Archive of Our Own

The air was dark and thick with dwindling hope. The sounds of swords clashing were now drowned out by the screams of the dying. A fierce and unmerciful battle had raged over the course of many years and was nearing its end at last.

Though it was an end one side prayed would never come to pass.

The last alliance of elves and men was failing.

Sauron’s great army of Mordor had proved too strong an adversary, too high and perilous a peak to surpass. Their numbers were simply greater, the orcs, like rats, had multiplied endlessly, spreading their ills across the barren plains of Dagorlad. They left almost none alive in their wake.

Though there were few elves and men of strong will who persisted in their fight as long as they could, their leaders among them. Elendil, King of Gondor and Arnor, and Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor, fought side by side with their kin, and to the very last. It would only take an enemy of greater measure to prove their match. It was Sauron himself who took their lives, and with more ease than the alliance feared. Perhaps it was a small mercy at last for the light against the shadow, that at the very least their deaths were no quicker than the extinguishing of a candle.

The last breath of the alliance came in the form of Isildur, Elendil’s remaining son. He did not hesitate to attempt to avenge his father, and neither did fate in dealing out its finality. The young prince reached for his father’s sword, but was stopped short of grasping it by Sauron’s cruel hand. The dark lord’s mace pierced Isildur’s back, pinning him to the black earth. All the young man could do was watch as Narsil was kicked out of his reach, before screaming in agony as the sharp steel in his flesh was twisted and dragged through, ending him in a matter of painful moments.

It was then that Sauron locked eyes with a familiar face across the fray to one of the only notable elves left standing.

Elrond.

He was being restrained by multiple orcs, and struggling against them to no avail. Sauron smiled and walked towards him with slow, deliberate steps, and the fighting parted to let him through. As he came face to face with Elrond, the dark lord removed his spiked helm, and what the herald beheld was almost beyond description. The creature was black, a shadow, a void. Nothing left of him resembled any form he had previously taken. Elrond was as pleased as he was struck in terror, that Sauron had suffered some consequence of his vile past actions. Yet he was chilled to be reminded he still held so much power. For his eyes glowed with a piercing golden hue that threatened to rend any soul in two.

“Do you yield?” Sauron spoke low, sounding satisfied. “Your kings are dead. Your people, destroyed. What is left for you now?”
Elrond glared at his enemy. “All there is now is for you to kill me, Deceiver, so I do not have to live in a world that sees you as its ruler. If all hope is gone from Middle-earth then I too must flee.”
Sauron laughed, the sound coated in unsettling evil. “Kill you, Half-elven? Why would I kill you when I have use for you? I ask for your surrender not your execution.”

Elrond growled at the dark lord, trying once again to break free of his captors, but it was no use. “I will give you nothing that you ask for.”
“Then it would be a shame to see the realm of Lórien razed to the ground wouldn’t it? Or perhaps Imladris? It would be a delight to return there and finish what I started.” Sauron paused as the implications of his words washed over Elrond’s expression. The half-elf was at the point of giving up, though still resisting, and Sauron hoped that this final nudge might push him to it.

“Bring her to me. Surely one elf cannot be worth the extinction of your kind? If you bring Galadriel to Barad-dûr… I will stop the slaughter.” His voice was soft, his tone feigning sympathy so expertly that a fool might believe him.

And even though Elrond was no fool, he considered his enemy and thought inward as he did so. He remembered a promise his dear friend had asked of him many years ago now…

Promise me, Elrond, you will put opposing Sauron above all other considerations. Even my life.

I will make no promise whose asking is borne of that ring. But I swear to you… defeating Sauron will come first. Even before you.

“Remember, Half-elven, this war began with your resistance.” Sauron’s words brought Elrond back to the present, though Galadriel’s determined face lingered in his mind. There has never been a more determined being than she who had searched every crack and crevice for the dark lord. Perhaps there could be an advantage in bringing her here yet. “All I have ever wanted was lasting peace. No more wasteful death. If you bring Galadri-”

“I will bring her here!” Elrond bellowed, silencing Sauron in a way he had not been silenced since the days of Morgoth. Normally, he would loathe this, and not hesitate to remove Elrond’s head from his body. But the half-elf had given in. Galadriel was to be his. Elrond felt ill for the sense of glee he felt emanating from Sauron.

It was then commanded that Elrond return with Galadriel at once, escorted by a small contingent of orcs. Sauron had waited long enough for his prize.

*****

The Lady of Lothlórien had not been surprised to see Elrond arrive in her realm, and with the grave tidings he brought. She knew the last alliance had failed. She knew the only reason Elrond would be here in this capacity was to hand her over to the enemy.

To him.

They spoke very little to each other during the day’s journey to Barad-dûr for their mourning was great. Not for Galadriel’s life being forfeit, no, but for their High King. For all their other kinsman slain. For Isildur, Anarion. For Elendil. Galadriel was saddened by his demise most out of them all. She had never forgotten the kindness he had shown to her as one of the faithful. Though that kindness had come with a cost, playing its part in the resurgence of Shadow across Middle-earth. Yet Galadriel could not bring herself to curse Elendil for saving Sauron too, that day upon the Sundering Seas.

It was not for him to know that he had just saved the life of the one who would take his.

And so many more.

As they passed the Black Gate, Galadriel couldn’t help but wonder if this was to always have been her fate, for it had always seemed tied to the dark lord. Their spirits were bound, whether she liked it or not. Though there was something within Sauron that she longed for, but she knew it was something she would never have.

Halbrand.

Yet he was nowhere to be found in this place. It was all a twisted mockery of his making, this dark land with its menacing peaks and abhorrent structures. A distorted version of something beautiful her ‘low man’ might once have forged. She had known he was destined for greatness but this was so very far from what she had hoped to help him bring to fruition.

A single tear slipped its way down her ashen cheek, and as she looked upon Barad-dûr edging closer, all she felt was him.

Sauron was the same, only revelling in the emotions taking hold at the mere sensing of her presence in his lands. For so very long he had called for her to be his queen, and if Eru was to deny him that, then he must manifest it into being himself. She was the only being he could dream of being at his side. There was no one else. No other lieutenant, no other commander, no other royalty. It was her or nothing.

She who had given him another chance to achieve his ends.

Elrond squeezed her hand out of comfort, but Galadriel did not squeeze back. She carried no fear, only sadness and defeat. Casting her blue eyes to the blackened sky above, she wondered if she would ever see the sunlight again. Would it ever brighten her hair with a shimmer, would it ever caress her cheeks in warmth? All felt muted and cold in Mordor, not even the erupting mountain once known as Orodruin could stay her chill. This place was evil.

And there evil stood at the entrance to his tower. Sauron felt a shock spread through his twisted form, thinking he must have slipped into a dream, that surely his queen had not arrived. Yet here she was, the most radiant thing, gazing up at him now with haunted eyes.

Galadriel wanted to cry again for the sight of him. But she would not let him see her tears. She did not owe him that.

Come to me.

Sauron’s voice entered her mind, amplifying the chill she already felt. She turned to Elrond, took his head in her gentle hands, and placed a loving kiss atop his forehead. “Namárië.” Galadriel whispered to her friend before turning away and obeying the dark lord’s command.

It took all her remaining strength to walk up those stairs, for surrendering to the darkness was a toll her body was not willing to take. The agony was concentrated most in the scar Sauron had left upon her flesh, when he had penetrated her with Morgoth’s crown. It felt as if it were freshly made once more. Galadriel longed in this moment to return Nenya to its rightful place on her finger, to use the power of the silver band to protect and strengthen. To heal herself. If only it were not for the terrible golden ring Sauron had bound to his being.

“Heal yourself, Galadriel? Is that not something you once said to me in rejection? Something we could have done together?” Sauron spoke, pleased to begin his retribution.
Galadriel was not going to stand for it, not even in her weakened state. “My… my people are safe now? Now that I am here?”
“You have my word.” He uttered in reply, his tone more sombre, more serious now. As if he were trying to please her.

He was.

“Your words have no worth, Deceiver. Only… only your actions. Prove yourself to me as… as I have done… for you.”

The last word left her lips and fell into the air.

Then Galadriel fell to the ground.

*****

The she-elf woke after many hours rest, finding herself stunned by her surroundings. For she was not encased by hard black walls or the agony the land of Mordor brings. She was home. Back in Lórien. The sun's soft white light had found her once more, and she smiled for the joy it brought. The scent of gardenias and wisteria put her further at ease, and she laid back in her bed to soak in the splendour. This was her land. Her domain. Untouched and unsullied.

“How cruel of you to not invite me here, Galadriel.”

She gasped as the words of Halbrand filled her ears, his voice as it once was when they first met at sea, when the horrors of reality were so far on the horizon, and all Galadriel wanted from him was a companion. Someone to help her.

“I still can help you.”

“No… get out of my head… this is a lie! There is nothing you can do for me!” She bellowed, begging to be released from what she quickly realised was a prison of her mind. “I told you, the door is shut!”

She cast him out and willed herself back to the world, waking truthfully this time, in the cold place she had been sent to against her wishes. Sauron stood before her at the foot of her bed, gazing down at her in fascination. Galadriel felt naked, despite her clothed appearance. He could see right to the depths of her spirit. She felt him there. She always felt him there.

“Is it?” A simple question asked by the dark one, yet the two words contained more weight than Mount Doom itself. “You are still letting me in, Galadriel. That was too easy.” His voice now sounded to her ears as something much lesser than that of Halbrand. A shadow of his attraction. A whisper of his passion. A distortion.

“I will not let you in again. I will fortify my mind more than ever before. I will be stronger than you.”
“Then what shall you do with your time here in Mordor? Shall I leave you here to rot like the stench ridden meat I feed to my armies? Until you are nothing more than bones for the crows to pick at?”
“If that is to be my service to you, then so be it.”

Sauron groaned, frustrated with her and with himself. He hated her resolve, her stubbornness, but he loved her for possessing it. In fact, he hated himself more some days for not being able to rid himself of how she made him feel. He coveted her more than Morgoth craved the Silmarils. And it drove him mad that she did not. That she would speak to him in such a way, as if she had forgotten all they had suffered together, and the moments of history that bound them inextricably.

He would make her see it. He would help her remember.

Sauron rounded to the side of the bed and bent down to whisper into Galadriel’s ear. She did not flinch.

“Then I shall make a crown of you to wear upon my head.”

He felt her tremble but she did not break. This pleased him. But he was done with her, for now, and thus exited her chamber, retiring to his dark throne upon which he would sit and contemplate his plans for his queen.

*****

A month passes. Galadriel was true to her word, her mind was at its strongest. Sauron did not enter her dreams or her waking thoughts. Though not by her will but by his own. He wanted her to feel her power, to feel as if she had won some small victory over him. That he had left her alone as she wished.

Though Galadriel felt little of this. Despite being glad for the reprieve from his foul presence, she longed to be near him again. To feel that rush that only Sauron can give, as if she were standing atop a high precipice gleefully waiting for the moment to fall. It was a far cry from the day she did indeed fall away from him. When her breaking heart and her war-like anger had lead her to it. So much had been lost that day. And never since then did Galadriel believe she would ever be near to Sauron again. Only that he would haunt her dreams and make them his nightmares. Part of her hoped that in her surrender to him she might rid herself of this blight. This want and need for him. But so far in their separation, with him yet being so close, all she knew was her hunger.

Sauron knew not the truths of Galadriel’s desires. It was the only part of herself she could keep hidden.

But it was only a matter of time.

The door to her dark chamber burst open with a rattle and thud. An orc entered bringing orders and his stench with him. “Master bids you join him in the throne room.” He spoke with a cragged voice. Galadriel hesitated, but acquiesced nonetheless, seeing no other option. Of course she wanted to see Sauron but suddenly felt pain within her at the thought of his pitiless eyes gazing at her. His terrible visage had haunted her since their last meeting. How sad it was, to see him as he was now, with his appearance matching the foulness he kept inside. It was as if nothing of the man she loved remained. That he truly was the monster she had hunted for thousands of years. Hope had abandoned this place.

Galadriel went with the orc down dank passages and up many stairs, feeling all eyes upon her. His servants disgusted to see a thing of such light illuminating their realm. Orcs snarled, wolves growled, but all did nothing but watch her on her way. She could feel his power holding them back.

At last they reached a set of double doors, tall and ominous, looming over Galadriel just as his presence was behind them. The orc pushed them open and gestured for her to enter with a snarl. Slowly she did so, seeing for the first time what kind of kingship Sauron had made for himself.

The ceiling was high and shrouded in darkness, the walls lined with firelit torches perched upon sharp fittings. Then there was the most curious thing. Tapestries hung between the flames, and with her elven eyes Galadriel could make out all details, and knew quickly and intimately what they were depicting.

His victories.

There was his time under Morgoth - the destruction of the two trees, his works at Angband. And the deeper into his twisted shrine she moved, the closer to the horrors depicted she felt. Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Sauron as Lord of the Werewolves.

Finrod.

Then came Eregion, and her heart ached further.

Celebrimbor.

The last one broke the levee, and her tears fell unabated. The War of the Last Alliance. Sauron’s greatest of all victories. And his freshest. The wool was yet untouched by the passing of time, reminding Galadriel of her grief and how new it still was. So much had been lost. Elendil, Gil-galad.

And her freedom.

She would never set foot in Valinor again. She will stay here and remain Galadriel, and become what was left of her people.

“Does this please you!” She shouted at him, he who sat atop his throne mere feet away. Her agony had kept her eyes from him, but he had keenly been watching her, his golden eyes unmaking her with every unblinking stare. “You know it does.”

She turned to face him then, and her rage amplified. “Must you need such validation! Is your dreaded kingdom not enough? That you might brag, with art, of your atrocities!”
“It is my right. Events such as these should not be forgotten to time, Galadriel. They are worthy of commemoration. As is of course, my next work. My rule over you.” It was then that she noticed a hook perched above his throne. It was golden and glistening in the firelight. Waiting for something deserving of its use.

“If you are to offend me in this manner, then I ask that you release me at once. What need is there for two Galadriel’s in Mordor.”

Sauron laughed, sweeping a chill through the room, threatening to extinguish the torches. “Knowing you as I do, elf, there is always a chance something will go awry with my plans. Therefore if you do manage to leave me… at least part of you shall remain at my side. And all shall know that you were mine at last.”

Galadriel closed her eyes and did something she should not have. She let him in. Fully. Willingly. All in the hopes of trying to save him…

She was in Lórien again, as if she had never left. Wandering through the wood, the rich soil underneath her feet, a peace swept over Galadriel and she breathed it in deep. But there was a shadow at her back, and it was not her own. She sat down at a clearing, upon the bank of the Celebrant, dipping her feet into the cool waters.

And he sat down beside her.

He was like a ghost caught between two worlds. With her yes, but not who she wanted him to be. Galadriel looked at him, the light of the river dancing in her eyes. The gold in his glance dimmed and he became softer, yet shrouded within his darkness. Sauron was veiled in it, though Galadriel could see something underneath. Something pale and cold. Something aching for release.

“I did not wish to speak to you in that place.” She declared. “It brings neither of us any good.”
“You are mistaken, Galadriel. It is the only good we have. It is reality.”
“This is real too.” She turned to him, splashing the water. “This land is not so far away from you. Whether by heart or by footstep, your path could have lead here.”
“My path only seems to lead to you.”

The words lingered in the air like a blessing and a curse. Sauron felt weak for saying it and wanted to take it back. Where had his power gone, his own resolve? Was she controlling him in this so-called realm of hers? Or perhaps by showing him something that could have been, he was living in it with all emotions free? Was it a taste of something so sweet he could never have upon his lips in any way otherwise?

He saw the opportunity and took it.

A pale hand broke through the shadow and reached for her, stopping at the feel of her warm cheek beneath his touch. Then he lost himself within her and the darkness receded. Sauron was left in the guise of a man, one who until now had resided only in Galadriel’s heart.

“Halbrand?” She smiled for the sight of him, though sickly he appeared. His now hazel eyes held no light, his auburn hair no shine. His body was cold. He was a whisper from death, but he was looking at her with all the life left within him. There was no choice but to grant him the air from her lungs.

Galadriel let him pull her close to him, and their lips met in a catharsis unlike any ever felt. Suddenly, he was fire, and alive in a way she had dreamed of for so long. She could feel the cold leaving him as they kissed, and her happiness grew. As did his own. But Sauron’s feelings of joy were mingled with his base desire for conquest. And it was this temptation that proved too strong and began to threaten the binds of their connection. His kisses became less tender and more ravenous, his teeth gnashing as he gave in to his hunger for her. Galadriel could not keep up and nor did she wish to. His coldness came back and she forced him off of her before she would turn to ice.

But then suddenly they were not in Lothlórien. Once again they had returned to the darkest of throne rooms, though Galadriel noticed she was not exactly where she had left. Her feet no longer felt the caress of the water, nor the touch of cool stone. They were aloft, as was she, cradled in the lap of the dark lord, sharing with him his throne. Sauron’s piercing gaze had returned, as had the entirety of his evil form. His armour was digging into her flesh, but that was the least of her concerns. His gloved hand with its sharpened finger tips was running its way down her arm, slicing clean through her white gown. The one ring shone bright upon that same finger, and Galadriel recoiled, aiming to get loose of him.

But it was no use.

Her intentions had failed beyond compare. She had meant to pull him to her sway, into her arms, not the other way around with her in the midst of the wolf’s maw.

“Do you like my ring, Galadriel? I hoped that you would. I made it for you, after all. I poured everything I had into it’s forging. My might, my power, my–”

Galadriel winced as Sauron broke her skin.

“ –blood.” He hummed in delight as he inhaled the copper scent of her. Then he removed his hand, bringing it to his shrouded face. For the first time his features came into focus and all Galadriel could do was scream, watching as Sauron let his tongue slip between his many sharpened teeth, tasting her redness, taking her into himself. “Mmmm…” He grinned, satisfied. “Perhaps I should forge something with your blood, elf? Since you have been neglecting your own ring?”

“Let me go!” She shouted.
“Now why would I do that? Not when I can have more of you.” It was then that Sauron lunged for her throat, exposed to him in their struggle, and he bit down, growling as her blood began to spill into his mouth. This was more than he had imagined. He had wanted this, dreamt of this, planned this, but in its execution he discovered an ecstasy that he had never known. Galadriel, moaning against him, a font for him to drink from. Her power, her light, strengthening him in unseen ways. He was dizzy with it. Her taste was exquisite. Like cinnamon and roses. Like the sun and the ocean.

The last land for him to conquer. And so it was.

*****

And so Galadriel had a new wound gifted to her by Sauron.

Days after their darkened tryst, the she-elf awoke in her chamber with her strength finally on the mend. Though her aching remained in her body and her mind. She wept for so long, thinking about all that had transpired during that one fateful meeting. She remembered the one ring upon his finger and how it glistened with malice. How could she have been so foolish to think she could overpower he who wore the symbol of greatest power? To let her emotions for him take hold, that they would blind her to his treachery?

She turned her head to gaze out of her only window and she winced as her skin pulled at the mark on her throat. A flash of his sinister face came into her vision, as if carried by a lightning bolt, and she shuddered for the memory forever stored within her thought.

He is too far gone for anyone to save. Let alone myself. This is darkness and shadow and evil in its most purest form. What his power, what that ring, what his desires have wrought upon him. He is death and I shall die here. Never again seeing the warmth in his eyes

Galadriel forced her mind to focus on the only happy thought she had left, before despair would keep her forever. Their kiss. For a moment there was bliss. Bliss so brief it made her understand the meaning of the word. It should be brief and worth the risk to achieve. To fight for something so wonderful that even if it only lasts a minute, makes it all the sweeter. It is precious. Galadriel coveted it like a candle she was desperate to protect from the wind. Remembering how he looked at her with those passionate mossy eyes. How his mouth felt against her own.

Even if she never had it in the waking world. Or ever again in her mind.

At least she had it at all.

Suddenly she hears voices outside her door, followed by rushing and scurrying. News of her consciousness must travel to him, she supposed. What was he going to subject her to next? She was certain at least that she would not die by his hand. The dark lord was too obsessed with his prize to destroy it. But that was little comfort.

There was a chair by the window. Iron made with a tall back, a small throne in and of itself. For ‘his queen’ no doubt. And yet she wanted to sit in it and gaze at the outside world. All she could see from her bed was the fiery sky and the occasional winged creature going by. This would not do. But she found the moment she stood, she fell to the floor. Only this time her knees did not meet with stone. Someone had caught her.

She knew who.

Sauron had silently entered the room whilst Galadriel was dazed and focused solely on the window seat. He had watched her with wonder as she struggled to move as she once did, and for the first time in so very long, the dark lord felt something he had not felt.

Sympathy.

His love had not begotten sympathy until now. Until he witnessed the damage he had caused her. Yes she would heal in time, and no he was not trying to kill her, but he was filled with sadness. Sadness for her frailty. Sadness for the way things were. He had no regrets for his actions, vile as they were, but he swore to himself it would not happen again. He would not let his desires for her mingle with his ambitions of power. He would not give in. He would not see her in this state again.

So she slipped and he caught her, maian reflexes and strength on display. Galadriel would not have it. “Unhand me now, Deceiver!” He did as she asked by carrying her to her chair. Giving her what she wished. He stepped away, taking his place on the bed and in silence.

Galadriel did not know what to think. Fear rose within her but it did not control her. Her sorrow ached for him like an invisible hand she wished to outstretch and pull him out from under that shadow. But her anger simmered the most upon the surface, matching the fires of Mount Doom from across the way and the rivers of lava that flowed from it. It was enough at least to stay the cold that his presence had brought.

Sauron remained as he was. Silent and sitting upon her feathery bed. Watching her watch the world. Time passed, perhaps day turned to night, though Galadriel could not see it, and eventually she calmed. Her breathing steadied, and her curiosity began to outweigh all other things. She could see far from this vantage point, that the borders of Mordor had extended beyond that of the Black Gate. That there was no end to this Shadow. The land would be covered in it, and there was nothing that she could do. There was no one to save now. Not even herself.

Melancholy took hold, and she decided to verbalise her curiosity. “Why has Mordor grown? You told me that for my presence here, you would cease the fighting. Cease killing my kin. Have you forsaken your honour? Or does that thing you have become hold none?”
“I have killed no more, Galadriel. What you see with your elven eyes is merely the effects of my victory. I wanted to heal Middle-earth. Bring order to it once more. This is what I wish for all the lands, so all the lands must welcome me as their new ruler.”
“By becoming one terrible realm above all? By defiling the beauty of this world? By…” Her dizziness returned and Sauron rushed over to her side.

“Here. Drink. I will not have you like this.”
“You made me like this!” She screamed at him, knocking the water goblet away from her reach and onto the floor. This outburst made her weaker, so Sauron conjured another drink for her to take. Admitting her fault, Galadriel accepted and drank deep his generosity and consideration. Though not for him. Never for him.

They reverted to silence once more and Galadriel wondered if Sauron would ever leave, or if she’d want him to. It became peaceful like this, just the two of them. Close together, desires good and bad in check. So peaceful even, that Galadriel felt herself drifting off into another slumber. With her last thought she wondered if Sauron might pick her back up and place her softly into bed…

But quickly, that did not matter.

For another opportunity had arisen for Sauron, one he would not hesitate to grasp.

Galadriel woke to find herself within a familiar setting, albeit one she had not visited for many years. Pain gnawed at her chest, and she clutched at the wound Sauron had once made, only to find it damp. Fresh. With her blood. He had put her back in this moment, this pivotal memory she remembered so vividly, as raw as if he had just removed that thorny crown from her flesh.

But something was different. She was not wearing her ring. And he was wearing his own.

“Why do you drive me to these ends, Galadriel?” Sauron spoke, inhabiting his Annatar guise, blond hair cascading back over his twisted serpent breast plate. “Why do you force my hand? It pains me to realise that in all this bloodshed… you claim to be of the same mind as I, wishing for peace in Middle-earth, yet it is you who pick up your sword.”

Galadriel was disorientated and confused, only managing to listen to his words yet unable to speak her own in reply. She wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t like what he was saying but she couldn’t exactly fault him.

“I have spoken plainly with you. I have told you my wish. How I asked of you to be at my side. We would not be fighting now if you had accepted me. Eregion would still be standing. How could you think my intentions were otherwise?”

Galadriel moved towards him slowly, her head aching with uncertainty. “You told me once. That… that you saw no difference between saving and ruling.”
“But to foster peace… someone must lead that. Someone must ensure that it is done.”

His sincerity was strong. Galadriel found herself wanting to believe him, for the first time ever. Her love was masking her hatred, keeping it tucked away but never gone. She could believe in him, yes, but trusting him was another issue altogether. She wanted so badly for him to mean everything that he was saying, she wanted to forget all his past ills. She wanted him to redeem himself in her eyes and the eyes of the valar. She wanted to give him that chance.

Sauron’s sympathy had not waned during this exchange, nor had his motivations changed. However, he was still the Great Deceiver, his silver tongue gliding over her flesh and into her heart. It is easy to spread falsehood when truths and lies intermingle so perfectly. Inside he was smiling. Outside, all his concerns were for the elf.

He wanted to heal her.

“Put on your ring, Galadriel. Your strength is fading.”

Her eyes darted to the golden band on his finger as if it twinkled to gain her attention. It was not present during the original confrontation here, it did not exist at all. That was a time where the elves could wear their rings freely and without fear of losing their wits to the dark lord. The moment he slipped the one onto his finger was the first great step of their separation. Galadriel remembered the sorrow she felt when she felt his influence, when Gil-galad commanded the elven rings to be discarded. Funny he did not wish them destroyed. Perhaps Sauron’s will had already taken hold in so short a time. She of all people could not blame him if it were true.

Yet here they were now, together, Sauron asking of her to betray her king’s command. A command that even in his death she should obey. The dark lord knew her mind though. “He would want you to be strong, Galadriel. So you might best me and avenge him. Why would I give you that chance if my intentions were ill?”
It was then she remembered something he had spoken to her in the waking world. The one curious thing from his foulness on the throne. Foulness she could not fully recall for some reason, and nor did she want to. “You… you said you made your ring… for me…”
Sauron nodded, a small smile on his face. He took her hands and lead her to a nearby rock with a surface flat enough to sit on. “You shut me out, Galadriel. It was the only way back in.”

Sauron spoke this truest of truths and felt a little vulnerable for it. Even if it would work to his advantage to admit this, it was not good to feel weak. But there was something in Galadriel that was beginning to make him want to confess all truths to her. To be totally open with all that he knew and possessed of himself. He feared it. And that was motivation in and of itself to make it so.

“But then I took off Nenya.”
“And I was lost to you once more.”

Galadriel didn’t hesitate. She removed the silver ring from her palm and slid it back on to the home it had long been absent from. A wave of power flew through her and she felt whole, but it was different from in the past. There was something new here in the sensation, something that made her heart sing. She looked across at Sauron with tears brimming in her bright eyes.

“I don’t want to lose you again.”

He held her head in his hands and devoured the way she was gazing at him a moment before he proceeded to devour her. Their lips met in passion with gasping breaths and tongues lashing, as if they were lovers who had not seen each other in more than an age. To Galadriel, that was how it felt. And to Sauron… he tasted victory. And satisfaction. His heart and ambitions aligned.

It wasn’t long before his mouth found her throat and his hand slipped under her chainmail skirts. His teeth skimming across her skin threatened to break Galadriel free of the heated moment, as a sickly feeling crawled up her spine, but she refused to acknowledge it. No more. She was so tired of fighting him. She just wanted to feel him.

And feel him she did, her head thrown back as two of his fingers slipped within her, his thumb against her sensitive bud. Sauron bit down but not to pierce her flesh, only to amplify the euphoria starting to sweep through her. The intensity was great, as he quickly picked up speed, an unrelenting onslaught of the senses that Galadriel could do naught but surrender to. He groaned against her neck, feral and unhinged, determined such that he would gain more from her pleasure than she, as if there was a point to prove in her unmaking. That it was about him and nothing else.

Galadriel cared not. Her strength may have returned with thanks to Nenya, but her inhibitions had dissolved with thanks to Sauron’s ring. She could do nothing but clutch to him in desperation, and revel in the swelling of joy that was on the precipice of eruption.

“Do you wish for me to stop, elf?” Sauron asked, a manner of taunting more than actual concern. For he was playing his favourite game, making her fall apart under his power. He didn’t want to stop. He only wanted her to scream for him.

Galadriel heard him of course, but she was beyond the ability to form thought, let alone words. All she was was a being of rapture, moulded into life by his deft hand within. It was as if he possessed every part of her, leaving no control to herself. She couldn’t beg for him to stop even if she wanted to. Not now, not when she was so close to–

And there it was. The she-elf emitted a song of pure bliss from deep within, becoming blinded by a light so bright, a light that haloed around Sauron now as she gazed up at him, breathing heavy, feeling weak, yet he was all that she could see. He smiled down at her, never before feeling so in love with her. She was perfection sculpted by Eru himself. A gift to him, the Lord of Gifts, he who had earned her light and her body, and her will at his whim at last.

If this be all I do for all the ages to come… I do not need anything else… Sauron thought to himself, surprisingly feeling his urge to dominate fade, replaced with a happiness he had never felt before. The more he looked at her like this, the more he wanted to have her as his equal and not as his prisoner.

“You are beautiful.” Galadriel spoke, dazed, reaching for his cheek. Sauron could not prevent the smile that formed on his lips then. It had been so long since he had held this form, or any fair form for that matter. A part of him missed it. To be beheld in ways other than fear. But for all his power he was unable to do so again. His connection to the one ring had altered him beyond return. He could only be a physical representation of all he was known to be.

The abhorred.

In that moment a pang of sadness struck him, severing the connection between their minds, and in an instant they were thrust back into Galadriel’s chambers. Though the physical connection between their bodies remained. The she-elf balked at his proximity and the scent of her sex in the air. What had he done?

As fear took hold, she gazed down at her finger and just as in the vision, Nenya was resting peacefully around her finger.

She immediately pulled it off and pushed him away.

Sauron felt a slight sting of shame then, in the way she was staring at him. But then her horror turned to awe when she realised what was staring back at her.

It was Annatar.

*****

She was fascinated. Transfixed by what had occurred. So many emotions coursed through Galadriel, though there was one thing that took precedence.

In every waking moment when she closed her eyes for even a second, she saw his face. It was eerie, troubling, yet strangely hopeful. It reminded her of their first shared vision after her arrival in Mordor. Halbrand shrouded in shadow, bursting through it to reach her. Their kiss. So much promise before evil took hold and twisted everything.

He was Annatar but not fully. Gone were the dangerous teeth and the penetrating golden eyes. Now present were slightly softer features, though he was gaunt, almost husk like, his skin near translucent. The blond hair was near white and void of shine. Though it wasn’t just about how he looked now, somehow. It was the way he had looked at her. Haunted. Troubled. Void of the arrogance he had thus far shown. She wanted to know why, she had to know why he had changed. Normally she would think it was part of his game, but this was something else.

This was the truth.

This fascination however did little to quell the disgust she felt towards him for taking advantage of her. He had made her put on her ring again and he did not have great difficulty in doing so. And the following seduction shocked her to her core. Not only because it happened, but because she succumbed to it. Whatever resistance, whatever power she thought she might have against him, it was robbed from her, leaving her helpless to combat him. Galadriel did not like feeling helpless, and no amount of pleasure he could fill her body with could ease that feeling.

Though… she hated herself for wanting to believe in him.

But not as much as Sauron loathed himself for how his love for her was making him weak.

His plans for control were falling apart, and how could they even succeed when he was losing control himself? When something in him was changing so fundamentally. He could not explain it, why the guise of Annatar had returned to him without his willing it. He had his orcs fetch him a large mirror so he could study himself and try to make sense of it. This was how he spent the following days since that encounter with Galadriel. Gazing at this form that was both old and new at once. Why was it here? Why was it sickly?

And why did he want it to stay?

A fear swept through him on the fifth day parted from the she-elf.

He was changing back.

Annatar grew fangs, claws, and an unseemly hunger for dark deeds. The evil glow in his eyes was returning. Frantic, he listened to his instincts, and they all screamed at him to go back to her.

But Galadriel was not as willing to receive him as he would like. Sauron would not stand for it. He burst through her doors demanding an audience. “Look at me, Galadriel!” She could not, and would not. It was too painful, too confusing. “Look at me!”

His power overwhelmed her in that moment and they were thrust away from reality once more. Sauron believed the only way she would hear him was if they returned to a sacred place. The memory of it was powerful, the pull of it too great, she would not deny him. A place that was so simple, yet held more meaning for them than could be explained.

The Southlands wood was quiet, save for the nearby sounds of celebration at its edge. However tension raged between them, as Galadriel sat atop a log, dressed in her silver Númenórean armour that Halbrand had made for her, and Sauron stood in the distance, his form unchanged despite the change of location. Words unspoken lingered in the air like a mist waiting to clear. Yet as Galadriel looked at him now, a disfigurement of form, she found herself torn between anger and heartbreak. As was always the case it seemed, when it came to Sauron.

“You did this to me, elf. You did this, and you will undo this. You will put me right!” He was panicked and unmoored, and he couldn’t stand it a minute longer. Galadriel scowled at him for his selfishness, for his quickness to put the blame upon her. “You are a creature of your own making, Deceiver. I have done nothing but been abused and mistreated since my arrival here. All our miseries are caused by you.”

Sauron was pained to hear these words. “Miseries?” He repeated the word, moving closer to her. “Do not be so quick to judge all events as miseries, elf. Did you not feel the same sweetness as I when our lips met in great affection? That was no misery.”
“It was trickery! Deception. Kisses so skilled because they were tainted such.”
“Not all of it, Galadriel. Not all of it.” He moved closer again and felt a warmth begin to grow in his spirit. “I will admit to you my falsehoods. That I am willing to use any means necessary to keep you by my side.”

Galadriel stood up and faced him directly. “You don’t need to use any means necessary! You only need one route. The path from your heart to mine.”

Sauron felt his body shudder and burn, and upon looking down at his arms, he saw the claws recede and vanish. He saw the translucent skin shift to a darker tone, filled with life and throbbing blood in his veins. He looked across at Galadriel then and her face softened in an instant, a tear glistening as it fell from her eye.

“I feel as if I am… going against my nature.” Sauron began. “If I simplify my methods to something so singular… it would mean ignoring thousands of years of darkness. It would mean purging myself of the poison that is Morgoth, he who lingers in my body like a plague you never come back from. Galadriel… I… I don’t know that I can. I don’t know if I want to. If you were bound to power as I wanted you to be… you might understand how it is I feel. It is a part of me so deeply.” Now he was closest to her yet, he could feel all that radiated from her spirit and body. All the love and hope and light she possessed.

“I wish to dominate all things.” He spoke so low, almost a whisper. “I was born to craft all things to my will. How do you turn away from something like that? Your very destiny itself written into your own creation?”

Now Galadriel watched a singular tear fall from him, the smallest piece of his heart bursting through, desperate to be seen. She took his hand and lead him to the log where they both sat and let history repeat itself.

“Being at your side I felt… if I could just hold onto that feeling, keep it with me always, then I…”
“I felt it too.”
“So now do you realise that I need you to save me? I need you with me, Galadriel. You’re the only hope I have left.”

Galadriel turned away from him. His Annatar form, though fully restored, was not one that brought her joy. To gaze upon it for too long caused in her a sickness, and a great regret for all the things she wished could be different.

Though it was then that the sweeping sensation of relief coursed through Sauron, and with one exhale, the thing the two of them wanted most happened. “Look at me, Galadriel.” He repeated his earlier words, though this time they were not out of selfish demand. He only wanted to share this happiness with her.

Galadriel clenched her eyes closed and her tears fell fast. She knew something was different, that the aura in the air had changed, yet she did not want to believe it. She did not want to hold onto something that could easily slip through her fingers once again. But then he touched her with those familiar hands, locking their fingers together tight, and she could do naught but turn to see him and cling fast to her hope.

Perhaps it was her feelings that caused what happened, that sadness, regret, and longing. Or was it her love? Regardless, through tear filled eyes, she now found herself looking upon Halbrand. Only this time there was no shadow around him, and no foreboding nature of any kind. He was just as he was that day after their brief victory over Adar and his orcs. A beautiful picture moments from tragedy. For that is how he was to her. Even as he looked as kingly and adoring as he did now, it somehow couldn’t help but remind her of the truth. That this was how he looked, he as Halbrand, when she learned the devastating reality of who he was.

Galadriel squeezed his hands still trying to hold onto her desires, but it was no use. She searched his eyes and still found that truth. Intermingled with his love for her as it was, but it was still there nonetheless. She replayed his words in her mind.

So do you realise that I need you to save me?

“This is not right.” Galadriel whispered. “This is not my doing. It is yours.”
“No, Galadriel. Please–”
“You have not earned the right to wear his face. You do not deserve it!”
“Galadriel!”

She stormed off away from him and back to the realm of Mordor, bringing her anger with her. Sauron’s voice followed her as she exited her chambers and fled down the dark corridor, desiring anything but to be near him. The dark lord ignored her unspoken wishes and stalked her all the same, becoming desperate to prove his worth to her, to prove that maybe he could change, that he could be the one she longed for. It wasn’t until he caught up to her did they discover that his Annatar form had held, and it had improved.

“Don’t you see? You are saving me!”
Galadriel scoffed. “Even if that is so, I will not give myself to you so I can be made a fool of!
“I only want to make you a queen!”
“Queen of your vile lands, not queen of your heart.”
“Galadriel you are mistaken.” He was near begging her to see him, if not for her stubbornness he may have succeeded.

In his frustrations both at himself and at her, he grabbed Galadriel by the arm and pulled her close. She resisted immediately and shook herself loose, pushing him back and pulling out a dagger. Sauron saw instantly it was of orc make. “I should have ordered more weapons inspections.” He admitted begrudgingly.
“You should thank your slaves for being so careless.” She was poised ready for combat. He was in awe of her. Even in her now tattered white gown she was still the fiercest being in all Middle-earth. This did not stop him from drawing his own weapon however.

“Is this how it ends, is it, Sauron?”
He smiled at her. “It never ends with us, Galadriel.”

The two immediately commenced blows, the sounds of their clash echoing off the stone walls of Barad-dûr. The excited snarls of orcs in the distance could be heard, and Galadriel wondered if they would soon have an audience. Or if she might meet a similar fate to Adar. But then she smiled and reminded herself. He will not kill me. Striking his arm as the thought reverberated through her being, she loved watching him suffer her might for just a moment.

The daggers ensured they fought closely. They could feel each other's breath on their skin, hear each other's moans as music of war. Sauron sliced across her chest, but only managed to cut through the fabric of her dress, as Galadriel jumped back just in time. The conflict grew quickly in its heat, and it wasn’t long before they were forcing each other up against walls, kicking and struggling, holding nothing back.

Not even their feelings.

It was Sauron’s lips of course that found Galadriel’s first, and even as she groaned in protest, she was never one to back down from any kind of conflict. So she grabbed his head and pulled him flush against her, sliding her tongue over his. Sauron dropped his dagger and took her face with both hands, before pinning her back against the wall, trapping her beneath his pleasurable mercy.

A second later he was kissing his way down her body and lifting up her gown to put himself underneath it, grinning at the sight of her sex before taking her into his mouth. Galadriel cried out, the sound bouncing off the walls, down the way to where the orcs were gathered, and they scent a chorus of gnarls back in their direction. She didn’t want those creatures to know what their master was doing to her, but quickly that was irrelevant. Galadriel did not wish to sacrifice this ecstasy for her pride.

She was sinking deeper into him as his tongue was within her, her head back against the damp wall, her hands desperately clutching his head, using him so selfishly, a feeling she certainly was not used to. And why shouldn’t she use him? He had more than so thoroughly used her over their many years of strife. She should be entitled to grind against his face until he couldn’t breathe.

Not that he needed air of course.

It happened quickly this time. After barely a minute Galadriel’s font was pouring down his throat, and Sauron was licking his lips in satisfaction, having placated his goddess in the most wonderful of ways. But that was not the ending of this tryst.

“Get up.” Galadriel commanded, though her voice was a little quiet. Sauron wasn’t sure if that was from her exhaustion or from something else. The she-elf desired nothing else but to return the favour, but her want for it did not outweigh her tentativeness. The dark lord rose for her, and after exchanging a heady glance at her, asked what next she wished for.

“I want you… Sauron… I… want to make you feel as I do.”
He smiled down at her, their height difference keenly felt with their bodies against each other like this. “And how, pray tell… might you do that, elf?”

Galadriel groaned internally. Of course he wasn’t going to give her an inch. If she wanted this, she had to make it happen herself. Irritated, she swapped their positions, pushing him against the wall. He laughed. “Good. What is your next move then?”
“Something like this, I would assume?” She slowly moved her hand to rest over his groin, feeling without a doubt his aching for her resting beneath his trousers. Sauron gasped, then gasped louder as she gave him a little squeeze and tug. “That’s… that’s very good, elf. Keep going.”

She smiled to herself and her confidence began to grow. She knew in order to do this right, to make him feel as good as he had made her, that she had to listen to his reaction. This was how she would get what she wanted from him. Galadriel tugged on him again and Sauron groaned. She gazed up at him and was struck with rapturous joy for the look upon his face. Despite her distaste for his Annatar visage, she was enjoying seeing it contorted with pleasure and knowing that she was the cause of it. If Sauron thinks that Galadriel is the reason for this form returning, then she would be all too pleased to mould it into shape with her own hands upon him.

Urged by her need for this, Galadriel got on her knees and took off his trousers as she did so, exposing what beauty he had to her eyes. Sauron was more than ready to receive her, in fact he nearly fell apart completely as he looked down to see her face, her mouth so close to his weeping cock. Her breath alone on the sensitive skin made him quiver, his hands clutching the wall at his back. Part of him wanted to grab her head and thrust himself into her, using her for his ends. But there was something in her eyes, in the way she was staring at him so naked to her that kept him still. “Tell me, elf… what are you to do with what lies before you?” He teased, unable to resist at least that much.

Galadriel knew what he wanted, because if she enjoyed his mouth upon her to the point of breaking, then there was little doubt he would not fancy the same. So slowly, she dipped her head forward and let the tip of him pass her lips. Sauron made a sound she had never heard before. It was a moan of complete unravelling. He even lost his grip with the wall a little, causing more of him to enter her mouth. He cursed in the black speech and whilst this shocked Galadriel, her ears loathing the sound of it, she found herself to rather enjoy being in control of Sauron’s pleasures.

So much so, her pace soon picked up, and he slid deeper to the back of her throat, causing something akin to a growl to emanate from the dark lord above. Galadriel started to find the more ecstasy she caused in him, the more of it grew within herself, so with her courage at its peak, she let her hands wander. One slid up and under his shirt, feeling every bump and finding every line of his muscular features. Sauron quivered again as she grazed him there. Her other hand meanwhile took hold of his swollen cock, moving up and down along his length in tandem with her mouth.

“Galadriel!” Sauron called out her name as if he were praying to a new god for the first time. The two of them were loving every moment of this, but soon enough it came to an end. Sauron’s moans started getting louder, becoming more feral and animal like, a beast let loose. He placed one of his hands at the back of her head, revelling in the feeling of her soft beautiful hair. Though he did not force her movements, he simply wished to be a part of them. So together, the music they made crescendoed into a grand chorus and Sauron let go, releasing his euphoria into the world and down her throat.

She balked at the taste of him for a moment but held fast, not wanting to disappoint him or show weakness in his moment of greatest joy. He throbbed in her mouth as the last of him landed on her tongue, and once swallowed and sated, the two beings collapsed to the floor and waited together for their breath to catch.

“I told you… it never ends with us.”

*****

Sauron’s form did not revert back to its twisted self again after that night. And while this pleased him, to have a fair form once more, he could see it in Galadriel’s eyes every time she looked at him that she despised it. Somehow this frustrated him more than before. It was one thing to have the dark appearance of a monster made flesh, but it was another thing to wear the guise of one who caused her people such devastation and grief. Galadriel didn’t need to say anything when her face spoke for her in the plainest of ways.

Not even their blissful tryst in the corridor near her chambers made any difference. It only served to complicate things further. Galadriel began to question herself and truly wondered if she had a hold of her senses. Though she could not deny that something inside her was aching for him. He who had killed so many. Her brother. Celebrimbor. Elendil. Gil-galad. Of course the world was covered in his darkness now. He had stolen all its light.

But then there was Elrond. Galadriel found her mind wandering to her great friend, and she prayed that he was safe and well.

“There you are, Mellon."
“It is good to hear you, Elrond.”
“And you, Galadriel. How are you faring?”

He sounded gravely concerned for her, as he should be, but she couldn’t hold back her concern for him.

“Never mind me, what of our people? I can see the Shadow has spread further than we hoped.”
“It has reached all corners of the land, yes. But it halts at the sea.”
“Does it?”
“Yes. It is why our people are planning to leave this place. It is time to return home. There is nothing… nothing left for us.”

Galadriel could tell Elrond was having trouble admitting this to her. She wept to hear his words, but she also knew he was right. Sauron was victorious. There was no war left to be fought. There would be no rescue of Galadriel, the lady of light.

“Sauron was true to his oath, which surprised me more than it would you, I think.” This made Galadriel laugh a moment. “He did cease the fighting. No men, elves, or dwarves have been harmed since you went to him.” Elrond filled Galadriel with the most bittersweet happiness. She was relieved to know that he kept his word, that he had not lied, that her people were safe. And there was light over the sea… what did that mean? Surely Sauron’s reach would be endless, that it would go so far as to nip at the shores of the morning but go no further? Yet it had stopped at the cliffs, like a man who knew he could not leap from them and survive. Was it fear then? Or something else?

“Oh, Elrond… I…” She wanted to say she wished she could go with him to Valinor. But that was not what he needed to hear right now. “I… I know I will reunite with you, some day. Whether it is in the coming weeks or years, or even at the breaking of the world. We will be together again.”
Galadriel could feel his smile in his next words. “In this I trust. You speak true. And then all will be well. Namárië, Galadriel.”
“Namárië.”

THUD! THUD! THUD!

The door burst open, severing the connection between them, and an orc demanded without patience: “My lord sends an invitation to dinner. He asks that you wear this.” A second orc threw a mess of fabric that landed on her bed, and before Galadriel could say anything, the door was promptly closed so she could dress.

Despite her still feeling conflicted about Sauron, she was all too thankful for new garments, as her tattered white gown was beyond the point of appropriate attire. Though what waited for her atop the mattress was not something befitting a dark queen of Mordor. There were no metallics, no black lace, no crimson velvet in sight. What laid before her was a gown of gold. Yet it was not rich and blinding to the eye, no, it was softer, more delicate. Galadriel was taken aback by its beauty. It was something she would wear as she strolled through her gardens in Lothlórien, or through the halls of Lindon.

How did he–

“Hurry up!” An orc growled through the door. Galadriel let out a huff of frustration but did as she was ordered. She quickly left the white dress on the floor and let the golden one fall over her body. It felt very grand upon her too, with its intricate pearl beading and long see through sleeves that hooked over her thumbs. It even had a small train behind her and hid her bare feet as she walked out of the room.

She was not lead to the throne room this time, but to another lofty hall where, thankfully, no tapestries lined the walls this time. Only lamps hung in place, giving what light they could, making for a warm dinner setting as their glow held back the coldness this place always seemed to exude. Sauron was waiting for her at the head of the table, and he rose to his feet as a mark of respect for her entrance.

Sitting down directly opposite him at the other end of the table, Galadriel wished only to view him from afar, lest their passions get the better of them. She wanted to engage in a civilised manner, as possible as that could be in this place, and she hoped Sauron would respect that as well.

Yet his blazing eyes did not leave her body.

“It is even more radiant upon you than I envisioned.” He spoke, his voice like silk. Galadriel couldn’t stop the heat from hitting her cheeks, her body, her desires betraying her even in the most subtle of ways. “May I ask where you procured it?” She enquired, hoping to steer the conversation into something more clinical and less wanton.

Sauron smiled at her, and ran his fingertips across his chin and his lips, contemplating how to answer her, if he should at all. Why it could be fun to keep something like this a mystery, so on that note, he retorted with something the elf did not expect.

“May I ask why you didn’t use that dagger sooner? Surely you came into possession of it for a time before you pointed it in my direction?”

Galadriel’s brow furrowed and her cheeks lost their colour. All wanton thought abandoned the conversation. She did not wish to speak of that, despite Sauron’s playful mood.

“Yes, I imagine you grasped it on that first day. The first chance you got close to an orc. So why then, did you hide it for so long?”

She wanted badly to leave, but that would be worse than staying. Staying was the lesser of the two evils in this moment, just as she was the lesser of two evils at this table. So she decided to play his game, but play it her way.

It was then that their food was brought in, a full plate of sliced meats and bread, dripping in some kind of smoky sauce. It did not look appetising in the slightest, but it was probably going to be the best meal she’d had since entering Mordor. She hadn’t needed to eat much of course, gulping down the occasional bowl of soup in between her days of seeing the dark lord. And she wasn’t going to be one to forget her manners or her upbringing as a guest in someone’s house.

Even here in Barad-dûr.

Galadriel took a sip of her wine, red as blood but not as bitter, and appraised a waiting Sauron who smirked like he had already secured victory over her in this small battle.

“If you tell me where you got this gown, I too shall reveal all about that dagger.”

The dark lord laughed, but it was not sinister. It was light, and a little flirtatious. It reminded her of one thing. She stopped her mind before it could glimpse his face.

“Very well, elf.” Sauron sipped from his own goblet then, before sharing his tale with her. “It was a long while ago now when my eyes first spied the finery you now possess. Long before you set foot upon these shores. There was another whom I admired, and she admired me back. Though, our love was not of the body. Even though she was beauty incarnate.”

“Of whom do you speak?” Galadriel was overcome with curiosity.
“I speak of Melian.”
“This gown was hers?”

Sauron nodded, a small fond smile etched into his features now. A weird contrast to his unfeeling Annatar appearance. “She wore it many times in Valinor, before she found her home in Doriath. It was one of the few relics I was able to find in the ruins of Menegroth, after the dwarves sacked it.”

Galadriel was genuinely shocked. “I do not recall her ever wearing this. And were you not then a being retreated from the world? I do recall what ills Melian’s daughter brought upon you.”
“I wish I did not.” Sauron uttered, managing to laugh at himself. “Let me just say that… I have my ways. And not all secrets are meant for even your elven ears. But the dress… yes. It was hers. I saw her sing in it many times. She was mesmerising. I thought that maybe if… if you would wear it, it would bring her back to me in some small way. Since I will never see her again. My dear friend.”

Silence stretched the distance between them and beyond, until there was nothing else for them but to eat their dinner. Galadriel knew not what to say. Sauron had possibly said too much. He began to fear that she might get the wrong idea about Melian, that maybe he was in love with her as he was now with Galadriel. But that was simply not the case. He had spoken true, if not a little too vulnerably. It was up to her to take in his words and decide what to do with them.

It took her the rest of her meal to contemplate all he had said. Sometimes she forgot that he had a life before Morgoth. Before all the hatred and foulness entered his veins. That he too knew Melian as she did. Of course they knew each other. He was maiar after all, same as she. They were both created for the same purpose. To aid in the blossoming of Arda. Only now Sauron had twisted that. Or was it Morgoth that had? Had his mission always been the same? To foster peace?

It was then that Galadriel remembered what Elrond had told her about the Shadow stopping at the edges of Middle-earth, making her even more curious. She needed to know what that meant.

“I know the darkness ceases by the sea.” She just came out with it, catching Sauron off guard for once.
“I thought you were going to tell me about the dagger.” He pointed out her forgetfulness of their original bargain, offering a half-hearted smile.

Galadriel rose to her feet and walked down the length of the table to be next to him, proximity be damned. “It is plain that you are aware of this as well.” Sauron avoided her eyes and sipped his wine. “You once spoke to me of a darkness that threatened to spread and cover all the world. That was your darkness. And yet… it does not do this?”

Sauron sighed, placing his goblet firmly on the table. Without a tilt of his head, he blinked and looked upon her, his expression grave. “Can I show you why?”

Galadriel bit back a smile and nodded. He was asking permission to enter her mind. And even though he did not need to, he reached out and placed a tender hand atop her own. The last thing Galadriel saw was him closing his eyes, before she was whisked far away, to a place where the salty sea air filled her lungs and made her smile.

They were back in Númenor.

Galadriel smiled through the ache she felt as she let her vision fall over this beautiful isle. It was just as it was when they arrived that fateful day Elendil pulled them from the sea. And looking down at herself now she realised - so were they. Her elven shift marred by the ocean and rain swayed slightly in the breeze. Beneath her toes was the damp wood of the very same ship that gave them passage to Armenelos. Standing at her side, gazing only at her of course, was Halbrand. Weather worn and weary was he, carrying a solemnity in his eyes that he had not held that day. He tilted his head in the direction of something to Galadriel’s other side.

Elendil.

Galadriel wanted to weep but she did not. He was in the throes of commanding his men, readying the ship to take anchor in the bay, before they would board the dinghy that would see them to the docks. He was in his element, looking lordly as ever with his billowing hair, his deep sea blue gambeson with white scale like armour atop it. Though he wasn’t a lord, or even a king just yet. Only a mere sea captain, one whose brush with destiny would shape the course of all things to come.

The ship rounded a bend and the capital city came into view. It had always been a sight to behold, though perhaps the ocean coveted it more than most, given where it rested now. All of the white buildings that sprawled back with touches of gold and rich wood. So much impressive stone and marble had come together to give these noble men a home for so many years. And then there were the giant statues of Eärendil the Mariner, and his beautiful wife Elwing. Not only were they Elrond’s parents, but they brought into the world Elros, Númenor’s first king. Such love for them was held that it was only fitting for them to be commemorated in stone.

“It fills me with a great sadness to see it as it once was.” Halbrand’s voice uttered from behind her. “This kingdom of men. One of the valar’s greatest gifts.”
Galadriel felt herself become filled with disgust, forgetting all that had transpired at dinner, and she rounded on Sauron without mercy. “How dare you. How dare you speak any of that! What right have you to mourn the loss of this great island? You who saw to Eru himself tearing it asunder and sinking it beneath the waves!”

Sauron did not fault her words, nor did he fight back. She was right and he knew it. Though it didn’t make it any less sad. “Being with you again Galadriel has brought me back to this time. I’ve been… reliving these days we shared together. They meant so very much to me.”
“Then why did you destroy it?! Why did you gain Pharazôn’s ear and lead him and Númenor to their doom?”
“You know why.”
“Don’t give me that. This cannot be a case of someone losing themselves to their evil ego-driven desires! You may be powerful, Deceiver, but you did not have to raze this treasured land to ashes and salt!”

The she-elf struck a nerve.

“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It is what you are. Or would you rather me call you Sauron instead? Or Annatar? Or the Abhorred? Anything other than the name of the one whose skin you wear!”
“We are one and the same being, Galadriel! Can you not see that? Or are you so blinded by your hatred for me that you refuse to see the truths I am trying to show you!?”
“Perhaps I shall call you, Zigûr, then! You dark, treacherous, evil wizard!”

Galadriel unlocked something in Sauron then, something that she quickly prayed to take back.

His eyes went pitch black, with small twisting veins creeping out from them and down his cheeks. His skin returned to that translucence he had embodied before, with his hair growing, changing to a striking red and billowing like flames in the breeze. A breeze that was quickly becoming a gale. Halbrand’s ship-wrecked attire was no more. It had shifted into pitch black robes, adorned with gold and bronze lettering. Galadriel recognised one symbol representing Pharazôn, but the rest… they all screamed Melkor.

The skies overhead became shrouded with blackened clouds with only white lightning to part them. Suddenly a great roar came from behind Galadriel, and as she turned to face Armenelos presently, she was faced with great tragedy. The city was burning. And now, in the centre of it appeared a great dome like structure. A cathedral of sorts. Or a temple. Thick charcoal smoke swelled above it from out an opening at the apex. Smoke that carried the souls of men that had met their doom.

The water around them in the bay was violent, waves were thrashing against the ship, coming from seemingly every single direction. It was then Galadriel realised that they were alone. The crew had vanished and so had Elendil. She took heart knowing that he was not here to see this. In truth he and his family and the faithful had long fled to Middle-earth at the time of this great unmaking.

It was just her and Zigûr alone.

Suddenly the water pulled with immense power, dragging them slowly out of the bay and out of sight of Sauron’s menace made manifest. Galadriel knew what this meant.

The wave was near.

“Why are you showing me this?!” Galadriel screamed at the dark wizard over the cacophony of nature’s force.
“You gave me no choice.” Sauron’s words boomed, final and exacting. “No matter what I do… no matter… how much I love you… you will never see me. You will never see anything else but… this!”

At that moment he raised his hands, lifting his body into the air in a manner she had never witnessed, and with him moving towards the temple was the great wave. Though it split in two so Galadriel could remain unharmed. Sauron desperately wanted her to see this. The wall of water passed her without incident, and she could spy with her elven eyes, Sauron reaching the temple. After barely seconds with his feet on the roof, everything in sight, including him, was devoured by the will of Eru.

Yet it wasn’t the screams of the dying that haunted Galadriel the most, no.

It was his face.

He was sorrow itself.

For he had given up.

And all Galadriel was left to do now was wait. Wait for the wave to consume her too. She felt their shared grief wash over her, and the water at last broke apart Elendil’s ship, sending her into the deep.

She was gasping for air, grasping for a hold on anything in her surroundings to pull her to the surface. But there was nothing. Sauron had left her to contemplate all that had transpired. Once she understood that, she relaxed, floating in the water that now felt so calm when seconds ago it was savage like a monster untamed. Galadriel thought of Ulmo and prayed that he would show her mercy somehow.

It was all too fitting for her to be here. Her life had become consumed by Sauron, and he had nearly drowned her before, in more ways than one. She was afraid. Afraid that she might lose herself to him completely if she gave in to him. If she acknowledged all he said as truths. Though she could not deny how much he had changed since she passed through the Black Gate. He was nothing like the man she once knew. He was cruel and evil and manipulative, causing her great sorrow and pain. But then he had transformed slowly away from that beast he was. The physical transformation was fascinating and the most shocking, but with that his demeanour had altered as well, and Galadriel still had trouble believing any of it. She was so accustomed to his tricks and ruses. But then she thought of his solemnity as he let the wave take him. In reality, he had been at his giddiest when Númenor fell, it was his grandest achievement. One would expect him to be unable to hide that kind of enjoyment, even here in this shared vision. Yet there had been no joy in his eyes.

Was it time for Galadriel to accept him? And accept what she had unknowingly gifted him?

He knew her mind. So when a familiar hand broke through the stillness above her, she was not startled or surprised. She was ready to take it.

Sauron pulled her to the surface and she drew in air like a newborn, coughing and gasping. He let go of her once she got her bearings, and moved to sit on a spot all too commonplace, it forged the very backbone of their relationship.

They were on the raft.

Galadriel knew this place would haunt her to the end of her days. There was so much feeling and purpose attached to it. It was as pivotal as any memorable battle ground or king’s court. A place where destiny was decided, where her future was set in stone.

Of course he would bring her here. She only hoped it was for the last time.

It was becoming too painful to stand once more on this wet and wrecked wood.

“It is painful for me too, Galadriel.” He finally spoke. “Our little raft, filled with so much promise. Of partnership. Of me helping you. And I… asking you to help me.”

She turned to look at him, back in his rags, soaked in seawater same as she. His mossy eyes were so determined and pleading. It was almost as if he had brought himself so low before her. That part of it was needing her to see him like this again, keeping in mind all she had recently experienced, and hoping that it would affect her next steps. Galadriel was looking for manipulation in the madness, even though part of her did not wish to find it.

“I know I have said you refuse to see me. You refuse to see anything else other than the dark lord I was forged to be. I suppose I have not given you much reason to act otherwise. My Shadow was spreading far and wide, continuing to do so since you came to me. But as time went on it slowed, and as I felt it reach the sea I had come to a great realisation. I had sullied the ocean once before and I wished not to do it again.”

“But why, explain to me why?”

“It was you, Galadriel. Being with you brought me back to who I truly sought to be. That my vision for order and peace had been tainted by my former master. That after millennia I wanted nothing more than to break that cycle and to please you. To be with you. To be bathed in your light and let it sweep over the lands. My reach and your spirit combined can make this possible.”

Galadriel felt something stir inside her at his words, something she wanted to hold onto. But all doubt needed to be eradicated first. “You spent so much more time with him than you have ever spent with me… how could I possibly change you so?”
Sauron smiled. “I don’t know. I cannot fully explain it. I only have faith that it is because of how you make me feel, Galadriel. How I make you feel. That bond between us that can never be broken, whether we are crossing swords or holding each other close in any and every reality. Our purpose is greater than that I shared with Morgoth. And darkness always retreats from the light, so maybe… maybe that is all it is. Just your presence alone. Your light itself has changed me fundamentally. I know it is why I have a fair form again, even if it is a form I know you despise. Do you see it yet? Do you understand, Galadriel?”

Galadriel was overcome. In his speech she heard words that had been spoken once by another. Not the very same words, words Sauron would not have heard, but their message was one in the same.

“But perhaps, the elves only need remember that it is not strength that overcomes darkness, but light…”

Celebrimbor.

“...For in its presence, all darkness must flee.”

Galadriel felt her cheeks dampen, and knew it was not seawater cast at her skin by the wind. She looked across at Sauron, Halbrand, and felt something great and heavy fall away from her body and spirit, like an anchor cast off and sent to the ocean floor. Something to moor her here and keep her steady. With him. Here with him. Where she was always supposed to be.

She knew then in her heart without question that it was real. It had all been real. He was coming back to her. Halbrand was coming back to her at last.

“Have I strayed into a dream?” She spoke softly, voice trembling, marred by her emotions. Halbrand rose to his feet and crossed the few steps between them to grasp both her hands in his. He looked down at his elf with such disbelief. “I fear you have strayed into mine. For what I sense in you surely cannot be for certain.”

Galadriel could not help but laugh at him. “What a pair we make. Let us be fools no longer. Let us just simply be.”

No sooner had the words passed her lips did Halbrand take them with his own. Galadriel let out a small moan as he kissed her and felt the peace with him she had so wanted but never thought she would receive. It was a feeling of freedom almost that had taken hold, a feeling she had not possessed since her time in Aman. When the horrors of existence were far away and there was never a thought that they would come to pass. For the first time since she knew him, Galadriel believed in him fully and wanted completely to be the true queen he had once asked her to be.

And again, as always, he knew her mind.

“You are fair as the sea and the sun. Stronger than the foundations of the earth. I alone can see your light. May I make you a queen so that all the world can be bathed in your greatness? So that all the world can see how you saved them? How you saved me?”

She beamed up at him in sheer happiness. “I would desire nothing more. No darkness… with I at your side.”

Halbrand grinned and stole another kiss from her. One that escalated into something more befitting a different location. Galadriel felt things shift around her but did not open her eyes, and did not cease the movements of her lips upon him. It was only when his hand found that precious place between her thighs that her lids burst open to reveal they were no longer at sea. But nor were they in the dining hall or even her bed chambers, yet she did feel the comforts of a mattress at her back.

They were in his room. His bed. It couldn’t help but startle her, the territory unfamiliar. Never did she think she would find herself here. But as he groaned against her neck and slipped a finger within, her relief and her happiness could only be amplified. “Mmm… still damp from the sea are we?” Halbrand jested.

Halbrand?

She watched him move down her body, unlacing the golden gown she had worn at his request, exposing her breasts to him, and they arched in his direction at his adding of a second digit. But it was not this that caused her the most pleasure in this moment. She was watching Halbrand, not Sauron, ravage her body. His tousled auburn locks were in her grasp, his mossy green eyes staring deeply at her from under his brow. His beauty marks. His coarse smithing hands. All of it. All of him. It was here.

“Have you not yet realised?” She asked him excitedly, beyond thrilled for this wonderful surprise. “Can you not feel the change in you?”
He smiled at her lovingly. “All I feel is you.”

Galadriel struggled to hold back her tears of joy. Not only had her presence transformed him into who he was always meant to be, but he had also looked within himself and truly rid his spirit of the monster that once lurked there. All those words over many long years of wanting to heal Middle-earth, Sauron had finally done the one piece of healing that was needed above all others. He had at last earned the right to wear the guise of Halbrand for all time.

“I want you to share yourself with me, Halbrand. Your body, your spirit… let us join our flesh and cling to each other in a way that will assure we shall never be parted.”
“As you wish… my queen.”

She quivered from within at the sound of his lust filled voice calling her that, and gasping, she rose to meet him, the two of them shedding clothes between heated meetings of tongues, their passions unleashed in a manner yet unseen or experienced for them both. Galadriel did not hesitate as she did during their last tryst, to take his hard length in her hand and give it a tug in her direction, aiming it at the desire he caused in her.

Halbrand groaned and pushed her back upon the bed, and Galadriel spread her legs apart for him to nestle in. He was tempted to tease her by running the tip against her wetness, but the time for foreplay was over. It was time for him to claim her as his equal.

They cried out as he entered her, eyes rolling backwards into skulls. Now their existence was complete. The sensation was immaculate on both sides, for him to be wrapped in her, and for her to feel all he had to give. And give he did as he began to glide himself in and out, their moaning giving way to a mixture of panting and whining. Galadriel clutched at his back, dragging her fingernails down his skin, causing Halbrand to retaliate by clasping his mouth over her neck. All fear had fled from her as he bit down, and she relished the pleasurable pain that spread down through her body to meet her core that he was meeting with every single hard thrust.

It was sheer bliss for the both of them, blinding and whiter than the light that filled their bodies so utterly. Neither of them had ever felt such a way. Not even when Halbrand had helped to sing Arda into existence. Not even when Galadriel played with her brothers under the light of the two trees. There had been so much pain for them both since then, and that perhaps was an added element to why this moment was beyond wonderful. It was a culmination of so much history and conflict. Of so much love and loss. And as they stared into each others eyes they saw the end of the world reflected back at them - with the two of them together side by side, hand in hand, bringing to life the second music and the second world.

This vision was the catalyst for their rapture to reach its greatest height yet, and as one, Galadriel and Halbrand were overcome by ecstasy, their bodies surrendering helplessly and happily. Neither being could catch their breath for some time, nor could remove their sight from the other. All that was uttered henceforth was “I love you.” from both their lips, which then kissed languidly until their energy began to restore.

Halbrand held Galadriel close in his arms, their legs tangled in silk sheets, their fingers interlocked tight. They lay in silence for hours, listening to each others breathing and heartbeats, with Halbrand occasionally running his fingers along her forearm, causing Galadriel to sigh and snuggle further against him. Soon enough however, their passions took hold once more, and with his head between her thighs, Halbrand savoured his new favourite taste in existence, slowly torturing her with the delight of his tongue and lips. After he’d seen to her release two more times, Galadriel protested and begged him to let her return the favour. Halbrand simply looked up at her from his delicious vantage point and said, “There will be time for that later. I’m not finished with you just yet. A queen must be thoroughly pleased by her king, must she not?”

He gave her no time to form words in reply, only screams.

This was a sea they would happily both drown in.

*****

The days to come were different from the days gone past. Halbrand declared to the world that Sauron was gone and that he would never return. Galadriel could sense the peoples of Middle-earth refusing to believe him, but when the Shadow receded all the way back to Mordor, ending as a small harmless plume of smoke above Mount Doom, there was hope in the lands like never before. Celebrations took place far and wide. The kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor were especially glad for this jubilation, having suffered the greatest loss when Sauron defeated their kings. The elves had not yet parted, and Elrond lead celebrations on behalf of his people from Rivendell, and the dwarves of Khazad-dûm rejoiced and drank proudly like never before. A heavy cloud had lifted from Middle-earth, and not only physically.

Halbrand, joined by Galadriel, released the orcs and goblins from his service, giving them their first ever chance to live freely without encumberment. This was not as easily accepted, and in fairness, there were those in the world who wished Halbrand be imprisoned or even destroyed for his monstrous crimes. Galadriel did not wish to see this happen and advocated for his redemption already achieved. But Halbrand had other plans.

He invited royalty, old and new, to a summit at Barad-dûr. There was the young king of Arnor, Valendil, chaperoned by Elrond; Meneldil, King of Gondor; Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm; and Durin IV, King of the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm. Along with many other dignitaries Halbrand felt worthy to share his words with. He had not spoken to Galadriel about what he intended, but she took solace sensing the peace he felt within. She did not need to know the details, for the details did not matter. She would go wherever he would. Never would they be parted.

“Thank you all for coming. I know this must be a strange meeting, but I assure you the travel is well spent.” They were all seated around the very same dining table that he had spoken to Galadriel of Melian, and she was warmed greatly to see so many good and familiar faces. Her reunion with Elrond before this dinner had been one filled with unbridled joy. Never had she been more happy to hear and see him in the flesh. “And now that our bellies are fuller I hope, it is time to announce what I am sure is something that will put you all at the greatest of ease.

“I cede my rule of Middle-earth to you all. Starting with the tearing down of this tower. This and any other mark of my former self across this land, shall be erased.” There were many whispers exchanged between elf, man, and dwarf alike, and looks of shock and surprise widened many eyes. “The mountain, whose name Orodruin shall henceforth be reinstated, has quietened down. A slumber is upon it. The skies over Mordor shall be blue as they once were, ever untouched by the perils of the deep. And…” Halbrand paused and looked to his love, taking her hand.

“Galadriel and I shall exile ourselves to the East.” This drew the biggest reaction from the room, and Elrond gazed across at his friend now filled with bittersweet sadness. She sent him back a look of reassurance, expressing the strength of her trust in the one she loved. “It is the only way, Mellon. I must go with him.”
“I know.”

“But what of the ring?” He spoke aloud, drawing heads away from Halbrand.
“A fair question, Lord Elrond.” Meneldil chimed in.
“It must be destroyed.” Demanded Durin IV, with a heavy look in his eye. It was too personal for him especially to ignore.

“I do not wish to speak against any of your sorrows, friends.” Galadriel began calmly. “I see your need for justice. But the ring cannot be destroyed. Not now that Orodruin stands dormant. And destroying the one ring would take Halbrand from me. This cannot happen. This is why we must leave you all.”
“And leave the ring behind for you to guard.” Halbrand stated, pulling out a velvet pouch from his pocket. All knew exactly what lay within. “I hope that you trust in this gesture most of all. In its forging, I poured all of my cruelty and malice into it, all the darkest parts of my being. Whilst I wore the ring, I was still vulnerable to be consumed by that evil. But no longer. Galadriel saved me. I took off the ring and have refused to wear it ever since.”

He had made the ring for her, yes, but not out of love, only possession. His feelings for her having now transcended that flaw, Halbrand saw no use for it any longer. Galadriel was his but not in dominance, only in the way she was destined to be.

She recalled within herself then, the moment he removed that evil band from his body. Funnily enough it had been a moment she almost missed, as it was nearly lost between their throes of bliss. If not for the finality of the thud it had made as Halbrand placed it on the nightstand. Galadriel said nothing of it, only showing her amplified appreciation with every touch of her hands and mouth. If Halbrand had chosen not to place importance upon his most beautiful of transformations, then there was little doubt he cared for his decision to take off the ring. Even if it was his greatest change of all. Besides, he was demonstrating the importance of it now, when it mattered most. And then Galadriel decided to emphasise to all gathered here a more serious implication.

“But know this. If any of you were to betray his gesture of faith, if any of you were to destroy the ring and take him from me… then in the place of a dark lord you would set up a queen more terrible and treacherous than ever witnessed.”

Galadriel felt a fear spread across the room at her words, one she was fine with instilling, but one she prayed she would never have to enact. It was not a threat, and her tone had not been threatening. It wasn’t even a warning. Only a promise.

She felt Halbrand place his ringless hand atop her own, a mark of gratitude and reassurance that she had not spoken out of turn. She looked to him with love before looking at Elrond once again, and he carried nothing but respect for his friend. That was all the comfort she needed.

“I shall take my leave for you to consider all I have offered. I hope that you find reason and understanding.” Halbrand stated, rising to his feet. Galadriel went with him.

The two of them felt all eyes at their back.

Walking through the great tower for one last time, they strolled out onto a large balcony, one from which Sauron had once spread his terrible ills. The second Halbrand reached the railing he burst into tears. “My love,” Galadriel called to him. “What is the matter?”
“They aren’t to accept my compromise, Galadriel. I can feel it.” He turned to her, desperation taking hold. “They only wish to see my destruction.”
“You do not know that.” She countered him, her voice soothing but having little effect.
“I fear it is all I deserve. And why would it not be?” His eyes were red and consumed by sorrow. “I should hand myself over to be drawn and quartered, eviscerated and burned! I should tell them to destroy the ring! I have avoided the punishment of the valar for too long. I pray foolishly for forgiveness I have not earned.”

“Haven’t you? You have put right so much you did wrong, Halbrand! And you promise to do more! You promise to remove yourself entirely from any and all positions of influence. It began when you ceased the fighting between the elves, men, and orcs. The peace you wished to spread… you have done that. They have seen that… and I have no doubt they will continue to let you do so. I am sure you know this. So why do you doubt?”

“Because I do not want to lose you when it feels like I just found you.”

Tears welled up in Galadriel now, but she used all her strength to not have them fall. She pulled him into her arms and let him weep, stroking gently his hair. “You are not going to lose me, Halbrand. We saw each other, remember? At the end of all things. At the beginning of the next world. There is so much more for us to do here until then. I have faith they will come to the right decision.”

So they stood on the balcony and waited, holding each other and eventually turning to see what Mordor looked like now. It was a far cry from only weeks ago when the soil was black as the sky, and the scent of sulfur and death permeated all. Parts of the land had now become fertile, and small patches of grass and flowers were beginning to burst through. Galadriel was sad then that she would not be here to witness the rebirth of the Southlands. So she closed her eyes and let her mind wander, picturing all the greenery as far as the eye could see. The return of townships, the resurrection of woods.

A newly fallen log becomes covered in a little moss.

An elf comes to rest upon it, joined in time by a man.

They sever the tension between them before it spirals out of control, with a kiss that ought to have been shared long, long ago.

Galadriel sighs and clings tighter to her love.

It is at this moment that Elrond interrupts her daydreaming. “We have come to an accord.”

She looks at her friend, noting the tone in his voice and now the glimmer in his eye.

Then she smiles.