Chapter Text
Wind flapped against the canvas of my tent; a storm was rolling in slowly, and the chattering of orcs outside the tent was louder than the thunder in the distance. They were raucous creatures, always drinking, yelling, fighting, laughing, and singing in their crude language. The tent they placed me in was so small that I barely had any room to pace, which helped clear my thoughts. All I could do was lie on the ground, wrapped in a thin blanket, shivering, and wait for the next move. As a prisoner of Sauron, I did not know what to expect. Energy still flowed through me, the kind that always followed a battle, an almost sickening energy that is hard to come down from. Eregion was now razed to the ground, though many tried to keep it safe; many failed and died. Celebrimbor, Gil-galad, and Elrond- what had happened to them? A dreary heaviness seeped into my heart as the cold night wind blew, the fire next to the tent small and useless. Thousands of orcs were camped here and were now completely loyal to Sauron, the same foul creatures who had just betrayed Adar, their father. Orcs that knew of Galadriel, the orc slayer, and they did not hide their hatred of me. They cursed at me in Black Speech whenever they passed by, though Black Speech was not a language I understood; the meaning was quite clear. They did not like me and would kill me without any hesitation, but the Dark Lord had clearly given them strict instructions to leave the elf unharmed. Fear smoldered inside; a small shadow spread through me, though fear had been a companion of mine many times on the battlefield; tonight, the fear was stronger, more intense, darker. Why did he want me alive? What use could he possibly have for me? An elf that hated him, that had fallen for his deceit, his charming mannerisms, his sweet lies. An elf that almost felt something for this being who walked the world disguised as a mortal man. A familiar ache clenched my heart thinking of Halbrand, or who I thought was Halbrand. Now just a ghost.
Memories of him were confusing. Where did the truth begin, and the lies take over? Were any of his actions real, or had every interaction been a manipulation? He claimed that not all of it was an act, but how could I trust him? He had lied for so long about his true nature, his history, everything, and the foolish elf fell for all of it because she had finally found someone, something, to bring her victory. The sea had brought me to him and him to me; it almost seemed fated, as if our paths were supposed to meet. But why? The memory of our last moment together before the revelation of his secret would forever haunt me.
After Celebrimbor spoke of the power over flesh, my suspicion of Halbrand’s true nature spiked, though at the time I did not know what to expect. Maybe he was a loyal servant to Sauron, a Southlander corrupted by the dark. Every scroll on the Southlands lineage was to be brought to me by one of the servants, a secret between the two of us. The mystery of Halbrand needed to be unwound, though the truth of it all was more than I was prepared for. The day was new, the sunlight hovered near the horizon, and in the courtyard of Eregion, bright purple wisteria flowed down the sides of tall stone walls and arches, a lovely place when in bloom, but defeat hung heavily in the air. Gil-galad demanded that we give up our efforts to find a solution to the fading of our people. We were to disband the city and go to Lindon, and from there to Valinor. We needed more time, time that he believed we did not possess, but Celebrimbor would not be swayed. He conspired with his smiths to continue working as they walked in a group, talking amongst themselves, taking no notice of me in the shadows.
“Don’t be afraid,” his voice rang out. Halbrand had spotted me. A warning sprouted in my heart, but my outer appearance stayed normal and calm. “Celebrimbor will find a way. I’m certain of it,” he said reassuringly. He wore a dark blue tunic with delicate gold stitching and a torc necklace that gleamed silver in the sun. He was not as ragged as he used to be; instead, he dressed more nobly and elegantly to better fit in with the Elves, and it suited him.
“All of a sudden, the two of you seem quite familiar,” I said. He walked casually over to me, slowly, still healing from his wound, though he seemed to be healing quicker than most.
“I’m just offering whatever humble aid I can,” he said with a small laugh. “To tell you the truth, I can still hardly believe it. Someone like me, here, working with the Elven-smiths of Eregion.” He smiled at me; his green eyes sparkled in the light of the day. Even through my weariness and suspiciousness of him, my heart was pulled towards him. I longed to be in his presence. He stopped talking for a moment; his serious gaze lingered on me, and the sunlight revealed hidden strands of shimmering gold and red in his dark hair. “Thank you, Galadriel.”
“For bringing you here?” I asked. My resolve was failing me the more I stayed in his presence. The way he said my name and the way he longingly stared at me were enough to temporarily crush any doubts I harbored against him.
“For saving my life,” he said as he bowed his head towards me; a crooked slant of a smile flitted across his face.
“As you have saved mine. Our scales are balanced.”
His eyes burned with quiet sincerity. “No,” he said. “No, you’ve done far more than that for me. I’d all but given up. But you, you believed in me. You saw strength in me. You pushed me to heights that no one else could have.” My heart leapt at the flattery and recognition that it greatly desired. He saw me, truly saw me. It was I who pushed him to succeed, and without me, he would still be working in a small smithy in Númenor, not with one of the greatest of Elven-smiths. He reached up and rested his hand on my shoulder, gently patting it. My body tightened; never had he touched me so tenderly. “I will never forget that.” He leaned in, his face close to mine, the lines and imperfections crystal clear. “And I’ll see to it that no one else does either,” he whispered, his gaze locked on mine for a moment as a small smile tugged at my lips but did not fully form. The words were nice on the outside, but they seemed wrapped in a threat, a dangerous veil, or maybe it was only my apprehension. He turned and strode through the courtyard, leaving me behind to dwell on his words. Though I did not know it then, it was the last time I would ever see Halbrand as the Halbrand that I knew. An unbearable ache struck my heart like a bolt from the stormy sky. How could I have fallen for his deception? Halbrand was so genuine and caring, so human, humble yet proud. But all this time, he was a being older than the world, darkness and death in the shape of a mortal; it chilled me.
In the midst of the battle of Eregion, months after the revelation of his identity, a task was set upon me to help those in the city that I could and lead them to safety, which I did. We passed through the dark tunnels, the nine rings placed securely inside my tunic, and after a while of walking through darkness and spiderwebs, we came out on the other side, only to find a band of orcs waiting for us. They agreed to my bargain to let the elves go free, and in exchange, they would take me back to Adar with the rings. Adar knelt before a great rock when I approached him, his back turned towards me. The air was different; something had changed. He stood then, turning around to face me, and the scars and marks on his face were gone. He looked years younger, and to my great shock, he wore Nenya, but he willingly gave it back to me; his face returning to normal moments after he took the ring off. He wanted a compromise; he wanted peace, and he wanted to destroy Sauron once and for all. An alliance of Elves and Orcs, something that the world had never seen before, but if Sauron didn’t have the Orcs on his side, then he could be stopped.
A handful of orcs trudged through the forest carrying a wounded orc on a sling. Adar immediately left our conversation and knelt by his side. An orc that he loved, an orc that was dying. He was speaking to the orc, holding his hand, comforting him as he died, but then the orc stabbed him, and the others circled Adar. Adar slowly stood, stumbling, and they all closed in on him, stabbing him over and over. Sauron had turned the orcs to his favor, and in turn, they betrayed Adar, their father. A cold dread settled on me as the presence of something, or someone, crept up behind me. It was familiar yet strange, warm yet cold. My courage failed me when I realized who was coming. The Dread Sorcerer closed in on me, but I lacked the nerve to face him, to see Halbrand’s face and look into his eyes. The grief was still too near.
“Galadriel,” he said in a low, melodious voice, a tone that echoed through my fëa like ancient bells of time and memory. The voice was still Halbrand’s but without his Southlander accent; it was more refined, more Elvish. Branches and leaves crunched as he walked, closer now, his presence concentrated and penetrating; fear froze me. After hunting Sauron for thousands of years, he was right here, and I could not face him, could not face the being of my nightmares.
Sauron walked past me, more interested in Adar, yet he was not Halbrand anymore; he was a pale-haired creature with elf ears that bore Halbrand’s face. He wore deep, black robes with gold detailing, and he held Morgoth’s crown. His walk was different too, graceful like a feline, swift and concise, as if stalking prey. No longer a slow, healing Southlander. His face was hidden from me as he watched the orcs murder the one who had been their beloved leader only hours before.
The orc that stabbed Adar first hobbled over to Sauron. “What orders, Lord Sauron?” he asked in a deep, barking voice.
“Raze Eregion,” he replied calmly. “Leave no elf alive.” Terror rose in me for my friends and for myself. If no elf left alive also meant me, then what chance would I have against him? For centuries, I had searched for him, and I would fight him even if fear froze my blood and doubt filled my heart and mind, even if the chance of defeating him was impossible. It was not in my nature to back down to any foe, no matter how powerful or terrible.
He focused on me then, his pale face illuminated by the green glow of the forest, chiseled and smooth, no longer a mortal man with a scruffy beard and a permanent smirk. Arrogance surrounded him; he was proud of what he accomplished here, proud of what was coming.
“All this was your design from the beginning?” I asked breathlessly, still in shock at the creature standing before me.
His eyebrows furrowed as he coolly studied my face. “Please. You think too much of me.” He turned and crouched next to Adar’s dead body. “The road goes ever winding. Not even I can see all its paths.” His back was to me, and with my sword in hand, I crept forward, but just as I moved to strike him, he turned unnaturally fast and caught my blade with Morgoth’s crown. My eyes widened in shock at the speed he possessed. Nenya caught his attention. He stared at it hungrily and demanded that I give it to him as if he had the right to take it.
We fought on that mountain top as Eregion burned. Sauron was quick, incredibly swift, and a skilled fighter, but he was holding back on me. He possessed the gracefulness of a Maia and the proficiency of one who had been fighting battles for thousands of years. I could not fail my people and let Nenya slip into the hands of the enemy, nor let him escape alive. Our swords clashed again and again, ringing out through the mountainside. He dodged every strike, while I barely escaped each thrust of his blade. But then his blade caught me, and it tore through the side of my abdomen, a superficial wound. His eyes were alive; he was enjoying this, enjoying fighting with me. He toyed with his prey before devouring them, and he seemed to know my every move from studying on the battlefield. He blocked each attempt with little effort.
“I do not wish to harm you,” he said, pausing to give me a chance to catch my breath. But I did not stop, and we continued our deadly dance. It was clear that I would never surrender the rings willingly, and he was tiring of this game. He kicked me in the chest, and I fell backwards down crumbling stone stairs; the force of it knocked the breath out of me. My thoughts raced. How could I outsmart him? How could I outmaneuver him? It seemed impossible; he anticipated my every move.
Swords clashed again, dodging and parrying, then he sliced my arm, another superficial wound that told me he was not serious, not yet. I struck back at him, but he caught my blade with the crown again and pulled me close to him, his sword pressed sharply against my throat. “Galadriel,” he said arrogantly. His eyes were dark blue yet black, and they were on fire as he bore into my mind, trying to find a way inside. “Surely you, of all elves, must understand that to find the light, we must first touch the darkness,” he mocked with delight, then he backed me against a large, stone ruin.
“We are not alike. We never were,” I said through gasps. “It was just another of your illusions.”
His face softened briefly, and for a moment, his eyes shone with sadness like Halbrand's, not Annatar's cold stare. “Not all of it,” he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity and something that almost sounded like remorse. It filled me with rage and regret, regret that I had ever trusted him and rage that he was still trying to deceive me. Rage propelled me as I spun out of his hold and kicked him just as he had me. He fell flat onto the ground at the bottom of the stones, and I jumped down to deliver a fatal blow, my sword aimed at his throat, but then he suddenly turned into Halbrand completely; his Annatar form was gone. It was a dreamy version of Halbrand. He was surrounded by a soft golden light that made him appear innocent and trustworthy, and he looked at me with wide, pleading eyes. It stopped me in my tracks, catching me off guard, and that familiar ache that had seized my heart ever since he left returned in full force. My throat tightened, and tears pricked at the corner of my eyes.
He walked up the ancient stone stairs and stopped only a few steps above me, staring down at me. “Fighting at your side, I felt, if I could just hold onto that feeling,” he said, repeating the words that he had said to me in the forest after the Battle of Tirharad. The same words that had made me realize a soft spot had formed in my heart for him. My chin trembled; he wanted to wound me, to cause me pain. He turned and ran to the top of the steps, with me following at his heels before he disappeared behind a tall rock. When he reappeared on the other side, my heart stopped, my breath caught in my throat. He had transformed into me; I stood in the fading light holding Morgoth’s crown and Sauron’s sword, not Halbrand or Annatar, but Galadriel. My composure almost faltered, and dread sank low into my gut.
“They could no longer distinguish me from the evil I was fighting,” he said, mocking my voice and mannerisms. Anger soared through me at the betrayal of confidence, and I jumped up to meet him. He looked like me, but his moves were swifter and more precise than mine; he evaded every swing, and then in one instant, his form changed to Celebrimbor, his gentle face and sad eyes peering at me.
“Are they not the seeds you planted?” He asked. My sword rose once again. He would not stop me. He raised his in response, but when we stepped forward to meet each other, the fragile rock ruin crumbled, and we fell to the ground.
Panting, I pushed myself up and crawled towards my sword, but he kicked it out of my reach and stood above me to gloat. “I see you,” he said quietly as I continued crawling through the dirt for my sword, finally reaching it. “I know your mind.” He turned to face me. I stood before him, dirty and bruised, yet determined. “The door is still open,” he said with a smile, a smile too sweet to be real.
“The door is shut!” I spun around and kicked him. His wrath was palpable now; he was angry, a blazing wildfire, dangerous and deadly. We went at it again, but his swings were more aggressive now, filled with fury, and his sword hit stone right above my head as I ducked just in time.
My blade sliced his cheek, blood dripped down his pale skin, and wrath lit up his eyes with such intensity and darkness that my legs quaked. He lunged towards me, towering over me, his face cold, his eyes unblinking, and he backed me up against the stone once more. Morgoth’s crown nearly punctured my chest, but I caught it with my sword. He held it there for a moment, staring at me as my arms trembled with the effort to keep the Morgul crown from sinking into my skin, but with a final push of ultimate strength, the dark spike sank deep into my chest. Freezing pain immediately spread through my body, and tears spilled down my face as he stared at me, pitiless and indifferent.
“I would have placed a crown upon your head,” he said. My eyes struggled to stay open through the white-hot ache that radiated through my arm, a type of hurt I had never experienced. “I would never have rested,” he continued. “Until all Middle-earth had been brought to its knees, to worship the light of its Queen.” Even after all pretenses had faded, he still tried to seduce me with promises of power and rule. He pushed the crown deeper when I did not respond, making me groan out a response instead, and a smile of pleasure spread across his face; his eyes were black voids.
“The free peoples of Middle-earth,” I said breathlessly, my voice trembling. “Will always resist you.” A forced smile spread across my face to spite him. Anger flashed in his eyes, and he dragged me across the stone with the crown, tearing muscle and skin, before ripping it out. I slumped down to the ground, exhausted, my body screaming. Behind him, the smoke of the ruins of Eregion swirled with the red glow of the sinking sun, silhouetting him as a tall Dark Lord against the red and gray smoke, while he peered down at me with disdain. A glimmer of light sparkled in his eyes when he spotted the small leather bag that had fallen out of my tunic. He threw down his sword, still holding the crown as it dripped with my blood, and kicked my sword away before seizing the pouch.
“The rings are mine,” he said triumphantly. Sounds of the battle continued far below, and all seemed so desperately hopeless. Sauron now had the nine rings, and soon he would have Nenya. Horns blew in the distance, dwarven horns; they were coming to help the elves. My heart lifted just a little; maybe the dwarves could turn the tide of the battle, but most of the damage was already done.
We stared at each other as I lay on the ground; my heart was broken for my people and the loss of all the art and culture of Eregion, and for the fact that Sauron had won. “Give me your ring,” he said without moving his lips, the words echoing inside my head. Slowly, I stood as if in a daze and faced him, straight and proud. His eyes bored into mine, his stare not letting up. “Galadriel. Your ring,” he said once more in my head.
Nenya sparkled as I took it off my finger and clasped it in my shaking hand. My arm outstretched towards him, and I held the ring over his palm. He was so close to getting everything he wanted; pride and arrogance shone on his face. “You wish to heal Middle-earth?” I asked in a small, confused voice. He smiled an overly sweet smile; lines deepened around his eyes and on his forehead. “Heal yourself,” I muttered, then stepped back to fall off the cliff, choosing death over submission and failure.
But Sauron was fast and saw my movements before I even had time to think about them, and he grabbed my tunic just before I slipped off the edge and pulled me back onto the cliff. He shoved me forward and seized the back of my hair, twisting it tightly around his fingers. My scalp burned. “You will give me the ring,” he said in full Annatar form, cold and commanding. He held me like that for a moment, so close I could feel his hot breath on my neck like a predator about to take the first bite. He pushed me into the dirt, my wounded shoulder catching the fall. Cold fire blazed in my arm, and I cried out. “Do not make me hurt you,” he said calmly. I pushed myself up on all fours, still gasping for air, and he grabbed my hair again, pulling my head backwards, forcing my eyes to meet his, my head threatening to detach from my body. His strength was incredibly terrible. “Give me the ring,” he said aloud with a deep and deadly voice.
“I can’t!” I screamed as panic and terror crept through my mind like a dark shadow. He let go of my hair then, and I crawled away from him towards my sword in vain. Then he kicked me with such force that it knocked me onto my back and stole my breath. The sky above was gray with smoke, the sun was nearly spent, and he stared down at me, at the prize he had caught.
“Look at you,” he said quietly with disgust. “You are pathetic, lying in the dirt defeated by your greatest foe, and yet your foolish Elven pride still refuses to give me what I want.” He crouched down next to me so I could see and hear him better as he threatened me with what he would do if I did not give him the ring. He was so distracted by playing with his prey that he didn’t see my boot coming up to meet his face with a swift kick. It caught him off guard. He stumbled backwards, tripped over a protruding tree branch, and fell on the ground. Panic pounded in my chest as I picked myself up off the ground and ran to the forest, but his footsteps were already close behind me.
The forest was deep and getting darker by the moment as the sun faded below the horizon. Branches and fallen trees tripped me and stubbed my toes, and briars snatched my hand sharply as I ran past trees so tall that they seemed to brush the sky. Sauron would never stop chasing me. He called my name through the darkness with false friendliness in his voice, chilling my bones. His pretenses would no longer work on me. For a moment, I paused to catch my breath and listened, but there was only silence. Had I evaded him? I continued to run, not knowing exactly where my feet were taking me, but away from him was better than the unknown that lay before me.
Then the sound of many feet running through the woods caught my ear, and the sound of crunching dry leaves, snapping twigs, and low guttural shouts and barks. Orcs. I had no sword, no dagger, nothing, and there were too many of them. They quickly overtook me and bound my hands tightly behind my back, then marched me through the dark forest to their camp, the camp they had set up with their former father, whom they had already forgotten. They threw me into a small tent while calling me all sorts of crude names and placed two guards at the entrance.
Hours passed as I waited for the enemy’s next move. My ribs were bruised, the Morgul wound was freezing and burning, and my pride was utterly crushed. Confusion still swirled in my mind at how all of this could have happened. How could I have been fooled by the Deceiver? None of it made any sense. There were no signs or hints that evil lived inside him, but then again, maybe there were signs that were ignored so that I could reach victory. Halbrand had seemed like a real man, and I was convinced that he was the lost king of the Southlands. Shame would follow me forever if my people ever found out the extent of it all.
Pacing the tent did not soothe my worried mind, nor did it take the pain away from my shoulder. I collapsed on the ground and let my grief overtake me, to mourn the things I had lost: my good friend, Halbrand, the beautiful city of Eregion, my dearest Elrond, Celebrimbor, and even Gil-galad. Sauron had taken the Nine from me, too, and soon he would take Nenya, the ring that Celebrimbor was so proud of. Failure consumed my thoughts and my heart. None of this would have happened had I not ensured his pathway to kingship, or if I had only stayed on the ship to Valinor. For the first time since I jumped into the sea, I truly regretted my decision. Sitting alone in a cold tent surrounded by foul, stinking orcs with the Dark Lord lurking nearby as my captor was not a fate that I foresaw. Why did Sauron keep me as a prisoner when he could easily take Nenya and be done with me? After spending time together and saving each other’s lives, did I hold a special place?
Weariness overtook me as the night passed on, and sleep finally came with dark dreams. I woke often, forgetting where I was briefly until reality came crashing down on me. All through the night I tossed and turned on the cold ground with a thin blanket, pain flooding my senses, and grief in my heart. Cold blue light trickled into the tent as dawn finally approached. The camp was quiet except for a few orcs off in the near distance talking, but most were resting. Two still guarded the entrance of my tent, their shadows faint as the pale light of morning crept into the forest. “Water,” I croaked loudly. My mouth was horribly dry, and my shoulder throbbed and stung like a thousand sharp icicles were stabbing me. “Water!” I said louder, but the orcs ignored me. Galadriel, former Commander of the Northern Armies, now a caged animal. The pain grew immensely worse as the sun rose further into the sky, freezing me from the inside out, and my blood turned to ice. The coldness was slowly spreading down my arm into my fingers, and without Elvish medicine, the wound would become fatal.
The orcs grunted in Black Speech as footsteps approached the tent. My whole body tensed up, my ears on high alert, then a liquid voice as smooth and dark as the night sky spoke in Black Speech: Sauron. The tent opened, and he walked in with a burst of cold wind. He looked me up and down. “Oh, Galadriel,” he teased, his voice was Annatar’s, clean and refined, but the same playful Halbrand smile danced across his face, causing my stomach to clench in turmoil. My eyes evaded his for fear of him reading my mind or casting a spell on me, but he handed me a flagon of water. “Drink,” he simply said. The water was cool and soothing to the dryness of my throat; it dribbled down the corners of my mouth as I gulped the whole flagon down. My eyes flitted up to him for just a moment to take in the creature before me. Not a single hair was out of place, his black robes impeccably clean, and the small gash from my sword was already gone. A glimmer of remorse lay in his eyes, or was it only what I wanted to see? My own mind could not be trusted anymore.
He knelt beside me, and the smell of fire and smoke filled my nose. My mind grappled with the fact that he was not human. Being so close to him stirred up an unshakeable eeriness in my bones. A being older than me, older than the world, beside me, inhabiting a mortal body that he had used to deceive not only me, but so many others. Where Halbrand brought calm and comfort, Annatar made me uneasy and nervous. Did he need to eat or sleep? Could he feel pain and pleasure? So many things I wanted to ask, but at the same time, it was agony being beside him in this tiny tent. The torture, torment, and death that he had helped create could not be forgiven. He was death wrapped in human skin.
As Halbrand, we had shared many moments alone, talking about our past and our hopes for the future. He had never once tried to hurt me. All the time we had spent together, alone, nothing between us but the sound of cold wind biting the night air and fire crackling, or on the raft under the endless starry sky, and yet not once did I ever have any inkling about his true nature. The Great Deceiver was not a name that was given lightly. Sauron truly knew how to manipulate and control those around him without them realizing. Though he did save me, a flicker of goodness in a sea of dark depravity could not redeem him. His acts of atrocities were too great, and I doubted that even the Valar would forgive him now if he decided to finally repent and take the judgment that he ran from.
“Galadriel,” he said quietly, bringing me back to reality. “You must give me the ring, or I will command my orcs to take over.” My body stiffened, a deep frown pulled at my face, my eyebrows furrowed, and I shook my head; loose pieces of my braid fell into my dirty face.
“Don’t you see that if I give you the ring, then I am a complete failure?” I asked in a small voice. He was quiet as he gazed at me thoughtfully. My eyes dropped to the floor to avoid his intense stare; a shadow fell onto my heart with shame of being his captive. “Why not kill me and take the ring?” I asked, my voice thick with sorrow, my throat tight. “Why make a performance out of this? Why involve the orcs?” Tears fell and dropped onto my lap as the weight of reality crashed down on me. “Just take it and be done with me. I have failed Middle-earth, and I have failed myself.” My hands covered my face as I bent over to cry, a sorrowful ache pressed into my fëa, an ache so deep and harsh that all I could do was let it pass. An icy pain shot through my arm, and I grabbed my shoulder while gasping, my face twisted, my cheeks wet with tears.
“What if I let you keep it for a while?” He asked quietly. “It will help you heal.” The pain came in waves, crashing over and over like a sea of cold bitterness. “You would have to stay with me, though.” Shock and fear drove me to meet his eyes, the caring eyes of Halbrand with pale hair.
“Stay with you?” I spat. “I would rather die.” He shot up off the ground, casting a dark shadow over me. The immensity of his power that flowed through him blazed in the air like a wrathful fire.
“You really don’t believe that I want you as my queen?”
“How can I believe anything you say when all you spout are lies?”
“I have been truthful to you. I meant everything I said to you in our quiet moments together. You can’t tell me that what you felt was not real.”
“You deceived me,” I said with a shaky voice. “If I had known it was you, I never would have allowed you to get close to me.”
The warmth and softness of Halbrand disappeared, the shadow of darkness passed back over his eyes, and the sternness of Annatar returned, demanding obedience. “You are my prisoner,” he said firmly, “You will do as I command.”
“Kill me or give me to the orcs. I care not.”
“I have ways to keep you alive, mellon,” he said with a small twist upon his lips. “The orcs can torture you to the very brink of death, but…” He trailed off, pausing to let the words sink in. “But I will keep you alive so that you can go through it over and over again for all the long, bitter years you have left on Middle-earth.” To say that I felt no fear at his words would be a lie, but my pride would not allow the fear to show; my face still as stone, defiance my shield. Suddenly, the pain in my shoulder grew immensely, causing me to crouch over with a cry. “Let me heal your wound,” he said, his hand reaching towards me.
“Do not touch me!”
He flinched back. “Your stubbornness will be your downfall,” he sneered, then he left the tent without another word, leaving me alone in the cold with the aching wound that he gave me.
For days, he left me in the tent with only small amounts of water, though no food and no fire. The wound in my shoulder was not healing. Little red lines streaked down my arm like lightning. Here, at last, I would face death. A leader of armies defeated by such a small wound, a wound made from a Morgul crown. A cruel joke. My arm had lost all feeling and was cold to the touch, and my body and mind were both growing weaker by the day. I was withering away, but I had not submitted to him, a small victory. Days rolled by slowly as I lay on the ground wrapped in my thin blanket in misery, with dreams and memories of my past life fading in and out, blurring reality as a fever overtook me. Memories of my brother and me walking through lush green fields in Valinor, the light of the Two Trees on our faces. Memories of endless nights under the moon with my silver-haired prince, Celeborn. Memories of laughter with Elrond, my greatest friend. And memories that shook me to the core, memories that caused great shame and guilt, memories of Halbrand and the desire that crept into my heart when I thought of him.
Darkness slithered into the tent and into my mind as I swayed in and out of thought into feverish dreams. Dreams of dark figures with piercing cries screeching in the night, dreams of nameless creatures in the depths, dreams of balrogs, dragons, and utter destruction, a fitful sleep, tossing and turning, sweating and shivering. The coldness spread across my chest to my other arm, and soon my whole body would be cold. A sound in the night startled me out of a bad dream of a stormy sea and a colossal wave. A fire suddenly roared to life beside my tent, and something worked at knots. My eyes were blurry, and my head was too heavy to lift, but there was no mistaking him; the deep shimmering of his power announced his arrival.
“Galadriel,” Sauron whispered as he knelt beside me. “Drink this.” I tried to sit up, but my arms and legs failed me. He held a small flask to my mouth, and a sweet smell reached my nose, but I turned away. “It’s for your wound." My lips parted, and he poured the drink into my mouth. It tasted as sweet as it smelled, like honey, and warmth spread throughout. He stood and laid a small leather bag beside me. “Eat something,” he said. “And get some rest. We have a long march ahead of us tomorrow.”
Sauron left my tent, taking the shadows with him. My eyes grew heavy, and soon I was asleep again, but my dreams were bright and filled with sunshine. Valinor welcomed me, and in a sunny glade of flowers, I danced with a tall, brown-haired man, a man with green eyes that peered into mine as if they could read my mind. Halbrand. My Halbrand.