out his plans in Eregion, but with each passing century, you long for your husband's awaiting arms until one day you finally get your wish. the bearer of fruits 🌋 → after your husband’s departure of Eregion, you are left hollowed and sorrowed. you find solace in your work and planting your seeds until an unexpected visitor shows up at the gates of Eregion.

[sun-snatcher]

( credits to @perryabbott for this phenomenal gifset ! )

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

summ.  Mairon Sauron repents. The Valar test his resolve. or:  A Seabird meets a Jailbird.  pairing.  (Repentant!Mairon/Sauron) Halbrand / f!reader w.count.  4k a/n.  AU!s1 in which the Valar are the ones who habit Sauron into Halbrand’s body , Númenor timeline is extended ,  Reader has an established Númenórean name , Galadriel’s call-to-arms is Sauron’s temptation , The Valar are just curious which path he’ll take atp

[This looks to be setting up for a series... Feel free to send requests so we can explore this AU together!]

HE BEHOLDS A LIGHT.

And then— and then.

Grief follows.

Great and bitter and relentlessly pitiless. 

It swallows him whole— spirit and body and thought alike— an all-consuming maw of devouring sorrow that he’d been forcefully severed from. All that Melkor— no, Morgoth— had sought to smother and sunder from his very esse, stirring back to life from where it’d first been cast to the black depths, like a scalding brand of hot iron against skin.

An eternal, burning reminder.

RETRIBUTION—

—howls the great Winds. 

It muffles his screams from unseen heights. Pure, unadulterated agony; his heart aflame of every pain he’d ever wrought throughout the age, throughout the centuries—

It takes a moment for him to realise he’s dying.

Enough, comes a soft-rising lament. He despairs. He is not yet forsaken. 

The voice lilts like a mournful dirge, and with it had come a gentle peace, and the torture seemed to cease nigh in an instant. 

Any will despair in the face of Death, booms another. It rumbles across towering pillars and a cavernous hall of light.

He is not as others. A mighty wave crashes on unseen shores. There’s a swelling cascade. He is Mairon, Maiar of Aulë. 

His name lights the world alive. Other voices have come, now. A curious crowd, a divine council.

He seeks repentance---Does he deserve it?---He is dying---Irredeemable!---He has yet to weep a single tear in the name of any that is good---You would grant him a chance to inflict the same corruption?---Cast him away--- Condemn him to the Night!---He is but a servant hand of M—

A fierce billow of wind. Lashing and deafening, enough to sweep the black name into muteness; into nothingness. 

INVOKE NOT THE DARKNESS HERE.

Quickly follows is a crescendo of music, a song of all Age and that carries all note of harmony, so beautifully terrifying it chills him to the bone. Strikes an utter fear in his heart he hadn’t felt since he’d first been tortured by—

“Let him speak,” commands One.

At once, All had fallen into quiet. The tides recede. The earth stills. The stars dim.

And then—

“Peace,” Mairon trembles, bowing low and terrified, guilt-ridden in his and all eyes. “I wish only for peace.”

Halbrand startles awake.

There are tears down his face.

Númenor, he remembers. He’s in the prisons of Númenor.

His senses are devoid of howling winds, of rumbling earth, and of roaring waters. No thundering night sky of stars. No agonising pain.

But then, echoing from behind, a voice resounds— delicate and openly gentle— and for a terrifying moment he thinks he might still be dreaming; that one of the Valar is speaking to him unseen once again, or perhaps the statue of Uinen graced outside his cell has come to life.

“Nightmare?”

A beat. 

“…Memory,” he answers tentatively, from where he’s curled in his cot. He rubs his face awake. “Where is Galadriel?”

“Trying to win over the heart of the Queen, still.”

“Here.” Halbrand hearkens, and can see a figure shift neath the torchlight closer to the wrought bars, kneeling down to offer him a sip from a carafe of wine. 

A bitter memory involuntarily resurfaces in him: A bottle of wine in his hands, red as a blood moon, feeding it to a black-haired elf chained upon a dark and nameless peak, scarred to the brink of death.

A blistering ache crawls down his nape. He grimaces. 

“No than—”

The moonlight gleams. Halbrand seizes. 

It’s… you .

The fair lady; from ereyesterday he’d recalled standing alongside the Captain of the Sea Guard, when he and Galadriel had first been brought before the royal court to face Tar-Míriel, and you looked like a vision of gold and ocean-blue. He had only caught a glimpse of your profile at the time, but here, now—

You’re beautiful , Mairon thinks candidly. The kind that would make men drown themselves at sea. 

“…No thank you,” Halbrand repeats, significantly less bitter than before. He shifts to sit comfortably, and leans his head back against the barred wall as he carefully scrutinises your ensemble under the hanging firelight— the shell-braid hair, the fresh-water pearl jewellery, the deep-teal gown. 

Princess? He reckons. No. You carry yourself light in both presence and step, but not sophisticated in the high and tight way someone of noble status tends to— not quite like Galadriel, even in all her salt-soaked mien. 

Politician, perhaps? Considering the attempt at an olive branch; an out-of-place kindness if you were to compare it to the scorn from the other Númenorean folk.

Nevertheless: “I was told nobody kneels in Númenor.” Then, more scathingly: “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?” 

The rough blatancy would have put anyone off.

But instead, you blink in surprise and laugh. It’s a soft, wind-chime of a sound, quickly ducked down so he could only catch the tail-end of your obscured, dimpled smile.

(He was surprised to find himself thinking he should have sat closer to the light to see it.)

“So says the castaway,” you volley breezily, rising back to your feet with your peace offering.

Halbrand finally stands to height before you move to leave. He’d much rather take the opportunity for a decent conversation at the very least, than stare mindlessly at the dark until something else interesting happens.

He’s tall, you come to realise. Dizzyingly so.

For someone who’d supposedly been adrift for weeks in the ocean, he looks surprisingly as hale as the she-Elf. Strong, even. It shows in the curl of his biceps, in the firm way he’s leaning down onto the bars now, forearms poking out as the sea-green shift in his eyes regard you almost inquisitively. 

If not for the tell-tale signs of a bad sunburn and his salt-licked wounds, you wouldn’t have been able to tell him apart from a local Númenorean sailor.

“To whom or what do I owe the pleasure of a fair maiden’s presence?”

But you aren’t so easily swayed. “Flattery will not get you far, Southlander.”

“So says the one who tried offering me wine,” he shoots, cocking his head to your bottle.

Well — 

Well.

Fine. Maybe you are easily swayed. Blame the quick-wittedness of him and that cheeky, roguish smile cutting across his chapped lips.

“Offered,” you correct, uselessly. He can surely recognise it: your meek attempt to have the last say. “You’ve lost your chance.”

He hums. “Hopefully not the chance for a name, at least?” 

Though it seems he’s lost that too—

A clamour descended from a distance; the jingle of skeleton keys, the sound of approaching footsteps in heavy armour. Change in guard shift, maybe, or it could be Galadriel’s escorted return. Regardless, you’re quick to gather your senses and make headway to the shadows.

“Wait—” Halbrand catches your fingers just as you turn to leave. The touch feels like a kindle; a spark of ember. “What are you called?”

“Tell no guard I was here, and I may just yet be able to tell you another day,” you whisper, before quickly slipping from his grasp.

And then you’re gone. Like sand between his fingers, like a ripple in water—

(Something, however, tinkers to the floor.)

“Who’re you talkin’ to, Southlander?” comes a snap.

(Halbrand stomps a foot on the rolling ring.)

“Myself,” he smiles.

You come the next night after.

Galadriel recognises you. 

“Does your father not caution you to speak with strangers?” she bites, when she watches you poke your hand into her cell. It’s a canteen of water.

A shrug. “If you speak of the Captain, you are mistaken.” Then, almost breezily, as if a tale told by you countlessly: “More he my ward and I his charge, if nothing else. Elendil found me in a tidepool, as an infant.”

Something flashes in Galadriel’s mind. A memory that never dims: Seaside, and a skin of water she’d given to a tidal-haired half-Elf, who had been left estranged with neither friend nor kin. 

She casts her eyes aside. 

“Erulaitalë will begin soon,” you warn. “The guards may likely conveniently forget to bring down your dinner amid the days-long occasion.” (You leave out the obvious: And because you’d socked two of them in the face during your little tirade towards the Queen yesterday.) 

Galadriel begrudgingly relents. 

When you get the canteen back to offer her prison mate, he’s already looming at the bars of his cell. 

“That’s not why you came, though, is it?”

He’s fidgeting with something in his hand. A mixed metal ring— silver and gold— dainty and elegant, crowned with a freshwater pearl in its centre. To someone like him the build is simple. Ordinary. But the startled look in your eyes seems to imply it’s not as meaningless as it appears. 

“You ought to reshape this,” he murmurs, thumbing at the edge as he studies it. Scrutinising, almost, in his mind’s eye— like he couldn’t help a habit of assessing the details and correcting any flaws. “It’s loose.”

You wrinkle your nose. “What would a castaway like you know of craft?” 

His face lights with a soft smile. (Galadriel thinks it might’ve been the most genuine she’d ever seen of him yet.) “Plenty, if you consider I was once a Smith.”

“Captivating,” you dismiss. “Now give it b—” 

You reach out reflexively, but he’s quick to retreat back into the safety of his cell.

“Ah. I believe you owe me your name,” he cocks his head slowly. “Fair lady.”

A huff. It’s almost comical how your shoulders sink in defeat as he continues. “Or perhaps you’d prefer, hm, I don’t know; Seabird —?”

“Eärmaril,” you admit, reluctantly. “Now give it back, lest I cut it apart from your very fingers myself, jailbird .”

There’s a long, tense moment. 

You wonder if he’ll return it to you; if he’ll continue to covet it as a method of leverage, perhaps— but then you watch him slowly make his way to lean on the bars to meet your gaze once more, and to your surprise, gestures for your hand.

You hesitate.

Halbrand patiently waits.

Then, tentatively, you reach out.

Seducer, you want to scoff— 

He carefully flips your hand palm-down, slides the ring gently back in place. 

—But you’re too distracted by the striking feel of him on your fingers. It’s callous, rough, strong. You’re surprised a man of his seemingly boorish nature can handle your hands this delicately at all, much less be this effortlessly charming.

“Sea-crystal,” he dazedly translates your name, once your presence had finally slipped free from the dungeon. “No?”

“A pearl,” Galadriel specifies. “The Heart of the Sea. ”

You’re back, again.

Halbrand is pleasantly surprised, to say the least. He’d half-expected you to stop showing up after the stunt he’d pulled, but there’d also been that gnawing part of him that knew (hoped) you’d return. There’s a stubbornness in you he can recognise from the she-Elf— it must be why the both of you take to each other so easily. 

“It’s no Lembas,” you tell Galadriel, handing her an apple. (Fresh, still. She can smell the dew rolling down its skin.) “But it’s better than what the guards have been offering you, here.”

He knows what you’re doing, if Galadriel’s word is right. You’re trying to turn the tides towards their favour; to, at the very least, get them out of these wretched cells while the kingdom debates their fate. Getting into their good graces, however, and why you’re going the extra mile with feeding them— he’s not quite sure he’s figured that out exactly yet.

“Enlighten me, what do you stand to gain from your act of breaking proverbial way-bread?”

“Halbrand,” Galadriel warns.

“It’s fine. He’s right to be wary,” you say, before turning to him. “Is plain amity not enough of a reason?"

“Not to my esteem. Everyone has wants,” he says. “Besides, looks can oft be deceiving.”

(You can’t discern if that’s a jab or a compliment or something else entirely. Perhaps all at once.) 

“And what is it you think I want, Southlander?”

He leans on the cell, studies you purposefully. “An escape. Off of this island home you’ve grown bored of. That in hopes, if the Queen should let us free, you could set sail along with us,” he says. “I think you long for a grand adventure, outside the shores of Númenor, to seek the finer joys of life beyond your charted waters.”

A stagnant moment passes.

“Hm,” you shrug, sounding unimpressed. “…Of grand adventures and finer things. That shall be my reason, then, if it is enough for you, Halbrand.”

He falters. The name rolling from your tongue sounds like the purl of a steady, clearwater stream. Like he’d been quenched of something he couldn’t quite place; of something he never noticed longed to be slated.

“What about you? What do you want?” you ask, setting the apple in his hands. 

You miss the turn of Galadriel’s head. 

Sauron doesn’t.

Vengeance, his heart cries instinctively, meeting Galadriel’s rallying-like gaze. 

But then Halbrand blinks your way. 

“Peace,” Mairon recites. “I wish only for peace.”

Someone else delivers in your stead, this time.

A cadet, who appears still wet-behind-the-ears; tanned with a mop of tight curls on his head, and holding a dissimilar kindness to your own eyes. He seems less inclined to linger in his visit, nor to entertain any of their questions. 

“Where is Eärmaril?” Halbrand asks, when the cadet clarifies your supposed order to him.

“…She regrets her absence.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” he says, and couldn’t bite back the demand of his tone in time.

“Occupied,” states the cadet.

“With?” Galadriel urges.

“Dealings of which are not of your concern.”

He doesn’t know either, they quickly realise, sharing a knowing glance at each other. 

It’s only when five long minutes pass that the cadet concludes the bowl of scallops prepared will go stubbornly untouched out of distrust, and so decides to clear the evidence away, and turn on his heel to leave.

You fail to appear a night after.

And then the next.

Halbrand just stares at Uinen, and worries.

“Awfully hungry, are you?”

With a handful of fruit, you freeze in place. There’s a chill you feel crawling over you, the type you get when you know you’re caught red-handed; the type a child would get at the icy wrath of their father.

He’s not your father, you try to thaw. But it would be impossible to attempt that. So you allow yourself to look at him as Captain of the Sea Guard instead. “…Very much so.”

“We may not be of blood, Eärmaril, but to me you are still my eldest,” he reminds, “I’ve raised you longer than I have Isildur and Eärien.” 

“Only by three years,” you dismiss, leaning back onto the kitchen counter and crossing your arms.

“You’ve been sneaking to the prison.” He doesn’t sound surprised as he puts it out in the open. You wish he would’ve at least sounded as such, even a little bit. 

“The Faithful have believ—"

But having brought up that subject alone seems to effectively tip the scales against your favour. “Stop,” he says, in the authoritative tone he always uses to clinch arguments, “You will cease this madness.”

“Is that what we’re calling kindness, now?”

Elendil pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You are lucky, foolish girl, that I caught on, and not any other of the Guard. Why is it you care so much for these castaways?”

I don’t know would’ve been a terrible answer, but it would’ve been an honest one. That you cannot explain the call or the pull towards them since the day those two had set foot on Númenor—

“The sea put them in your path the same way I was put upon yours. And the sea is always right.” 

“That was different. You were an infant,” he corrects. “With no past to haunt you, and no intentions hidden in your heart. These are strangers.”

“Galadriel is known to Númenor. She was the Scourge of Orcs,” you defend, waving an arm. “And of H— the Southlander, I have seen nothing in him but the utter desire for peace.”

Elendil’s face twists into incredulity. “You can see that, and yet for Valandil you were seemingly blind to how involving him could have risked dismissal from the coming Sea Trials—?”

“Don’t bring him into this.”

“You brought him into this!”

“He offered to help—”

“Because he has a good heart.”

“—because you declined to help in the first place!” you snap, and set the apple down with an irritated thud. “All you had to do was convince Chancellor Pharazon to consi—”

Elendil huffs your name, and it feels the verbal equivalent of him flicking your ear. “Don’t you dare fault any of this on me.”

“I am not,” you assert. “I am merely stating the truth. I can take full responsibility for everything else, but whatever fault you feel inside of yourself is not my doing.”

Your expression sinks. “And what I asked of you was simple. If you cannot do even that, then at the very least: turn your gaze inwards for once, instead of casting it across the waters.”

That seems to have knocked the wind from his sails. 

(Surprisingly, yours too.)

“You know,” he sighs, after the silence stretched for a moment. “You are so much like your mother, sometimes.” 

“She’s—” Not my mother, you defy reflexively. Though that would’ve been unfair. She may not have been your mother, but you will always be her daughter; she had raised and cherished and loved you as her very own nonetheless; had chivvied and taught you the ways of water and the world better than anybody ever could have. “—She’s gone.”

“She lives in you. I can see it. Everyday,” he says. 

But that is all the grief he allows you to see. His hard, insular gaze set back into place, and suddenly you’ve found Elendil of the Sea Guard, again, as he goes to swipe the bag from your hands.

Later— much, much later, in fact— you learn Elendil’s following meeting with the castaways that night goes a little something like this:

A cut-glass voice, and a stomp of his feet. “Ever since you two driftwoods have sailed into my path,” echoes Elendil, “A discourse has been sown between me and my daughter.”

“What damage could we possibly have done,” Galadriel says in an undertone, watching him stride in. “Locked in a cage like beasts since our arrival?”

Halbrand shoots her a chiding look. Let me handle this. “Our… sincerest apologies, Captain. We did not intend as such. Your daughter merely extended us a kindness.”

A snort. It’s Galadriel’s.

“I don’t know what she sees in the both of you.” Elendil sighs, and a deep set frown makes itself known on his weary face. The Captain stops short at the foot of Uinen’s statue. “Perhaps a reflection of herself,” he continues, admiring the stone-carved hair blend into crested waves of the sea. “A key to understanding it.”

There’s a cold, calculative look in his eyes as he turns to face them. It’s nothing like the one you wear— warm, assessing. But there’s a kindness, still, in both of you; where the familial thread connects.

It seems you’ve managed to pluck that chord.

“Erulaitalë is a week-long trip to and fro. With the storms we’ve been having, maybe more. I’ve managed to get the both of you an audience with the Queen before then,” he lays the bag of fruit to their cells. “Tomorrow you will have a chance to plead your case. But whatever is commanded of me, I will obey. So for the sake of my daughter, and for yourselves, I ask you tread lightly .”

The last line is said pointedly at Galadriel. 

“Thank you,” Halbrand says. It’s forced— but genuine.

Galadriel says it too, though the day after; and not to the Queen nor Elendil, but to you, after the audience had gone as well as it could have.

Tar-Míriel now considers them guests of the island while she travels to perform her duties amid Erulaitalë, though they will be surveilled for the time being until her return, and will personally ensure the matter of their fate be seen to by then. 

Throughout the final mandate, however—

Ivory white is a beautiful colour on you, Halbrand concludes, distractedly.

“Glad to see the Captain didn’t lock you up in a tower,” he says after, as the Guards unlock his shackles. “Do you always have a tendency to help strays? To beachcomb for flotsam and jetsam that wash ashore?”

“A thank you would be nice,” you scoff, but without heat. “And yes. Call it a mutual understanding.”

The Guards shuffle off. Halbrand is left in the borders of the court, speaking to you, who’s robed in a dress like a monolith of pure light. Salvation, you look like. And you had been, in a way. He cannot deny that.

But he cannot deny he doesn’t trust any of it either.

(Something about things being too good to be true. He’s learned that lesson before.)

“I still don’t know what you want of me, Eärmaril,” he remarks, and was glad to know the sound of your name finally being uttered by him seems to have an effect on you. “But a part of me gathers that staying in those cells to rot might benefit me more, than to be at risk of being at your disposal outside these stone walls.”

Hurt flashes in your eyes. It’s the first he’d ever seen it. 

As if the thought of having someone in thrall to you was— outlandish. And here, perhaps now Sauron will see the malice cut through your façade. That alas, your true colours and intentions will bleed through, as always, like he’s been expecting and predicting all this while.

But then:

“You must have been hurt so, to be this distrusting, Halbrand.”

He seizes.

Your gaze melts into something sickeningly compassionate. Severe, almost, as Estë’s healing touch in his faded dreams.

Sauron doesn’t know what to make of it.

“You— think me afraid,” he manages, terse enough to be a statement more than a question. (Enough, hopefully, to hide the fact you have, indeed, rattled him.)

“No. I think you don’t know what true kindness looks like, even if it’s being handed to you on a silver platter.”

“I’ve done evil,” he says, slow and careful, and accompanies it with an intimidating step into your space; your orbit.

You don’t waver. 

If anything, you’ve boldly bared your throat as you crane your neck to level his steely gaze. “It is said only the sea can wash away all that is evil. That it can erode all given time. I believe that’s why you were adrift and washed here.”

“A baptism,” he muses, suddenly remembering Ossë, between the battle-drum in his ears. 

“Whatever floats your boat.”

Halbrand scoffs. “You think you know me.”

“I know enough,” you say. “I know I’m the only person in this moment who can give you what you want.”

“You alone cannot give me peace.”

“I cannot,” you agree, before cocking your head to the side. “Though, I can lend you a Smith’s hammer and tongs.”

In spite of himself, and against his better judgement—

Mairon lights up.

Footnotes:

Erulaitalë was a ceremony observed on the summit of Meneltarma, the tallest mountain peak of Númenor, in which praise was given to Eru for his works.

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

Your writing is so good I couldn't stop making them😭 hope you like them

I AM CRYING🤣🤣🤣🤣

Good thing Elves don’t get UTIs or STDs (at least I like to think they don’t) and that he can’t get her pregnant unless he specifically wants to because those two are NOT being safe by human standards at all😅 and the ‘you had no carnal desire one’ good lord... That’s exactly how it felt in my mind😂

10/10 so accurate each and every one of these. You have a real talent my friend😆

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. ❞

KINKTOBER WEEK TWO.

⤿ pairing(s): halbrand!sauron x fem!human!reader.

⤿ word count: 4.6K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), porn without plot, mild manipulation (it’s sauron), risk of getting caught, possessiveness, sex in a public location, fingering (fem!rec), heavy kissing, hair-pulling, scratching, begging, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink if you squint, sex on a table.

⤿ note: first time writing for sauron, please be gentle! mr. tolkien, so sorry for all of the despicable things I’m gonna be writing about your characters. ❤️ thank you all for reading! reblogs & comments are appreciated!

A salt-tinged breeze stirred through the forges, a welcome gust of relief amidst the heat that sought to blaze his flesh asunder.

In the silence of dusk, Halbrand found his solace with hammer and anvil, over that of indulgence of drink at some tavern.

Númenor proved to be the respite he desperately needed, running from a shadowed past. He worked tirelessly, through lengthy days and well into the night, his mind a tumultuous tempest.

The King of the Southlands — the ruler of nothing.

It was a mantle that wholly disinterested him, and despite his numerous protests to Galadriel regarding his supposed heritage, the she-elf refused to let it stay dead and buried. He was better off here, crafting works of art — blades, armor, jewelry.

There was nothing for him now, only threads of a plan that seemed to fall by the wayside. It was easy to disappear here, to fade away into the backdrop of the oceanside kingdom, allow himself to place all his efforts on smithing.

The roaring embers of the forge sizzled as he placed the partially-finished blade inside, molding metal to his skilled hand. There was no greater joy than that of creation — making something out of nothing, a tool to be used.

Halbrand’s gaze momentarily flickered toward the roll of parchment sitting along one of the many craftsmen’s tables.

You were an envoy of Númenor, the brood of a lesser House of Men, in-service to the Guild. It was you that had uncovered records of the Southlander line and brought it to Galadriel’s attention — a clever creature, you were.

In what handful of interactions he’d had with you, you were studious and well-mannered, far too intelligent for your station. You toiled in-service to lesser beings, when your potential extended far beyond their reach.

The scroll contained the very bloodline you had presumed he hailed from, as if you were dangling the proof for all to see. He cared little for it, preoccupied with the task at-hand.

If it were his choice, he preferred to stay in Númenor, learn their customs and assimilate into their culture. Galadriel’s stubbornness had the potential to win out if he weren’t careful, and Halbrand was not the subservient sort.

In the star-riddled dusk, Halbrand decided to break in his crafting, stepping toward a basin of water, letting the cool liquid wash away the perspiration dotting his brow.

It was better at twilight, offering a solace that one might not fully understand. He rarely slept, and when he did, he was often plagued by dreams of constant rage. Halbrand let the forge simmer down, opting to work on the still-hot sword.

A gentle tap of knuckles against the door did not alert him as much as you thought it would. He stood with his back to you, brows furrowed together in concentration. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He questioned.

Greeted by the stifling, ember-fueled heat of the forge, you stood in the doorway, having abandoned your Guild regalia. “Good eve,” You mustered a smile, hands twisting together. “You are a stranger to rest, it seems.”

“As are you,” Halbrand’s steely gaze flickered from the blade to you, letting the hammer swing down upon forming steel. “Is it safe for you to be wandering about at nightfall?”

His sharp inquiry brought you pause, fingers idly toying with the fabric of your dress. Númenor was perfectly safe — safer than most kingdoms of Men. “Should it not be safe?” Countering his remark, you observed the rack of newly-crafted swords.

Halbrand did not offer an answer right away, turning the blade over, striking it again with his hammer as sparks flew. “There is no such thing as true safety, my Lady. There will always be something stirring in the shadows.”

You nearly laughed at his fearmongering — he sounded akin to an old maiden, weaving her intricate tales of fright to dissuade children from wrongdoing. “That is a rather dour sentiment. Are you often paranoid?” Your tone tapered off into one of mild amusement.

A sardonic scoff escaped him, lips quirking up only slightly, yet he did not seem offended by your retort. “Merely concerned with preservation — my own, first and foremost.” He replied.

He knew why you were here, even if it was an unspoken thing that you continued to dance around. You had come as a messenger on behalf of Galadriel, to make a valiant attempt of convincing him to return to Middle-Earth.

“The Guild is impressed by your craft,” Shifting the topic, you brushed your fingers over the horse-shaped pommel, the color of ivory. “Not that I should be divulging that information.” You mused.

Perplexed, Halbrand wordlessly observed you, cerulean hues studying the creases of your dress, a shade of mauve that only seemed to enhance your beauty. There was something forlorn simmering within him, feelings not often brought to the surface.

“Is that so? It seems that they’ve finally come to their senses,” He jested, earning a pointed look from you. “It took a beating to do so.” Halbrand placed the unfinished blade beside the dying embers of the forge.

There was still mild bruising around his nose and mouth, heated transgressions that earned him the ire of Númenor. He seemed unperturbed, seizing a rag from the edge of an anvil.

“That could’ve been avoided,” You murmured, tracing a digit around the ivory head of a horse before stepping away. “You are fortunate that they did not toss you into the seas for your rancor.”

“That would be rather unfortunate, being tossed back into the ocean when I had worked tirelessly to claw my way out of it.” He quipped, moving about the forge as he hung up his tools.

A soft sigh escaped you as you shook your head, peering outside towards the night skies. “If you wish to stay in Númenor, you must cease drawing attention to yourself.”

Halbrand chuckled, the sound devoid of any mirth. It was a steely sound, more sardonic than genuine. He wiped away at the soot and grime of the forge, leaning back against the sturdy table.

“Is this amusing to you, being tossed into a cell and brawling with the locals?” The sharp bite of your inquiry could’ve been mistaken for the edge of a knife. “You are above that.”

“And if I am not?” He was equally as sharp, that of a longsword, tarnished and worn yet still able to cut with ease. Halbrand’s countenance seemed unmistakably soured by your comment.

Taken aback, you turned to face him fully, canting your head to one side. It was not mock frustration that you found in his features — it was true. “What do you mean?”

“You continue to place me upon some pedestal,” Halbrand scoffed, peering elsewhere, gazing at the hot coals of the forge. “What if I am not what you think me to be? What if I am simply a Man with not a drop of nobility to his name?”

With a furrowed brow, you folded your hands together, studying his visage. He seemed frustrated yet forlorn, as if he were remembering something — lamenting, perhaps. “Then you are a Man.”

In the time that you had gotten to know Halbrand, standing alongside Captain Elendil on the ship back to Númenor, he was something of an enigma. Charming and charismatic with a great love of disobedience, but he possessed a veiled depth.

Galadriel seemed far more preoccupied with returning to Middle-Earth and hunting Sauron, making Halbrand a ruler over considering his feelings. If he wanted to stay in Númenor, craft a new existence — you did not blame him.

“And if I am not the man that you believe I am?” Halbrand pressed, as if seeking a certain answer from you. Some sliver of his being wanted someone to tell him that they cared little about his past, what he used to be.

“Whatever you are insinuating, I care little for it. Your past does not make you — only what you do from this moment forward,” You replied, mustering a gentle smile. “You are Halbrand — that is enough for me.”

If the She-elf had it her way, she would drag him back to Middle-Earth, writhing and screaming. In his own web of schemes, it was what was necessary — but time was infinite.

There was a peculiar gleam within your eyes, one that possessed a warmth and understanding that he was vastly unaccustomed to. “Hm,” He sighed, turning the cloth over within his hand. “Thank you.”

A brief laugh tore past your lips, one that seemed to bring the tension to a momentary heel. “What, for dissuading you against further scorn by the local populace?” You mused.

Halbrand happened to chuckle at that, a warm sound that made residence within your stomach, butterflies following suit. “For understanding, for your kindness,” He replied, his tone softening. “Not many possess your tenderness.”

Growing silent, you nodded, attempting to mask the brief glimmer of surprise that fluttered across your features. You were often regarded as level-headed and sage, yet soft when it mattered most.

“I do not wish to see you thrown in a cell again, or exiled from the Guild when you clearly possess a wealth of talent,” Your motives transcended that — part of you liked Halbrand. “I would do the same for anyone in your position.”

“Would you?” Halbrand’s inquiry, whilst outwardly inquisitive, seemed tinged with something unfamiliar — something amorous. Your nerves became set ablaze, skin uncomfortably warm.

As you swallowed the growing lump within your throat, Halbrand straightened, copper-hued locks framing his rugged face. He was handsome — statuesque, clearly carved with the frame of a warrior and a smith.

“Yes,” Hoarse and pitched with the sudden swell of nervousness, you idly toyed with the sleeves of your dress. “If you are to stay in Númenor, I would hope that you only continue to thrive with your craft.”

This craft was of little interest — Halbrand knew what he wanted, starting with you. Malleable like the finest metal, as beautiful as a glittering opal socketed into that of a signet.

“Is that what you want, for me to stay in Númenor?” Seas help you — this was madness. Halbrand’s poignant question made you wonder what exactly was about to happen, gooseflesh icing your spine, prompting you to shiver.

“What I want matters little,” There was a noticeable lack of conviction within your tone, as if you were convincing yourself of that very fact. “You are free to choose your destiny.”

You were fighting against the urge, the untoward craving that began to settle within your bones. It wasn’t proper nor appropriate of you to even consider wanting Halbrand, a man whose fate seemed far more important than your own.

To ask him to stay in Númenor, abandon the Southlands — you did not have the heart. It was born of greed and desire, wanting to keep him close to your chest.

“It matters to me,” Halbrand murmured, brows creasing together as he glowered down upon you, close enough to touch. “What do you want?” The malignant force deep within him begged to bring you into his stead.

Whatever perceived darkness hungered within you, it also screamed within him, with a shadow far more powerful than your own. Greed was unbecoming of you — you were meant to serve the people of Númenor, never yourself.

Whereas Galadriel possessed a fierce heart and unending thirst for vengeance, you longed to be free — no longer under the thumb of lesser Men, to lead and to be revered.

To be loved, to be coveted.

“Do not leave,” A plea, beseeching him to stay in Númenor, to stoke whatever flame was stirring between the both of you. The intensity of his longing stare nearly made you collapse. “Stay here, in Númenor.”

A hitch formed within your throat as his calloused fingertips graced your arm, tracing over the sea of mauve gossamer that clung to your form. Halbrand took your silence as something contemplative, afraid to make your true feelings known.

Again, he pressed closer, looming above you, caging you in against the table. You could feel his heat, smell the coal and metal, taste the fantasy that swirled within your mind’s eye.

Roughened digits caressed across your throat, over your slender neck, your collarbone. His touch was like that of a fire, a burn so wonderful that you would beg for it if you had to.

“Halbrand,” Barely above a whisper, your tone seemed strained, as if fighting against all of your baser urges. A peculiar heat raked its way across your flesh before settling within the pit of your belly. “I shouldn’t.”

“Do you think that you are the only one who possesses desire?” His wanton confession made your knees buckle, lips parting just enough for a soft gasp to escape you. “When my eyes found you upon that ship, I wanted — more than I have for some time.”

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, dying then and there within your throat. There was a fire within Halbrand’s eyes, one that sought to burn you, too. You felt the small of your back dig into the table, warmth licking across your spine.

Each breath felt labored, a dizzying sensation taking hold of you, as if this were more dream than reality. Yet, Halbrand remained close to you, chest-to-chest, digits finding the swell of your hip through the sea of violet fabric.

Instead of vocalizing your festering worry, you rocked up upon your toes, pressing your lips against his own. It was disarmingly gentle, a sheepish kiss that did not waste a second in becoming heated and charged.

He reciprocated with a blinding intensity, arm hitching around your waist, calloused palm spreading out against your back. Halbrand lifted you closer, his kiss inherently greedy and covetous, as if you belonged only to him.

His mouth swirled with wildfire, tasting of smoke and a hint of Númenorian stout, stubble scratching against your soft skin. Your hands found their purchase against his chest, able to feel the taut muscle beneath.

Hardened was a good way to describe him — rugged like the uneven ridges of tanned leather, swathed in heat. He cupped your jaw with his hand, reveling in the sensation of your flesh, akin to a plane of silk.

The state of dishevelment he was in mattered little to you — the soot upon his tanned flesh, the specks of dirt, garb somewhat tattered. You could not recall the last time you had yearned for someone so terribly that it ripped your heart into two.

Each clash of your lips evoked a pang of excitement that struck at your stomach, exhilaration pumping through your veins. Halbrand was a vigorous kisser — passionate and swift, stealing the air from your very lungs.

His palm slowly caressed from the small of your back toward your derrière, strong digits melding themselves into your clothed flesh. A hitch formed within your throat, anticipation mounting as the tension began to cloud the room.

Your digits possessed a mind of their own, climbing towards the nape of his neck, threading themselves through his bronze tresses. Halbrand kissed you again — softer this time, yet not without his domineering edge.

Lips bled into one another with an outpouring of want, a long-repressed sentiment caged within both hearts. Halbrand wanted many things — yet, what he did not expect was to crawl after you like some starving beast.

Every sensible thought seemed mulled, draped in this haze that clouded your mind. As you slowly recoiled from the kiss, you keened into the rough embrace of his palm, his digits cupping your cheek.

As much as you longed to continue, the locale seemed impractical, if not somewhat reckless. If someone were to catch you, you would never hear the end of it. Even then, you did not want to let fear drive you this way.

“Must I profess my desire once more?” Halbrand murmured, warm breath fanning across your visage, tinged with smoke. There was something tantalizing and enigmatic about him, swirling with some edge of mystique.

“I wouldn’t protest,” You whispered, which earned you the beginnings of a smile. He swept your tresses aside, bearing your neck to him as he bent in to kiss the soft flesh there. “Halbrand.” A low whine escaped you.

Stubble prickled and bit at your neck, yet you reveled in it, clutching at his shoulder as he pressed heated kisses to your throat. He was not hesitant in the slightest, letting you writhe and moan, plead for him to continue.

It was then that he began to gather your dress with one hand, firmly gripping at the mauve fabric as he inched it upward. Exhilaration struck at you again, the buzz of excitement, a thrill that you hadn’t experienced before.

There was not an inkling of hesitation from you, with little sign of stopping his advances. As he guided the gossamer along your legs, one palm snaked forth, calloused digits embracing your thigh, as smooth as silk.

He held little recollection of the last time he had touched something so delicate, as if you were some splendid jewel to be cradled, coveted. Halbrand kissed his way toward the curve of your jaw, searching your visage for a reaction.

As he parted your legs with his frame alone, your breath hitched, an audible noise that he found to be delicious. You were akin to some startled rabbit, ensnared within the jaws of a predator disguised as a friend.

Whatever smallclothes you wore beneath were of little consequence, giving way to that of his possessive embrace. Your hand flew back to grip the edge of the table, nails digging into splintered wood as he sought the heat between your legs.

Anticipation swelled within you, teetering on the edge of unraveling as you felt his digits ghost across your aching cunt. It was feather-light, intended to torment you — and torment it did.

“Halbrand,” A desperate gasp tore past your lips, needing him in a way that you hadn’t desired anyone else before. “Please, please touch me.” Your breathy pleas did not go unheard as he planted a kiss against your neck.

“Is that what you want?” A sultry purr rumbled from the depths of his chest, tone adopting a rather promiscuous resonance. He watched you nod several times over, fingers pushing past your petals as he touched your core.

A hand held onto his bicep for stability, the other haplessly fisting at the wood behind you. A moan emanated from you, desperate for anything he would give you.

Much to his delight, he found that you were shamelessly wet between your thighs, a nectar that refused to cease. “You are beautiful like this.” He murmured, fingers toying with your slit, eliciting another strangled moan from your lips.

Halbrand’s forehead brushed against yours, hawkish gaze absorbing the look of pleasure upon your face. He began to find a steady rhythm, worn digits sliding along the length of your cunt, letting you hold onto him as much as you pleased.

Any scrap of friction you received drove you mad, desperation climbing to new heights as your hips rocked forward into his hand. His stare became half-lidded, drinking you in with unabashed greed, longing to consume you.

Sighs of wanton passion drifted from you in droves, legs parted as he pressed his thumb to the pearl of your cunt. It was easy to evoke a reaction from you, the constant writhing, gasps and whines, the look of complete and utter bliss.

In sluggish circles, he caressed your clit, causing you to twitch again. “Halbrand,” A moan tore past your lips again, his name becoming a melody from your mouth, to be sung over and over again. “Do not stop, I beg you!”

“As you wish.” Halbrand’s voice raked hot embers over your body, reaching a salacious octave that turned your insides to molten liquid. He continued to touch your nethers, two digits sweeping toward your entrance.

An impenetrable heat swallowed your body whole, skin feeling damp with perspiration, somewhat in-part of the forge’s dissipating warmth. He continued to circle your clit, fingers lightly prodding at your cunt in an attempt to seek entry.

Rough lips fell to your neck again, gowns having slacked enough to give way to your shoulder and collarbone. You clawed at his bicep, rolling your hips again as you rocked yourself upon his digits, much to his delight.

With a brusque tug upon the collar of his tunic, your lips clamored for his, longing to feel his mouth. His kiss left you breathless, teeth scraping against your lower lip, bringing you to heel.

Heat pooled between your legs, coalescing upon Halbrand’s fingers as he teased your core, thumb working around the pearl of your cunt. A soft gasp tore through your throat, a moan escaping you into the passion of your kiss.

Again, your hips rolled into his hand, craving him in a way that resembled that of an animal; carnal, ravenous. A fire danced within his eyes, one that seemed to reflect the sentiments that festered within you.

“Give yourself to me.” Halbrand sighed, timbre trembling against the underside of your jaw before he looked upon you, unraveling from his touch. Need stirred within him, coupled with the swell of possessiveness.

He searched your countenance for any hint of hesitation, flicking his thumb across your clit once more. “Please.” You pleaded, waves of bliss rolling across your body, bringing with it a feverish heat that made you want him all the more.

Halbrand heeded your breathy plea, reaching for the leather ties of his trousers, wanting nothing more than you be inside of you. His cock twitched with amorous intent, muscles coiled, prepared to grab you.

His hand recoiled, leaving you with an aching emptiness that caused your cunt to clench pathetically around nothing. A hitch formed within your throat, words turning to ash as he lifted you onto the table.

Calloused, careworn palms kneaded into your haunches, grasping at your pliant flesh in fistfuls as he pressed his lips to your exposed shoulder. Rucking your gown up to your hips, Halbrand appraised you with a thinly-veiled lust.

There was no flesh as soft as yours, untouched — belonging to him. Anticipation churned within the pit of your stomach, lips agape as he unraveled the front of his breeches, freeing himself from its confines.

Flushed with a rush of ecstasy, Halbrand dragged you closer, hands traveling to cup your hips. He guided his length to your cunt, letting the tip of his cock linger there until he pushed forward.

“Halbrand!” You moaned, hand reaching to grasp at the nape of his neck, nails raking across his coppery tresses. The other seized his bicep, digging inward as he slowly rocked into you.

Nearly chest-to-chest, there was little room for discomfort, letting lust and urgency guide his hand. He huffed, steadying his ironclad hold upon your hips, fingers pressing hard enough to leave behind bruises.

His pace was agonizingly sluggish at first, drawing out each thrust in an effort to let you grow accustomed. Hot sighs of passion fluttered between the both of you, lips brushing over one another as he rolled his hips forward.

There was something exhilarating about coupling with you, the warmth of being alive, savoring the guise of mortality. Halbrand could see the attachment brewing within your stare, the glint of affection intermingled with desire.

The still-burning coals of the forge provided enough illumination for him to see you bathed in fire — and you were breathtaking.

Your heart pounded within your ribcage, so powerful that you thought it might burst through. His stubble scratched against your cheek, providing a pleasant burn that let you know that this was reality. “Move,” You moaned. “Please.”

Inclined to obey, Halbrand let his yearning for you show, as plain as a summer’s day. He began to thrust into you, hunching in and over, stabilizing himself with one palm flat atop the table.

The other squeezed incessantly at your hips, cock rocking in and out of you at a steady pace, yet the fervor was steadily increasing. Your head spun, clouded by lust as your paramour ravished you in the way that you deserved.

His countenance echoed your sentiments, shadowed with the haze of lust, a carnality that clawed at your very soul. You let your forehead press to his, brows screwed together in a state of bliss, grasping at his tresses.

Halbrand grunted, the low noise rippling through his chest as he held your thigh, digits clamping down to keep you firmly in-place. His cock throbbed with an ache of urgency, hips snapping forward as he filled you completely.

A moan erupted from your lips yet again, nails forming crimson crescents against his bicep, occasionally lurching forward to meet his thrusts halfway. His pace became somewhat erratic as he coaxed you to lay back.

Your back hit the wooden surface of the table, the uncomfortable bite of it all softened by parts of your dress. Halbrand hunched in over you like a wolf towering above prey, palm flat beside your head.

The groan of sturdy wood beneath your entangled bodies resonated throughout the forge, the heat beginning to dissipate. The warmth between breath and body kept you feeling feverish, and you hitched one leg around his hips.

It evoked another growl from his lips as the smith pounded away at you, keeping a firm and steady pace. Halbrand was rougher than some, but never enough to cause you discomfort or harm. He was invigorated, driven to madness by the sight of you.

He kissed you again, feeling your desperation through joined lips alone, your hand grasping at his toned forearm. Arousal mounted within you, as thick as honey oozing between your thighs.

Passion bled into need, the two tangling together into some fervent amalgamation. It showed in his movements, continuing to thrust into you, feeling your cunt clench around him. You were made for him, with a heart that he found as malleable as metal.

The arch of your back signaled that your release was swiftly approaching, keening into his embrace instead as you moaned. You did little to temper your volume, mouth agape, head rolled back — you were the picture of grace, now tarnished.

His name escaped your tongue like a wayward prayer, over and over again until it was the only word you knew. As his cock hit you again, sending shockwaves throughout your body, you came undone.

Your leg squeezed at his hips, feeling his own resolve crumble at the sight of you, disheveled because of his doing. Halbrand let out a sonorous groan, body nearly blanketed over yours as his cock slapped into you again.

The warmth you provided was enough to make him stay sheathed within you, spilling himself inside of you without thinking. It only served to fuel his possessiveness, as dangerous as a growing wildfire.

Rocking himself inside of you once more, you let out a strangled whine. Through labored pants, you slowly regained composure, feeling his hot breath fan out across your visage.

Halbrand pulled himself out of you, leaving behind the visceral remnants of your lewd exploits, the sheen of it coating the inside of your thighs. He noticed your sheepish expression as you corrected your garments.

“There isn’t anywhere you can go that I would not follow.” He uttered, fingertips tucking strands of hair behind your ear. As you moved from the table, the smith reached for something within the pocket of his trousers.

“Halbrand,” You began, knowing that asking him to stay in Númenor was not fair — to either of you. Perhaps you could enjoy what comfort he brought, for the time being. “I shouldn’t ask it of you.”

“No matter what destiny entails, know that you belong to me.” There was something strangely dark within his tone, disguised as affection — you were oblivious to it. He placed something into your joined hands.

Touched by such a sentimental gesture, you flourished in the aftermath of your coupling, feeling his rough lips press against the curve of your jaw. You shivered, feeling the weight of a trinket within your palm.

Your lips sought his, the kiss lingering, enough for you to feel it burn within your very soul. There was nothing that could describe whatever it was you felt for him, felt with him.

“What is it?” You inquired, warmth raking along your spine, faces brushing against one another. Halbrand lingered pensively, a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth.

“Consider it a gift.”

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Sauron (Annatar) being unable to resist your allure as you work on the rings…

Distance. He repeated to himself. Although he did not understand why it was necessary when he chose to ignore the warning and step closer to you.

He had donned a new face with a new name - Annatar - but it did little to fade the pull he felt to you as ‘Halbrand’. As fate would have it, your journey drew you to Eregion to aid Celebrimbor with his crafts.

Or perhaps you were simply drawn to where Sauron would be?

A part of him longed to tell you the truth but he had a larger plan that relied on secrecy. He could not risk you speaking with Galadriel nor did he wish to cause you harm. And so, he chose to keep the knowledge to himself.

He watched as you picked up a glittering gold band forged for one of the dwarf lords. One of seven. Crafted by Celebrimbor, they were perfect. Touched by his hands, there would be malice and a darkness so deep-rooted.

But jewelled by your fingers? They would have enough light to remind him that not all he touches is true evil.

“Have you chosen a stone for this one?” He asked.

You inspected the fine craftsmanship. “Perhaps a sapphire.” You said rather distracted. He gave you a small musing hum and you turned to meet his eyes. “You disagree?”

“I merely think a ruby would complement this particular piece.”

“Do enlightenment me, Lord of Gifts.” You challenged.

He almost laughed at the offence you took. But he merely stepped behind and touched an elbow with one hand, raising it a little higher. His free hand caught your chin, fingers gently lifting your head to tilt upwards to see the gold band twinkle under a ray of sun.

It was intimate and he wrestled with his impulsive urges. To kiss you in this moment would be too easy. But again, he could not. All he could do was savour this moment with you.

“The sunlight catches the band casting it in a glow of power. A ruby would emphasize such a notion beneath the mountain.” He said, lips drawing impossibly close to your ear. He noticed the prickling of your skin and the way your breath hitched.

“Power kissed by sunlight.” You whispered, realising his vision. Head turning to his once more, he saw the way your eyes flickered to his lips for a fleeting second.

It appeared that the pull he felt was mutual, drawing you to him in equal strength. You were drifting closer and closer and-

“Wonderful news! We have just received word from the realm of Men.” Celebrimbor announced as he walked into the forge.

With a sharp breath, Sauron pulled away just as you had done the same. He took note of how you quickly busied yourself in the work once more.

Composing himself, he stood up and smiled at the ring maker who had not noticed the spark rushing for cover.

He should have been more careful.

“This is truly good to hear.” He told Celebrimbor and led the elf away from your workspace. “How soon can we extend an invitation for their visit?”

~ More imagines here ~

A/n: Written at 12am because I have no regard for waking early tomorrow for work. When the writing bug bites, you write.

[dinsbeskar]

Wicked Game (Sauron/F!Reader)

He knows he shouldn't covet you, that he is above such earthy things as love. So why does he stalk you in the forests you call home? It's love at first sight, and the feeling is mutual; or:

Sauron engages in some light stalking and gets the girl somehow.

Prequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link

Songs to listen to: Wicked Game / Beautiful Stranger / Iris

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way

What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you

Warnings: 18+! Smut, fluff, lil bit of angst, P in V sex, fingering, licking/biting. Sauron!! He's super creepy, sorry, idk what to say, there's some stalking, some creepy behaviour, he's a bit unhinged. Love at first sight!! Like babe it's been an afternoon, calm down. Anyway we move fast!!

A/N: bro is head empty, no thoughts, down bad in this, sorry!! in this house we subscribe to the 'elves fuck once and they're married for eternity' idea, so there's that tiny spoiler for you!

Word Count: 6.2k!

Mairon was already old when he met you, unfathomably ancient in fact, wandering Arda and beholding the power of creation, amongst other things. He was sure he had already experienced everything there was on the physical plain, but you would prove him wrong indeed. When the first Elves awoke, he felt a pull, like many of the Ainur, to see the new life that now roamed the forests and plains they had sung into being. He was not the first spirit to stumble across the peoples of Middle Earth, and he would not be the last. Watching your people dance and sing and create gave him new inspiration to take back to Aulë's forge, to bring order and balance to your lives as he saw fit, for who could know better than he?

Today was a feast day, when all of your people were out in the forest hunting and foraging, mirthful song filling the glades as you ran barefoot through the trees, breathless with laughter and exertion, carrying a basket of berries meant for the evening's festivities. Pale golden light streamed through the leafy canopy, dust motes floating in the rays and sparkling like the stars above. You looked around for your companions, a little far off beyond the thicket you had picked through for its fruit. Unperturbed, you continued, hearing the silvery sound of water flowing somewhere in the vicinity. A drink or a dip was almost certain, you thought, to refresh you and your companions before the feast, but you would find it first and save them from searching. Soft birdsong and rustling leaves accompanied by a warm breeze made for the perfect setting; how could you wish for more?

He makes a great effort to be silent, not wishing to frighten you, unsure of how his sudden appearance might affect you. After all, you hadn't heard him the countless times before, why should you now? He matches your footsteps, remaining in step with you behind the trees in the merciful shadow, careful not to disturb the undergrowth, picking carefully through the wildflowers that scent the air. Your pointed ears prick up at a rustle in the trees, and you snap your head round to investigate. He darts behind a gnarled oak tree, holding his breath and awaiting your discovery. You smile and shake your head softly; what could you possibly be afraid of in these forests, your home for decades? You continue following the sound of the stream up ahead, ignoring all other sounds in the forest now, much to his satisfaction. How innocent you are, how much you need his protection, for what would you do if there were forces that wished to subdue you or do you harm? The glint in his eye grows as he draws closer, still choosing to remain hidden from you. He could use his powers to disguise himself, to stalk you unnoticed almost hand in hand with you, and had done on a few occasions, close enough to smell your soft hair, even to take a few strands for himself, but somehow he likes this better, imagining you the innocent prey to his stealthy predator, a thrill at the though of catching you rushing through him as quickly as he pushes it away. He only wants to watch you, to know you, to observe, nothing more. What interest could you possibly have in one another beyond curiosity?

The first time he saw you, many moons ago, you'd been surrounded by your fellow Elves, dancing in harmony in a field of wildflowers, sweet music in the air. He hadn't thought much of you at first if truth be told, you were all very much alike; all fair and graceful, joyful and innocent. It was only when the music picked up, your dance became faster and more frenetic, that an Elf with long golden hair had tripped and fallen, disrupting the rhythm, leaving all your companions giggling at her misfortune. He too had laughed at her stumble, grateful that the music covered his sudden outburst, but then he noticed you, with your hand outstretched and a comforting smile to greet your fallen comrade, who shook herself off while you picked stray leaves from her hair. She seemed unhurt, and no one else was concerned, already having resumed their merriment, but you held back a moment to check she was well. He was instantly captivated, itching to reveal himself and carry you off, to protect the light within you, or consume it wholly. The tiny semblance of self-restraint he had left held him back, told him to wait and observe, to absorb all he could about you; the idea of you rejecting his advances was intolerable, triggering waves of nauseous anger throughout his being. No, patience would serve him, and so he had waited, oh so patiently. Your kindness had, and would, be your undoing.

Illuminated up ahead is the stream you've been chasing; it's small, barely a trickle, but you follow it regardless. The water is cool and clear and refreshes your worn feet, and you lift your dress to keep it clear as you pad down the river bed, feeling the sandy mud between your toes being washed away as you lift your feet into the current. The light is beginning to fade now, you know you should turn back, but you're sure there is a pool nearby, and it would feel so good to swim a little before getting back to the others. They could share in it tomorrow, but today you could bask in some sweet time alone.

He has been following your softly trodden path in the mossy forest floor, but when he reaches the water's edge, it vanishes. Cursing, he casts about, searching for a hint of your next steps. He had only stopped for a moment, distracted by the way your hair catches the light, your graceful smile, the way your dress flows over your frame. A fleeting thought of taking that same dress off you, the image of you pliant underneath him, all had left him breathless, frankly caught unawares, still unused to the urge to get close to you even after all this time, and the strange feelings that coursed through his fair form that he had never experienced before setting his gaze upon you. He had passed a few golden afternoons like this - perhaps many if he were ever honest - watching and waiting for you, but every occasion felt like a lifetime, which for Mairon was indeed no understatement.

Frustration coursed through him, filling the pit of his stomach with a strange churning at the thought of losing you; it was a feeling he couldn't quite place, nor come to terms with. These mortal forms were not for him, he decided, the lack of clarity in these feelings was suffering enough, and he turned to leave, embarrassed now that he had let it get this far. It was a foolish errand, carried out once too often, following you through the forest with no thought but to see what you would do if you only turned around, saw him, embraced him-

A sharp crack rang out through the trees as he snapped a branch under his feet in his haste, all thoughts of moving in the shadows abandoned as his self-admonishment moved him to run, to leave now before he could become entangled with you. But as he scolded himself for his lack of self control, he heard you call out.

"Who's there? Did you find me? And here I was, hoping for some peace," you laugh, expecting your friends to join you as you wade in the crystal clear waters.

Your eyes widen and you stare at the stranger who appears as if from the shadows themselves, a small smile gracing his face. He is ethereal, and frankly you have never beheld a being more beautiful, but for the first time in your life, a small voice deep in your mind advises caution.

"I didn't mean to startle you, young one," his smooth voice reaches your ears and sends tingles from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

"You didn't," you lie, after a long pause, not wanting to discomfort him any more than he seemed to be. Blood rushed to your face as he regards you intensely, as if you'd met before.

"Were you looking for something? The pool perhaps? It is a warm day, I couldn't be too surprised to find someone else had the same idea." You gesture to yourself with your skirts around your waist, legs submerged.

He steps closer, still regarding you, his smile widening. You had said something right apparently, and you couldn't shake the feeling of satisfaction that his lovely smile gave you; as long as he kept looking at you like that, you felt you might be content forever, such were the tender pangs your heart suddenly felt in his presence. You didn't even know his name, and so immediately you ask.

"I have many names," he articulates carefully, eyes on yours, unblinking.

"So what name should I use for you?" You ask teasingly, beginning to step out of the water, wringing the edges of your skirts out.

Unthinking he stretches out his hand, and as if on instinct, you take it, not needing the assistance but immediately grateful you took it. His hand is warm and strong, and encircles yours comfortingly, fitting perfectly. A wave of some strange feeling overtakes you, a heat beginning in your abdomen, flowing through you. You've never experienced it before, but from what you have heard from your married kin, it might be called lust.

Your face feeling hot now, you look away, anywhere but at this beautiful stranger, and notice a small dark stain blooming on his shoe. Your eyes widen and you drop to your knees to look closer, unheeding of the change in his stance as he takes you in from above. What magic could you wield over him in this position, he wonders.

"You're hurt, my lord," you motion to his foot, and he realises that in his trance, the branch had broken his sole and pierced his flesh. The pain had gone unnoticed until now, your spell over him seeming to soothe any ill in his body or soul, but now that you'd pointed it out, he winced and cursed this body of flesh and bone, so easily vulnerable to the perils of mortality, even if his fëa was not.

"Come, let me look at it, it might be serious," you beckon him to follow you to a fallen tree trunk, lying oh so conveniently on its side, as if waiting for two lovers to take their seats on its bark. He stands awkwardly, watching you, his brow furrowed as if he had no idea what you have planned, before you laugh and pull him to sit. Without ceremony, you strip him of his shoe and examine the wound.

"That is a lot of blood for such a small wound," you murmur, tracing the arch of his foot. You find yourself touching his skin a fraction too long, and without looking at him, you straighten and go back to the pool.

His eyes never leave you, even as you avoid his gaze, ripping a strip of gauzy fabric from your dress and wetting it, before hurrying back. Almost imperceptible to the average observer, your hands shake, but he is not the average observer, and he has observed you for quite a while now. You're nervous, he realises with a tiny smirk, and it thrills him, sending a delicious shiver down his spine. All these new feelings this body gave him, they don't appear to cease evolving while you're this close, close enough that he feels your breath on his skin and nearly gasps. He needs to pull himself together, but try as he might, alas, your kindness was intoxicating. He had known such goodness in Aman when he'd dwelt there with his kin, if you could call them that, but his recent company was somewhat lacking in that department.

You sit back on your haunches and look once more at the wound, now nearly clean and seemingly smaller than it had been. Shrugging to yourself, you carefully dab away the blood that still drips onto the ground beneath you, soaking into the moss and ferns; you don't notice how they seem to brown and wilt with each drop.

"Is everything alright, my lady?" He asks, quick to notice your confusion, eager to distract you from the plants at your knees.

His lady, that did sound delightful. You know it is a manner of speech, but for a moment it is rather blissful to imagine it, the lady to this gracious lord.

"I think I might have overestimated how badly you were injured, it seems to be only a scratch," you reply, still a little bemused as to the disproportionate amount of blood. How were you to know that he could heal himself with nary a thought.

You start to pull away, but he is reluctant to let you go so soon, wishing for a moment it had been a serious matter, that he would require all of your gentle care and undivided attention for the foreseeable future, kicking himself that he didn't allow the wound to fester and bloom. He casts about for any excuse and uncharacteristically lands on a weak one.

"Your dress, my lady, how can I make it up to you? After all, your efforts ought not be in vain." He knows how to ingratiate himself with most folk, and makes the most of his skills to do so, but there is a tiny part of him now that actually feels he owes a kindness in return. It's an alien notion, and he attempts to brush it aside, but as he lingers in your presence, he realises that he would sooner abduct you from this glade than let you leave him, and if a kindness is what it will take, then he will fulfil it.

A small crinkle appears in your brow, then you glance down at the torn hem and chuckle.

"It is nothing, my lord, easily fixed, and anyone would have done the same." You graciously reply.

The way you look up at him through your lashes, his heart skips a beat; he didn't even know it could do that.

Your small nervous smile becomes radiant, beaming even, as you bask in the glow of the dappled light illuminating his face. You realise you don't want him to leave just yet, inexplicably drawn to his presence, and you cast about for any reason at all that would keep him here.

"I'm afraid your shoe is a little wet." To your credit, it actually is wet, full of blood, but in an inexplicable act to scupper his departure, before he can react and you can elaborate, you find yourself holding it on the water's edge.

Your hands move faster than your brain, and you drop it into the shallows, looking him dead in the eye.

For a moment, all is still between you, and you bite your lip, your mischievous grin suddenly uneasy as your mind catches up with you and you consider what in all of Middle Earth you just did. This is a total stranger, an ethereallly beautiful one at that, and you have no idea how he will react to your escapade. You straighten and wring your hand a little behind your back, awaiting a wrath that would never come.

"It would appear it is very wet, my lady." And he throws back his head and laughs long and hard, a sound that you want to elicit from him again and again.

When you are lying entwined together, many years and hardships later, he will ask you what you were thinking, and as ever you answer him honestly: you only wanted him to stay, however you had to do it.

With a playful laugh, you retrieve the sodden shoe and shake it off, before holding it out to him. He can still leave, you think, but it will be mighty awkward.

He takes it, throws it behind him, kicks off his other shoe, and shrugs off his robe. Your mouth falls open a little and you lick your lips unconsciously, as his frame is revealed, taut and lean, through his thin shirt. He rucks up his trousers and joins you in the shallow water, shivering a little at the sensation.

Instinctively, you outstretch your hand to steady him, and he takes it without thinking. His touch soothes any nerves you had and sparks a fire that seems to trail up your arm and end in your aching chest. You hadn't noticed you were holding your breath and slowly exhaled, careful not to alert him to your sudden onslaught of sensation. He considers you for a moment, smile tugging at his lips, seemingly fascinated by where you are joined, fingers entwined. And then he has a mad idea.

The tension in the air is cut by a sudden splash of water on your face, and as you clear your eyes, you realise he was the one that had thrown it. He had seen many an elf play-fighting in the water all the time, throwing it at one another joyously, victory seemingly determined by who doused their opponents the most. He had never partaken, obviously, but now inspiration took him, and you had made the first move with his shoe, but now as he watched your face screw up with indignation, water in your eyes and hair, he wasn't so sure it was the right jest with which to entice you.

For a moment you are dumbfounded. This stranger, whose name you still didn't even know, whom you'd only met in the last hour, had started a water fight.

Seemingly affronted, you snatch your hand away and make to leave, turning your back to him. His face falls and he realises this was probably not the way to win your affections.

"My lady, I-" his apology is cut short by an armful of water to the face, as you reach down into the pool and swing as much as you can in his general direction in one fell swoop.

Cackling with triumphant laughter, you can't help but feel a little sorry for him as he stands there absolutely sopping wet, eyebrows in his hairline, looking positively flabbergasted. Unfortunately for you, his eyes narrow as he realises your subterfuge, and the game commences.

It is over soon enough, the two of you emerging soaked and giggling like children, having run rings around each other and giving as good as you got, both of you thoroughly avenged. As you both wade back to shore, he takes your hand and holds it in the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, lords and ladies, I present the victor of the battle-"

He is interrupted by the both of you breaking down into breathless laughter once again, two strangers no more.

On the sandy bank, he climbs out first, and awaits you, but you hold back.

"What should I call you then, my lord, unless that is what you prefer to be named?" You have to ask, needing introductions now you had so thoroughly beaten him in battle, never mind your fascination with him, the overwhelming urge to pull him close.

"I have many names, my lady, and you have not yet told me yours," he replies, almost but not quite frowning at you, confused as to why it really matters, why you would need to know who he is after having passed such a pleasurable afternoon together.

"You first, I asked you before and you avoided the question." Your expression is now serious; why would he want to conceal himself from you, after you had passed such a pleasurable afternoon together?

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I have many names, but the one I prefer," he holds his breath a little, still unsure as to how you might receive him, "is Mairon."

After a long pause, in which he considers fleeing, or possibly burning the forest down, your expression brightens as you mull over his name, feel it in your mouth, wonder over the meaning.

"That is beautiful," you murmur, "the admirable? You must be something wonderful to have earned such a name, my lord."

Relief washes over him as he realises his true name must not yet be known in these parts; rumours and slander would not colour his attempts to woo you after all.

His gaze softens as he watches you taste his name on your tongue, and he has a sudden aching longing to know what it sounds like when you're on your back and breathless under him. Surely nothing could be sweeter.

"And you, love, what am I to call you?" He is so struck by you, he barely notices the crucial detail that slips from his lips, but you do, and you regard him with a strange look he can't place.

Love, he said, so casually and so delicious to hear, your breath hitches and for a second the world spins. You've only just met this man, if he is even a man, and he uses such pet names as if you've known each other a lifetime.

"Amarië, that's what everyone calls me." You had almost forgotten he had asked, and it was only the silence between you that reminded you to answer.

"Goodness. A fitting name for so virtuous a maiden." He steps closer, still on the bank, oh so tall above you, the light through the trees illuminating him from behind, leaving his features in shadow.

Of course, he already knew your name, and had always thought it fitting. Indeed, it was one of the reasons he had hesitated to approach you, for surely one so good could not possibly want nor need one such as him, despite the ache in his heart that told him you were his to take, the rest of Arda be damned. He knew his purpose in Arda was a valiant one; his methods, however, he was aware they were... contestable.

Your face grows hot at his compliment, and you look down and away, anywhere but at his gaze, currently fixed on you, intense and contemplative. He gently lifts your chin, seeming to study your every feature, every nuance in your expression until he sees what he desires.

A shadow passes over his face, before he tightens his grip and finally pulls you from the shallow water. You stumble a little, but he is right there to catch you, strong arms around you as your free hand is crushed between you, pressed against his chest. His eyes are dark, scaring you and thrilling you all at once, like a wolf studying its prey before their total annihilation. Then he takes your face in his hands and claims your lips, as if he's finally satisfying some dark long-held urge, and you cannot help but melt.

It is as if he has done this a thousand times before, teasing you with his tongue, demanding entrance to your mouth as if he wants to drown in you.

Electric tingles spread over your skin everywhere he touches, from your neck where he grips you softly, to your lips he has claimed for his own, to your waist that he refuses to yield from his embrace.

He is unrelenting, refusing to let you come up for air, even as you claw at his arms for release. Finally he seems to realise his mistake and pulls back, lips swollen and parted in pleasure. You take a deep breath, chuckling a little as you do so.

"You are no Elf, my lord Mairon," you remark, righting your dress and smoothing your hair where he had wound his fingers.

With a slightly apologetic smirk, he nods. "I am something far greater, my love, so from time to time, I might forget such... intricacies."

In this moment, you feel as though your heart might burst, wanting him close, touching you, encircling you. But a shiver travels down your spine as the little voice whispering warnings becomes a scream, beholding him not as an ethereal being sent to ravish you, but a danger to ruin you. It was all too brief and you shook it off, for how could this beautiful creature ever mean you harm?

Evening becomes night, and you migrate from the tree trunk to the forest floor. Nestled into him with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you share the basket of berries that will surely be missed at the feast of your kin, and talk for hours about everything and nothing. He tells you of his work, that he is a smith and loves nothing more than to create beautiful things, but he has never had more exquisite inspiration than you.

He seems to know just what to say, soft words whispered only to please you, and all you want is more. He traces his fingers up and down your arm, across your collarbone, into the shell of your ear, idly mapping every inch of you.

He doesn't press you further than gentle touches and tiny kisses peppering your skin. Perhaps though he is no Elf, he is aware of your people's customs, that to give yourself to him in body would be to make the two of you one forever, body and soul. You're not so sure that isn't what you want, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless; after all, you have only known him an afternoon.

It takes all of his self-restraint to suppress the urge to take you here and now, after all, who were you to stop him? But he wanted you when you were ready for him, mind, body, and soul, and he was willing to wait, even if it took an age. Admittedly it would be a difficult wait, he muses, as he realises the close proximity of your body to his is having an unexpected effect on him. He shifts position to avoid you noticing how hard he is just from touching you, and he prays to any of the Valar who might have an ear for him that his wait for you will be swift.

You twirl a tiny flower idly between your forefinger and thumb, gazing up at the heavens, your other hand wrapped in his. You are such exquisite inspiration, he muses, smirking as he realises he can have you after all. He sits up, making you groan, robbed of his warmth.

"What are you doing, love?" You complain, taking a slightly petulant tone that makes him chuckle.

"You'll see, patience is a virtue," he reaches out with his closest hand and smoothes your hair, gesturing for you to lie back down.

You kick your feet a little, suitably admonished but impatient still.

"Come back to me, I had just got comfortable, and you've ruined it now!" You laugh at him, his back turned to you so you can't make out what he is doing.

You sigh long and loud, earning an affectionate chuckle, before you lay back down and close your eyes. It is but a few moments later that he grasps your hand and pulls you up to face him. When you see what he has readied, you gasp, tears pricking your eyes.

Purple irises grow with literal wild abandon in these fields and you had always loved them, weaving them in your hair and stitching their image on your garb. In his hand, perched on his fingertips as if it is the most precious thing in creation, is a tiny iris in full bloom, its slender stem wound and plaited into a ring, with its gorgeous indigo flower crowning it like no diamond ever could.

He is on his knees in front of you, ring in hand, and for a second you cannot quite put the pieces together. You have known him a day, if that? It is a beautiful gift, but can you accept the deeper meaning behind it, that seems to lie in his expression, if not his words.

"It is beautiful, my lord," you sigh, "I think I shall require your aid in putting it on, it is so delicate after all."

Your heart aches at his wide smile, the crinkle of his eyes as he wordlessly slips it onto the fourth finger of your left hand, which surely he cannot know would mean-

"I would make you mine, my love, if you would have me," he murmurs, heart beating out of his chest, sentiment momentarily making him soft and weak for you.

So he does know the significance, and in an instant you feel as though you've been doused in liquid fire, nerves tying your stomach in knots, regarding his gift on your finger with equal parts trepidation and excitement.

You close the space between you and grasp his face with both hands, claiming his lips for your own, fingers travelling to his hair and over the pointed tips of his ears. He moans deep in his chest and pushes you backwards into your makeshift bed, peppering you with kisses until all your skin is ablaze.

"I am yours," you breathe, words so soft he might have missed them, had you not whispered directly into his ear, clutching his neck and whimpering as he maps every uncovered inch of you he can reach with his lips.

He groans, a noise so guttural it surprises you in the best way, sending a wave of arousal to between your legs. He rolls his hips against yours, and you feel something hard against your mound, through all the layers of fabric between you.

The stars blaze above you, hot and bright, but they have nothing on the way he makes you feel. You have heard of love at first sight, but never thought it might happen to you, that it was rare enough if it happened at all.

His hot breath trails down your neck to your collarbone, and his clever fingers work to unlace you from the fabric shielding you from his gaze. He stops a moment, breathing heavily.

"Tell me you want this -" his silver tongue licks your ear and sucks at your neck. "Tell me you need this."

His gaze is so heated, and his voice rough with arousal, that you clench your legs together to relieve that ache that has been building there since you met him. It seems like forever ago now, impossible that it has not even been a day.

"I need you," you hiss, desperate for any touch he'll bestow upon you. "...I'll always need you, now that I have you, I can't let you go."

Your words shatter the last remaining resolve he had not to ruin you, and he takes you as his own. Stripping every inch of you until you are bare before him, desperate for his skin on yours, he wraps you in his arms, legs entwined with yours. The violent urge to claim you was not satisfied, but he would have plenty of time to show you all of him; tonight was your wedding night, and you deserved what gentleness he could provide.

He runs his fingers through your slick, fascinated by how wet you are for him. Perhaps these mortal forms were not so bad after all.

You moan his name and beg for more, though you cannot possibly know what you are asking for. His lascivious grin sends tremors through you, a swooping feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you there is no going back now.

He loosens himself from his trousers, shucks them off almost clumsily in his haste to be inside you. He is beautiful, you reflect, as you take in his bare torso, his strong legs, and all the flesh in between. His size shocks you a little and you wonder how he plans to use it.

He sees your eyes widen and immediately covers you with his body, kissing softly at your neck so to better hear your tiny sounds of pleasure. In time he will make you scream, he vows.

"It's alright, love," he reassures you with a soft smile, "I've got you, I won't let it hurt."

His fingers move in comforting circles in the small of your back, at the apex of your thighs, across your mound. He gathers the slick from your entrance, readying himself with a stroke. He is already so painfully hard, but he has to come inside you, no way will he waste his seed on the forest floor.

He holds your gaze as he lowers himself to between your thighs, wrapping your legs around him.

"Pull me to you, love, make me yours," he pants, cock straining at your entrance, waiting for you to take the plunge.

It's like standing at a precipice; the fear of falling is so closely tied to the fear of jumping. But you bite your lip and dig your fingernails into his back, tighten your calves, and pull his lower body into yours.

You want to scream, the stretch is too much, he is too big and he's hitting somewhere delicious inside you that makes you see stars. He doesn't move, letting you feel all of him, relishing in you taking him like the good girl you are.

"Well done, love, so good for me, you feel so fucking good," he exhales, towering over you while the moon illuminates him from behind, leaving his expression inscrutable.

His fingers on your abdomen are so soothing, the stinging stretch you felt disappears, leaving only white hot pleasure in its wake. You begin to move your hips against him, aching for more friction, more skin on yours, you'd take anything he would give you.

At first his movements are slow and rhythmical, as if you are made of glass, but your impatient whines encourage him to release himself upon you, snapping his hips in time to your thrusts against him, endlessly surprised but thrilled at your eagerness to please him. He has chosen so well.

The intensity of the moment gets the better of both of you, and before long you are chanting his name in his ear, chasing your inevitable ruin on his cock.

He comes first, much to his eternal embarrassment, unable to prevent spilling inside you as your tight cunt clenches his flesh. You feel him pulse inside you and it tips you over the edge, a silent scream on your lips as fire overtakes your flesh and leaves you drowning in him.

For a second, you behold each other as you truly are, not in body but spirit, and it terrifies you; you see something black as the darkest night throwing off flames that lick at your being, triggering that sick swooping feeling in your abdomen again. He is enthralled by you, bright and radiant like the morning star, and he wants to coat himself in your light, drink it in and burn all of Arda until there is nothing but the two of you in the cosmos.

His attentions to your neck slow and he leans back to look at you in all your glory, radiant under him in body and soul, as you lazily trace his hips with your fingers, coming down from your high and needing nothing more than to be held.

"You did so well, my love, so good for me," he whispers as he releases you from his grasp, laying you down beside him and pressing himself against your back with his arm slung over your torso possessively.

Your eyes begin to droop with the lateness of the hour and the exertion of your wedding night, and while he murmurs in your ear how much he loves you, how proud he is of you, how much he needs you, you take his hand and sleepily press a kiss to his palm. You snuggle in closer as he draws his robe around the pair of you against the night's chill, and slowly drift off, a smile on your face even in sleep.

He gazes at you adoringly, murmuring sweet nothings as your body relaxes into his.

"Beautiful girl, only mine," his voice is so soft yet somehow it finds you even as you begin to slumber. "My sweet wife, we will know peace together, I swear it to you."

He wants to claw inside his own chest and pull his treacherous heart out with his bare hands, for surely that pain would be easier to bear than this. He curses himself for being so weak, and you for being so tempting, before closing his eyes to join you.

He thought by having you, possessing you, that these feelings might be assuaged, that the urgency he felt to be near you would fade, and he could move on from this unique torment. Alas they had increased a hundredfold, and he swore on his fëa itself that no harm would ever come to you, that he would cherish you all his days.

What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you

No, I don't wanna fall in love with you

[wordbunch]

oh, how unreasonable [Halbrand]

LONG A/N: I hope yall have lots of fun and feels while reading this, and I am living for any comments and impressions ♡ if it is slight ooc, I really don't care. If you don't consider Halbrand a warning in itself, then the only warning I have is occasionally suggestive conversation.

❗️this is essentialy Halbrand x my OC Díorien (she), who is a half-elf with the other half of her roots unknown, but there are no physical descriptions - feel free to consider it a reader insert. The only extra bit of knowledge is that she can use fire magic (hence multiple fire references), she is more-less one of the elves but not fully, and is very much on the fence about who to side with. A girl is struggling

I wholeheartedly recommend these 2 songs for the mood ♡

“So it is true.” 

“What is?”

“That evil never sleeps?” Díorien’s face appeared in warm candlelight amid the dark room. Her eyes scanned the figure in front of her with equal parts disdain and intrigue.

“Ever so witty, my queen,” Halbrand cackled, positioned in front of the door of Díorien’s private chambers. “How could I sleep, knowing you are here, and not by my side in a realm of our own creation?”

Cautiously he began to approach her bed, thick darkness everywhere except for the cool glow of the moon through the large window above her headboard, and the candle in her hand she had lit seconds ago. Fitting. 

“What brings you here?” she inquired dryly, pretending with all her might that his presence in the dead of night wasn’t making her shiver from head to toe. Having just awoken abruptly, she needed a few moments to wrap her head around the situation and realize she was dressed only in a delicate, sheer nightgown with sheets bunched up around her waist and legs. Swallowing thickly, Díorien decided to just pretend she was dressed properly - however, she was convinced Halbrand could see right through her anyway. Somehow he was always able to. 

“What brings me here is…” he began, voice heavy with something inexplicable, “the fact that the most enchanting, strong, passionate woman in the world, does not want to partake in that world with me.”

“But how could I, Halbrand?” She defended herself, not fully convinced she stood behind her own words. The way his eyes pored over her vulnerable form in the candlelight pulled the very ground from beneath her feet. “Y-you want me to-”

“I want you to rule with me, I want you to be my other half, I want you to come with me somewhere you will be not cast aside, but worshipped.” All decorum aside, Halbrand sat on the edge of her bed, and he could see her swallow thickly. If he said that heat wasn’t overcoming his whole body in her presence, that would be a very transparent lie, since that usually was the effect that she had on him. And he knew that she knew about it very well. “They do not understand you. They do not drive you to grow greater, to aim for more - they do not see you the way that I see you, Díor.” He was sliding one hand slowly over the mattress towards Díorien’s hand which was tightly clutching the silky sheets. “I know how that feels, my starlight, because that is how they are to me as well. But not you. Not you. You know my mind like you have walked the very steps inside of it. And I - I see the greatness that burns within you, the flame that terrifies everyone else, except someone who has walked through fire before.” His voice was quiet and gruff, but with an edge of persistence.

“Halbrand-” she whispered, furrowed eyebrows reflecting her inner turmoil.

“When you say my name like that, I am willing to throw the rest of the world away and just live in you instead.” He interrupted her eagerly, but she cleared her throat, determined to continue.

but you’ve come to offer, i’m here to receive / your face is my gospel, your body my creed / bring me to your altar, drop me to my knees / the more i worship, the more i believe 

“You are asking me to betray my own kin-”

“And you would betray your own heart.”

His calloused hand found his way to her closed fist and wrapped around it. Had the windows not been open and graciously letting in a light breeze, Díorien would have combusted then and there. In spite of that, she allowed him to touch her. 

“Do I not make you feel better than any of them, my queen? Do I not make you feel euphoric, boundless? I find it hard to believe you have already forgotten how we relished in each other, away from any judgemental glare,” he pressed with a deceitful pout. His other hand found its way to her bare shoulder, his touch almost scathing in the crackling air.

“Even when I try to bury those memories, they come back all the stronger, and I tremble every time I feel the ghost of your lips on my body” she admitted earnestly, her eyes bearing a striking vulnerability. “I feel you even when I least wish to do so, but I do not believe you and your proposals and schemes.”

it’s not fair, oh, it’s not fair how much i love you / it’s not fair ‘cause you make me ache, you bastard

Halbrand sighed away a self-satisfied smile, composing himself before speaking up once again. “You would not be betraying any of them - I need you to establish a new order with me, I need you to save your beloved world with me. You would not be betraying anyone, quite the contrary, you would be their savior, and nobody would have any right to pass you any judgment.”

There were a few steady beats of silence, the only moving thing the meek, flickering flame of a single candle on the windowsill, and the light that it cast on all around it. 

“Do you speak of betrayal because you were conditioned to do so, or because you feel that way truly? You speak of your kin, but are they, really? What makes you anymore closely bound to any of them, than it does to me? Had you been so important to each other, you wouldn’t have been treated like some lesser-”

Díorien interrupted his barrage of questions before his voice could adopt an even more venomous tone than it just had.

“And what do you know of true feelings, of truth in any capacity?” She chuckled dryly, hoping to have finally caught him off guard. In that moment, the only perfectly true thing about her was the fact that she was holding onto her morality by a thread, weakening by the second. He knew too well exactly where to hit her, and how, and she was aware that she had entered a battle inevitably to be lost. 

“The way I feel with your hands on me is the only measure of truth I need. You are the very flame of my heart.” 

Whether her senses and sanity were failing, or was there something so genuine and frail in the way he delivered his confession, there was no way to tell. Their eyes met as an abundance of feelings grazed his facial expression. 

and if you asked me to, if you asked me, i would lose it all / like petals in a storm / ‘cause darling, i was born to press my head between your shoulder blades, at night when light is fading

The thread weakened to become next to nothing. Against her better judgment, Díorien reached out a warm hand to remove a stray curl that had fallen over Halbrand’s eyes. He himself was growing uncertain of what exactly he was holding onto. Perhaps it was just her existence, just her closeness, her overt ferocity and her inescapable radiance. He only knew he wanted more of it, all of it, until the end of all the ages of the world. 

“But if your plan for a newly established perfect harmony fails, what then, Halbrand?” Díorien’s tone was stiff yet hushed, but it was all false pretenses; those troubled eyes, unruly hair and towering height had broken through her guard one too many times already. She sat there, defeated, all but vibrating with things left unsaid, and the expectations of things yet to be heard. 

“We would still have one another,” he retorted with a pinch of desperation in his voice, and you would still have thousands… millions, under your merciful hand.” He touched her jawline, brushing over her lower lip with his thumb. “And me, merely a breath away from your lips.” Halbrand’s eyebrow twitched upwards ever so slightly; she would have missed it had she not been so familiar with almost all of his crevices and corners. “You would have tried saving the elves, saving Middle-earth, if that is necessary to still your conscience. But failure of my mission or not - in the end you still come out a winner. We do.” His hand found her trembling fingers, firmly bringing them to his lips, never ceasing to hold her gaze. 

“When you look at me like that,” she whispered, subconsciously leaning into his touch and toward his face, “I find myself failing to draw a single breath,” she finished shakily, mentally cursing herself for falling under his influence time and time again. Although she had aimed to hold her ground, she was walking a thin line between the right choice and the reckless one. But, oh, the reckless one had a smile which made her forget her own name, and the rasp in his voice drowned out even the sweetest elven melodies. She wasn’t walking a line - she was falling over it right into the strong arms of her ravishing, twisted enemy (or at least whom she was raised to believe was one). 

Halbrand offered her a devilish, partially relieved, grin as he pulled her onto his lap in one swift motion, twisted sheets and all; she drew in a sharp breath weaving both of her hands into his unruly hair. Forehead against forehead, they were now painfully aware of both of their strained breathing and the thrill that was palpable in the, until very recently still, air. Díorien eagerly renounced the last bits of her poise as soon as his face was buried in her tender neck, his beard deliciously scratching her skin. However, as soon as she let out a sweet breath of pleasure, Halbrand moved away to look into her face again.

“Is that a yes, my queen?” he whispered, looking up at her through his lashes, his hands firmly dug into her hips. 

“It is anything you want it to be, my king,” her answer was hurried, desperate, starving, merely a millisecond before she collided her lips with his. 

It didn’t take long before Halbrand maneuvered them so that he was hovering over the wide-eyed girl with fire inside her body and heart.  

“I think it is time I make you forget all those wretched little excuses you tried giving me, darling,” he murmured into her skin before hastily blowing out the candle.

oh, how, oh how unreasonable / how unreasonably in love i am with everything you do / i’ll spend my days so close to you / ‘cause if i’m stood here, then i’m stood here / and i’ll stand here / i’ll stand here with you.

♡♡♡

shoutout to my most beloved 💖💖💖 @queenmeriadoc @lady-of-imladris

and @entishramblings i know you're not a ROP girl, but perhaps the writing style will be right up your alley 🥰

[notreallythatlost]

DIMENSIONS OF HOPE

➴ halbrand/sauron x female!human!reader

summary: he was the only person that gave you hope. until you were finally able to see his darkness.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, fluff, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, slight dom!reader, riding, mentions of war and death, angst, character death (or not? who knows)

word count: 3k

note: i’ve been not feeling so good lately (it was a very stressful week), so i wrote this and well, it made me feel so much better. i wanted to rewrite my favorite scene from season one — there was this picture in my head and i NEEDED to write that down. hope you’ll love how it turned out as much as i do. enjoy! xx

THE RINGS OF POWER MASTERLIST

Hope. It is the strongest feeling we can have. It is stronger than fear, stronger than pain — stronger than love. Even when we got nothing left, we still have our hope. Because it will never let us down.

You always believed that hope would save you. From falling, from giving in to the darkness.

When you met that one person who felt like hope — you gave him everything. Your body, your soul, your heart. You were ready to let yourself fall because you knew he would save you. But instead, he wanted to let you drown in the darkness.

The sun was just about to rise on the horizon as you let your gaze glide over the roofs of the city and endless expanse of the sea behind them. Númenor was beautiful, there was no doubt about that.

Whether it was the different scents that reached your nose whenever you walked through the streets or the taste of the wine, a little sour but at the same time so sweet that you could never get enough of its taste.

Everything felt so familiar. Just like... home. Even though it wasn’t, not really.

A smile crept onto your lips as you felt someone step behind you. But there was no discomfort, even when his rough hands slid over the delicate skin of your arms, only covered by the soft material of the dress, that was almost transparent — revealing the shape of your body to his gaze, the light of the first rays of sun falling down on you.

You leaned back and could feel his naked chest against your back as you closed your eyes with a soft sigh. You could practically hear his smirk and shivered as he exposed your neck by pushing your hair over your shoulder on one side.

Seconds later, his soft lips touched your skin, knowing what he was triggering in you with that. You hummed as his fingers reached your shoulder. Slowly he let them wander down your sides now and put his lips to your ear, pressing his chest harder against your back.

“What exactly are you watching?” he asked quietly and the sound of his deep voice made you shiver again. “I... was just enjoying the sunrise,” you answered quietly and his hands came to a stop on your hips. “And that is why you got out of bed?” he asked with an amused undertone.

You opened your eyes again while turning to Halbrand, who was looking down at you with a look full of desire. You could see how much he wanted you — and that after he had had you all night already. “Seems like it,” you replied quietly and put your arms around his neck.

Your body pressed against his and you could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of your dress. You stood slightly on your tiptoes, your lips brushing against his in nothing more than the hint of a touch. “What do you intend to do about it?” you asked quietly and bit your lower lip seductively.

That was all he needed. Without another word, he lifted you up so that you were lying in his arms in bridal style. Just like this, he carried you back inside the room and laid you down on the bed.

You couldn't suppress a giggle as he leaned over you and buried his face in the crook of your neck. He ran his finger over your collarbone, further down and finally over the curve of your breasts. The touch drew a gasp from you and your fingers dug into the bedsheets, as they had so many times before.

He made you feel things no one had ever made you feel before. He touched you in places no one had ever touched. But most of all, he gave you hope. Hope to save not only Númenor, but yourself too.

If only you knew that this was not what he wanted.

Halbrand raised his head and smiled as he saw your body react to his touches. He moved his face down to caress your nipples through the fabric with his lips and teeth. You could feel his hand wandering down between your leg and hear his growl at the feeling of your arousal, sending electric shocks through your body that made you arch towards him.

“So needy, so wet,” he murmured softly so that you could barely hear him. But his voice was there as were his touches. And his finger which slowly, almost painfully, slid inside you.

You bit your lower lip, knowing it was pointless. You hadn't been able to hold back before, so why should it be any different now?

“You'll never get enough, will you?” he whispered in your ear, his voice vibrating through your body. Again, you stifled a moan, much to his displease. “Come on, love. You haven't held back all night, don't start with it now,” he warned. And when he added a second finger to the first, you moaned desperately.

Halbrand placed his other hand on the side of your head and studied your face with an intense gaze as he worked you with his fingers. Nothing else could be heard except the smacking sound of your arousal and the longing noises which escaped you.

“You are so beautiful…,” he growled, running his thumb over your lower lip before taking possession of your mouth. His tongue swept over yours as he tasted you deeply. “…all at my mercy.”

With that, he pulled his fingers out of you, eliciting a whimper from you. You opened your eyes, pupils blown and saw Halbrand bring his fingers to his lips and lick them clean.

A tremble ran through your body when he met your gaze and you could see his hunger. He was just about to bend over you again when you stopped him by placing a hand on his chest while you slowly sat up, pushing him back.

He frowned slightly, but his confusion disappeared when you knelt on the bed in front of him, your upper body straightened. Your hand glided over his skin, feeling the heat under your fingertips. His breath caught as you reached the waistband of his pants and a faint smile spread across your face.

With one single movement, you pushed him onto the mattress on his back and now you were the one who leaned over him.

He looked up at you and ran a hand over the back of your head and through your hair until he stopped at your neck. “Like I said... beautiful,” he whispered, running his thumb along your jaw as you leaned down to kiss him.

His other hand slid to your shoulder and he pushed his finger under the fabric of your sleeve to slip it down slightly and expose your bare skin.

When you pulled away from him again and slowly straightened up, the fabric slipped even further down, exposing part of your breasts to his gaze. He looked at you as if you were a star, fallen from the sky, so full of light.

You smiled and started to work on his pants until you pushed them down, freeing his already throbbing cock. After you had thrown the fabric to the side, you took him in your hand and moved it up and down his length. A low groan escaped him while he closed his eyes and your insides clenched painfully around nothing.

“Halbrand,” you whispered as you positioned yourself over him. At the sound of his name, green eyes met yours again and you knew that he wanted it just as much as you did. Without breaking eye contact, you guided the tip of his cock to your entrance and then slowly lowered yourself onto him.

A moan escaped you, so longing that Halbrand trembled beneath you. His eyes were shut, as were yours, and the fabric of the transparent dress brushed against his skin like a feather.

The first movement of your hips made you both moan in pleasure again and he placed his hands on your hips. His fingers dug into your skin so hard that it hurt and you had to whimper softly. With that your movements became more intense as he filled you to the hilt, satisfying all your desires.

Your gaze lowered and you watched as he disappeared inside you, which was so hot that it made your muscles tighten around him.

“Look at me,” he gasped and you obeyed. With that he started moving his hips up and met your movements perfectly. You quickly found your rhythm and a short time later all that was heard were your moaning and the smacking sound of your union.

You were just about to lean down to kiss him, when Halbrand suddenly sat up, but without slipping out of you. His chest pressed against yours now and his hand rested on the back of your head.

His lips found yours in a short but deep kiss, making a little moan escaped you. When you parted again, you leaned your upper body back slowly and moved your hips against his again. This time his cock hit your most sensitive spot from a different angle, which elicited a high pitched whimper from you.

You were getting closer to your climax, you could feel it and you wanted nothing more. You wanted to let yourself go, like so many times last night.

“Look at me,” he growled, his hand coming to your jaw. “I want you to look into my eyes while you come,” he added, and began to rub your clit with the thumb of his other hand. “I want you to scream my name, so that everyone here knows who you belong to.”

And that was all it took.

The orgasm crashed over you like a wave and you did as he said. You screamed his name and you looked into his eyes as your body shook violently. Halbrand ran his thumb greedily over your bottom lip, then you felt him twitch inside you and a heavy gasp escaped his lips as he emptied himself inside you.

You sank down together, your body nearly melting into his, while his fingers glided through the soft strands of your hair as you looked each other deep in the eyes feeling the deep devotion for each other.

The day you found out who Halbrand really was, should change everything.

Galadriel had asked to search through all the old writings that had something to do with the royal line of the Southlands.

And when the messenger returned and handed Galadriel the papers, she turned to you. “I think you should look at it first,” she said, taking your hand to place the scroll in it.

“Why do you distrust him so much?” you asked the elf quietly, but she didn't answer. Instead, she just put a hand on your shoulder before walking past you and leaving you alone.

Some time later you found yourself standing by the waterfall on top of the cliff, far from Eregion. The sound of the falling water was supposed to calm you down, but your heart just wouldn't stop pounding against your chest. Your gaze was fixed on the scroll in your hands, but you couldn't open it yet.

If Galadriel was actually right and Halbrand was not the rightful king of the Southlands, there would be the question who he really was.

And why he had lied — why he had lied to you.

But you trusted that he had told the truth. You trusted him. And you held on to that thought as you opened the scroll with shaking hands.

“Y/N?” his voice suddenly sounded behind you as your gaze slid over the family tree of the kings.

In that very second you realized it and the truth hurt terribly. It took your breath away, as well as all your hope that he would be your salvation.

“Darling, I've been looking for you everywhere. Is everything okay?” he asked as he stopped a few steps away and reached out his hand for you. But before he could touch you, you flinched back and closed your eyes while turning your back to him.

“You lied...” you whispered and clenched your hand into a fist so tightly that your nails left small crescents in your palm.

“I fear I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Halbrand said and you turned around to face him.

You had raised your hand with the scroll slightly, so that his gaze fell on it. “What I’m talking about is, that there is no King of the Southlands. The line is broken, since many centuries by now,” your voice trembled and you threw the scroll on the floor in front of him.

“You've been lying the whole time. You've deceived everyone...” you continued while Halbrand examined the paper at his feet. “But the worst thing is, you lied to me, Halbrand.” He raised his gaze. “Tell me, was it real? Or was I just a toy for you?” There was a tremble in your voice, which you tried to control with all strength while you looked him dead in the eyes. “Tell me who you are, who you really are.”

His eyes were still fixed on you, but his expression had hardened. However, he made no move to answer.

“Tell me who you are!” you screamed at him and then everything happened very quickly. Much too quickly for you to have been able to do anything about it.

Halbrand was suddenly standing so close to you that you could feel his breath and it made you shiver. “I have been walking this earth longer than you can imagine. In that time... I’ve had many names,” he said quietly, causing goosebumps on your body.

“No...” you breathed and felt a tear come out of your eye and run down your cheek. “That can't be. You... you convinced Míriel to come with us to Middle-earth. You fought with us...” you murmured, but his expression remained firm.

“Galadriel convinced her. And I fought against your enemy... and mine,” was his answer, and a small smile appeared on his face.

You shook your head in disbelief and took a step back, unable to bear his near any longer. “I trusted you. I loved you,” you breathed, and Halbrand's expression softened a little. “And you still can,” he replied, but you frowned.

“I'd rather die,” you finally said, your voice only a whisper.

With these words, you turned your back on him again, but the second you turned around, you were no longer in Eregion.

Everything around you was on fire.

The trees, the houses, even the sky. There were the lifeless bodies of humans and elves laying all around you, while ash fell down burying them beneath it.

Tears ran down your cheeks, even though you knew that none of this was real. It was an illusion, but it showed you what the future would bring.

You slowly lifted your gaze and your breath caught. In front of you was a woman who looked exactly like you. It was as if you were looking in a mirror, and yet she seemed completely different. Her hair was blowing in the wind and she wore a beautiful dress but it was more like an armor. On her head was a fine band made of silver that looked very similar to a crown.

Suddenly, black smoke appeared out of nowhere, it was more like a shadow that enveloped your reflection and made it close its eyes. It felt strange to watch you enjoying the darkness, surrendering to it.

In that second, the shadow formed into a figure that stood behind you, putting his arms around your body. It was also wearing an armor and a crown that seemed all too familiar to you.

And suddenly you knew what he was showing you.

Frightened, you took a step back, Halbrand's firm chest behind you stopping you. “Do you see what we can do together?” he asked in your ear and you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping to wake up from this nightmare as quickly as possible.

“See what I can give you?” he continued, but you just shook your head.

“Look at me,” he asked gently, but you couldn't move. “Please, look at me, Y/N,” he said more firmly now and you turned to him avoiding his gaze.

His fingers cupped your chin and pushed your head up so you had to look into his eyes.

“I see you. I see who you really are. Not a mortal woman, with no real home or family, but a warrior. Who will stop at nothing to get what she wants,” he said and you felt his other hand stroke your arm. “Give yourself to me and you’ll see where it brings you.”

“You would make me a tyrant.”

“I would make you a queen. Fair as the sea and the sun. Just as you deserve. You bind me to the light and I give you a live that will last forever. At my side.”

With that, he moved your head so that you have to turn around again. Your gaze fell on your reflection and you saw how you cling desperately to the man behind you while he kissed your neck — and you could feel his lips as Halbrand kissed you there.

“And so much more...” His voice seemed to come from everywhere as his reflection turned back into a shadow that enveloped you completely.

“Together we are invincible. Together, we can save Middle-earth,” he continued and you turned back to him before looking around you. “Is that your idea of ​​saving? All I see is ruin. We would rule Middle-earth, not save it.”

“I see no difference between that,” he whispered, looking expectantly into your eyes. “I can help you to true greatness. No one will ever look at you again with doubt, as if you were just a weak human,” his hand found its way to your cheek and he used his thumb to wipe away the trace your tears had left there.

“Come with me and we will redesign this world. Just the way we want it,” he whispered and came closer to your face, so close that his breath brushed your lips.

And you wanted to give in. You wanted to let yourself be carried away by his darkness, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t let this shadow swallow you.

Slowly you raised your hand and let your fingers slide over his lips. Something flashed in his eyes that you thought was triumph, but his expression changed as you took a step back, closer to the cliff.

“I can’t.”

The illusion around you disappeared and the last thing you saw was Sauron's horrified look as he watched you fall into the depths like the waterfall a few meters away from you.

He tried to stop you, tried to catch your hand — but it was already too late.

And as you fell, one thing became clear to you. He had never been your hope.

All your life, it was yourself.

2024 notreallythatlost

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn.

Pairing: sauron/halbrand x reader, more pairings in the future to be tagged

Summary: In all beings, there exists darkness. when the deciver finds one who seems to defy this, he becomes obsessed with finding it within her. and if he can't find it, he will ruin her himself.

Tags/Warnings: clichés abound, opposites attract, sauron being evil but also hot but also evil, no use of y/n. This is pretty barebones. There's not much to tag, I don't think.

Notes: there was a lot of interest in this when I made a post. This is not super duper long and a Lil choppy but I wanna see what people think. Lemme know if you like it. If I should continue it. I have a lot of ideas. It's all written and edited on my phone so I'm sorry if it looks bad or mistakes were made.

Series Masterlist

The wind from the sea felt nice on his face. After so many years spent as nothing more than mud and slime, it was nice to feel. Feel anything. Freedom, independence, revenge. His plan to create order and heal the world would come to fruition. Being stuck on a ship with these men was worth that price. They were like bugs. If he wanted to, he could squash them and feel nothing. Though there was one who spoke to him kindly as a mentor would, and there was the ever so slight stirring of emotions he presumed were long dead. The old man was enough to make him question what it was he desired. Did he want to be good? Did he want a fresh start? What about his plans? The desire for order was there, the want to heal the world and bring peace, but would he get that through evil, through deceit and violence? Or could that be obtained another way? He continued to stare over the vast ocean as the wheels in his head turned, and he waged a war inside himself.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" A voice broke through the silence of the night.

He turned sharply, greeted by the image of a young woman. You were beautiful. He noticed it right away. Never had he looked at a human and thought they were beautiful. The thought was usually reserved for elves, but you were different. He could tell just by looking. You were soft, gentle, pure. There was a light to you that permeated all of your features.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. We have more food tonight than expected, and you had been on your own so long before finding us. I supposed you might be hungry." You held up a bowl for him, which he accepted with a nod.

"Thank you. I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Halbrand."

You smiled softly back at him, giving him your name and taking a few small steps towards him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He watched you. It was curious. Everyone here was gruff and rude, not wanting to help a stranger, yet you brought him a bowl of soup instead of keeping it for yourself. He watched as you looked up at the stars and how they were reflected back in your eyes. Humans didn't often intrigue him, but you did.

He leaned back against the railing of the boat with his arms crossed, but before he could speak to ask his question, you spoke.

"The stars are beautiful, aren't they? The light against the immense darkness. It reminds us that there is light in all things. Even in the darkest of times, there is hope."

"Your people were just slaughtered by orcs. You're on the run. Hope in the stars seems pretty useless." His eyes watched you with keen interest.

"Hope is never useless. Without it, all is lost." The earnestness in your voice further fueled his curiosity.

"And what do you hope for in times like this?"

"A new start. A place to start fresh..."

"Yes," he interrupted, "That is what all hope for, but what do you hope a new place or fresh start will do? What do you want from it?"

"I want a safe place to lay my head. I want to live without shame. I want fresh air and to grow my food and I want music and I want laughter. I want to drink tea with my friends. I want to love and feel the wind on my face. I want happiness. I want peace." You smiled and closed your eyes as you pictured this serene future.

He watched you, his brows furrowed. You were odd, but he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing as of yet.

"You have a lot of this hope. It's almost oozing out of you. I can almost taste it." He took a step towards you. "As if there is no evil out there."

"There is evil, yes, but there is good. Do we despair because there is evil or have hope because there is good? I do not think there is truly anything that is created evil. Evil is only when the good is taken from someone, and if you're able to take it, then it's able to be taken back." Your eyes had opened, and you looked up at him.

"I doubt you'd believe that if you knew the evil I'd done."

"Thousands of years ago, the people of the southlands sided with Morgoth. Our ancestors fought alongside the most evil being to ever exist. Most would say that the things our people did were deplorable and worthy of the worst shame. But I look upon my home, I look upon the people I have grown with, and I do not see evil. The people here, I am but a stranger to them. I have yet to meet most of them, but they took me in, as they did you. If my ancestors were evil, they could not have created such good."

“Whatever evil you did, it can be forgiven. You can do good, be good.” You moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. The feeling brought a sense of warmth that he had not felt since before he joined Morgoth, when he went by a different name. His eyes traveled down to where your hand rested, and you dropped it back to your side. He'd found himself missing the feeling.

"Your ancestors did do evil, though. They did plenty of evil things. Just as I have."

"Did they do evil out of the desire to be evil? Or did they do evil to protect those they loved? Were they born that way, destined to be only evil? Were you made evil? Or was it thrust upon you in a moment of hopelessness? Does every being have the capability to do both good and evil?"

He was left stunned at what you said, it took longer than usual for him to come up with a response. He wet his lips, looking over the ocean for a moment before looking at you once more. Your hair was gently blowing in the breeze of the ocean and he found the sight captivating. His intuition told him you were telling the truth, that you believed the words you were saying with your whole being. How could that be? There had to be some darkness that motivated you, that tainted your soul.

Everyone had darkness.

His mind played over the interaction long after it had happened. He wanted to feel that warmth again. You were a puzzle, a mystery. He would not know peace until he figured out what darkness was inside you because surely there had to be something. It was one of the many things that plagued his mind late at night. He watched as you slept peacefully. You were rows and rows down from him, but he could zoom in on your form. He watched your chest rise and fall, the calm of your features. You were a mystery that he had to solve.

This was what was on his mind when the worm attacked. He needed to know you. Even now, he watched as you attempted to help an elderly woman stuck under a beam instead of rushing to safety yourself. He couldn't bring himself to save the old man, but his fingers wrapped around the relic, and as water rushed the ship, he lept over and shielded your body with his.

He couldn't let you die. He had to understand you, to know you, to find out what motivated you, he would find your inner darkness.

And if he couldn't, he'd ruin you instead.

next

[sansaorgana]

— BLESSED (I)

PART TWO || PART THREE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!half-Elf!Reader

SUMMARY — Your daughter is starting to show character traits and abilities that you have no idea where she could have inherited them from. In the meantime, your husband is growing frustrated with Celebrimbor when it comes to forging the rings.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — There will be a second part where she finds out who her husband is but in this one she remains oblivious, although there are signs of course – to which the Reader is blind and deaf. 🤣 I have probably butchered the lore but I didn't even bother to google much about it because I had my own idea how to write it. 🙈 The Reader is a half-Elf because it is useful in Sauron's scheme (trying to convince Celebrimbor to forge the rings for men – Celebrimbor is like a father to Annatar's wife). What I know about the canon, though, is that Sauron actually spent centuries in Eregion. So, in this fic he spends a few years, which is still not a lot but longer than in the show.

WARNINGS — Reader's father is dead (he was human, so she outlived him), manipulating, gaslighting, lowkey toxic and abusive marriage between the Reader and Annatar but she keeps describing him as kind and noble, Annatar is not the best father (I don't think the fic should trigger anyone because it's not like he's awful either but I want to mention it here just in case), immaculate conception (sort of... lmao I don't know how to describe it), birth (not much of a description)

WORD COUNT — 6,460

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

BLESSED (I)

“Lord Celebrimbor regrets to inform you he’s unable to grant you entry,” you announced after approaching the human king standing by his horse after arriving back to Eregion.

You had seen him around before but you had never truly had any opportunity to talk to him. He had been so busy with the man you considered to be your uncle and your guardian that it had seemed inappropriate to ever interrupt their work. And now he was back and even filthier than the last time you had seen him. He wanted to speak to your uncle but Celebrimbor had made a promise to Lady Galadriel to never treat with this man named Halbrand again.

So you stood there and announced the news as Celebrimbor’s most trusted person in Eregion; a daughter of his old friend and one of the best human smiths he had ever worked with – and such exceptions for the Elven master were not many. And even though you had not inherited your father’s abilities to forge beautiful things, you were the most useful to your guardian when it came to helping him run Eregion smoothly. Celebrimbor was often too occupied with his work to notice or deal with certain matters. That was where you would walk in and help him just like your mother had taught you before she had decided to move to Mithlond.

Eregion was your home, though, therefore you had not left with her. The memory of your father was too painful for your mother to be here but you were quite the opposite – you loved to live in the city your father had spent most of his life in.

But without your mortal father and without your mother, you were quite alone. Lord Celebrimbor, whom you called an uncle, was truly the only person you had.

Just as you expected, though, the human king did not want to accept the information as he smirked at you.

“Mightn’t I speak with him directly?” He asked you.

“My uncle is occupied,” you explained, calmly. It was not the first time you were dealing with people of this sort. “But he wishes you good fortune on your journey,” you added and turned around to walk away.

“Are you asking me to leave?” Halbrand inquired you sighed softly as you froze and turned around once more, to face him again.

“The Lord of Eregion is asking you,” you answered, patiently.

“Perhaps I’ll just wait here,” the man smiled awkwardly and petted his horse. You admired his stubborn will even though it was an inconvenience to you and your uncle. “Just in case he changes his mind,” he added and turned around to tie his horse to the column. And as he did that, you spotted that his tunic was torn on his back, revealing long and fresh wounds on his skin.

And perhaps the Elven part of you would just turn the blind eye and leave but the human part of you pitied him. Yes, however it sounded like – your relationship started with pity. And the thread of understanding because you were aware of the weaknesses of the human flesh. You had seen your father suffering from the injuries that your Elven kin would heal from nearly instantly. You had seen his body growing weaker as he had been getting older; more fragile. And because of your love towards your father, you had known and understood Halbrand’s pain in a way that most Elves would not.

Therefore, you became the human king’s greatest advocate in front of your uncle. You were the one to tell Celebrimbor about his injuries, pleading to at least offer Halbrand the help of the Eregion medics. He did not agree. But when the evening came, you brought it up that the night was cold and asked your uncle if you should bring Halbrand a shawl.

So, perhaps it was a shawl that started it all – at least it was this way in Annatar’s version of your love story. And whenever you would ask your husband why he had chosen you out of all the Elven maidens of Eregion, he would always remind you that you had been the only one who had treated him with dignity and had cared for him even when he had been still in his human form.

Despite that noble reason for his affection towards you, it still felt surreal to be courted by the emissary of the Valars. You were a half-Elf with no exceptional talents… And yet, for you, a man of such lightness, who was chosen by the gods, would give up some of his privileges and stay in Eregion to work alongside your uncle and be your husband? It was nearly suspicious in a way but neither you or Celebrimbor ever thought of it this way. To Celebrimbor you were like his own daughter that he had never had. When Lord Annatar asked for your hand, he felt proud and blessed. And so did you, writing a letter to your mother in Mithlond with shaky hands to ask for her permission to marry.

But your mother was not really a part of your life anymore and she was a different person after your father’s passing. She agreed without asking any further questions.

A year after his arrival to Eregion, you became Lord Annatar’s wife. It was the happiest day of your life because after a few centuries of loneliness with no one but your uncle by your side, you could start a family of your own. And to have a family was all you had ever wanted.

You were standing by the window and staring at Eregion underneath with a dreamy gaze as the cool breeze refreshed your face and made your hair dance slightly in the air. You took a deep breath in and felt the overwhelming energy filling up your body. Married life was giving you a new sense of meaning and joy, especially with a man like Annatar – the kindest, the gentlest, the most noble and most humble. Even though his grey and simple robes had been recently replaced and he began to dress more elegantly, you knew that the change had not been his idea. It was Celebrimbor’s because he wanted your husband to present himself respectable enough for the rest of Eregion.

You felt your husband’s hands touching your arms as you closed your eyes and enjoyed his presence. He stood behind you and buried his face in your hair to place a kiss upon your head in that quiet moment of the morning before he would have to join your uncle in the forge and you would have to go downstairs to help with the administration matters.

“I have realised recently, my love, that I still have not given you any wedding gift,” Annatar pointed out softly and you opened your eyes to turn your head around and look at his beautiful face.

“It’s been months since our wedding… I have not even thought of that…” You admitted. “Because, to me, you are the grandest gift, my love,” you replied, truthfully. He smiled at you adoringly and caressed the side of your face with his fingertips but there was a playful sparkle dancing in his gaze.

“You are my wife and I am the Lord of Gifts. I shall spoil you with many,” he whispered and leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Is there something you want? Something you want very badly perhaps? Name it and I shall give it to you,” he murmured as his hands wrapped around your waist and you felt your cheeks heating up. You looked down nervously and Annatar chuckled. “I can see there is something… Name it, my love.”

You hesitated. Perhaps he would find it to happen too soon. Perhaps he would find it not suiting him at all. But he was your husband with whom you had shared your whole heart, soul and body. He deserved to know about your desires.

“...A child,” you confessed, nearly inaudibly, still too shy to look up at his face.

You could sense his muscles flexing around you and becoming more stiff. The atmosphere changed in an instant and you regretted your confession immediately. After a long while of silence, you swallowed thickly and looked up eventually, filled with anxiety. Annatar’s brows were furrowed and his eyes lost the playful sparkle. He did not look angry but a bit confused and torn.

“F-forgive me. I know that a woman like me is not worthy of carrying a child of a man like y–”

“Stop it,” Annatar shushed you quickly and cupped your face to caress your cheeks with his thumbs as he kept staring deep into your eyes with a gentle expression. “I do not wish to hear of it. You are my wife. There is nothing you are not worthy of,” he insisted and you sniffled your tears back as he sighed. “If a child is what you wish for, I shall give it to you,” he announced after a short while but you could feel the hesitancy.

And you felt bad about it but you craved to have his child so much that you decided to ignore that hesitancy in his voice.

Therefore, you only nodded and you felt your husband’s hands lowering themselves onto your arms. He turned you around, so you would face Eregion again. And once you did, he placed his hands on your abdomen. At first, you found his gesture very sweet as your muscles relaxed. But the longer you stood like that in silence, the more uneasy you were starting to feel. There was a weird feeling forming inside of you – a new wave of energy coming from his hands and filling up your womb. Was it possible that…?

Well, he was an emissary of the Valars. He had many abilities and powers that the simple Elves could only dream of. You did not question it.

When he removed his hands, he kissed the back of your head and you furrowed your brows as you clutched onto the fabric of your dress on your abdomen.

“I can feel… I can feel a new life,” you turned around to meet his gaze. He was smiling at you kindly and lovingly as your eyes filled with tears. “Oh, I… I did not expect it would happen like that…”

“I am in full control of the act of my own procreation. It would not happen without my consent and will,” he explained and you nodded at him, too grateful and overjoyed to question anything.

Annatar placed his hand on top of yours and squeezed them as you let out a happy laugh through the tears of joy. With his free hand he wiped your tears gently.

“Were you in control of choosing if our child would be a boy or a girl, too?” You wondered out loud. Your husband nodded with a slight smile. “What will the child be then?”

“You will see, my love, be patient and allow it to be a surprise,” he leaned in to kiss your lips delicately.

For some reason, you were sure it would be a boy. Despite Annatar’s gentleness and kindness, he was a master of his craft and a man of tradition. He would surely want a successor.

You were so convinced that you were carrying his son that in the conversations about your child, you often referred to them as he. Annatar would only smile at you sweetly but also playfully.

Your child was born on a warm, summer night. You were in bed, surrounded by the female medics of Eregion. Celebrimbor was in his forge, nervously drinking wine and pacing around. But Annatar was by your side, holding you in his arms and letting you squeeze his hands, encouraging you gently with his sweet words and you swore, he was making some of the pain go away somehow. Whenever you squeezed his hand tighter, he would place his free one upon your forehead and the pain would slightly subdue.

The sound of your baby’s cries was like sweet music to your ears and your eyes filled with tears when one of the medics handed you the screaming newborn.

“It is a girl, my Lady,” she told you with a smile and you laughed out of happiness, taking the little one into your arms as you stared at her in awe.

“A girl?” You whispered, looking up at your husband. You were surprised but not disappointed – to have a little girl with Annatar was a vision of the future so beautiful that you could not stop the fresh tears from streaming down your cheeks.

He did not say anything to that, he only smiled sweetly at you and fixed the sweaty strands of your hair that got stuck to your forehead. Then, he leaned in to kiss the top of your head.

“How do you want to name her, my love?” He asked. “Your daughter?”

“Our daughter,” you fixed him and tried to hand him the baby. He froze for a moment but he eventually took the newborn child into his own hands as he kept staring at the little face with a very unreadable expression. “A-are you happy?” You asked, suddenly getting anxious.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Annatar nodded as his face lit up with a big grin. You sighed with relief and caressed the little cheek of your baby girl.

“Almárea,” you whispered. “Blessed.”

Focused on staring in awe at your little baby girl in her father’s arms, you nearly did not notice that he did not give you any reply. So, eventually, you looked up at him questioningly.

“Yes, yes,” Annatar nodded eagerly. “It’s perfect,” he assured you and handed you the baby back. “I shall inform Celebrimbor. He will be the most delighted,” he stood up and left the room.

A few years passed as your husband was helping your uncle to forge the rings that would save Middle-earth. And your sweet little Almárea was growing in the meantime – the older she was getting, the more you could see that she was a physical copy of you.

When you had asked your husband about it, he had answered that it had been the result of the fact his physical form was not definite, therefore his child could not inherit any physical traits. It was making you a bit sad because you would love to see bits of your husband in your offspring but you also did not want to complain about the things that did not truly matter in the end.

That she was Annatar’s daughter there was no doubt. It was something about her soul; her inner light differed from the other Elves. You could feel from the very first time you had held her that she was stronger and more powerful than any of the Elves inside Eregion. You were sure that she was truly blessed by the Valars due to her father’s origin.

When it came to Almárea’s character, though… You sometimes wondered what was causing the constant mischief, which was innocent but still present. She was a little deceiver and a little liar very often as she kept making up stories, playing tricks or making people believe the most absurd stories. Sometimes she was able to make people even see the things she was describing. Like that time when she kept blabbering about the beautiful butterflies flying all over the room.

And you saw them. You saw them all – shimmering in the light in all the possible colours. They were so beautiful that you kept laughing and trying to catch them as Almárea giggled. And that was how Annatar found you after coming back to your chambers from the day in the forge.

“What are you doing?” He froze, a little taken aback as he glanced at his daughter and then back at you.

“The butterflies, they are–” You tried to explain.

“Mummy is trying to catch the air, daddy. Is it not funny?” Almárea asked and you furrowed your brows at her.

“But the butterflies–” You started but as you looked around, they all disappeared. You looked at Almárea with a sour expression and she laughed.

“Oh, mummy, I am sorry. It was funny to watch,” she admitted to use treachery as she ran up to you and hugged your waist.

You did not like how malicious – even if in an innocent manner – some of her jokes were. But you could not be angry for too long. Not at your sweet little daughter.

“Oh… Well…” You hesitated nervously and patted her back. “It is quite alright, my dear. But that was not nice.”

“How did you do that?” Your husband asked, a little harshly. You gave him a soft look, trying to calm him down.

“She did not mean to be cruel, she had no idea that–” You began to make excuses.

“I am not talking about the so-called joke. I am asking about the illusion. Almárea?” Annatar approached you two and put his hand on your daughter’s arm to turn her around. The movement was not rapid but it was most definitely quite harsh.

“I just… I just think of something very hard and… And I can make people see things,” Almárea tried to explain as she looked down. “Is it something bad to do, daddy?”

“You are too young to play with such a gift,” Annatar’s face changed quickly from harsh to kind and gentle again as he smiled at Almárea and caressed her cheek. “Unwillingly, you have just been cruel to your mother and I am sure that was not your intention. You should stop playing with it for now,” he explained and Almárea nodded.

But you knew already that she would probably not listen. It was not in her nature to follow anyone’s requests, pleas or orders. 

The day started like nearly every other. You woke up in your husband’s arms and he was awake already – sometimes you wondered if he ever slept at all because you had never witnessed him doing so.

The hour was still early and you watched the sun rising in the skies outside your window, exchanging kisses and love declarations. However, on this day, your husband seemed to be a little tense when you peppered his jaw with  sweet little kisses. 

“What is it, my love?” You asked as you lifted yourself up on your elbow, still looking at his beautiful face and tracing the outlines of it with your fingertip.

“It pains me to say…” Annatar sighed and held your wrist softly as he put your fingers on his lips and kissed them gently.

“Why? What is it?” You furrowed your brows.

“It is about Celebrimbor and I know that what I am going to reveal is going to hurt you deeply, my love,” his eyes filled with sadness.

“Now you simply must tell me… You know how dear he is to me,” you shook your head, trying to read his face but all the years of sharing your life with Annatar, you had learnt already that it was an impossible task to ever know what was truly on his mind.

“I have spoken to him recently…” Annatar began and let go of your wrists to put his hands on your waist and roll you over onto your back as he hovered above you. “...about the rings that must be crafted. The Nine rings for the nine human kings to help their kin as well.”

“Yes…?” You swallowed the lump in your throat and gasped when his skilled fingers pulled your nightgown up. All those years of being his wife and his touch could still ignite the fire within you. You wondered sometimes how he was able to do it.

But now, with his fingers roaming all over your exposed skin, your mind was in haze and you were not able to think clearly.

“Oh, darling, I have no idea how to tell you… But your uncle does not think of humans to be worthy enough to have such rings,” Annatar revealed and you froze at his words as your eyes widened.

“T-that is impossible,” you refused to believe him although he would never lie to you. “My father… He was human and uncle Celebrimbor loved him and adored his craft. He loved him so much that he raised me after his death. It is impossible that now he refuses to forge the rings for humans… No, I refuse to–”

“That is the truth,” Annatar’s voice sent shivers down the spine since it had gotten harsh all of the sudden. “Why would I lie to you?”

“I am not accusing you of lying, I simply–”

“Yes, you are,” Annatar looked deep into your eyes as a spark of anger sparkled in his. His jaw was clenched and his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, which was causing you slight pain. “He refuses to fulfil his mission and he thinks of your father’s kin as lesser.”

“I shall speak to him,” you promised as tears filled your eyes. Annatar softened immediately as his fingers went back to caressing you and he leaned in to kiss away the small tears upon your cheeks.

“Thank you… That would be very helpful,” he muttered between the kisses. “My love…”

You loved serving breakfast the most. You loved feeling useful and to take care of your family. It made you feel fulfilled in a way nothing else could, even though you did not mind running Eregion in your uncle’s name when he required it. However, seeing Almárea and Annatar by the table, eating the food you had prepared and talking about their plans for the day… That felt the most precious and the most special.

On that day, she looked up at you with big, pleading eyes as she watched her father preparing to leave for the day. He was standing in front of the mirror and swiftly tying some of his hair strands into a bow, which would protect his eyes from being interrupted while he worked.

“Can you do the same to my hair, mummy?” Almárea asked you. “I want to wear it like daddy.”

“I shall do it,” Annatar smiled at you both as he approached the breakfast table to stand behind your daughter’s chair. “Mummy must leave now and speak to uncle Celebrimbor,” he gave you a meaningful look and you nodded your head.

“Yes, that is right,” you confirmed. “Can you take her to her class once you’re done tying her hair?” You asked him sweetly.

“Oh, of course,” your husband replied and you kissed his cheek before leaning down to kiss your daughter’s forehead, too.

After that, you left your chambers and hurried to Celebrimbor’s forge. You were scared of this conversation and you had no idea how to start it as well. You couldn’t hide the fact that Celebrimbor’s sudden change of views hurt you deeply. You hoped that you could convince him to make up his mind but even the emissary of the Valars could not. On the other hand, you were closer to Celebrimbor than Annatar would ever be. He was like a father to you these days.

When you went inside the forge, it was empty. And even though you were supposed to look for your uncle, you could not help to just roam around for a while and take a deep breath in as you smiled to yourself at all the sweet memories you had with this place – like your father… 

He had been working alongside Celebrimbor and you would run around happily – sometimes getting scolded, sometimes being shown many interesting details about their craft. Sweet little half-Elven girl that would always make everyone laugh. And as time progressed, you had been growing up but not ageing – and for your father it had been the opposite. He had not been growing up but he had been ageing. And, one day, he had eventually become too weak to use the hammer.

Remembering all those bittersweet moments, Celebrimbor’s voice startled you a little as he stood by the railing of the stairs leading up to his study.

“(Y/N)?” He asked and you looked up with a soft smile.

“Uncle Celebrimbor,” you sighed with relief that it was only him you were seeing and not some sort of phantom or a ghost. You gathered your skirts and walked upstairs to join him. “I am here to speak with you… About a rather delicate manner,” you informed him and looked him up and down carefully.

Truly, he had changed. He looked exhausted and a little uneasy as if he was on the verge of some sort of breakdown. You immediately found compassion for his state.

“I am aware that crafting such powerful items has cost you a lot and you must feel overworked…” You started. “I know you have finished the rings for the dwarves not so long ago and I am not here to rush your progress. By all means, take your time, uncle, but your views about humans–”

“Was it him? Did he send you?” Celebrimbor’s face changed immediately. He looked concerned and a bit… scared? You froze at that reaction.

“What do you mean by that? Of whom are you speaking? My husband?” You asked, taken aback. “First, you are insulting my father’s kin… My kin as well… And now… Now you are trying to insinuate something about my husband? The emissary of the Valars?” You raised an eyebrow. “It was me who came up with the idea of speaking with you.”

“Have you not noticed yet, my sweet child, after all the years of your marriage, that he plants the seeds of ideas in people’s minds to make them think they came up with them on their own?” Celebrimbor asked.

“Even if it is true, I do not see what is wrong with it. He is here to fulfil the Valars’ plan to save Middle-earth. How can you say that forging the rings to save humans is below you?” You shook your head. “Protecting that which is most fragile, most dear, is a task entrusted to all Elves,” you reminded him. “If you abandon half of my kin now, in the hour of darkness, I shall never forgive you, uncle,” your voice trembled when you tried to reach his eyes with yours, to show him all your love towards him – but also all your pain.

“I do not think lowly of humans. I loved your father, he was my dearest friend… I just… I needed an excuse to deny your husband,” Celebrimbor sighed and looked away.

“Oh, uncle, if you are overworked, he is going to understand and give you time,” you put your hand on his arm but he flinched. “Annatar is the kindest, the gentlest soul I have ever met. You used to think the same of him. What happened?”

“Do you…” Celebrimbor’s eyes found yours, “...do you trust him?”

“With my life,” you gasped at the question. Of course you trusted your husband. What kind of question was that?

“Very well then,” your uncle nodded and sighed before running his hand down his face. “I might be overworked indeed… I need a break. And after that, I can go back to forging the rings. My senses are beginning to fool me,” he confessed. “Forgive me, my dear, I did not mean to hurt you with my words.”

“Oh, poor uncle… Please, rest. Annatar will understand,” you assured him softly and wrapped your arms around him to give him a hug.

But Annatar was not as understanding to hear the news as you had been suspecting. He was smiling but the corners of his mouth twitched when you finished telling him how the conversation with Celebrimbor had been like.

“Of course, he can wait. He is an Elf. He lives for an eternity. But for the humans in Mordor time remains priceless… They suffer each day and their lives are short. I expected that you would know something about it, my love,” your husband nodded his head and walked away, leaving you a little speechless and hurt.

He was right. You had not fought for your kin strong enough but you also had too much love for Celebrimbor in your heart to keep arguing with him.

“I do understand, my darling. But I also have never seen my uncle in such an awful state,” you admitted. “He needs to rest,” you added, trying to make Annatar realise that, too. “He is not going to forge excellent rings when he is overworked and losing his senses.”

“He must finish the rings before they finish him first,” Annatar turned around to look at your face. His expression was quite harsh and it made you take a step back, therefore he softened immediately while approaching you. “My love, I am so sorry… I do not mean to be like this, you know that, right?” He put his hands on your arms. “But we are running out of time. Forging the rings for the dwarves took us years. It is going to take us another few more to forge the rings for humans, too. Therefore, we should start as soon as possible,” he tried to explain calmly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a heart in me to push Celebrimbor…” You shook your head and Annatar walked away rapidly as he turned his back on you to look out of the window. You spotted his fists clenching and unclenching but he remained silent. “I… I shall go to pick Almárea up from her class… I think she should be ready now,” your voice broke a little.

You had never expected you would have to choose a side between your uncle’s and your husband’s. They seemed to be such close friends and now…

But, before you left, you hesitated and turned around to look in your husband’s direction.

“You really should not…” You whispered, “force him to do it too soon. His mind is in the most fragile state now… He even… He accused you of–”

“Accused me of what?!” Annatar turned around quickly, startling you.

“I don’t know what exactly… But he asked me for some reason if I trusted you…” You confessed.

“And what did you tell him?” Your husband demanded an answer and his eyes turned cold. It was nearly impossible to remember at that moment that they could be so kind and loving, too.

But they were only this gentle way when everything was going according to his plan. And, so far, everything had been like that. Until now. 

You were aware, however, that his unusual anger was caused by the pressure that the gods themselves were putting onto his shoulders.

“I told him I trusted you. Of course I did. Annatar, you are my husband…” You answered, surprised that he had questioned you like that. “Perhaps both of you need a break. You are acting differently, too,” you pointed out before leaving to walk your daughter home after her class.

On your way home you bumped into your friend Mirdania. She began telling you stories from the forge and Almárea was growing bored as she stood there, holding your hand and drawing circles with her foot.

“Almárea, you can go upstairs already,” you informed your daughter. “Daddy is there.”

She nodded at you and waved Mirdania goodbye as she ran away to disappear inside the tower in which your chambers were. You watched her with a smile on your lips, especially at the sight of the bow in her head – now slightly crooked after a few hours – trying to resemble her father’s one.

Mirdania kept you occupied with her chatting for a longer time after that and you kept listening to her with a soft smile but when she eventually informed you that she had to go back to work, you were grateful. You went inside the tower with a slight eye roll as you began walking upstairs to go back to your family.

When you opened the door and heard Almárea’s giggles, you smiled widely, expecting her to play with her father as they sometimes would. But when you went inside the room where they were sitting together, you spotted Annatar being on the verge of lashing out. Almárea was chuckling and tilting her head slightly – an undeniable sign that she was projecting something onto her father’s mind at this very moment.

This time it was you walking in on Annatar being fooled. But he was not about to take it as lightly as you.

“Stop it,” Annatar drawled out. “This is not funny. Stop it!”

“What is going on here?” You looked at your daughter and her smile froze. “Were you not forbidden to play your tricks, Almárea?” You asked her and approached Annatar to put your hand on his tense shoulder.

“Daddy wanted me to try!” Almárea explained and stopped the visions from happening.

“You did?” You looked down at your husband with a raised eyebrow but he only stood up and walked away to stand on the balcony. He was angry and visibly unsettled. “What did you show him?” You asked your daughter.

Something was telling you it had not been butterflies.

Almárea shrugged her arms and avoided your gaze. You furrowed your brows and sighed, following your husband outside.

“Do not be upset, my love. I am sure whatever she has shown you was of an innocent nature,” you began softly. “Now you know how it feels like when she’s in one’s mind,” you chuckled nervously. “She did not mean to scare you.”

“It was not the vision itself that scared me,” Annatar turned around to look at you. He was still disturbed and surprised as his fists clenched around the railing of the balcony. “It was the fact I was not strong enough to make it stop. Could you ever do that?” He asked you and you opened your mouth a little. “I should be able to make it stop easily.”

“I have never tried,” you admitted. “I do not know, I cannot say…”

Annatar snorted at that and looked away again. His knuckles turned white from squeezing the railing so hard and you put your hand gently on top of his.

“Why does her power scare you?” You asked. “Is it of an evil kind? If so, how could that happen? You are the emissary of the Valars; made of pure light–”

“And you?” Your husband turned around again to meet your gaze. “What do we truly know of your heritage? Was your father not from The Southlands? And the humans of this realm… Were they not the ones who had followed Morgoth out of their own free will?”

His words hurt like knives. You took a step back and shook your head, trying to gather your thoughts. The man in front of you was not the man you had married – gentle, soft, kind, noble and humble. But you refused to believe it was his fault. He had changed just like uncle Celebrimbor – and it was all caused by the fact they had been working so hard… too hard… on the rings.

“Mummy… Daddy… I am sorry,” your daughter’s voice interrupted you as she entered the balcony as well. She looked up at the both of you and sniffled. Your heart clenched at the sight and you crouched down to fix the bow in her hair.

“It is quite alright, my dear. It was not your fault, you only did what daddy asked you to,” you gave your husband a stern look.

“I…” Annatar cleared his throat. “I was simply curious about this… gift.”

“Is it evil, daddy?” Almárea dared to look up at him with so much curiosity, respect and admiration that your heart filled with love once again you chose to forget about his hurtful accusations.

“No gift is good or evil, Almárea,” Annatar smiled softly at her as his eyes filled with kindness again. “It is us who choose how we use our gifts.”

“Daddy is right,” you nodded and kissed her forehead before standing up and Almárea hugged Annatar’s waist. He put his arm on her back and caressed it although he still looked as if he was overthinking something.

“Can I go to uncle Celebrimbor now? He promised to teach me a little about the gemstones!” Almárea smiled widely at you and you nodded. She clapped her hands and ran out of your chambers.

“I am going to start forging The Nine on my own, by the way,” Annatar announced to you when you were left alone with him. “Celebrimbor might join when he’s ready. However, the work must not stop,” he pointed out.

You bit on your lower lip and eventually nodded your head. You approached him and caressed his shoulder, though, trying to soothe him.

“I wish you gave yourself a break as well. You are overworking yourself,” you whispered.

Annatar held your hand and pulled you closer to wrap his arms around you. At this very moment he was radiating nothing but love, warmth and kindness. You squeezed him tighter and sighed with relief.

“Do not worry about me. I am going to be nothing but fine but I shall not rest until all Middle-earth is healed. Forgive me for my previous harshness,” he kissed the top of your head.

“Please, do not even mention,” you shook your head and kissed his lips briefly before giving him a sweet smile. He smiled back at you and cupped your face to caress your cheeks. “What did she show you, my love?” You asked, still curious. Annatar’s face went back to serious immediately.

“I asked her to show me something nice,” he explained. “And so she did… She showed me my greatest desire.”

“And that is…?” You frowned.

“The rings. All of them. Forged,” he answered and you nodded.

“She is too young to understand the importance of these items and your mission in Eregion…” You pointed out. “How was she able to penetrate your heart like this?”

“Now you know what truly scared me, my love,” Annatar nodded softly and the fear in his eyes was truly genuine but you spotted a sparkle of excitement there as well.

“Should I worry about her?” Your voice trembled.

“No, no… Not at all,” your husband pulled you closer once more to soothe you. “Her gift – if used correctly – might be the most useful for all the peoples of Middle-earth.”

“How so?” You mumbled out the question and Annatar hesitated with the answer before smirking slightly.

“Only time will tell.”

MASTERLIST

[thyras]

→ his dark queen masterlist

PAIRING → halbrand (sauron) x f!númenórean!reader

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - pining, manipulation, obsessions, stalking, secrets, slow burn, eventual smut

SUMMARY → in which you find that you are in the crosshairs of a certain southlander, but you feel that there is more than meets the eye with him

In the dawning days of Númenor, when the Sea-lords held sway over the oceans and the stars above cast their unyielding gaze upon mortal realms, there came whispers of an ancient kinship renewed. Far from the thrones of Valinor and veiled in mortal guise, a Maia of renown yet secrecy wove shadows upon the hearts of the people. Known to some as Halbrand, he wandered as one cast adrift, bound not by mortal laws but by a purpose shrouded and perilous. Darker than the deeps that girdled the earth was the shadow that clung to him, though he wore it as if a mantle, concealing his intent from the watchful eyes of the Eldar and the proud kings of Númenor.

Yet the hand of fate weaves no simple pattern, and thus it was that he crossed paths with one of Númenor’s maidens. Though she wore the visage of a lady of mortal birth, her blood bore the unseen heritage of the Valar, hidden and strange. Her heart, untouched by the darkness of ages, carried both innocence and sorrow, woven with the strange yearnings of an ancient sea-born destiny. She was one who bore the light of Elentári within her, though she knew it not, and yet her heart was drawn to shadow even as flame calls to ember.

Thus, in secret and in longing, began the tale that would wend its way through Númenor’s darkened courts and the fading shores of Middle-earth, for their fates were bound as water to fire. And neither mortal nor immortal could foresee what doom or glory their union would bring forth, or how, in the halls of shadow and flame, a bond forged in silence might endure even unto the breaking of the world.

. . . p a r t s

an offer → you offer lord halbrand something but come out even more confused by the enigma that he is. your shadow → the dark lord begins his quest to turn you to the darkness, he uses every tactic he can think of but for some reason the darkness doesn’t consume you like the others. a gift → reader has a meeting with Queen Míriel, Galadriel, and Halbrand about the future of the Southlands, and reader is bestowed a fine gift.

[kasagia]

Flesh and blood

Pairing: Halbrand x fem!elf! reader Summary: Centuries of running away, fighting with what is right and what you should do, have left their mark on you. In time, you begin to realise that the war between good and evil, light and darkness, will never end. And you are tired of all of it. Especially since HE never leaves you alone. Not even for a short moment. Not even when you're about to marry someone else. A bit of a sequel to Skin and Bones, but can be read on its own! It took me longer than I thought, but I kind of like the way it went. I hope you will like it! 🤭🥰 Inspired by: David Kushner - "Flesh x Blood" Halbrand's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

"I don't remember the last time you prayed to the Valar." Galadriel sneaks up to you silently. You close your eyes and breathe in the sweet air of Lothlórien.

You were looking for a quiet place where you could calm down and clear your mind of everything that had been bothering you in recent days. And quite a bit had piled up. And not just because it was your "wedding week.".

"That was… ages ago." You reply thoughtfully and stroke the ring hanging around your neck with your fingertip. A ring forged by Halbrand.

"He won't come here. I will make sure of it. He's too afraid of failure. We have many more allies now. You can be safe for yourself and your fiancé." Galadriel assures you with burning fervour and takes your hand that you hold on your lap. You smile, glad that something of her fire still remains—despite the centuries you have fought for yourselves and your people.

"It's not me I'm worried about. Nor Thranduil. You know… you know how Sauron is. He'll do exactly what we least expect. And I can't let him surprise me again." You say, standing up and taking away your hand from her grip. You walk closer to the willow with white leaves and rest your hand on its trunk.

You try desperately to cling with your soul to the power that lies dormant in it—the light that is both a part of you and Garadiel. But as usual, you don't feel the pleasant tingling in your body. You feel the power flowing through you, but... it's not as addictive as the darkness that he tried to pour into you so many times.

The silence after your words is oppressive, to say the least.

"Do you still have these dreams?"Galadriel's soft whisper makes you shiver a little. You wonder if she can feel it in you—the way the light the Valar gave you beats against the darkness that sang to you the most tempting ballads and promises.

"Less often. I guess he's too busy to bother me. Or maybe he's already bored with me? That would be convenient turn of events." You reply and finally turn to fully face her. A small smile appears on your face, but by the way she narrows her eyes at you, you can tell she's seen through at least some of your lies.

"But do you want it? For him to... leave you at peace?"

"There is no peace for me, Galadriel. Neither for you. We both know that." You try to avoid responding to her question and are about to walk away from her, but in the distance you see the silhouette of a very familiar prince of Mirkwood. “Forgive me.” You say, using that perfect excuse, and head towards your fiancé.

Guilt hits you every time you see a smile on Thranduil's face. Not just any polite, mocking, or trained smile that you get used to seeing. He seemed to have his special one—the one reserved just for your eyes to see.

You don't know exactly how you've charmed the Elven Prince, but you didn't go into too much detail. This alliance would be good for the elves. It would unite you in the fight against the one who held the torn remains of your heart in his claws.

Although... you couldn't say you didn't hope that the passionate feelings the platinum-haired prince had for you would be returned from your side someday. Maybe in time you'd learn to love him as he loved you.

"My lady." He greets you and reaches for your hand. He places a kiss on the top of it with full reverence, not to tease you as HE used to do.

"Elf." Halbrand's raspy voice rings out behind you as you and Galadriel discuss something. You're celebrating a battle won against your enemies, the night dark, the area lit only by the light from the campfires and torches. You blush as you meet the intense gaze of his stormy eyes, and you blame the alcohol you've just consumed for that, not the effect this special mortal has on you. "May I?"

Too focused on his muscular, exposed shoulders, you almost don't notice him nod toward the elves dancing around the fire. Before you can respond, Galadriel takes the wooden tankard from your hand and practically shoves it into Halbrand's arms. She would do anything to bribe him into ruling the Southlands and becoming her ally now. She would even go so far as to push you into his bed if it would change his mind.

You hold your breath, your heart beating a little faster as he takes your hand and presses a kiss to it. Your skin tingles as his lips caress you, his stubble teasing, just like the way his blue eyes scrutinise your reaction.

He pulls away, giving you a mischievous, mysterious smile and holding you to his chest, joining the other couples around the fire and spinning around in his arms like nothing else in the world matters. Ironically, a mortal makes you feel more eternal than any elf, dwarf, or man you’ve ever met.

You shake your head at the memory, and when Thranduil's eyes find your face again, you give him one of your smiles. One that he unfortunately can't recognise as a mask. One that Halbrand would see through in a blink of an eye.

"You were not at the war council today." He notices and nods toward the gardens. You begin to walk at a leisurely pace as you consider how to respond to his observation.

"I did not feel too… focused to participate in it today. I hope you didn't miss me too much?" You tease him, hoping he'll ignore the slight note of concern in your voice.

You wanted your complicated realtion with... Sauron to remain a secret from him. He didn't need to know about things that were long in the past… or your fears that the past wasn't as far away as you'd like it to be.

"I actually did." His comment catches you off guard a little. You stop when he reaches into your hair and tucks a sundrop lily behind your ear. It's a sweet gesture. Really. And you feel warmer and nicer inside… but your heart doesn't flutter in your chest like it would if HE did it. "I heard these are your favorites?"

You nod with a smile, not daring to tell him that your favorites are the red-white Carnations. And not because Halbrand gave them to you the other century...

"They are." You whisper hoarsely, a smile plastered on your face and you look away at the flowers growing around you.

He doesn't let you look away for long though. He gently takes your chin in both his fingers and tilts your head, forcing you to look at him.

There was a delicacy, a grace in everything Thranduil did. He was the epitome of an ideal elf, in whom it was easy to see the roots of a great family. And you would have fallen for him, indeed, had you not tasted the seawater of darkness on your chapped lips all those centuries ago.

"What's on your mind?" He whispers, staring at you intently, searching for an answer to your strange behavior.

There are a lot of things stuck in your mind… and none of them should be there.

Because how could you tell him that your mind wasn't occupied by him—just as it should be—but... by Halbrand? How can you tell him that you spend countless nights wondering about what could've been, turning the silver betrothal ring that Thranduil gave you on your finger and fantasising that its metal was black, made of the same as Sauron's crown?

"Many things. Wedding. War. Orcs... Sauron." You confess partly the truth, keeping your gaze fixed not on his eyes and face but on the garden behind him. "I… I'm worried about what's going to happen." You admit mysteriously, without betraying, that you are truly afraid of being bound to him.

You are too scared to admit that the dark corners of your heart are dying with longing for the one you should never have desired. That part of you wishes that your groom carried far less light within him.

"I promise you, he won't ever touch you again. I will protect you. With my kingdom, army and life." All you can give him in return for such a racy declaration is a faint smile that you hope actually looks more convincing than it feels.

"I know. But I hope you will never have to, Thranduil." You add, completely honestly, for the first time, and on instinct you lean in and snuggle up to the elf.

He seems at least surprised that you seek comfort from him, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he wraps his arms around you and places a hand on your head, gently running his hand through your hair as he lets you hide in his embrace for a moment.

And it feels good. Really.

But not as good as hugs from HIM.

"Galadriel said that I would find you here." Halbrand's voice interrupts your prayer to the Valar. You turn on the bench and look at the mortal. He slowly walks over to you and sits down next to you, staring at the holy oak before you. "Blaming yourself for their deaths won't get you anywhere. They're soldiers. They take into account the possibility of being killed when they go to war."

"Every life is worth mourning, Halbrand." He snorts at that, as if he doesn't believe the sincerity of your words. He turns his gaze to you, but you don't want to look back at him. You're afraid he'll see the tears in your eyes.

"Possible. But praying to the Valar will not bring them back to life." You jump up from the bench as if burned, to which he gives you a confused look.

"What are you trying to do? What do you want to tell me?! That stupid, eternal elf shouldn't shed tears over a life taken for no reason? That I shouldn't sit in a corner and cry like a child while people die around me? I know it! I know it perfectly well, mortal!" Your voice breaks slightly and you can no longer stop yourself from crying silently.

He freezes. For the first time, he sees your outburst. You're usually a composed oasis of composure, but now... after you saw him at the edge of death... Halbrand starts to connect the dots. He walks over to you and firmly, quickly closes you in his arms. You try to pull away, but he doesn't let go.

He actually doesn't want to let you go.

He had many names; he had taken many forms, but in none of them did he feel... peace. Holding you in his arms while you were crying into his chest, seeking comfort from him, as your fingers dug into his shoulders, clinching to him tight as if for dear life... he felt peace. He felt some strange kind of relief caused by the fact that you cared about him much enough to mourn his potential death.

You cried into his chest because you were afraid he would die, that he would leave. Sauron tries to remember the last time someone cared so much for him. He can't remember. Or he doesn't want to remember anything but this.

And he took selfish pleasure in the knowledge that his leaving would have devastated you.

You let yourself cry into him, pour out all the emotions that have been weighing on you since you saw him bleeding on the healers' bed, and you shiver in his arms as a cool gust of wind somehow hits your skin and breaks through the safe cage of his warm embrace.

"No Valar has ever answered my prayers. None has ever looked after me like you are... thank you, Y/N." He whispers into your hair and presses a kiss to your forehead.

He feels a strange pang in his heart as his lips touch the surface of your silky skin. You still tremble in his grip, but he holds you impossibly tight, refusing to let any force separate you. It's a strange feeling. One he's not used to. One that seems addictive - much like your sweet scent, which he hopes will linger on him so he can appreciate it longer.

This moment between you is... intimate. Not just because he holds you close to his chest, whispers sweet things into your ear, and plants kisses that colour your cheeks the same scarlet as your dress. It's because he uses your name for the first time. And it's to comfort you. A mortal. A blacksmith. A simple man... for whom you've fallen so quickly it's pathetic.

When you finally stop crying and he carefully wipes away every tear that's left on your cheeks with his thumbs, you do the boldest, stupidest thing in your entire, long life. You stand up on your tiptoes and connect his lips with yours.

He is... surprised by your unexpected act. At first he is unable to react to the way your lips move gently against his. You kiss him with a tenderness he has not felt for at least several centuries. And the Valar above, how sweet your lips were.

The tempting vision of the future he could have with you passes through his mind, enticing him more than any vision of power that Morgoth putted in his mind.

You take away his breath and any possibility of movement with each gentle biting of his lip. His heart beats uncontrollably quickly as he revels in your closeness and your ethereal scent, which wraps him better than any blanket could. He clings to your sofftness like a centuries-old thirst for touch-broken man that Morgoth had made him.

You pull away from him when he remains still for too long, fearing you've crossed a line. Allowing you to believe in it is the only crime he can’t commit.

His plans to slowly seduce you and use you to get on Galadriel's better side fly out the window as he desperately reaches for you. His needing of you is greater than anything he has felt since he took this new form.

And Valar, curse him if, after he has tasted you, he does not get all of you to himself.

He tangles a hand in your hair and, making sure his entire hand is securely around the back of your head, pushes you against the column in the courtyard with a force that makes you gasp into his mouth.

He’s quick to seize the opportunity, his tongue slipping past your slightly parted lips as he greedily savours every last bit of you, devouring you like a starving man as his other hand desperately grabs at your waist, taking a fistful of the material of your dress.

He wants to be as close to you as possible, any logical thought in his mind giving in to the force of his desire as he presses his entire body against you, wondering only where and how to take you, which places are your sweet spots, and what to taste first to put out the fire you've ignited inside him—a desire so great he's become its obedient slave in less than a blink of an eye.

And for a moment, he truly feels like a weak mortal. As you work just as quickly to unbutton his shirt, he feels like a regular human being. And he despises that feeling as much as he desires more.

"He is here." At Galadriel's words, you drop the white gown you were taking from the wardrobe.

Your maids rush to you, trying to save the silk dress from getting wrinkled, but you don't care. All you can think about is him. Sauron. Halbrand... Annatar. He was here.

"What?" You stare at her in shock as she nods her head for the rest to leave your chambers. The silence in the room is heavy, broken only by the hurried footsteps of the elves leaving, who have managed to do your wedding hair and light makeup.

"We... wanted to keep you away from it—Erlond, me, and Thranduil. We thought it would be the best for you. Sauron... he entered the city gates a week ago and... surrendered. Sort of. He let us lock him in his cell. He has no crown, no rings. He said he wanted to make an alliance with us. Peace. Of course we don't believe him. We're waiting for our allies to provide us with... the right means to get rid of his physical form for good. Before that... we'd like to get as much out of him as possible. Or rather, find out what his real plan is. But he's been silent for weeks. He wants to talk to you. Only you."

"You kept it in hidden? From me? Together with my future husband?" You ask coldly, inside seething with rage at their betrayal. How could they pretend nothing was happening for a week? That the greatest evil in Middle-earth hadn't come to your gates and wasn't lurking in the dungeons, waiting for the most likely moment to strike?

"Y.N, I… I know how you feel…"

"No. You don't know." You answer her firmly, piercing her with an icy gaze that makes her flinch. "Am I your enemy now? A less worthy ally who fell in love with an enemy? Because that's what he is to me, Galadriel. How dare you... how dare you doubt me after I've chosen you every time? After I had chosen Middle-earth and elves every single time! Each of us faces darkness, Galadriel. Even you are not made entirely of light. So I'm asking you, what right do you have to exclude me from your plans?!"

You explode in rage at her and walk over to her. You breathe quickly, air leaving your flared nostrils, and the urge to pin her to the wall with a dagger at her neck is overwhelming.

"Everything I do, I do for the good of Middle-earth."

"You're not the only one! What do you think is the reason for my marriage to Thranduil?! The good of Middle-earth, the strengthening of the alliance—that's all I've done for these cursed centuries at your side! But I thought I was your true ally and supporter. Thank you for reminding me that I fall short of your light and greatness, my lady."

Before she can say anything, you're already running out of the room. You ignore the elves milling around, who were listening to your conversation, and head to one place. The dungeons.

You can't ignore the pang in your heart as you consider your conversation with Galadriel. She didn't trust you. They didn't trust you. After all the years at their side, the sacrifices, the battle against the darkness within you, they thought of you as a lesser elf that any time can be consumed by the darkness. You were not a worthy guardian of Middle-earth in their eyes. And you probably never will be.

You blink faster, fighting back the tears that want to spontaneously come to your eyes, and practically run down the stairs. You don't ask the guards where he is. You can feel him clearly, the ring that still hangs safely on your necklace pulling you toward him, feeling him as soon as you set foot on the same floor he is on.

You prepare yourself to not show any emotion on your face. You take a few deep breaths and climb the last few stairs. A rather comical sight greets you. Six men stand by the bars, as if the chains and shackles around the neck, wrists, and ankles of the man in front of you were not enough to assure him that he would not escape. As if they could stop him if he actually wanted to escape.

You watch his new form closely as he drinks in your sight with an equally intense gaze, as if assessing all the changes in you since your last meeting. He is no longer Annatar. He doesn't have blond hair, but he is a near-perfect replica of Halbrand. A damn bastard knew too well which one of his forms you had weakness for.

"Leave me and the prisoner alone." You order the soldiers. They look at each other uncertainly. But you are in no mood to deal with their blatant refusal to immediately obey your words. “It was an order, not a request.”

You see a small, mocking smile spread across his face as he watches the soldiers hesitantly leave you alone. The door closes behind them with a bang, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. Centuries. That's how long it took for the two of you to be in the same room in flesh and blood.

It shouldn't feel this right.

"Personally, I think I made you a better ring." He begins, casting a significant glance at the Thranduil's ring that adorned your finger. For a moment, you felt as if the metal would melt under his contemptuous gaze.

"Personally, I believe that it is not the ring that is important but the one who gives it." You comment and take a step towards the bars. He can't move, thankfully, so there still is a decent distance between you two.

He's trapped in the middle of the room, chained to the floor with heavy chains. And though he looks defenseless... but deep down you know he's been through worse. No prison could hold him for long.

"Your little elf prince... did he finally tell you that I was locked here? Or was he too afraid I'd steal you from the altar? By the way, I didn't know you had a thing for blondes? Maybe Annatar wasn't as disgusting to you as you claimed."

"Oh Annatar was a self-absorbed, egotistical psychopath with unrealistic ambitions. A pretty close and faithful form of you. Probably the closest yet, Sauron." He frowns at the contemptuous, almost disgusted way you say his name. He clears his throat and shakes his head, chuckling darkly.

His mockery sends waves of anger through you as well as a warm, all-too-familiar feeling in your chest. His laughter was both poison and wine to you. How much would you give to be able to get lost in it with impunity...

"Now now. Why call me by a name you despise? We both know which one you like more... especially in the darkness of your chambers." You tremble slightly, but you don't let him know that the constant visions and dreams were affecting you in any way.

If you've learnt anything about him, it's that he doesn't like it when you don't react to his actions. And right now, you really want to piss him off; see him losing his composed and mocking demeanour, as if he were still playing the cards in your game, as if he were 15 steps ahead of you.

"Why are you here, Halbrand? Perhaps you prefer Annatar? The Dark Lord? It's hard to keep up with the nicknames you've been giving yourself lately, Lord of orcs and Mordor." You ask calmly, playing with the ring on your finger—a habit you had developed far before your engagement and, as you've just noticed, something that annoyed him when it wasn't his ring that you were showing off like that.

"Oh, well, someone had to carry a pillow with wedding rings at your…"

"You're wasting my time." You interrupt him coldly, staring at him intently. “Maybe I should just let Galadriel play with you while I focus on my husband?” You ask, rasing defiantly an eyebrow at him as you wonder if he will continue his stupid game or once in his life he will open his cards to you.

"Good thing we have eternity, right?" You sigh and roll your eyes at him. That was exactly how you remembered him.

What else could you expect from him? If he hadn't shown you the illusion, he would have entangled you in his dark web of lies. It didn't matter if he came to you in visions or stood before you in flesh and blood—he wasn't the one you fell in love with; he was much more. You should have realised after all those centuries that whatever was between you two wasn't love, affection, or anything decent.

He desired your power. Not you. Maybe you should finally take a hint.

Maybe he had shown you the darkness for too long to feel tempted by it any longer. Maybe this light was finally what you longed for. Or maybe you got bored of his little, sick games and manipulations. Maybe you craved for something real—something he obviously would never give you.

You turn your back on him and are about to leave when he suddenly calls your name. Not the pet names he liked to call you. Your name. Your real name. And something about the way it rolled over his tongue wouldn't let you just walk away from him.

Even though you should have done it ages ago. Even though the whispers of darkness had been tempting you for too long, and even though you knew perfectly well that it would be better for you to leave this room as soon as possible, you didn't.

You stop, but you don't spare him a glance again. You wait for what he has to say, not really knowing what you want to achieve with him. Because you are perfectly well aware that Galadriel has already informed Erlond and Thranduil about your sudden outburst and that they are most likely eavesdropping on the two of you now. HE probably knew that too. Just as you all knew that he wouldn't appear here without a serious reason.

"Not in a joking mood, I see. You'd be a lot happier as my bride, by the way. But if you insist, I think I can tell you this great secret, but it must remain just between us two, my sacred light." He pauses, clearly waiting for you to look at him again. You sigh and reluctantly turn to face him. The intensity of his sea-green gaze burns worse than any flame, making you feel like you're the one being interrogated and shackled by him. "Actually... I'm here to replace your groom if he decides to run away from the altar. I wouldn't want the beautiful sight of you in your wedding dress to go to waste."

"Who said he would leave me? Thranduil loves me." You speak with complete certainty of the prince of Mirkwood's feelings for you. You wish you had as much confidence in yourself as you do in him.

"Not a big achievement. He's not the only one. He's not the only one who put a ring on your finger, is he? But tell me... what seems more... intimate? Wearing one on your finger or on a chain around your neck, close to your heart?"

After his words, the ring on your chest - the very one he gave you - becomes heavy, heavy under the awareness that his words carry a bit of truth... Why would you still keep his ring close to you if you already had one?

"You tell me. It seems that of the two of us, you know the most about the chains. Especially the dark ones."

"I may be chained to the darkness. But you, my stubborn and beautiful elf, are chained to the light. Tell me, Y/N, does the Valar answer your prayers and your pleas after you have cried out to me in the darkness of so many nights? Can you whisper their names in your holly gardens, knowing it is mine you wish to scream out loud for all of Middle-earth to hear?"

Only when blood is running in a stream from your hand do you realise that you've gone to the bars and wrapped your hand around them, squeezing tightly so you hurt yourself. He's drawn you to him like a spider to its prey, wrapping you in the web of his words, making you lose your guard enough to get close to the bars. And that was your mistake.

In an instant, he’s in front of you. You gasp in shock, unable to process when he’s freed himself from his shackles or when he’s wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled it through the bars. All you can do is hold your breath and watch as he licks your wound, moaning as your crimson blood spreads across his taste buds, tasting you like you’re the most exquisite of drinks.

"We belong together, my lady." He says this nickname mockingly as he leans down to press his lips to your hand. "No matter how far or fast you want to run, or who you want to run with. I will always find you. I will always be near. You will be able to feel my breath on your neck in every dark night. You will always be mine, Y/N."

You gasp as his lips move up your hand. He’s so close, your noses brushing through the bars as he forces you closer to him, to feel you the way he wants.

You gasp as he slides his hand along the sharp edge of the bars and mixes your blood with his, pressing your hands together tightly. You watch as the black, thick liquid runs down his wrist, and an unwanted little voice in the back of your head convinces you to lean down and taste his blood with the tip of your tongue. You stand there, staring at him as if spellbound, unable to move as he presses kisses to your joined hands, spreading your blood across your skin.

Suddenly, you are being dragged backwards by two strong pairs of arms. And although Halbrand... Sauron tries to hold you by force, almost crushing your wrist, Erlond and Thranduil pull you away from him.

"That's a very rude way to interrupt someone's conversation." He comments unimpressed, running his finger over the bars where your blood still is. He sucks his thumb, humming at another metallic taste, irritating your not-yet-husband.

"You're lucky there's no suitable weapon here yet to end your miserable life, you disgusting, cursed Maiar. I'd like to see you try to get close to her, no longer having any physical form."

"I would still have a better chance of getting a taste of her wonderful nectar and light, little prince. Actually, I've already done it. What about you?"

You knew perfectly well what game he was playing and how much he wanted to spore the elf so that he would slip and stab him with his sword, thus not killing him fully but allowing him to take another form. But Thranduil seemed too agitated to leave him without a word, and Erlond was too interested in getting more information out of Sauron to stop his friend.

"I can connect with her in a more meaningful way. First of all, I have enough light in myself to bind our souls to each other." Sauron frowns in displeasure, never taking his contemptuous gaze off your fiancé.

"You may not know this, Elven Prince, but darkness is as good a connection as any, and a much stronger one I dare to say. Besides... you cannot bond with one who is already taken."

This is clearly too much for Thranduil to bear. The Prince of Mirkwood is in front of Sauron in a split second, his blade at his neck. A thin line of black blood runs down to his collarbones as he, unfazed, still smirking, stares down at your fiancé.

"Thranduil leave him." You butt in and place a hand on the elf's shoulder. He looks at you sideways, his jaw clenched and his hand trembling slightly against Mairon's neck as he is still tempted to take his life. You gently grab his wrist and pull his hand away from Sauron, ignoring the searing look he gives you as you touch another man before him. You gently cup the elf's cheek and force him to look at you. "He is not worth it. Let us go, he will not tell us anything useful, he will only confuse our minds. This is just another of his numerous games."

"You know perfectly well that not all of this was a lie, Y/N. And if anything… I'm not the only one here who resorts to it, am I, my beloved nemesis?" You try to ignore the look Sauron gives you from behind Thranduil's shoulder.

You lean down and gently connect your lips with the elf's. He seems to melt into your kiss, one of your rare acts of tenderness. And you can't quite give yourself over to the feeling of his lips against yours enough to not hear the soft growl of the man behind you.

"Let's take this wedding. We won't achieve anything here anyway." You say, moving away from him and trying your hardest to ignore the pain in your chest and the cries for the Dark Lord that Erlond and Galadriel were taking care of.

But you knew well that his imprisonment wouldn't last long. He'd get out. The only question was when... and what was the real reason of his comming here.

The ceremony is beautiful. Really. Even though you may not be the most enthusiastic bride, you are happy that your people have something to celebrate and have a moment of respite from the danger that is now closer than ever. With Sauron in the dungeon and an army of orcs on the loose, anything could happen. And you didn't want to even imagine the many possible scenarios.

"A coin for your thoughts?" Thranduil quickly joins your side, handing you one of the goblets in his hand.

You smile softly at him and take a sip of the drink, wincing slightly at the taste. He chuckles and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you watch the dancing elves.

This wasn't exactly how you imagined this connection between you two to look like. Elven couples who chose to bind their souls together through marriage spoke of a great connection of souls and minds, but you barely felt this link between him and you.

For a moment you thought you had said your vows wrong, but Thranduil didn't seem to act like anything was wrong. So you too pretended that everything was completely fine. Just as always.

"Honestly, this isn't how I imagined our wedding would be." You chuckle softly, sipping the drink he gave you.

"Well, that wasn't what I had in mind either, my dear wife. But it doesn't make it any less joyful. You're mine. Finally." He whispers and presses a kiss on your temple. A shiver runs through you as he gently slides a ring onto your finger. The engagement ring that somehow disappeared from your finger. You frown and give him a questioning look. "Sauron must have stolen it from you somehow. I'm just returning it to its rightful place—my queen's finger." He replies and reverently places a kiss on the back of your hand.

You frown and look at the metal band on your finger. It was… oddly heavier. Like more massive. Strange, since it was the exactly same ring as few hours ago.

"Is there something wrong, my love?" He asks sweetly, taking the empty chalice from you.

You absentmindedly play with the necklace around your neck, freezing when you realize you don't have the familiar weight of Sauron's ring hanging around your neck.

"Shall we dance? For the first time as husband and wife?" Before you can answer, he already has you in his arms and leads you to the dance floor. You surrender completely to his guidance, feeling your head hum slightly.

All you can look at is him. Your vision can't focus on the couples dancing around you or anything else except him. And suddenly, you see it. A small crack in your fucking vision.

You can't believe how you could be so stupid and naive.

"I... Sauron" You mumble, feeling slightly disoriented as the poison he gave you is starting to work. Suddenly, you are overcome with immense fatigue, and all you can do is lean against him as you wander into blissful nothingness.

"My beautiful light. Only mine. My wife." He whispers in your ear, confirming your too-late suspicions, and easily scoops you up into his arms.

You dream a dream without dreams. Very strange occurrence since for centuries you were haunted by him in any moment of peace.

It must have bordered on obsession, since the first thought you had after waking up was always him. He made you crazy without even trying, without even being close to you in flesh and blood.

And you're genuinely afraid of the lengths he'll go to once he finally has you within his reach.

"I know you are not sleeping, my dear wife. Your breathing quickened about 10 minutes ago."

You don't know how you could have been so stupid and naive. How you could not have noticed the obvious difference in Thranduil's demeanor. Just like you have no idea how he did it, how he managed to plan this entire show and execute exactly what he wanted. Just as always.

"Eventually you'll have to open your eyes. Don't you want to see our kingdom, my love?"

"Don't call me that, you disgusting plague." You growl, finally opening your eyes. You're in a bedroom, pitch black. You're lying on the most velvety silk sheets, but it's not them or the decor of the room that catches your eye.

He sits just a few feet from your bed. He's wearing black armour made of sharp metal plates. There's a streak of red blood on the side of his face. You shiver, wondering what he had to do to get that blood there.

"Now now. Is this the way to greet your newly wedded husband?" He asks mockingly as he slowly approaches you.

You sit on the bed and rest your back against the headboard, trying to move away from it as far as the handcuffs attached to your ankles will allow.

"I didn't marry you. I was promising myself to Thranduil." You say stubbornly as he slowly sits down on the edge of your bed.

You glare at him sternly as he lazily reaches up to stroke your cheek with his thumb. The ring on his finger—the very one you thought you were putting on Thranduil's finger—pricks your skin unpleasantly, mockingly reminding you of your great mistake.

"But that wasn't really him standing before you, was it? Your elven prince's… his… appearance is currently far from what you remember. You could always be mistaken, my love."

His voice is so sweet that it is nauseating. He drops his hand and suddenly stands up from the bed. He goes to the closet and starts to take off his armour, completely oblivious to the fact that you're in the same room as him. How you wish you had access to a small knife right now...

"What did you do to him?" You ask, your voice shaking as a thousand possibilities race through your mind. You can't believe how all of you fell for the idea that there was some way you could make him defenceless and block his powers. Millennia on his back, and he still played you however he wanted.

You shiver as he suddenly stands before you again. He gently cups your cheek in his hand and stares at you as if you were another addition to his collection of prized possessions he’s torn from the throats of his enemies. The pearl in his dark crown of scorched lands.

"He wanted to take you from me. You know very well what I do with thieves, my precious light of life. I burn them." He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. His stubble stings unpleasantly, your heart pounding at his closeness, but still all you can do is sit there in shock, wondering how he managed to gain control over you. And how best to play your cards to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else.

"I wasn't yours. Not for anyone to steal me from you."

"Your mistake, for which his pretty face paid. Do you know how much time I spent convincing my army not to feed on him once they smelled the delicious scent of a burnt elf?" He asks, unfazed, continuing to press his lips against your skin. His hand tangles in your hair and wraps it around his.

He tilts your head back and buries his face in the crook of your neck, nibbling at your sensitive skin. You hold your breath, biting your lower lip until it bleeds.

A tear slips down your cheek, but he ignores it, ignores your quick breaths and broken sobs as you mourn the one man who truly wanted to save you from falling into the darkness. From falling into the arms of the Lord of the Rings.

"You are a monster." You whisper, unable to hold your voice back from a broken sob. His hand works on the fastenings of your nightgown, oblivious to the fact that you are currently reliving the suffering and death he brought to the land of Galadriel and your would-be husband.

"I am your husband. That's all that matters now."

He leans down and captures your lips. You can only moan as the force of his kiss cuts off all other sensations you feel. His lips claim yours as if it were his eternal right, one you've denied him and one he's had to rightfully fight for. You feel him sigh softly as he presses you against him, making sure he feels yours against every inch of his body. He's not kissing you. He's conquering you. He's marking his territory, laying claim to every tiny part of you, not wanting to leave any part of you unsullied by him.

He had cursed your spirit utterly centuries ago. He had planted the seeds of darkness that had only flourished in the centuries away from him. And now, having gathered enough of an army and grown strong enough to be virtually unstoppable, he was taking your body for himself.

And you realize that even the Valar do not forgive you your sin in wanting him even after all the terrible things he has done.

You still try to fight him. With the last of your strength, you push him away from you, trying to protect the remnants of light that remain in you. Light that he desired as much as he wanted to destroy it through his darkness.

"What have you done? Where am I?" You growl, trying your best to hide how panicked you are. You reach for your powers and throw him across the room.

You throw off the bonds that bind you and walk to the nearest window. You hold your breath as you see the lands that were once sacred gardens, where you prayed to the Valar, engulfed in flames and ash. He destroyed it all. He razed the entire city to the ground. All because you dared to bind yourself to someone other than himself.

"In your husband's house. Right where you belong." He approaches you silently and presses a kiss on your shoulder. He wraps his hands around you like a snake, tightening his grip on you.

You hyperventilate at the destruction you've brought upon those you loved. You wonder how many of them survived, how many escaped, how far his armies have spread, and how long he's kept you locked away in his golden fortress like a sick prize that you clearly were to him.

In your last, feeble attempt at rebellion, you scream. You scream until your throat aches, and much longer after that. You turn in his arms and throw yourself at him in a frenzy with fists and nails, wanting to hurt him as much as he hurt all the people of Middle-Earth and you. You want to hurt him so much that he will feel it in every tiny part of himself, so he will be able to feel your own pain and despair.

You curse him in both elven and general speech; you throw insults at him; you struggle and fight with him. The fact that he stands calmly without losing his composure, taking your blows as if they were nothing, makes you even angrier and more passionate in your efforts to hurt him. You hit him even harder; you want to throw him off balance, drive him insane—just like he just did to you. You feel extremely powerless when you realise that you cannot.

"Have you finished?" He asks, catching your wrists in both hands as your attacks become less frequent and your screams turn into quiet sobs.

He pushes you against the wall and presses you against it, immobilising you. His other hand gently wipes the tears from your cheeks, as if that would somehow ease the ache in your chest. You feel as if the last of your light is dying a slow, painful death with each of his touches.

"Not even close. Let me out. Let me out or I'll go mad. I'll go crazy. I'll make sure every single day of your damn life is a nightmare."

"You won't. I need your light, Y/N. It's the only thing keeping me sane among these stinking orcs. And if you go mad... then we shall go mad here together. As husband and wife. For sickness and for worse. Until we heal all Middle-Earth."

"You are already lunatic." You promise him, twisting your wrists so you can dig your nails into his palms. He hisses slightly, but doesn't remove his hands from you.

"Possibly. But I'm not your monster. I didn't kill them, Y/N. Your little friends should have died, but I spared them. I only took their land from them. I showed mercy, Y/N. For you. Because of you. My wife. Don't you see that? Don't you like the control you have over me, my lady, my light, my sweet and dear wife?" With each new nickname he trails kisses along your temple to your cheek, stopping at the corner of your mouth. "Doesn't that mean more than anything I have done for you?"

"It means nothing. It never meant anything and never will. You have no soul; you have no light. You can't... you can't bond with me... with mine... you won't pollute me."

You shiver as he runs his tongue from your jawline to your neck, stopping suddenly to suck a hickey into your skin. You gasp and bite your lip hard, trying not to let out any more sounds of pleasure, but you can’t just ignore the way he presses himself perfectly against you.

"Oh, Y/N…you know so little of the powers of darkness. I am already one with you. I have been through the ages and always will be. In body and soul, in mind, in dreams, in spirit, in flesh and blood, I will always be a part of you."

He's right. You know he is because you feel him with your whole being. Even hundreds of years apart didn't manage to get you out of the clutches of his influence.

He poisoned your mind through your dreams and entered your body like a venomous poison, starting with your soul and ending with your flesh. And the worst in all this situation was that you didn't know how to stop him.

"You… you promised you would leave me alone. That you wouldn't lift a finger until I called for you, until I came to you myself." You mumble as he pushes you back into the bed.

He straddles you and cups your cheek tenderly in his hand, watching you closely. He plays with you slowly, like a spider that has captured its prey in its web, savouring every moment he can explore your body with his fingers.

"Apparently you needed a little push. Beside that, didn't you ever try to reach me?" He asks, slowly weaving your hand into his. The rings on your fingers mock you more than his words. Because did you really defend yourself with all your might when you landed so easily in his arms? "You will beg for me, Y/N. You will crave my company. I will wait until the memory of any other kindred spirit than me dies in you. I am very patient, Y/N. Ages and aeons have taught me this. I will wait until you have no shelter, no confidant, no friend, no lover left on this world but me."

With that dark promise, he pushes your back down on the bed. He hovers over you, giving you no time to respond. He swallows your every breath hungrily, as if he'll never get to kiss you again, but you both know perfectly well that now that you're finally in his iron grip, it's quite the opposite. He has all the time in the world to destroy you. A thought that, along with the intensity of his kiss, fades inside you as you allow yourself to give in to your darkest, wildest, most ardent desires.

With every kiss that marked your body, every little moan, every soft gasp, you felt yourself sink deeper into the depths of darkness. His fingers caressed your skin, igniting something much more than lust within you.

And even though you love the way he feels against you, digging your nails into his back and tangling your hands in his hair, pulling him as close as you can, wanting and needing him to finally become one with you after all these centuries, you don't give in to him completely.

You knew what he was like, what he was capable of, and what sweet lies his lips could tell as they caressed your breasts, peppering every inch of your exposed skin in a frenzy of kisses as his fingers prepared you for him. You could moan and hold on to him tightly, pretending he had you all to himself as the edge of his wedding ring brushed against your walls, but deep down, every little connection to him made you want to fight him even more.

But you'll play smarter next time. You were a diligent student, and he's just taught you a very important lesson. Patience is golden. So you'll wait. Wait until he believes he's completely tamed you, that you'll willingly become his king, his Queen of the Rings. You'll make him believe you're his and his alone, and at the right moment you'll plunge the dagger into his Mordor-black heart.

You cry out and bite his shoulder when, just as you think about plunging the dagger into him, he thrusts his length into your wet, aching walls. And the Valar above, if this were to be a sin, then you no longer wish to remain holy and pure.

As he begins to thrust into you with all his strength, no longer holding back the lust and desire suppressed for years, you wonder if this is the ecstasy elves feel when they return from this world and become one with the light of the Valar. If not, you are glad he has led you far away from that path.

He whispers something to your ear in black speech, but to you these are just fragments of meaningless words, as your head buzzes with the flood of feelings he gives you. He is relentless in his conquest of you, and for a moment you truly feel utterly defeated and at his mercy. It is only when the blood from his arm—from the exact place where you bit him—runs down your chest that you remember that this is not the end for you. You will not submit to him. Ever. He may have won you through deception, but he will never extinguish the fire within you—the light that may not have been as pure but still blazed beneath the surface of your skin.

"Bind... yourself to me." He grunts between his hard thrusts, trembling as he nears the edge. You don't know if it's a command or a needy cry of the desperate, lonely immortal, but you know that if your plan is to succeed, you must give him part of yourself he could hold on to...

“Halbrand!” You moan when he suddenly slides his hand between you and stimulates your clit, teasing you and bringing you closer to your pleasure, caressing you the way you used to do in the dark of night with him in mind.

"Mairon." He breathes shakily, his tone bordering on pleading. You shiver, realising what he's just revealed to you. The name he didn't give himself. The one he had no control over. And maybe, if the circumstances were different, if he'd won you over differently, you'd appreciate more how... sensitive to you he had to become to share something like that. "My light... Mairon." He doesn't ask. He never does. But in that moment, you could take it as his prayer to you. A plea from the depths of his heart, where there's a shred of light left. Which you know perfectly well there isn't. Or at least you want to believe that he's completely rotten to the core. Otherwise, he could truly love you. And knowing that would destroy you.

"Mairon." You moan as you both fall apart and you open yourself up to him, doing what he asked of you - bonding yourself to him with flesh and blood.

He collapses on top of you, trapping you in the tight embrace of his arms. He presses his mouth to your temple, his nose in your hair as he inhales and absorbs every last bit of you, wanting to memorise this moment forever and etch it into the memory of his mind, into his very being.

You allow it. For both him and yourself, to enjoy this stolen moment of peace between you two.

Because Sauron forgot one important thing. That in the glow of your light he can both bask and burn. And since you can no longer remain holy and good like Galadriel, since that path of light was blocked for you from the day you met him and the Valar have turned their back on you, refusing to protect you and defend you against him, then you will become much worse than all of them.

Middle-Earth should beware of the new Lady of the Rings.