Chapter Text
Sauron flinched as lava burst along the edges of the jagged rock that jutted out into the interior of Mt. Doom. Sweat beaded on his forehead, boots melting beneath his feet but he would not stop, would not move back, needed the ring he was working to mold to form, to do as he needed. The orcs moved behind him, their sniveling an irritation that he would deal with after.
He could not bother with them now.
Could not turn from what he was doing. Not even as fire lapped at his feet, singing his gown. His screams echoed in the cavernous chamber as it caught on fire, melting the fabric and metal to his back and arms. But pain was an old friend, one that he would not let deter him as he finally pulled the ring back to him.
It shined in all its glory.
He could feel the power reverberating from it. His blood mixed within, a bit of Fëanor's hammer as well.
Sauron slid it onto his finger and felt nothing. The same as every last one he had tried since leaving Eregion.
Celebrimbor's laughter rang in his ears.
Shadow of Morgoth.
He turned, his face a mask of rage, chest heaving as a scream of frustration ripped from his throat. The orcs could not move fast enough but he did not even need to lift a finger to send them flying into the lava flow. At least their cries of pain before they were swallowed whole soothed him some, but it wasn't enough to push aside the sense of failure that reverberated through him again.
Because the work is not in you, mellon.
It was so easy to picture the master smith's face, the blood, sweat and soot plastered to it, those eyes piercing his soul. Taunting him in death the way he had done to Celebrimbor in life.
His footsteps thundered along the pathway out of the cavern as he ripped the ring from his finger. Singed clothes fell freely from him as he moved, his skin healing itself with every step.
It should have worked. Just as every other attempt in the last five years should have worked. And yet it did not surprise him that it hadn't. He had thought he'd seen the process in its completion but had he? Celebrimbor must have done something else.
But what?
He could not determine what that missing ingredient, the missing step might have been. Everything he made was more of the same. Similar to the Nine, to the Seven, but none of them with the same capacity of the Three. The ones he needed to be able to command as well. Otherwise the elves would forever be a thorn in his side. Hidden away in their realms, a constant threat that would take him far too long to root out completely.
Oh he knew he could do so in so many centuries. Their numbers were already dwindling, but they had a nasty habit of popping back up, of making waves, of inspiring others when that was the last thing he needed. He needed them gone, and not simply headed off to Valinor, the possibility of their return with those rings forever on his heels. He needed them subjugated, under his heel, unable to ever work against him again.
But he could not figure it out.
Celebrimbor had done something. Celebrimbor held the answers.
But Celebrimbor was dead. At his hand no less.
Not in you. Perhaps it was at some point. Back before you'd allowed darkness to swallow you whole.
He passed through the doorway back into Barad-dur, uncaring that the others around quickly moved out of his way. The fear that swept off of them was a balm to his still healing wounds, to the rage within. Something he nearly moved to slake at least some of his anger on as they scurried and moved.
Like prey hurrying from a predator.
The surest way to be seen.
He caught the sight of blonde hair in his peripheral vision, torchlight giving it a particular glow and turned toward it. Silly to expect to see her there, an impossibility with her so far away in an elven realm. Simply one of the servants moving about with one task or another. Too tall, too slight, no sense of defiance at all in the downcast eyes when she realized he was looking at her. Only fear.
Sauron turned away, headed off toward the forge within Barad-dur, removed the ring and tossed it with the others. Something to be melted down, the material to maybe be used for something else.
He needed Celebrimbor.
No amount of replaying their moments together in Eregion had given him the insight he needed.
It didn't help that the orcs had burned all of his works either. Something he'd punished plenty of them for.
Or that the smiths that were still alive were out of his grasp as well. Had any of them helped Celebrimbor with the Three? Sauron didn't know.
He picked up Fëanor's hammer, traced his finger along the sliver of it that he had removed in his latest failed attempt. Questions ringing in his mind.
There was one who would know who had helped with the Three though, wasn't there? Who he was certain would have watched the process from beginning to end. Who held one of the Three. She would know what he'd done. What steps were taken. Perhaps Elrond had been watching as well. Another to add to the board. And then there were the Three by themselves.
If he could get one of them then surely he could study it, take it apart and reverse engineer it into something else, something better. The one that he needed.
Yes.
That was it.
A new sense of purpose curled within him, a plan forming. How had he not thought of it before? So simple.
Sauron closed his eyes, focused in on the the Men he had distributed rings to. Felt as each of them opened their minds to him, as they listened. Their fractured selves, part of them always in the Unseen now, waiting for him to speak, to lead, to give them direction even as they moved about their lives in the Seen.
I have a new task for you. Find me the Three. Do not let anything stand in your way.
Acceptance at the task was swift.
And the bearers?
He paused, considered. Knew what he should say, that he should condemn them all to death. That he should cleave himself completely of any connection with her. And yet he needed her to see, to look up at him and know that he had been right all along. That she had chosen wrong.
Bring me Galadriel alive. Kill the rest.
He closed the connection and peeled the remainder of his robes away, cracking his neck as he searched for another connection, wondering what insights he might uncover today as he let himself step fully into the Unseen.
Galadriel's mouth twisted as she looked down at the map on the table. There were far too many spots along it that had been marked off, fallen to Sauron and his forces. Elven lands decimated in one form another. The Men from the Misty Mountains all the way to Mordor flying his banner now. United under one just as she'd spoken of in the Numenor cell years ago.
This was not how she had imagined it going.
A lot was not as she imagined it would be.
She skimmed her fingers across the surface as the others spoke, listening to their news from the frontlines. None of the devestation they spoke of surprised her. How could it when she glimpsed it every time she allowed herself to close her eyes? When she found him ready and waiting to torment her?
Worse were the nights when he didn't.
When she could not guess what he was doing, where he might be.
No one had seen him out of the fortress they knew was being built in Mordor in months, but that hardly meant he was hiding. Not when his fell beasts roamed the skies with his ring servants on their backs. Not when birds and other creatures answered his calls.
Nenya sparkled on her hand in the sunlight and she brought it up to her chest, ghosted her fingers over a wound that was no longer visible. The others didn't notice but she could feel the High King's gaze on her, knew if she looked up that he would be frowning.
"Your thoughts, commander?" Gil-galad asked, forcing her to do just that.
There was no judgment in his eyes though, only concern and a weariness she knew had infected them all. Five years was a drop in the ocean, not at all comparable to the wars they had been through in the past, but there had been more of them then. More to share the burden. More to lose. More.
"We need to find more to ally with." Their numbers were dwindling. "If we do not then he will do so. Every time we delay in reaching out to others again is a chance for him to do so."
"But who else is there?" Idhreneth, the southern army's commander, countered, gestured toward the map. "Everyone in this area has already pledged allegiance to him. Rumors state that Rhun has its own darkness rising , a potential ally for him in the making."
"Or one he will want to stamp out," Galadriel countered, knew Sauron would not allow anyone to hold similar power to him. She tapped Khazad-dûm. "I think it is time we reach out to the dwarves again." Elrond had done so after Eregion fell, but she knew he'd persuaded the new king to remain neutral, to focus on mourning his father and getting a handle on his kingdom.
It had been good advice but if they did not seek them out, she did not doubt for a moment that Sauron would soon enough. "They have had their days of mourning, should be informed of all that is happening now. Allowed to reevaluate their stance."
She looked over at him, the new Lord of Imladris. His expression was troubled, his gaze cutting to her. Knew he did not want to agree to this but watched his shoulders sag a little, the slight not of his head. "It does not hurt to speak to them again," Elrond replied. "If they will not join the fight then perhaps we can at least requisition new weapons from them."
"We need to establish better communication with Mirkwood as well," Galadriel tapped the area on the map. "Oropher has been fighting against his oncoming forces from two fronts the last we heard. South and North. Our means are too slow."
"And then there is the possibility of reaching out to Numenor," Elrond added, reached over to touch the ports to the south. "Our scouts say their new colonies are dealing with near daily orc raids, that they have lost much ground around Pelargir and elsewhere."
She winced at the name, recalled the Southlanders she had left behind who were to be headed there. Could not help but wonder what had become of them. Saved from one horror only to be thrust into another, again and again. Also knew they had all bent the knee to Sauron, the one they called their king.
Guilt wanted to consume her. She had brought him to them, set him up perfectly, bolstered him as their long lost king. It was no wonder they had fallen so easily into place. Their hope taken advantage of, twisted into a loyalty he did not deserve.
The feel of fingers along her spine had her stiffening. She knew better than to stifle the touch, to push it away. That only led to him reaching for her sight, to try to see through her eyes, to uncover secrets she would not allow him to grasp. The world around her shifted, the voices of the others pushed aside, blocked out so he would not pick up on any of their words.
Galadriel willed away the map, the room within Imladris and anything else that might give away where they were. No trees, no sky, no sound beyond that of her own breathing, of her heartbeat as she opened her eyes to the darkness of the Unseen.
He stood with his back to her, no crown upon his head, and for a moment she could almost glimpse Halbrand in his stance. A forge lay before him, darker than the one in Eregion, bigger as well. She'd seen it countless times before now, glimpsed Fëanor's hammer along an edge. Though that looked…different. Changed somehow, though she couldn't say why she thought that.
And then he turned and any illusion of Halbrand was quickly dismantled. It wasn't simply that the hair was longer or that he'd retained Annatar's pointed ears, but the very way he held himself. How it felt as though she was looking into the very void when she finally met his gaze.
"Do you not tire of this?" Galadriel asked, moving so that the large anvil remained between them.
"You do not know the meaning of that word yet," he started, gaze flickering down toward her hand. It had been some time since he'd focused on Nenya. Galadriel did not like the way he looked to it now. Covetous, entirely too focused. She knew better than to try to cover that source of light though. Even within the Unseen it was a protection, a balm. His gaze moved back to hers. "But you are learning. How do your elven forces fair?"
She did not respond to that, focused her gaze on him. Tried to discover anything that she could. His eyes were the same as they had been. The same amount of stubble, his hair hadn't grown either, and yet she was certain he was exhausted. Not in the way that her soldiers were bone tired, with little sleep, their limbs aching from the constant warfare.
No, this was an exhaustion caused by something he was doing. A task he'd given himself. Galadriel had some ideas but nothing she could pinpoint and declare as fact. It was more a feeling, picking at what she knew of him, of what he'd done in Eregion, of what she'd known of him before everything else.
Rings for Men had not been his endgame.
We're making two.
He had been delighted when he'd told her that. A bounce in his step that she had not seen in Numenor or the Southlands or anywhere else in Eregion even. His smile bright, as if he'd unlocked the key to everything in that moment.
And then she had snatched it away from him.
"Exhaustion colors you," she replied instead, hands pressing against the anvil. Nenya on full display. Wondered if he would try to reach for it now. If she could make it burn him.
He moved to stand opposite her, knuckles down on the hard surface in line with her hands. "You watched him create it, didn't you?"
Galadriel did not like those words, the intensity of his eyes as he locked his gaze with hers. It did not matter if she said no now, if she tried to disillusion him of this idea. She could see how he'd already decided it was true.
She pushed with her mind, untangled the connection even as he tried to keep it there, to tie her tighter to the Unseen. Nenya glowed brightly, pushing him back, dissolving the scene and in the Seen she collapsed against the table, grasped hold of it before she could falter even further.
Took a deep breath as her gaze flickered back to normal.
The others were gone. Only Gil-galad and Elrond remained.
Elrond moved to her side, helped her to sit in one of the chairs as she pressed a hand to her chest. It didn't hurt but she swore she could feel a pang, a holdover from the darkness he'd infected her with. Nenya had done what it could, had brought her back from being taken over completely by it, to trapping her in the Unseen forever. But Galadriel did not think she would ever truly be free of it, not until she was once again on Valinor's shores.
She looked to the other two, took another breath before letting her hand fall to her lap. "He's up to something. I know not what but he was asking if I had seen ours made." A glance toward Gil-galad's then back at her own ring on her finger.
"Do you think he is trying to make his own?" Elrond asked, taking the glass of water that one of the attendants brought in before hurrying back out.
"It would not surprise me." She sipped slowly.
Elrond sat down beside her once more, hand wiping at the lower half of his face as he considered her words. "But why now? Should he not already have it completed b if that has been his goal?"
"You have not seen any hints of this before in your…meetings?" Her nephew now. That hedging word. Though Galadriel didn't know what else to call them either.
"Just as I attempt to keep matters from him, he does the same as me," she reminded, set the glass down beside her. "He was in the forge again. He looked…drained this time. But there was a madness in his eyes as well." A determination that was not in their favor.
"He'll need mithril," Gil-galad replied and she nodded, glanced over at Elrond who sighed.
"Yes." Face set now, a slight nod.
"Perhaps it would be best to treat with Khazad-dûm again," Gil-galad continued, looking back toward the map. "Though this time, perhaps we lean in on another relationship with the dwarves." He looked to Elrond. "Your face might be of better use in Numenor. Your relationship to the people there something we can use."
Galadriel reached over, squeezed Elrond's hand. She knew he wished to go to the island, to see what had become of his brother's kingdom, but not like this. Not out of duty and yet duty was something he knew all too well. Something she knew he would turn his back on. Elrond squeezed back before releasing her hand as he stood, moving to join the High King.
If there was one good thing out of everything that had occurred, it was Elrond finally treated as she believed he always should have been. Not excluded from council meetings, not merely writing the High King's speeches, but being part of it. Having a say, his mind allowed to do wonders.
She only wished it hadn't been because of all they had gone through. Because of all they would still need to endure.
"Who best to treat with the dwarves then?" she asked as she rose, joining them again. Mouth twitching as they both looked over at her. "I have no relation with the dwarves."
"But your brother did," Gil-galad reminded, and her chest hurt for entirely different reasons. She did not to dwell on that either. Nodded her acceptance. "A small contingent. No more than ten. I want you there and back as swiftly as you can manage, Galadriel."
"It will be done," she assured.
He reached over, pressed a hand to her shoulder. "Pick who you think you require and then rest. You will need all of your wits about you to keep him out on the road."
Galadriel swept through Rivendell with as much haste as she could manage without alarming those moving about as well. Everyone had their place in this war—either out on the front lines or doing what they could for those who were. Armor needed to be repaired, weapons made, food stores continued. But every group that left the safety of the elven realms continued to return with fewer soldiers.
Death a constant in a way it hadn't been for centuries. An old wound picked back open, that would not heal completely until Sauron was defeated. Even then she wasn't sure any of them would ever truly be the same.
They looked to her as a symbol of hope. Especially the Eregion survivors. She did not want to let them down even if she thought she did every day this war continued to drag out. Every time a company returned with even one less.
Now they were to go back into the fray and she had to choose who to bring, who might possibly not return. Gil-galad had told her ten. She wanted to keep the number even smaller than that. Eight at the most, the swiftest, those who she knew were skilled at hiding among the trees, who could blend in with them if needed.
She'd have her ring. That should offer them a level of protection but Galadriel knew it would also make them a target. Especially if he determined that she'd left the realm.
The sound of a hammer against steel had her heart thumping, but she quickly calmed it as she spotted elves working on new swords. It was not a sign of him pulling on her, simply another sign of the war at their heels.
Galadriel moved through the training field, gaze sweeping over the soldiers, pleased once she found who she'd been looking for. Arondir was off toward the side, running through a series of drills with Idhreneth and some others. She headed over and after a brief conversation waved for him to join her.
"Commander," he started, bowing his head.
No amount of telling him he did not need to would cease the action. "The High King has a mission for me. I would like you to accompany me on it."
"Of course," he replied, walking beside her as she continued through the encampment. "How many and when do we leave?"
"No more than eight. I think six would be best. Swift, quiet, know the benefit of being able to hide and not strike out at anything that moves." She glanced around at the others. "I already know of three excluding yourself but if you can recommend any others? We will leave at first light."
He looked around as well and she could see him considering her words as he nodded. "I know two more. I'll have them ready to go then."
"Thank you." It was on the tip of her tongue to offer some praise but he never cared for that, had already nodded at her, did that little head bow again and was off, stepping with a purpose.
She would ask about Theo another time. Perhaps when they returned from their mission. Hope that any news Arondir might have would be good news even if in her heart she doubted that would be the case.
For now she had more soldiers to recruit.
And then a night to try to sleep through without any interruptions.
Sauron flipped through his notes. Eyes narrowing at the ones he'd scratched out. Each failed attempt, a treasure trove of rings that were never perfected. Five years of attempts and he finally felt a step closer to getting it right.
But how many times had he been certain of that before?
How many times had he thought he'd mastered this power only for it to fizzle out in the end?
His control over Middle Earth grew every day. Men easily falling for his words, the power that he could offer, the strength he'd built by combining them under one banner. He'd built armies of Men and orc, of trolls and other creatures. Wargs flocked to Mordor's borders, recognizing their lord in ways the wolves of old had. The birds came to him as well, spying as he needed, picking out any talk of unrest or mutiny and swiftly doling out their own brand of punishment.
And his creations—his fell beasts—flew in the skies, patrolling them, terrifying all who came across them.
It was wonderful, thrilling, and yet not enough.
Would not be until he had what he needed. What he deserved.
Sauron closed the book and left the library behind, boots thundering against the floor as he headed down the hallway. The humans bowed their heads but he caught the look of reverence in their gazes before they did. They feared and they loved him. It was a heady feeling, one he enjoyed manipulating, but was quickly distorted whenever one of the orcs crossed his paths.
A necessary element. His own little triumph against Adar's betrayal. Efficient workforce, an inelegant army, and an eyesore that he despised taking in among his halls. He'd cull the lot of them once he could. Eradicate them from this world just as he did with their 'father'. Create something better to take their place.
He undid his cloak and draped it over one of the chairs as he entered his bedroom, but didn't stop moving. Continued on toward the large doors that remained open and out onto the balcony. Lava flowed beneath his tower, darkness spread beyond, the sun nearly blotted out in the cloud covered sky. Beneath him orcs worked to continue building the tower, putting together weapons of war. Men trained further afield, away from the smoke and ash, readying to drive the elves further from this land. To purge them from its shores.
Sauron closed his eyes and breathed out, allowed himself to relax as he curled his hands around the balcony's rail. Let his mind flow into the Unseen, searching, feeling for her. He'd already connected once to her that day, the chances of being able to do so again were fleeting. She would be on high alert, her barriers up, harder to chip through than before, and yet he allowed a twisted hope within, that she would do something that would make her more vulnerable to him.
That she would try to sleep this night.
His lips curled into a smile when he found her doing just that. The barriers easy to slip through without her noticing. He knew to take this slow, to be unassuming as he stayed on the edges of her dreams.
A little twist here, another there, until he had her where he wanted her. Letting her think she was the one in control of it all along.
She could deny all she wanted outside of this space but he knew every cry of pleasure that could seep from her mouth. The way she would gasp when he lathed his tongue against her nipple, the shiver that would run through her when he nibbled on the tip of her ear. How that initial 'no', her attempt to push him away, to move away always ended in her crying out his name, pulling him closer, nails digging into his shoulders, his scalp.
Sauron waited until her dreams began to fade into one another, that final descent into deep sleep that would take her longer to pull herself out of, and then he slid in. Gave her no chance to realize what was happening as he notched himself between her thighs.
"No," she started, hands grappling for purchase on the linen underneath her.
"Always the protesting and yet I find you soaking for me," he panted in her ear, slowly pressing into her inch by agonizing inch. "Taking me so perfectly."
She hissed, shook her head, tried to deny him—them—until he was finally fully within her. A kiss to her cheek, earlobe sucked in between his teeth, before he felt her shift her hips, trying to get him to move. "How many times should we attempt tonight?" he murmured, finally moving, the slap of their skin meeting a decadent melody. It wouldn't be enough until he had her gasping though, until she was crying out his name.
"I hate you," she bit out, as he maneuvered them, shifting her so that her hips were in the air, pillow beneath her. He kept a hand on her back, forcing her upper body to remain pressed to the bed as he snapped his hips harder, driving into her with the fury of the storm that had swept them together.
"Three then," he replied, curling a hand under her, seeking out that little bud.
She made a valiant attempt to stave off the pleasure rolling through her. It always amused him when she did this, the redness of her cheeks as she tried to keep her mouth shut, eyes clenched down, not wanting to react. He lazily rubbed, slowed down his strokes within her, prolonging each agonizing movement.
"One for each ring that I will claim."
Her cry was a thing of beauty. Body stuttering as the pleasure finally grew too much, shattering through her. He didn't let up, kept her in the throws of it as best he could, waited until she whimpered, until her little plea.
"Halbrand."
It always started with that name.
That one she clung to even when they both knew she knew better.
He rubbed harder, carved himself a space within that she would never be able to root out completely. Enjoyed how her fingers dug into the bed, the way her eyes seemed to roll back in her head.
"Please."
Only then did he seek his own release. Let his hips stutter against hers as he lay on top of her, pressing her to the bed below. A kiss to her cheek once he finally pulled out. She elbowed him in the face and tried to scramble from the bed, pushed against the illusion he'd wrapped them both in.
But his will was stronger. His practice greater.
Did delight in the dagger she'd formed though.
"You will never get the rings."
He caught her around the ankle when she tried to rise again, deflected the dagger that she tried to land in his jugular. It clattered to the floor and disappeared as he dragged her back, pinning her so her back was against the bed. So she had to look him in the eye.
She spat at him. "This means nothing. It is not real. It will never be real. Only a pale imitation of anything worthwhile."
He grasped hold of her chin. "You do so delight in your denial. But I will rip each cry from your throat. Force you to endure every single one of your darkest desires and eventually we will do this in the Seen as well."
"You will never see me in the Seen let alone lay a hand on me again." Her stubborn pride. That certainty that rankled him.
"Now it'll be four," he told her, claiming her mouth when she tried to scream at him.
And he would have her.
Just as he would lay claim to all of Middle Earth.