Work Text:
Igniting Fires
The room she had left was empty now, and not even Halbrand's own presence seemed to fill this emptiness. He kept gazing at the door long after the elf had left the scene, long after Galadriel had left Halbrand standing in the dark, urging him to return to a place he had abandoned even longer ago, and to which he had never wanted to return.
He finally released the breath he had held since their revelatory talk and turned around on the spot. His movement was abrupt and stuttering, nothing like the feeling of metal in a fire being smoothed into a dignified blade. Nothing about this was smooth, everything was disruptive.
His eyes fell to the flames burning in the stone-framed fireplace where, for him, calamity and steadiness usually resided.
Númenor had fuelled this hope in him. The hope that he could live in hopelessness and live a human life until one day he was no more and the pain would have passed.
The pain of a fallen soldier, the pain of a tormented Maiar, the pain of a servant who had never reached his destination.
But what was he supposed to do with what had just happened? What to make of this encounter with this passionate elf who would not let him go, who was determined to fight all the horrors that had come and would come upon Middle-earth in her long lifetime?
A reflection of red and yellow flames from the fire burning in the fireplace behind Halbrand fell like a shadow over his face.
One of those horrors had been… was him.
He was responsible for the death of Galadriel’s brother and many other elves. She had stood there right in front of him, with that rage and that suppressed ache in her eyes. And Halbrand had felt her sorrow. Sauron had felt it. It was the first time in a row of passing centuries that he had felt a shiver of agony and remorse for what he had done. Especially for what he had done to her. All the pain he had caused.
He sat down on a wooden stool so close to the fire that he could feel the heat ache on his face, but he did not flinch for a moment. Sauron saw the face of Galadriel in the shimmering darkness. He hadn’t drifted into her mind. He had not even tried. Yet, somehow, he had understood.
The smell of the fire brought Sauron back to the realms of Morgoth, to the flames of battle, and the loud, erratic crackling of sparks turning to ashes took him to the screams of terror.
Whatever you did, be free of it.
She had reawakened long-forgotten ashes that had been burned away in the depths of his consciousness. He had refused and he could still feel it, that resistance pushing against his human façade.
Like infinity fighting against finiteness.
But something in that carefully crafted façade, that hard-achieved peace won in a long lost battle, was pushing at the edges of that mortal shell, like the rage that still seethed within him and would erupt in times of inattention.
The cracking of bone on stone, the screams of men when they stand no chance against this Southlander who takes only what is rightfully his to gain his peace.
You don't know what I've done.
Contrasting images mingled with the darkness before his eyes: of the first time he had saved a life instead of taking it. That life had been Galadriel’s, and all because of the flames within her, flames he had not wanted to lose and that had saved him when he was adrift on the open sea. Selfishness at first, it had become more. He had not expected this tempest in her, the resemblance, the likeness of her presence. She was an outcast, just like him.
The determination in her, the armour, the will to fight, had caught him off guard, done something to his numb mind and silenced powers.
Bind yourself to me.
His mind went beyond worlds and he still didn’t understand what she saw in him, a soldier of darkness.
The way he teased her down in the dungeons. The way he had tried to hold back a witty smile. The way she had teased him in return. The touch of his hand on her arms, gripping tightly. Her presence, so close he is able to feel her breath as he was looking down at her. The flicker of her eyelids, just the blink of giving in to a traction, that felt so natural even he wasn’t sure if he was falling into old patterns of deception or if it was all true. It brings him delight.
The King of Southland . Galadriel wanted to make him king. Sauron. The one she had fought for centuries.
Halbrand's forehead was furrowed and filled with sweat from the heat. The flames still lingered in his eyes. His hair fell over his face as he lowered his head into his hands.
He didn’t want to tell her, but he didn’t have to. Galadriel did not care about his past . The reality of this thought shook his whole ground and picked up the shattered pieces as his eyes reflected the same tears of her determination. She wanted the person he was now to become king.
The way she fights against all those Númenors with movements so smooth, fills his face with a soothing grin, involuntary and without forewarning ; the outward reflection of a feeling that has been hovering inside him for a while. It was then that he realises the power of her mind and body aligning; of their minds and bodies.
The moment at the forge had only further ignited it. An intimacy of two souls counterfeiting their differences.
But he wanted to dive further into, wanted more of that presence, more of that power he had only seen a fragment of so far. He wanted to see where this path would lead.
And something in him was disturbed by this feeling. Yet, as he looked up and into the fire again, he couldn’t stop a vision from forming between the dark gaps of each flame grasping for breath.
There he stands, wearing the spiked crown again, holding a power that brings order to the chaos and him to the brink of ruin. But this time he does not fall into the darkness. This time a light stands beside him, holding him back, binding him to her; to Galadriel.
He feels not alone, not abandoned, not mistreated.
But supported.
Balanced.
A world where they could both live in peace, for it would be the world they had created.
It was only a vision, nothing more. He hadn't seen her fight on the battlefield, he hadn't seen her fight with him yet.
But somehow, only the aspiration was enough of a glimmer, only the possibility of seeing what would happen. Something in him longed for more of that strange, disturbing feeling of belonging.
The vision ignited a flame in him. Her words had. She herself had. And for the first time in centuries, he felt inspired . He felt sparks of light rushing over his dark destiny.
It was all he needed to stand up and walk away from the fire and to return to the other that burned within him.
Sauron picked up the crest and joined Galadriel.