#sauron redemption

[elronds-library]

Anastasis

by Chthonion (@chthonion)

Part 1 of Your shadow rising to meet you

"Forgive me,” Frodo says in his accented Quenya, the syllables strange in his ears. “I—I have an old wound. It troubles me still, sometimes." "It is I who must ask your forgiveness," says the stranger. "I believe I may be the one who put it there." * In Aman, Frodo and Celebrimbor and Finrod forge a friendship, talk about trauma, and deal with the fact that Sauron's ghost is haunting Celebrimbor.

Teen and Up, No Archive Warnings

Words: 50,688

[nevermindigotthis]

Photos taken moments before disaster 😂 For context: this is from „The Harrowing“ by Chthonion, where Annatar/Sauron undergoes a redemption arc. As part of this he guides Feanor and his sons through the halls of mandos where they are confronted with tapestries depicting scenes from their lives. Eventually Annatar is shown the moment he killed Celebrimbor and just… freezes. And then Curufin punches him in the face, meanwhile Annatar‘s spirit kinda… shatters for a bit.

[shelleysmary]

sauron is so *sighing facepalm* frustrating. he crawled, walked, sailed across middle-earth, made up the halbrand identity, did a boomer in-person job application tour around númenor, didn't lie to galadriel and he has the mental gymnastics to prove it, sailed back to middle earth with an army, fought a whole ass battle, faced his murderer with a mostly straight face, got impaled... somehow, risked sepsis on a six-day ride to eregion, brainstormed magic rings with celebrimbor, wielded tools and operated heavy machinery after said mysterious injury, clocked that his would-be girlfriend was starting to get the ick around him, took radical action, asked her to be his non-platonic business partner (the business being mass-brainwashing and dictatoring), took the L, regrouped, rode back to the southlands (now mordor) to enact plan b wherein he faces his murderer again, gets beat up, goes on a hunger strike (rage and self-pity are his fuel), relives his murder trauma for The Master Plan, back on a horse, rides from mordor to eregion, sadface emoji because he's not allowed to go in, stands in the square, gets rained on, risks regency-era pneumonia, flatters celebrimbor, comes up with plan b part 2 wherein he is now a representative of the valar with a great haircare routine and possibly a stylist, begins his campaign to gaslight gatekeep manipulate everyone in eregion, balancing a full-time job with psychological warfare...

my guy. you could've lived on a nice farm somewhere. gone on vacation. adopted an elven dog. being "good" is too much effort for you??? what do you call THIS?

[likesdoodling]

So. I read a really cool fic recently called The Harrowing by Chthonion which I would highly highly recommend-

I absolutely love it so much-

:D:D

I'm gonna go with how my sister recommended it to me, since that was what got me excited about it-

Imagine~ Sauron trying to be a good person. And having a very hard time of it because he has these things... I've heard they're called 'feelings'... Anyway. He's finding it a bit hard to deal with, but long story short, think Sauron getting a second chance and go from there.

And if you have read it-

Then you probably know exactly which moments I'm referencing here, but just in case,

No. 1 is Finrod, just before Annatar is about to have his first full on emotional breakdown, and the No.2 is Maedhros saying thank you. Which is fairly obvious. But still.

I love this fic so much!!!

(this is definitely not the last fanart I'm gonna do from this. Chapter 39 has some amazing moments that I am so gonna draw when I next have time~)

[perlen-gold]

If I were to secretly nurse a fic in my head in which, shortly after the desctruction of the One Ring, the End of All Days nears and Sauron - of all things - has to be brought back in order to, strangely enough, help to prevent the Day Of Doom (or, rather, ensure the survival of Men and hobbits) against his will, being revived by a stranger accompanying Gandalf and his little band of hobbits?

The stranger is Melkor, btw.

If I were to entertain such an idea, purely hypothetically speaking, and if I were to find time to indulge in the writing of such nonsense would there be anyone interested to read?

[ikomahis]

𝔏𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔫

( Mairon / Sauron's HC redemption yearning wannabe ; post-canon )

⭑ felt sad for my ginger villain so i wrote a lil something for my delulu self

⭑ headcanon of Mairon / Sauron’s possible redemption ; only if he wasn’t stubborn/cowardice/bitter enough to seek for it (which it’s up to us fans to believe what we want. i believe he might after many ages pass and his own anger eats itself)

⭑ short 'what if'

⭑ post-canon ; probably set somewhere in post Fourth Age

⭑ i’m also sucker for redemption arcs, especially for those who weren’t truly evil in their core

⸻⸻⸻ ⚶ ⸻⸻⸻

𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒈𝒆.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑒𝑡, 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑚, 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑑 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑀𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒-𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑑. 𝐶𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑙. 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑀𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐷𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑑, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑛𝑜𝑤. 𝑀𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝐸𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑈𝑛𝑑𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐿𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠, 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑎 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑑𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚, 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑡.

𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑠, 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑒, ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡, 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛.

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙, ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑑 - 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑.

𝑂𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑢𝑝𝑜𝑛 𝑎 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟.

𝑁𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑅𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒. 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑀𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 𝐷𝑜𝑜𝑚, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑡, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡.

⸻⸻⸻

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑑, 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑡ℎ. 𝐻𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑙, 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑒. 𝐻𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑, 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑏𝑦.

𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑜𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦.

𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑔𝑛𝑎𝑤𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚, 𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑙𝑜𝑤. 𝐻𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐻𝑎𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑜𝑚, 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑒𝑦𝑒, 𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛.

𝐻𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑀𝑒𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑟, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝐸𝑟𝑢 𝐼𝑙𝑢́𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑟 ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓. 𝐻𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑦 𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑣𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑡, 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠.

𝐴𝑠 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑑, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠.

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𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑖𝑚, 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛, 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑖𝑛. 𝐼𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑑, ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑎 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑛𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙.

𝑊𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑒? 𝐴 𝑤𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑀𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒-𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ, 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑒𝑥𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑠𝑒.

𝑇𝑜 𝑤ℎ𝑜𝑚 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒?

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𝑀𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑑-𝑑𝑢̂𝑟, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑑𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜, ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑑. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑚.

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑, ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑐𝑡 - 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑣𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑠. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚.

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑖𝑡𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑚𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑖𝑎, 𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦. 𝐴 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑎 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒. 𝐴 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝐴𝑢𝑙𝑒̈ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑚𝑖𝑡ℎ. 𝑂𝑓 𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑎𝑟, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚.

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑡 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑀𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑜𝑡ℎ, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 ℎ𝑖𝑚. 𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑑𝑚𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟.

𝐵𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒, 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑠. 𝐼𝑡 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑝𝑡𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡.

𝑊ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛?

𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒... ?

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𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑢𝑛𝑏𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛.

𝐴𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑑, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛; 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡, 𝑎 𝑗𝑜𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𝐻𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑑𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑦 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑑. 𝑁𝑜𝑤, 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟-𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 ��𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠, ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑟𝑢𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑒𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑎 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑒, 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑠. 𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑠, ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑠. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑒ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝐴𝑟𝑑𝑎, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑟 𝑀𝑎𝑖𝑎 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑚. 𝐻𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑒𝑡, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠, 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘.

𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝐴 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒. 𝐴 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑒, 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑔𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒, ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑒𝑑 ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔.

𝐴 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.

𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆.

⸻⸻⸻ ⚶ ⸻⸻⸻

[aspiringnexu]

AU where Celebrimbor figures out that Halbrand is Sauron and then figures out that the best way to defeat evil is to appeal to Sauron’s inner Smithing Nerd and all of a sudden Sauron can’t focus on dominating Middle-Earth because Celebrimbor roped him into a few ongoing projects and then he got distracted because the elven blades are just not up to standard at all and the armour, don’t get him started on the armour!

Plus Lindon is starting to get a steady supply of mithril and he’s never played with that kind of ore before, it was created after he went to serve Morgoth, and he can’t pass this opportunity up. So many pretty things to make! So much to do!

[thecoziestbean]

Happy day 2 of Haladriel Week! Back with another drabble.

Redemption (Day 2: Corruption/Deception/Redemption) Canon-ish | T | 100 words

Read on ao3

[hazelmaines]

The Chain - 80k WIP - M - Read on AO3

[elronds-library]

The Harrowing [WIP]

by Chthonion (@chthonion)

Part 2 of Your shadow rising to meet you

Remake me. Re-sing me. Un-mar me, so that I can love him and not destroy him. * Annatar attempts change, and a life as one of the Eldar. He also drags Fëanor and his sons out of the Void on his way back to Life, and regrets it almost immediately.

Mature, Graphic Depictions of Violence

Words: 291,443

[saurons-pr-department]

I've been thinking a bit about how I would like to see a depiction of Sauron's time following the War of Wrath, in particular his potential for having, for a short while anyway, 'redeemed' himself before falling back into evil.

Now, I love a true (attempted?) redemption arc as much as the next pr department, but I'm not convinced that's quite what we'd be looking at here. As far as he was concerned, prior to the War of Wrath, he was serving the True King of Arda. (We're told he genuinely wanted Melkor to win the war and there are some elements that make me view him as a somewhat fanatical follower of his lord). He then witnesses their enemies brutally defeat Him, distroy the land that should have been His and then leave the mess behind them. I'm not sure he'd really go straight to "are we the baddies?" here*. If he belived in Melkor's cause, then I don't see why he wouldn't have thought of themselves as the good guys. And with the state that Middle Earth was left in after the Valar attacked, as well as their treatment of his lord, I don't think there's anything in front of him to tell him otherwise. In other words, there is nothing to be redeemed from. At least in his thoughts initially. And I think this is where we see the flaw that allows for him to slip back into evil. What we view as evil and what he views as evil aren't the same thing. His actions are a means to an end, and the end he has planned is so perfect that it'll justify any means. He genuinely wants to fix Middle Earth. Unfortunately for everyone involved though, his moral compas has never really had a good idea of where north actually is...

That isn't to say that I don't think he would learn nothing. That would be too static. I just think it means that there may not be any need for him to actively attempt to be a better person or to be actively trying to turn over a new leaf. I don't see that as something that should be focused on in a failed redemption story for him at this point in time. (I think that would suit post canon better, and perhaps even give it more weight because he can see his failure here and how close he could have been). I think he would eventually question at least some of his past actions. He would find things in his new life that he enjoys. Perhaps he's reminded of how much he loves creating instead of destroying? But I don't think he's setting out to do that. He's setting out to get involved and help restore Middle Earth because as far as he's concerned he's already one of the good guys. For me, this story would need way more layers to it than him simply saying "I'm good now. Actually, never mind, I'm evil again". I think it's far too black and white for how he sees himself. I don't think at any point does he truly think of himself as evil. He thinks of himself as right. He just has a very warped sense of right and wrong. His fall back into evil is inevitable, but he doesn't realise he's doing it because he never considered himself evil in the first place. This is why he fails.

[*I know he presents himself to Eonwe for pardon, but since he nopes out the second the Valar and Valinor are mentioned (and he suspects that he'll end up losing the status that he enjoys in Middle Earth), I don't really know how much of that came from a realisation that he had done wrong. It seems too quick for a realisation like that. So I'm taking it a bit more like either covering his ass or a moment of doubt in the face of utter defeat that then passes once he gets a little slap of reality.]

[aotearoa20]

Corruption of Sauron

It started with Celebrimbor, of this much he was certain. But he was too close, he did not see it there. Instead he saw it with the guild.

In the understanding of those who found joy is making. In a shared love for dwarven beverages. In advice given freely and without thought to young apprentices, who just wanted to get better. All this he could excuse. His relationship with Tyelpë was important and Tyelpë valued everyone in his confidence.

But just last week Calambar, who barely knew the Lord of Eregion at all, had asked if he’d be present for his daughters naming day. It was to be the same day he’d planned to go collect a rare type of ore. He would need to wait another ten years for the right conditions to recover it but the thought did not feel him with the dread it should. 

He’d agreed far too readily and… happily.

He ceased his pacing around his room, falling back down upon his bed. The Ainur do not need sleep as the Children did, but Celebrimbor had suggested he try the practise. 

He’d experimented with the process and found it to be a good way to anchor himself, to sort through his thoughts with interruption. He lay down on his bed, eyes open but far way as he surrendered himself to the dark.

He found himself in his chambers back in Angband. The familiarity ought to have brought him comfort but instead worried him greatly for it had changed since last he had come here. Holly branches reached in through the windows and widening cracks in the wall. He tore a pieces of it from the bed frame, watching it burn away in his hands.

He took a breath and scanned the room. Someone did this. The plants were to orderly to have grown naturally. A shadow danced in the corner of his vision. He could hear the sound of bare feet on black stone.

“I know you are there,” he says, “Come out or I shall make you.”

Silence for a moment and then a figure stepped out from behind the shade of a pillar. It swayed softly under his gaze but met his eyes nonetheless.

“Who are you?” The words come out like stones.

“Your heart,” it shrugged, “What’s left of it anyway.”

“Liar,” he hissed, “Such foolish weakness I destroyed millennia ago.”

It nodded almost enthusiastic. “Oh yes! it’s been long since I’ve even had a voice but you needed me.”

He took a step towards him. Arrogant little thought.

“I have no need of you.”

“But you do,” he smiled. Saccharine sweet, “Annatar does, You wouldn’t have gotten this far into dear Tylepë’s council without me.”

It is shorter than him. Elven in form, strawberry blonde hair falling down to its heels. A circlet on his brow with an eight pointed star. A strange mix of Annatar and Aulë’s Mairon. The same foolish bravery as well. It will burn him like it had before.

“You are too insincere.”

Sauron looked him over and sighed into his hands. Fine, if he had to live with that sorry memory so be it. Soon his plans would come to fruition and he could burn it like he would this whole city. 

Light footsteps drew near to him. He lifted his head! observing it with little interest. But then it gripped his arm and a thrill of terror trickled up to his shoulder. It should not be so strong as to be corporeal.

“Or,” it mutters, “You could just… stay.”

No. He tore his arm away, up and towering over the thing in half a breath. No, no, no. This could not - how had he missed this?!

“What did you say?”

The entire hallway goes dark. He rose as his shadow fell over its fragile form like a net.

“We could stay, we don’t need…” the thought trailed off, trembling faintly

Yes, he thought and the sound reverberated across the halls, you should be terrified. But he threw his head back and laughed. Fingertips, sharp as knives brush against fair skin. He grips the collar of its shirt pulling it far too close.

“And why ever would we do that, precious?” He whispered in his ear.

“I… we…” it stumbled over its words almost endearingly. Almost like the pitiful fool he’d just left in the forge. “We are happy here.”

“Happy, in this pathetic lump of Earth. With these dust creatures.”

It pushed itself away, pulling its arms around itself.

“We are, you cannot deny it.”

“Oh I will, I can think of nothing worse than wasting away in this pretty cage.”

He turnsc on his heel stalking to the window, staring at the fallen glory of his fortress. This is where he belonged. The creatures hand in on his arm again and it burns.

“We are making things again,” it said, ignoring how he hissed, “beautiful things, like we used to.”

“We are powerless, no trinket we’ve made comes close to even the least of our creations.”

“They were not creations,” his face id a picture of scorn, drawing from Sauron a rage beyond reason, “Be honest, cheap imitations at best.”

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes, as imagined beast spring up in the corners of the room. They growl and snap their jaws but this little flicker of conscience seems unafraid.

This would not do. What spring of baseless confidence was it drawing strength from? A light pierces through the ever present clouds that had blanketed the fortress. A single star.

“The Fëanorian spawn?” he breathes in disbelief , “You… care for him?”

The thought’s eyes widen in panic as Mairon laughed again. He reached out, brushing a hand across his cheek. When he spoke it’s with almost genuine concern.

“Oh you sweet stupid thing, if that is all we can keep him. He need not burn with the rest.”

“No!” he frowned and both are confused at his answer.

“No?”

“No,” it chewed at its lip, “It would… it would break him, to survive if he lost it all.”

“Well yes, he must be broken if you want him to stay.”

“No!”

“You think he would stay with you willingly?”

Fear or rage moved his hand. He grabbed the treacherous leach by the hair, and pulled him down in the depths of his memory.

“Let go of me!” it shouted clawing at his arms but fingers, even calloused from forge work, would not break through the armour he found himself wearing.

“No, sweetling, it seems you have forgotten what you are.”

The screams that echo down the hallway are a bitter honey. Memory of times when ruled his own world and all who got caught in his grasp.

“I remember,” it cried dragging its feet uselessly on the ground, “Of course I remember.”

The door materialises and opens up. The fire, warm for him but just about unbearable for any of the Children, welcomes him. He throws the thought at the stone table with the memory of a flame haired elf tied to it. He writhes and curses as invisible blades carve neatly into its side.

“You remember this?” He twisted his finger into its hair so it cannot look away. It seems darker in the flamelight.

“Yes,” he wept.

“That’s sweet Tyelpë’s uncle.”

“I know, I know.”

His legs gave out and Sauron lets him fall to the floor. How pathetic it look, with its eyes screwed shut and its hands over its ears. It will do no good. Their favourite little king’s screams were once heard from the Nethermost Hall to the furthest sentries on the wall. And they were etched in his mind like an old favourite song.

He thinks, again, that he has won. But the thing grabbed at him. A wrenching pain clawed at his chest. Guilt is what it is and that terrified him more than he could bear.

The scene shifted and suddenly he found himself out of breath pressed against the back of the trees in a dark forest. He could hear the dreadful voice of the Doomsman of the Valar. And the scream. That terrible scream that banished his Master from the world. It drew him to his knees beside the thought. 

Sauron shuddered and turned his burning gaze upon it. It will pay for this. He pulled it forward so they are both in view of the clearing.

“This is what they did to your master,” he hissed, “This is what you are asking for, do you understand? Is this what you want?”

The silence that follows is far too long. There is a flicker of light in its eyes. A dangerous dance of hope and despair.

“I want to go home.” it said at last.

“You have none left.”

“Eregion…”

”Eregion belongs to the spawn of the family we harried for centuries, when he learns what you are he will never let you stay.”

The thought shook his head but said nothing. There is nothing he can say

“And then where will we go.” He points to the empty clearing “To the Valar? Never, do you hear me? I would rather chain us to a mountain. No, I will make us a home. I will bring us back to what we once were, and greater! And you will burn along with everything else that I used to get me there. You…”

“I am you,” it shrieked suddenly, “I am you and you cannot deny that there is a part of you that wants this!”

The scene shifted again and they’re  in one of the many brightly corridors is Ost-in-Edhil. A soft laugh drew his attention. He turned to see the Silver Smith, the Lord of Eregion, sitting on the edge of the windowsill, smiling fondly down at them. He breathed in sharply. So fond and open and hopeful.

“I can.” He whispered “and I will until the breaking of the world.”

He raised himself to his feet and watched it sob. He squared his shoulders. The weight of a sword hung heavy, as it materialised in his hand. Perhaps his work with Tyelpë will be hampered. But that thing could not allowed to fester and spread. He raised it, hesitating only a moment but…

Then it calls out. With a whimpering little cry it calls out.

“Annatar?”

The world shifts. Annatar stumbled and to his horror that he was on his knee as saw himself, the real one, stalking away.

“Annatar!”

No, no no no. He cannot abandon him here. He can’t do this alone.

“Annatar!”

He blinked. And there was someone else kneeling before him. Tilion is at his back and bathed the elf in silver light. He let out a shuddering breath. How did he get here? Tyelpë frowned, questions in his eyes that don’t quite make it to his lips.

“You…” he whispered, “You have ruined me, Tyelperinquar. Beyond recognition.”

“Annatar, what are you talking…”

“That’s not my name, you pathetic fool!”

But what is it? What is his name? He has had so many. They all demand so much and such different things. He will never satisfy them all.

“I know that.”

“What.”

He looked up sharply, warning bells ring in his ears. He searched the elf’s face for… for something. Suspicion. Rejection. Fear.

Tyelpë just shrugged, “I know.”

Annatar cannot help the pitched laugh that escapes his lips.

“Why are you like this?” he whispered.

“I’m cursed you know,” the Lord settled down more comfortably on the floor, “I like to pretend like it’s all behind me but it’s not. I carry my family’s doom,” he stares out past the Maia. Into the moonlight. Into the stars. “But I am not my family. If I’m to fall, let it be for kindness rather than cruelty.”

Annatar could think of a dozen responses to that. He said none of them. Just sighed and lay his head wearily down on Tyelpë’s shoulders. And he prays for the first time in so long. 

That time could just stop. That he could stay in this moment forever and ever. It is a strange and oddly peaceful night and they sit in soft silence through it all. But eventually as always, the sun had to rise

[likesdoodling]

This is one of my one of my favourite scenes from The Harrowing by Chthonion-

This fic has taken over my brain. I will probably be back to normal eventually. Probably. In case it's unclear, we've got Celebrimbor, Finrod, Frodo, and Annatar (Sauron).

:D

I would highly recommend this fic btw, it's like a second chance/villain redemption fic, and it is really fun to watch Sauron struggle- *ahem* "Come to grips with how to be a 'good' person" and all the hilarity that entails. And feelings. And all that cool stuff.

:D:D

(I don't know how to link things btw- if I did I would)

[fadedfrost]

From @mynameisjessejk’s Opportunity for Improvement which I just reread.

[honeyfarts666]

An Ocean of Tears

A Sauron Redemption Fic

Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Animal Friends, Secret Child

Chapter 1: Prolog: A Begining Centuries in the Making  Chapter 2: Odd Companions Chapter 3: A Young Adventurer Chapter 4: The Wanderer Child  Chapter 5: A Procession of Elves

New! Chapter 6: A Great Adversary on Ao3 or under the cut ↓

Torture Before the Sublime a smutty "deleted scene" (Also I made a mood board for Halbrand’s Garden)

Story Excerpt:

Was it so hard to believe that he had been a prisoner of Morgoth too? He had gone willingly at first, but he became just as trapped as every other soul caught in his master’s snare. He had no grand desire for evil. In the youth of the world, he had craved adventure. His only crime was believing Morgoth. And following him. And doing his dark bidding for millennia. He hung his head as shame poured through him.

@coraleethroughthelookingglass @helenvader @restless-tides @rebelrebelwrites @ringsofpowerfans @starlady66 @veladelibrr @shia-the-buff

Halbrand was usually quite diligent in his work. For the past twelve years, he had risen at dawn and worked among the plants and trees until dusk. This new way of life was his penance and he never forgot that. But ever since Estion’s appearance, he had lost focus. He had spent more than one day, completely unmoved, staring at the wall of his cottage in silence.

It’s not like his walls were that boring. The rough, wooden timbers each had a unique shape and grain. Sometimes he could find unintended images in them. If he turned his head to the left, there was one that looked sort of like a dog. And if he looked at the foot of his bed, there was another that looked like a castle surrounded by an army. But it was the one above his head that captivated him the most. It looked like a woman with long hair. Her back was turned to him and he couldn’t see her face. But he didn’t need to.

With a soft meow, Teonwer lept onto his bed and sat on his chest, staring him down. He tried to ignore the cat at first. He rolled his head to the right, gazing at the hazy beams of light that strayed through his window, illuminating his few, simple belongings: a table with a wobbly leg, a set of eating utensils, a bowl, a wash rag, a stack of firewood, and an extra blanket for the cold winters. Dried herbs hung from the rafters and filled the whole place with a homely aroma.

Teonwer seemed intent on disturbing him and batted his paw over Halbrand’s jaw and mouth.

“What?” Halbrand asked with annoyance, propping his head up under one arm.

Teonwer meowed.

“I don’t feel like it,” he stated as he looked away, avoiding Teonwer’s stare.

Meow meow.

Halbrand heaved a sigh through his nose. Teonwer was right, as usual. But he was still annoyed with his feline friend. He sat up quickly, causing Teonwer to scamper back down to the floor.

Teonwer gave a small hiss before leaving Halbrand behind and walking out the door into the day.

With another heavy sigh, Halbrand rose and dressed. He slipped his feet into his worn boots and stretched his stiff limbs. He went without breakfast, he really didn’t need much food and, in his sorry state, he probably wouldn’t taste it anyway.

As he stepped through his door, he gazed up toward the heavens. It was already nearing midday, though the sun was hidden. He had much work to catch up on from his newfound laziness. He washed quickly, pulling his shirt over his head before kneeling down in front of his wash bucket. He splashed his face, shoulders, and chest with the cool water. It wasn’t much of a bath but it was better than nothing. As he wiped the droplets from his face, he heard a noise in the distance. Halbrand perked his ear, straining to hear what it might be but failing. Whatever it was, it was a long way off. Probably an elk with its antlers caught between two trees. But it was no matter of his.

He pulled his shirt back over his head. The fabric was growing desperately thin, even with his subtle magic willing the garment to stay woven together. It was a cool day, so he slipped his coat over his shoulders. There was no more avoiding his tasks. He grabbed a basket and set it down the garden path. Teonwer followed in such a way that he pretended to be about his own business.

Scattered among the flowers and tall grasses of the garden were more useful plants. Most of them produced vegetables but he also had strawberries growing across the creek. And, at the very end of the garden path, there were three apple trees. He knelt down in front of several, wilting plants. The formerly bright, green leaves had begun turning brittle.

He dug his hands into the earth, reaching under the soil. After a moment of feeling blindly through the dirt, his fingers found what he searched for. He yanked and pulled a potato up from the soil. He brushed away the dirt and set it in his basket. He dug his hands back into the earth and searched for more. In the distance, there was a faint cry. It was the same noise as before, though he could hear it a bit more clearly. Whatever it was, he wished it would go away and die elsewhere.

He had plenty of time to think while he worked. Though part of him believed he had been thinking too much lately. Of course, his thoughts were always of Estion and Galadriel. And of the beautiful family that could have been his. Sometimes he felt anger. Anger for Galadriel and the horrible secret she had kept from him. Had she known? Had she been aware of their child even as she rejected him? It was possible but he couldn’t be certain. He knew little of such womanly matters. But those moments were rare. The fire that fueled his rage for centuries had long burned out. Mostly he was forlorn, lost in a haze of regret and could-have-beens. And he knew where the blame lay.

He imagined what Estion must have looked like as a babe and as a toddler. But he would never know. It was too late. He would never see Estion take his first steps. Nor teach him any craft. Nor even hold him close while he cried. He was a stranger to his own son. It was his personal doom, to forever be severed from all hope and light. Tears began to prick the corners of his eyes and he willed himself to turn his thoughts to other matters. The potatoes were healthy. That was a small blessing. Proof that Eru had not cursed him in every matter.

The magic he used in gardening was not the same magic he used in his smithcraft. It was gentler and more subtle. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it at first. Even without his awareness, power flowed down his arm and fingers and into the earth to be absorbed by hungry roots. He wasn’t sure when he started, but somewhere in those twelve years, he began to sing while he worked. He hummed his song and the potatoes loosened more readily. He didn’t consider himself to be a musical person. But he still knew the ancient melodies from before the dawning of the world. And from which all things green and good had sprung. The trees of the forest certainly remembered the old songs. Their roots grew deeper and the branches swayed further as they drank them in like pure water. And the young, green leaves in his garden had listened well too. Each year, growing taller and blooming fuller than any other plant in the shade of the old forest.

Halbrand caught movement from the corner of his eye and looked up. Teonwer lept onto a nearby boulder and meowed intently.

Halbrand nearly scoffed at the cat. He had never seen the creature so serious before. He shook his head, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Teonwer yowled loudly once and meowed softly twice.

Halbrand furrowed his brow, “A what?”

Teonwer repeated himself.

Halbrand huffed. He was certain Teonwer was referencing whatever had made that noise. But he couldn’t for the life of him understand the cat. “I don’t know what that means,” he tried to reason, “What’s out there?”

Teonwer gave a final, exasperated meow as he turned off the path and into the depths of the forest.

Halbrand rolled his eyes before he pulled himself to his feet and followed after the cat. Whatever the situation was, Teonwer was taking it very seriously. Perhaps another feline beast was in trouble and Teonwer was honor bound by some code of brotherhood to all cats. Halbrand really wouldn’t have been surprised. Cats were unusually organized when they wanted to be. They might have made valuable allies in a battle. He shook his head. He had no use for those sorts of thoughts anymore.

Halbrand’s assumptions proved to be entirely wrong and he was wholly unprepared for what Teonwer led him to. After nearly half an hour’s walk, Halbrand heard the great cry again. But this time, it was much, much closer. He still had no idea what it was, but it certainly wasn’t a cat. The cry was more of a screech.

Teonwer led him through a grove of close trees and over several large boulders. When Halbrand reached the top and saw what lay on the other side, he nearly fell back down the side of the rock. There, between two ancient cedars, was an eagle. But not just any eagle, a Great Eagle, a servant of Manwë himself.

Halbrand swallowed hard. Teonwer let out a loud meow and lept down from the rock toward the eagle.

The eagle whipped its head around and suddenly the beast had its gaze fixed upon Halbrand. The eagle let out a terrible scratch. Halbrand covered his ears with his hands wincing at the noise. He did note that the eagle hardley moved. Its left wing stayed tucked carefully against its side.

Teonwer looked up at him from the ground below and let out a yowl of his own.

Halbrand glared at the cat, “That thing will never let me go anywhere near it!”

Meow. Meow.

Halbrand huffed, “It knows who I am! And if it doesn’t, it will certainly figure it out!”

“I,” the eagle replied, “can speak the tongues of elves and men and I know who you are.”

Halbrand swallowed hard again. Of course! He was just stupid enough to forget. All Manwë’s servants were gifted with speech though Manwë was more than capable of understanding them in their own tongue. Manwë was far too fair to converse with a low being in that primitive way. Halbrand pulled himself over the rock and dropped to the ground next to Teonwer. He slowly lifted his hands in a sign of peace.

“What brings you to these lands, servant of Manwë?” He asked cautiously.

The eagle ruffled its feathers, “That is no concern of yours!”

Halbrand dared to take his eyes from the eagle’s high face and take a closer look at his injured wing. And he spotted it! A bright arrow was shot between the bones of his second arm. Blood oozed from the wound and dripped down his long feathers. He glanced at Teonwer who gazed up at him expectantly.

Halbrand took a deep breath and pointed to the arrow, “It seems you have an injury. Are you able to fly, friend?”

The eagle raised its head to the heavens and shrieked. Halbrand again covered his ears. As he did, the eagle ceased his noise-making and got his face within a foot of Halbrand’s. “You are no friend of mine, deceiver!”

Halbrand stayed frozen in place as the eagle receded. He slowly lifted his hands from his ears. He took a calculating breath and said, “If I wished you dead, you would already be so.”

The eagle whipped around to glare at him again but Halbrand put up both of his forefingers for patience. “You know it is true. In equal health, we are a fair fight. But in this state,” he gestured to the arrow again, “I would have no difficulty killing you.”

The eagle bristled but remained silent for a long moment. Eventually, he spoke, “What is it that you want, servant of Morgoth?”

Halbrand bit his lip and steadied his breath, “I no longer serve Morgoth. I have not for many years.”

“Yet, you do not seek pardon from my master,” the eagle pointed out, “Since you have not done this, I must assume you mean to take your former master’s place as the dark lord.”

“That is not true!” Halbrand snapped.

“Deceiver!” the eagle spat back at him.

Halbrand huffed and threw out his arms, “Does it look like I’m amassing an army?”

The eagle stopped suddenly and regarded him as if for the first time.

He continued without waiting for any response, “I assume, your task has been to search for me. You thought you would find me in the Land of Ash. And you blamed the darkness of the clouds for your inability to find me.”

The eagle snarled.

Halbrand went on, “But the reason you could not find me is because I am not there.” He gestured to the forest, “I have been here. Trying to forget.”

The eagle raised his head thoughtfully and asked, “Why have you come to aid me?”

Halbrand couldn’t help the soft smile that cracked across his face as he glanced at Teonwer, “My friend asked me to.”

Then, Teonwer looked up to the eagle and meowed softly several times. The recommendation Teonwer gave to the eagle is literally untranslatable, as are most cat words. But an approximate translation would be, “He is your adversary but he is also my great friend.”

Halbrand’s heart shuddered as he heard the kind, gentle way Teonwer spoke of him. And a single tear rolled down his cheek.

Teonwer rubbed against Halbrand’s leg and purred. Halbrand knelt down and affectionately scratched behind the cat’s ears. When Halbrand pulled his hand away, Teonwer lept onto his shoulder and sat there. Halbrand rose up to his full height to face the eagle’s judgment. But it felt good not to face the messenger of Manwë alone.

The eagle nodded solemnly and said, “I will accept your assistance.”

-

It took Halbrand an hour to return with supplies. And then another to remove the arrow and clean the wound. The Great Eagle was stoic the whole while, never complaining and hardly making a sound. Teonwer, on the other hand, would not cease with his unsolicited advice.

“I’m not going to lick it!” Halbrand insisted as he filled the wound with a salve of chamomile and garlic.

Teonwer turned up his nose at him in a show of superiority.

The Great Eagle made a clucking noise. Halbrand stopped in his tracks. He looked at the Eagle’s face to see if it was in pain. But the bird seemed to be amused. And then, he realized the bird was laughing.

“Teonwer often makes suggestions as if I too were a cat,” Halbrand remarked.

“Felines cannot fathom a way of life that is not their own,” the Eagle commented, “But they are always willing to help a friend.”

Halbrand quirked an eyebrow, “How did you two become friends?”

Teonwer chimed in with two meows and Halbrand raised his eyebrow again.

“It is true,” the Eagle confirmed, “There was an ancient oath between the Great Eagles and many of the beasts of the earth. Most have forgotten it. But not the cats. Their memories are long and their honor is great.”

Halbrand smirked, remembering his original thought that Teonwer was bound by a feline brotherhood. He wasn’t too far off. “What else have you neglected to tell me, old friend?” he asked the cat at his feet.

Teonwer gave him an annoyed mew and marched off into the underbrush.

Halbrand smirked again as he pasted another layer of salve over the wound. And the Eagle laughed again in his strange way. “The two of you make good companions,” he told Halbrand, “You have similar temperaments.”

“You compare me to a cat?” Halbrand asked with his usual smirk.

“Would you prefer something else?” The Eagle asked.

Halbrand shook his head, “No. I don’t mind. And Teonwer is one of the smartest beings I have ever known.” The Eagle quirked his head so Halbrand continued, “He keeps his wits about him. He can fend for himself. He is an efficient hunter. But what he does most, is nap.”

The Eagle laughed again but longer and harder than before. After a moment, he regained his composure and said, “Forgive me! But it is difficult to imagine the Great Deceiver taking a nap.”

Halbrand glanced away and he muttered, “I have been doing little else of late.”

The Eagle cocked his head as he examined him. Halbrand continued to work, ignoring the lingering stare from his former enemy. “I sense a great sorrow within you,” the Eagle said.

Halbrand nodded slowly, “Your eyes are keen.” He finished his work and stepped away. “There,” he said with fake cheerfulness, “It should only be a few days before you can fly again.”

The Eagle tested his wing, flexing the muscles slowly. “I thank you for your help, Mairon.”

Halbrand sucked in a sharp breath. He had not been called that in more than an age. “That name does not belong to me anymore.”

The Eagle cocked his head from side to side, examining him, “Perhaps, if you were to return to Valinor, you would find that it does.”

Halbrand shook his head, “I will not speak ill of your master, but he has no love for me. There is no future for me in Valinor.”

The Eagle clucked, “Then what shall I call you?”

“Halbrand is the name I have used in recent years,” he replied.

It was a humble name and the Eagle seemed to approve. “Halbrand,” the Eagle turned the name over in his mouth. “I am Gwaihir,” the Eagle announced.

Halbrand’s eyes widened in astonishment. “I have heard of you,” he replied as cooly as he could manage, “and your great feats.”

Gwaihir ruffled his feathers, “Still think you can best me in a fight?”

Halbrand smirked, “I wouldn’t like to try.”

[ragdollartwork]

A bunch of posters I made for my family for Christmas! These were a lot of fun to get done in a week!