Chapter Text
Galadriel wills her body to move on, pushing through the endless snow. She has been on his quest before, she can do it again. This time, she makes the journey alone, a circumstance she has chosen on her own volition.
Galadriel all but fled Eregion. It had hurt her to leave Elrond, to leave her closest friend to carry the burden of their people’s demise on his own, but she couldn’t stay. If they were able to create rings of such power, who knew what their enemy could accomplish. The thought had spurred her, and thus started her quest anew.
She assumed that Sauron would head to the fiery fields of Mordor, and she traveled in the opposite direction, visiting the frozen wastes of Forodwaith once more.
She had always looked over her shoulder, afraid that she would see him. But no, he was crueler and much more perfidious. He awaited her in her dreams.
During the first dream, Galadriel had found herself back at the shores of Eregion, the sun warming her skin as the gentle breeze makes the trees sing. Given her current whereabouts, it didn’t surprise her that her subconscious mind would long for warmth, for comfort, for peace.
When she saw the man kneeling by the river, she felt neither of those feelings. Fury and betrayal exploded inside her, quickening her pace. He let her approach, only gave her a crooked smile while she brought her dagger, her brother’s legacy, to his throat. The dagger felt like an old friend in her hand, and she allowed herself a moment to mourn its loss.
True creation requires sacrifice, echoed inside her head. Didn’t she sacrifice enough?
“Be gone, fiend! Get out of my mind! What makes you think that I want you here?” she snarled, her words as sharp as the blade digging into his throat. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her, as this mirrored their previous confrontation.
“Yet I am here,” the monster wearing the face of her companion replied, and Galadriel felt her jaw clench as she contemplated his words. How dare he imply that she somehow summoned him?
Instead of awaiting her answer, he grabbed her hand and dragged it downward, so the tip of her dagger lay on his chest, just above his black heart.
“Do it,” he dared her, his voice low as his calloused hand held hers in an iron grip.
Galadriel hesitated for a moment, and Halbrand, no, Sauron brushed his thumb over the back of her hand, the affectionate touch shocking her more than her impotence to kill him.
The dream ended and Galadriel hated the lone tear rolling down her cheek.
Galadriel lays her eyes on the desolate fortress and smiles. She knows that she will find an answer, a clue she overlooked, an insight on how to stop him. She must, or else this whole journey has been futile, and she fled for nothing.
The fortress is as unwelcoming and frigid as it was on her first visit, and Galadriel dragged her hood down, trying to block the cold from nipping at her skin. This would be her home until she either succeeded or failed.
Galadriel lets out a sigh and looks for a spot to place her provision and her other belongings. Trying to make this feel like a home is like trying to catch every flake of ash raining down in the Southlands.
It takes her longer than anticipated to drag the snow troll, untouched by rot, out of the fortress, leaving her exhausted but accomplished. She has scoured through the stronghold, making sure that she is the only living creature around here.
Warmth has become a distant memory, and the fire burning from the torches give her only light. She clutches the blankets tighter and hopes for an undisturbed rest.
She finds herself back on the raft, the smell of salt and the rough, untamed sea tickling her nose while the wood beneath her feet rolls with the waves. She continues to look at the horizon, refusing to acknowledge him. The day will come when they shall face each other again, and she will do her duty. For now, she will do her best to banish him.
“I have regrets,” Sauron says, and Galadriel can’t help but turn around, startled by the vulnerability in his voice. As if the dark Lord himself wanted to repent. She wants to hurl the worlds at him, but they are stuck in her throat. He looks conflicted, his brows set in a frown, arms crossed over his chest, and for a moment her heart aches at the sight, how much he looks like Halbrand. She misses her companion and all that could have been.
“But I don’t regret meeting you. Our meeting was fated.” The conviction in his voice is as certain as the rising of the sun, and his green eyes burn with fervor. Galadriel takes a step back, suddenly aware how close they are.
He crosses the distance between them in a blur and rests a hand on her shoulder. Her memory is quick, and she remembers how he vowed that nobody would ever forget her support and how he would see to it than no one else did either. A shiver dances down her spine. How would her friends, how would Middle-earth react if they knew her part in Sauron’s return?
He leans down, his breath tickling her skin.
“Wait for me, my queen.”
Galadriel wakes up chilled to the bone. No matter how much she forages for a hint, she finds nothing. She has traced his cursed sigil so often that it feels as if he has branded her himself.
She allows herself a frustrated growl before donning her warmest clothing and heading for the exit. Perhaps this is not the only fortress, maybe there are smaller buildings nearby. The hope is meager, but it is there.
“If you want to know something, you simply need to ask,” an all too familiar voice drawls, and Galadriel reaches for the sword at her hips, her fingers tightening around the stainless steel.
This is no dream.
She charges at him, her steps featherlight as she brings her sword against his. He parries her attack with ease, and Galadriel reminds herself that he’s no mere man. He’s a Maia, and what can a lone elf like her do against him? She banishes this thought from her mind and arcs her sword upward.
Their swords meet and kiss, the ringing of steel like a symphony while they move through the fortress, a deadly dance she has performed so often. Galadriel looks for an opening, an opportunity to break through his defense and counter his vicious attacks.
There isn’t.
He’s toying with her, she realizes with petrifying horror, and their gazes lock for a moment. His green eyes ensnare her, and for a moment she lowers her weapon. It is all he needs to disarm her, catching her sword with his free hand.
Galadriel freezes when she feels the tip of her own sword raise her chin. She lost. She failed.
“What will you do now, Sauron?” she taunts him, pronouncing his name with all the rage and hatred she has. She can’t allow herself to feel anything but these dark emotions.
He sheathes his own sword and throws her sword out of their reach, leaving her without a weapon. Foolish sentimentality has prevented her from taking another dagger, from replacing what she has lost, and now she will pay the price.
“I told you I would come for you,” he simply says, and takes a moment to truly look at her. He looks at her with the desperation of a starving man finding a feast and the reverence of a lost soul finally finding purpose. It roots her to her spot.
“You told me many things,” she answers, and her voice is smaller than she wanted it to be. “All lies and deceptions, as expected from the Deceiver.” His gaze darkens and for a moment, his pupils become longer. Like a snake trapping a mouse, he pushes her back against a wall.
“I have never lied to you,” he insists, propping his arms against the wall, and further caging her until they breathe in the same cool air. “I revealed to you that I had done wrong in my past, that I knew of darkness, and you didn’t care, no you absolved me.” She wants to push him away, to deny his words, but she can’t. During her journey she has plagued herself by revisiting every conversation with him, twisting every word he uttered, and all it has brought was confusion and a small voice whispering that she failed to ask the right questions, that she didn’t catch the glimpses of his true self.
“Sometimes, to find the light we first must first touch the darkness,” Galadriel repeats the words she has told him once, and he lowers one hand to brush his knuckles over her jaw, the touch just as tender as the one in her dream.
She draws in a long breath. It is foolish to hope that there could be light inside the dark Lord himself, she convinces herself. This is only another manipulation, she tells her aching heart. Then why does her heart race and why does this feel so real?
“I cannot be your queen,” she says again, and this time, regret tinges her words.
“You can try.” He leaves her no chance to reply, instead bringing his lips against hers. In this frozen wasteland, he’s the only source of warmth, and his lips burn with desire as he deepens the kiss, one hand buried in the golden strands of her hair and angling her head.
Galadriel slightly parts her lips, looping her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. In this forsaken iciness, she feels herself touching the darkness once more.
He lets out a soft moan and the sound shoots straight through her insides, while she plays with some strands of his hair at his nape. She has almost forgotten what true warmth feels like.
Elves do not experience carnal desires like other races, but Galadriel can’t give another name to the sensation she feels when he slips his tongue into her mouth, growling while his other hand circles around her waist, his fingers digging into her skin with enough urgency to bruise.
He ends the kiss and rests his forehead against hers. Another tear rolls down her cheek. The mighty Galadriel, weeping because of her enemy, crying because she surrendered to him.
“You will come for me. Rule with me, be the light to my darkness. Do it for me, for yourself, and for Middle-earth,” he says, and while his voice has a softer tone, the last part still sounds like a threat.
“I shall await you.” Halbrand and Sauron, both and neither at the same time, say, and he gives her one last kiss, soft and sweet like the taste of honey on her tongue, and then her vision starts to blur.
Strong hands catch her and gently lower her to the ground, and then the darkness devours her whole.
Galadriel awakens alone, with a coat that’s not hers covering her. Her heart and her mind are in disarray. All she knows is that there she can leave now. She has another destination.