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Galadriel rubs at her chest, breathes in deeply as another wave of pain shoots through her. She’s exhausted, has pushed herself too far for the day, but there is so much to do to bring this new realm into being. She can only abide the healers orders to rest for so long. Her hands need to be moving, prefers the ache in her body over the doubts that curl in her mind, constantly pushing to the forefront when she gives herself a moment to breathe.

“We’ve more than earned a respite,” Elrond protests, gives her that look she knows means he won’t budge.

The others look to her and she knows she needs to lay down the hammer she’s been wielding, that they will not unless she does. She wipes the sweat from her brow and finally acquiesces, even though it stings that she must.

Lay down her sword.

Lay down her hammer.

What will they ask of her next?

It’s not fair. She knows that, is grateful that none of them can hear her traitorous thoughts as she nods her head in agreement. “The work will be there for us to return to tomorrow,” she says, lets Elrond tuck her arm in his as he starts walking.

“Is it acting up again?” he asks once they are far enough away from the others.

“No more than usual.” It’s the truth but she knows it’s not what he wants to hear. She’d rather it didn’t ache at all either, that Nenya and the healers were able to rid her skin of the reminder of the wound, of what he’d done. But the scar remains, even if the darkness it tried to spread through her is gone. A constant reminder, as if her memories do not plague her enough already.

“You should still be resting,” Elrond starts but she pulls away from him.

“We’ve discussed this enough already.” Her voice is adamant, will not broach this topic again. They’ve done so enough already. Why rehash it? Spinning around and around changes nothing, no matter how many times he brings it up.

She knows he is worried. She’s worried as well, but there’s little she can do about a wound they know little about, that no one else has ever been afflicted with. Galadriel will not let it break her. She will grow from this, just as she’s grown from everything else.

“Galadriel,” Elrond tries but she shakes her head again.

Whatever reply she might have dies on her tongue as they enter her rooms. Gil-galad stands in the middle of them, his guards at his side. He waves his hand, dismisses them. Galadriel knows they will not go far, but whatever he has to say is not for their ears. He is tense, his shoulders tight, the look he gives her an assessing one, as though he’s trying to determine something but she can’t figure out what.

She glances at Elrond but he looks as bewildered as her to find the High King here. “I need you to be honest with me, Galadriel,” Gil-galad starts and it’s like a dagger to the heart. She’d thought they were past this, that he’d trusted her now after Eregion. But there’s suspicion in his gaze.

No. That’s not it.

It’s disappointment.

She wracks her brain; tries to think of what she could have done in the past few months to have earned that from him. She has not picked up a sword, has worked at healing, at being the beacon of light he wishes her to be for their kin. Helps with building this new realm. All tasks he’s given to her.

“It seems Sauron has claimed the area known as the Southlands as his own. That the tribes of men between there and the Greenwood, in Lorien and nearing here have sworn their allegiance to him.”

It’s what she has feared would happen. She expects he’s using the rings on them, that he’s giving them to their leaders and twisting their minds so they are loyal only to him.

“As King Halbrand.”

Galadriel tries not to flinch but she sees Gil-galad’s mouth twitch, knows he’s seen her reaction.

“We expected that he might do this,” Elrond reminds as he sits down on one of her chairs.

Galadriel does not join him, rooted to her spot as the High King still looks at her. “He has them attacking elven areas, destroying elven convoys, killing the elves they come across. Leaving only one lone survivor each time. All with the same message.”

Her heart pounds in her chest. She wonders if the other two can hear it with how loud it sounds. It nearly drowns out his next words.

“Demanding the return of their queen that we have taken from them.”

Her stomach drops, palms sweaty as she forgets how to breathe for a moment.

“Queen?” Elrond rises then and she can’t look at him either.

Her heart is louder as she closes her eyes, her wound aching. She presses a hand to it as she turns away, unable to handle their stares. Gil-galad is saying her name but she doesn’t know what to say to him.

“With hair fairer than the sun,” he continues and Galadriel mentally curses Sauron. He can never leave well enough alone.

“I've told him no,” she manages, winces at Elrond’s gasp. “Twice. I've told him no. I've denied him.” What more can she do? He will never stop. She knows this. Not until he gets what he wants.

She hadn’t expected this course of action though maybe she should have. “It was more than friendship that brewed between you,” Gil-galad says and she feels as though she’s been slapped.

She wants to protest that, but she can no longer deny that Halbrand was real. That he was not a lie. It had been so much easier when she’d been able to think of him as a lie. She knows he could have taken Nenya from her when he’d picked up the bag with the Nine. That he could have taken both from her so easily, that he hadn’t needed to fight her among the old ruins in the forest. She knows he could have stabbed her in the heart instead of above, that he missed several vital places, that she still has full mobility of her arm.

She knows he reached for her as she fell.

She’s almost certain that he helped break her fall.

She knows he covets her.

“I did not expect him to do all of this,” Galadriel manages as she finally sits down. “Nothing happened between us.”

“Something clearly did, Galadriel,” Gil-galad replies. She cannot bear to look at either of them. In some ways this feels like her uncle all over again. Except it had been her father asking her these questions and she'd truly done nothing but exist back when Feanor had begun his obsession with her.

She knows that's not entirely true with Sauron. That she'd wanted Halbrand, that she'd felt a kinship with him, that she'd felt so much more than that with him. It is her own obsession turned on its head. She searched for him across ice and snow, turned her back on Valinor to continue pursuing him. And now that she had found him he means to never let her go. He will pursue her to the ends of the earth. She's considered if maybe she should head to Valinor, be well out of his grasp, but she's not sure that any ship she takes would make it there now. Knows that somehow she’d be the lone survivor and he’d lay claim to her anyway.

“I did not know who he truly was.” But she knows she knew something wasn’t quite right. That it was her who pushed for Halbrand to be the long-lost king. That it is her who got Númenor to back them. That it is her who allowed the elven rings to be made and didn’t mention who he was until she was forced to do so.

She looks down at Nenya. It gleams on her finger and she wants to believe Sauron has no claim on it. He did not know what it looked like in the forest, he did not help Celebrimbor pour the mixtures together or set the stones of her brother’s dagger into it. But she knows he touched the mithril, he spun his web in Celebrimbor’s ears before he’d run from Eregion the first time.

The tree might be healed but that will matter little if he sets every creature on Middle Earth against them.

“What happened?” Gil-galad asks and she forces herself to look up at him, to meet his eyes as she rises. She will own this mistake; knows she cannot run from it as she wants to do. Not when she’s certain Sauron will hunt her to the ends of Middle Earth if needed. The irony is not lost on her.

She is ready to tell all but Galadriel is unsure where to start. On the raft. In Eregion. In the light of that Númenor forge where so much had been said between them. Some things she wants to keep as her own. The parts of her that he saw that no one else ever has. She does not want to admit to the hurt the two standing in front of her caused her, how their conspiring left a stamp on her heart that she still tries to shake. It does not matter that she knows they tried to send her to Valinor for her own good. That their fears practically been confirmed with this new dilemma. That betrayal still stings even though she’s long since forgiven them.

It doesn’t help that every time she thinks they’ve forgiven her something else happens, adds to the marks against her.

“He offered to make me a queen.”

The sound Gil-galad makes is reminiscent to the one he did when she’d told him who Halbrand truly was. “What did he say precisely?”

She does not look at Elrond. Cannot bear to see his expression yet.

“I would make you a queen.” Fair as the sea and the sun. Stronger than the foundations of the earth. She’s lost count of how many times those words have replayed in her head.

“What is it you are not saying?” Gil-galad asks and she flinches. “What happened in that forest, Galadriel?”

“His aim did not miss, did it?” Elrond asks and Galadriel forces her fingers not to fly up to her wound.

“No. I think he knew what he was doing.” Even if she’s not entirely sure what that is. “It is as I told you, we fought. He stabbed me and claimed the Nine.”

“Why did he not claim Nenya as well in those moments?” Gil-galad asks and she follows his gaze down to his own ring. She tries not to touch hers, to not hide it as she wants to do, worries they’ll want to take it from her now. Knows they will probably need to.

“I…” She remembers his face. That twisted sense of pride and pleasure Annatar had as she’d held out her hand to him. “He wanted me to give him the ring. Willingly. But I jumped instead. I would not let him claim it.” Would not let him claim her.

Silence falls between the three of them and Galadriel stares at the wall, tries to think of anything else she should say, that she needs to get out. “He saved me on the Sundering Seas. A great storm came upon us when we were on the raft. I’d tied myself to it to try to keep from slipping in the waves. I…” She takes a deep breath, swallows before she can get the next words out. “I told him to bind himself to me.”

Is it those words that started all of this? Or was it the act he did next that had sealed them in ways she cannot shake?

“Lightning struck and I was tossed unconscious into the water. He pulled me out.”

She doesn’t understand why he didn’t leave her to die in that moment. It’s probably some selfish reason but their lives have been tied together since that day and so far she’s found nothing that’s strong enough to sever the connection. She’s told him her mind is shut. She wants it to be shut but she knows there are cracks and he slithers inside, unwilling to let her go.

And now he threatens her people.

“They want to treat with him,” Gil-galad says after a moment. He’s the one who sits now. Her wound itches, Nenya calls to her, but she ignores both.

“Who?” It’s Elrond who asks. Galadriel already has a good idea on who it might be.

“Oropher. Amdír.” Gil-galad motions for the two of them to sit. Elrond listens. Galadriel does not. He doesn’t insist. “They want to make a deal for their realms to be left alone if his queen is returned.”

“They cannot be serious,” Elrond starts but Galadriel is already closing her eyes.

She knows they are. They are thinking of their people, they are remembering all that happened before. She knows her High King does the same.

“No one wants another war,” Gil-galad replies and she turns away, finally clutches at her wound that as it begins to throb on her chest.

They’ve endured so much already. She knows the Eregion survivors are barely hanging on, that their nights are plagued with nightmares that might never go away. She knows their wounds are as open as her own, any healing done so far superficial at best. She’s seen them flinch at shadows, continuously looking over their shoulders. Reaching for others who are no longer around.

It’s the elven smith’s eyes that she thinks are the most haunted. That reflect some of what she endures as well. She knows the guilt they lay on their own shoulders, shouldering it as she does. She twists Nenya on her finger as she listens to the other two talk.

“There has to be another way,” Elrond starts again and that brings out a small smile from her. At least he still has her back. At least he attempts to come up with another solution. Even if it’s a futile endeavor. “He is but one, surely we can…”

“You saw what he managed to unfold in Eregion without the aid of the rings,” Gil-galad replies. “With an army that wasn’t even his to control at first. Now they are. Now he has men. He has his own manipulations.” Ones that she knows they are still trying to understand.

“If he is playing the part of king then surely we will at least know what he looks like,” Elrond attempts again.

“He can shapeshift within a heartbeat.” Galadriel has seen it. “Freeze others so they cannot move. Manipulate their bodies to do as he desires. Read minds.” Communicate through them. “And more.” So much more. “You will not know him unless he wishes you to.”

“We can always do as we were decided before the rings were created,” Elrond suggests. Go to Valinor.

Galadriel shakes her head. “I cannot.”

“Galadriel—”

She whirls around then. “Do you truly think he’d allow me to set foot off these shores if he’s already doing all he has now? That he will not find a way to sink any ship in an attempt to get to me?” There is no escape for here. There is only figuring out how to make him pay for all of it.

Elrond sighs as he looks down, shoulders slumping.

“I do not want to make this decision for you, Galadriel.” Gil-galad places his hand on her shoulder.

She shrugs him off. “But you would have me make it.”

He sighs and she tries to stomp down the sympathy she feels for him. Knows he is only trying to do what is best for their people. Sacrificing one for the greater good. She’s so tired of being the sacrifice.

“I am not sure our people can suffer any more blows at the moment,” he replies and she looks away again.

She knows he’s right.

She knows Sauron will not stop until he has what he wants.

And she knows this might be best chance she has to somehow kill him. Or at least to end this connection between them once and for all.

“How do we know he'll even keep the deal if one is made?” Elrond asks and it’s nice to have him defend her, to stand up to the High King. But it’s also too little, too late.

“How do we know he won't?” Gil-galad counters.

Galadriel is certain Sauron will somehow use either way they choose to benefit his own plans. She needs to ensure her kin and all of Middle Earth will not be plowed down by him. That his brand of healing is not what happens. She needs to have a say in what happens next.

“Let them know I will treat with him.”

“Galadriel,” Elrond moves over to her, clasps her hand in his. She squeezes back, offers up as much of a smile as she can muster.

Raises her chin, eyes narrowing. “He will regret ever wanting me as his queen.”

****

Amdír does not look at her as she enters the High King’s council room. His gaze lingers on anything but her, shoulders tight, cheeks flushed. At least one of them seems embarrassed for what they are asking her to do. Oropher is arrogance personified; brows arched as she sits down across from them.

“It is a wonder that he’s so fixated on you,” the Greenwood king starts before he sips at his wine.

Gil-galad opens his mouth, seems ready to reply to that, but Galadriel beats him to it. “If he's gone to all this trouble to secure me, you might want to worry what he'll do to any who mock or insult me.” Her smile is anything but nice as she looks across at the other elf, momentarily pleased by the way he pales. “Any response we send to him needs to be precise. You do not want loopholes that he can exploit.” Because Sauron will.

“What do you suggest?” Gil-galad asks and it’s a wonder to have all three of them looking to her for the answer.

Don’t they understand that if she knew how to shake Sauron’s grip she would have done so by now? She doesn’t say that though, simply sits up straighter and tries to ascertain what is best for the elves. For her people. What has a chance of keeping them safe and sound for at least a decade. Maybe two.

She’s certain Sauron will grow bored of this game once he has her. She means to make it difficult for him to break her, to give the elves time to figure out what they will want to do. Hopes she can find a way to at least ruin some of his plans, some of his order. Though she’s not yet certain how she’ll do any of it. Not yet. But she’ll learn. She’ll figure out his fear and master it so she can exploit him too.

Just as he taught her.

****

He is Halbrand.

Of course she knew he would be, after all its what he is being called, but it still punches her in the gut to see him sitting at the table in the middle of the glade. His hair is a tad longer, beard fuller, though still clipped close to his face. There are no scratches or sores from being on the water but it’s the armor he wears that is the sharpest blow. He looks so reminiscent of how she had first seen him on board the Númenorean vessel that her heart aches with the memory. With all the things she’d hoped for but knows can never be.

Because he is not a human king.

He is Sauron.

He rises as soon as she steps out of the trees, Elrond and Gil-galad beside her. Oropher and Amdír are already at the table and she spots humans and orcs in the tree line on his side. He has men she does not know at the table with him, but she sees the rings on their fingers. Her own itch, missing the weight of Nenya, but she will not give him that.

Her ring stays with the elves.

Galadriel had considered wearing armor but she knows there’s little point in it. Oropher had wanted a flower crown on her head, Amdír had suggested other sorts of finery, but Galadriel had ignored each request. She wears no jewelry, no crown, no intricately designed dress even though she was shown many.

She wears a simple white shift. Nearly identical to what she’d been in when they’d first met.

“Galadriel,” Halbrand says and it sends shivers through her. At least it is not the way that Annatar had said it. Though she thinks maybe it would be better if it was. “I am glad to see you are well.”

“No thanks to you,” she replies as she sits down across from him.

She hates how he smiles at her. We both know that is a lie.

She blinks, reels back as she realizes that he is speaking in her head as he had done in Eregion. “Stop it,” Galadriel demands, glances at one of the knives on the table. She knows he’d catch anything she throws at him but it’d still bring her some relief to do so. She does not want any of the others harmed so she refrains. Hopes he chokes on his knowing smile.

“Are you ready to come home then?” he asks, looks at none of them except her. “I have missed you.” She hates how she can’t detect a lie in his tone, how he seems to really mean that.

“I have not missed you.” She raises her chin; enjoys the way his jaw ticks. Galadriel feels the others stiffen though and forces herself to stop baiting him. “There are terms to my returning with you. To my staying with you.”

Halbrand gestures for her to continue. “I expect nothing less. Though I doubt your people know the true depth of what they are giving up.”

“You give them little choice.”

“There is always a choice. You simply might not like either of the options, but the choice is still there.”

She stares at him, despises the accuracy of that statement, knows he’s deliberately pushing all of her buttons. That he likes riling her up. She needs to stick to the talking points.

“You will not encroach on elven lands. You will not allow your people, your servants or whatever you wish to call them, to do so either. You will allow the elves to live as they please, to heal their lands in their own way.”

She delights in the way his eyes narrow at that.

“And if I do not agree to any of those terms?”

Galadriel grasps one of the knives on the table and presses it to her throat before any of them can blink. Blood pools where the blade touches. She tries to drag it across her throat before he realizes what she’s doing but time seems to freeze and her hand no longer moves as she wishes it to.

Halbrand walks around the table and no one says a word, no one moves a finger. Galadriel tries, struggles against the hold he has on her before he’s in front of her, tearing the blade from her grip. It’s how he reaches over and brushes his hand over the tiny wound, smears the blood along her neck and then brings his thumb to his mouth, licks it clean that has her stomach clenching.

She feels the hold on her cease and springs at him, tries to grab another knife from the table, but he catches her around the waist, slams her against it so she’s gasping for breath. Twists her arms so they’re behind her back as he presses against her. None of the others are moving but she sees their eyes, knows they can see and hear everything that is happening.

“Galadriel,” Halbrand breathes against her ear. “There is no need for this hostility, melmenya.” She bristles at the endearment. How dare he use the elven term after slaughtering so many of them. “I have no need to continue to harm your people if you agree to come with me.” He brushes her hair off her shoulder and she freezes as he drags his nose down the length of her neck before he kisses her shoulder. “But know that if you try such a trick again that I will lay waste to these lands and every soul within it before your body even hits the ground. And then I will bring you back to me.” There is no Hall of Mandos for you. The last words are for her alone.

She’s not sure if they are a threat or a promise.

Probably both.

“I agree to your terms,” Halbrand continues as he releases her. All the other knives fly through the air and dig into the ground on the opposite side of the table. The others move as well, gazes flicker and she sees the unease that’s spread through her kin. She might have told them how powerful he is but she doesn’t think any of them truly understood until now.

He captures her hand before she can react, brings it up to his mouth but frowns as he looks at her fingers. “Where is your ring?”

Galadriel stiffens. “It is not mine. It belongs to the elves.”

Halbrand looks past her, to the other elves at the table. “You will bring us Nenya.”

“The ring is not part of the treaty,” she protests but he simply ignores her. Even as he won’t let go of her hand.

His expression hardens. “Galadriel will leave with Nenya or whichever elven realm harbors it will be exempt from the protections of this treaty.”

“You cannot,” she starts, tries to wrench her hand from his grasp but he pulls her to him.

“It is yours, we will not leave without it,” Halbrand says, catches her other wrist as she tries to slap him.

“You just want it for yourself,” she seethes, lips curling into a sneer.

“I will not repeat myself,” Halbrand says, looks away from her.

Gil-galad sighs and then nods at Elrond, who then hurries over and holds out the ring. “Give it to her,” Halbrand says, releases her. “It is hers.”

Galadriel takes it, considers throwing it far into the forest around them, but she feels Halbrand in her mind seconds before he speaks. Do you truly wish for me to enact my wrath on one of them until someone is able to retrieve it.

She glares at him as she places it back on her finger. Hates how right it feels there. “Any attempts to retrieve Galadriel will null this treaty,” Halbrand says, gaze flickers to Elrond. She opens her mouth to speak as he glances over at her. “Of course, you are allowed visitors. If any are brave enough to do so.”

No one else dares to utter a word. He leans towards her. “We should go.”

“I wish to speak to my kin first.”

Halbrand bows his head to her and steps back to the other side.

Galadriel steps forward and Elrond wraps her in a tight hug. There’s so much she wants to say but nothing comes out. “I will visit,” he murmurs. There is so much sorrow in his voice, so much left unsaid as she draws back. “Namárië.”

“Namárië,” she murmurs back.

She doesn’t expect Gil-galad to step forward but is grateful that he does. “You are the bravest, the strongest of us, Galadriel of the Golden House of Finarfin. Do not forget that.” He squeezes her hands. “Namárië.”

“Namárië.” She doesn’t hesitate as she turns away from them and then strides past Halbrand to the other side. She hears the others moving, knows he’s already fallen into step beside her but she has no plans to speak to him right now.

She feels the others’ gazes on her, but ignores all of them, head held high as she walks. His shadow falls over her, spreads out in front of her, blocking the sun from her body as they walk. Each step forward she makes feels like walking on glass, the life she’s known shreds along the path behind her. She wonders how quickly her name will be buried, her sacrifice forgotten as her kin shores up their borders, separating themselves from all others in Middle Earth.

She doubts Gil-galad will allow Elrond to visit. He’ll be too busy with the new elven realm and years pass so quickly for them. Galadriel presses the sorrow that wants to bulldoze through her down deep as she finally steps inro another clearing.

There are horses waiting. More men and orcs joining them as they step out of the forest. She looks at the horses and then finally looks over at him. He stands so tall and proud, the light reflecting off his armor before he turns his attention to her. She hates the way he smiles at her, hates how it’s the face of someone that was once so dear to her looking down at her.

She wishes he was Annatar. Or something new.

Anything but Halbrand.

“What horse am I to ride?”

Halbrand gestures to the nearest one. “Mine,” he says and she doubts he’s going to ride another.

“No.” Galadriel crosses her arms, glares at him, but he lifts her before she can protest any further. She swings her legs so she’s at least sitting as she wants on top of it as he joins her.

“We'll secure you one at our first stop,” he murmurs, breath tickles her ear. It’s the way his body presses against her back, the way being on top of the horse forces her back against him that stings her pride the most. “Don’t worry, it’s not a long ride.”

As he secures an arm around her middle, forcing her even closer to him, Galadriel knows that no matter how short the ride might be it will be agonizingly long to endure.

****

They stop at a village as the sun begins to wane, rooms are secured for them in the inn. The orcs and some of them set up camp a little further away from the village, but it’s the way that the people step out of their houses to greet them that throws Galadriel off-kilter. They bow to him, sing his praises as he rides them up to the inn. He touches the heads of babes offered up, lets them kiss his hands.

They sing her praises as well, grateful for the return of their queen.

“What spell have you woven,” she hisses as she slides off the horse.

“I know it must be difficult to be worshiped after so many years of enduring your people’s scorn and doubt, but please try not to scowl at them all,” Halbrand replies, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

Galadriel swats at his hand, glowers at his words. That is not how the elves treated her. Isn’t it? he counters in her head and she pushes at him there, wants his slithering words gone as he takes her arm and tucks it into the curve of his before he leads them into the inn.

“Would you prefer to eat with the others or in our room?”

Our room.

“I’d prefer my own room.”

“And I’d prefer not having to clamber out a window after you when you try to abscond in the night.”

“There’s no point in my running. Where would I go?” she asks. He’s effectively cut off any who might be her ally.

“Our room it is then,” Halbrand says, informs one of them men who come up to him. Galadriel barely pays attention to the exchange, glances around to spot where the men with the rings are at. She doesn’t know either of them, but they sit straighter than the other men that join them at the table. Their clothes are of finer quality. Nobility of some sort maybe.

He leads her up the stairs and down the dark hallway. Candlelight flickers to light their way and Galadriel wishes she’d chosen to dine with the others, prefers it to being alone with him, when no is an answer he seems to push right over. Never accepting when she says it.

The room is larger than she though it would be. There’s a tub off to the side, a sheet hangs in a corner near it, meant to cordon off the area for privacy. There’s only one large bed, just as she suspected there would be. A small table and chairs set underneath a window that overlooks the village square. Galadriel spots the sun setting through it as Halbrand moves about the room lighting the candles and lanterns scattered about, gets the fire going in the small fireplace. All without anything to start a fire.

He does not approach her as she continues to look out the window. “Would you like a bath?” he asks and that brings out a hideous laugh from her.

“Do you even care if I do or not?” she wonders aloud. “You ask and yet if my answer is not what you like I am sure you’ll decide for me anyway.”

“Galadriel,” he starts, sighs and she keeps her eyes on the dwindling sunlight. “It is a simple question.”

“Nothing is simple with you.” Otherwise she knows she wouldn’t be where she was, trapped in a…she’s not even sure what this is between them.

“Now that is not true.” He’s at her side, fingers gentle as he grasps her chin. It’s too much like in that one illusion of them on the raft. Even his smile as he looks at her, those pleading eyes are too much like it. She wrenches free from his grip and takes a step back. “I have been very plain in what I want from you.”

“You bind me to power and I bind you to light.” It’s absurd. That’s not how any of this works. No matter what he seems to believe. “Worshiped by all of Middle Earth.” Until she is nothing but a shell of who she is now. A husk, eternally beautiful but dead inside. She sees it so easily, her sitting on a golden throne beside his, no light left in her gaze once he’s carved it all out of her. Her fëa never allowed to touch the Halls of Mandos, forever strapped to his side.

He scowls at her, no doubt has glimpsed her thoughts, but she cares little and turns from him. “I want to sleep.”

“You should eat,” Halbrand starts, but Galadriel shakes her head.

She’s not hungry. “I wish to sleep.”

Silence fills the room for several moments before he begins to blow out the candles. “Then sleep. Nothing and no one shall disturb your rest.”

She slides onto the bed, pulls the blanket tightly around her as she lays her head down. Her mind spins with every plucked-out light until she feels the weight of the bed shift beneath her as the last one dies. “Do not make me need to slaughter this entire village to come look for you,” Halbrand warns, and she squeezes her eyes shut tightly as she feels him hover over her. He brushes his lips against her forehead before he slips from the room.

It would be so easy to let the tears she’s been holding back for days fall, to let herself cry and release some of the tension that has coiled so tightly within her. Instead she stares into the darkness, listens for the conversations happening below, and plots. Or at least tries to.

She has no idea where they are going, what he’s been doing aside from weaving words that aren’t true and getting elves killed. She needs to listen; she needs to watch. She will be his ruin.

****

“How far is it to where we are going?” she asks as she mounts her horse. Her own horse. At least he’d spoken true about that. There had been new riding clothes for her set out in the morning. She’d nearly disregarded them, but there’s little point in making the journey harder for herself. Galadriel knows she needs to have her wits about her if she’s to learn what she can. The cloak is welcomed in the frigid morning temperatures, though she misses the craftsmanship of her old one.

“At least a week,” Halbrand replies as he mounts his horse and pulls it up alongside hers.

A week could bring them anywhere, but not as close to the Southlands—no, Mordor—as she thought they would be. “Our stronghold is not yet complete,” he continues as the others ready themselves. Our. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth. As if she shares anything with him. As if she has any say in anything he does. “I’ll share the schematics with you. Let me know if there’s anything you wish to add to it.”

Galadriel doesn’t reply to that, bristles as she thinks he’s glimpsed that from her mind. She doesn’t feel him in there, doesn’t hear him like she has before. Also knows she needs to figure out how to block him out of it.

A rider hurries to them and Galadriel stiffens, watches as the rider draws the horse to a stop in front of Halbrand. She doesn’t like the look on his face. “There’s an elf,” the man starts and Halbrand looks back at her, must trust her confused expression, before he nods to the man.

“Bring it.”

It.

She flinches. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Galadriel slides off the horse as Arondir is shoved to the ground in front of them. His face is swollen, left eye barely visible with how the skin has puckered, and she’s certain his right arm is broken. She makes to move toward him but feels her body freeze, limbs no longer doing as she wants as Halbrand dismounts.

Please.

She’s not sure he can even hear her. If she’s even doing this correctly.

“Arondir,” Halbrand starts, lifts the elf’s chin up to look at him.

“He fought by your side in the Southlands,” Galadriel reminds, grateful she still has her voice. He has not taken that from her. “He has fought for its people all these months.”

The rider snorts. “He's an elf.” There is so much hatred in his voice, old prejudices and new ones easily exploited by Sauron these past few months.

“I am an elf,” Galadriel bites out and the rider doesn’t reply to that. She sees Halbrand’s fingers barely twitch as he turns Arondir’s face this way and that.

“Why are you here, Arondir?” Halbrand asks, drops the elf’s chin and takes a step back.

“I was on my way back to Pelargir, to Theo,” Arondir replies. It’s not a lie.

“Theo is no longer in Pelargir.”

Galadriel stiffens at that, sees Arondir do so as well. “Where is he?”

Halbrand turns to look at her, searches her face. “He’ll be where we are headed.” She feels him slithering in, wonders if he’s doing similarly to Arondir as well. She did not know he would come. Has not seen him for weeks now since he left the beginnings of the new elven city, his heading had been to the Southlands. To Theo.

See what I do for you. He turns back to Arondir. “You will swear loyalty.”

There is silence for a long moment before Arondir nods. “I will swear it to her,” Arondir replies, looks to her.

Galadriel holds her breath, waits for her friend to be struck but Halbrand tilts his head, lips pull into a smile. “Very well,” he says, and the hold he has on her ends.

She’s at Arondir’s side in seconds, helps him stand. “You do not need to do this.”

“I will not let you go into the wolf's den on your own,” he murmurs, stifles a groan as he eases his arm. “And I did promise Theo I’d be back.”

Theo. She hopes the boy is alright. “Can you ride?”

“I’ll make do.”

Galadriel looks back at Halbrand who watches them. “He needs a horse.”

Halbrand nods to her before he looks towards the others. “You heard your queen. Fetch us another horse.”

She doesn’t like the way he looks at her, as if this showcases that he is not the tyrant she claims. As if this small act is a kindness just for her. “And a healer, if there is one.”

Halbrand gestures to the others and they move off to do as requested. “I am sure Theo will be delighted to see you both,” he says as he heads back to his horse. “He was in good health when he saw me off. He cannot wait to show you what he’s learned to do with your sword.” He nods back towards the inn. “Go ahead and wash your face, Arondir. If nothing else they should be able to provide something to eat and some ice for your eye.”

Arondir looks to her, waits for her to nod before he heads off into the inn with another of Halbrand’s men. “What have you done to Theo?” Galadriel hisses as she rounds on Halbrand.

He touches her shoulder and she wants to shrug him off but can’t as he leans closer. “Really, Galadriel. Have a little faith,” he chides, breath brushing her ear before he pulls back. “He came to me. Seems Númenor isn’t being as friendly as they used to be.” He presses a finger to her lips and she tries to bite it. All that gains is a chuckle from him. “And no, I did not plan for that to happen.”

Halbrand takes a step back. “Come. You skipped supper. You should eat more now.”

He takes her hand and she swallows down the bile that rises up, allows him to pull her back to the inn. She wants to keep an eye on Arondir anyways. He’s been hurt enough. She won’t allow it to happen again.

****

It takes eleven days to get to their destination. Each day brings new horrors as Galadriel watches the men come out of their meager houses or stop work on their fields to rush to the road to catch a glimpse of him. Of her. They sing his praises, sing to her as well, but it’s the way they cheer in joy for their reunion as if it’s some beautiful love story that has a knot coiling tightly in her stomach. Little gifts are given at each inn they stop at but it’s not until the third one that Galadriel realizes what each one is meant for.

Fertility.

It chokes the breath out of her, this notion in these people’s heads, that she’s unsure if Halbrand has whirled into them or if are simply what they expect of a king and queen. He has not tried to lay with her in any of the rooms they’ve shared, though she knows he watches her when she does manage to sleep. Has woken to him sitting in a chair, staring at her.

Its only cemented further as they arrive at the city of Nimdor. It’s not one she knows. Galadriel thinks she might have passed through the area once before during her search for him, but she passed through so many parts of Middle Earth then. There are more humans in the crowds that come out to greet them, that line the pathway all up to the city’s gates than there are survivors of Eregion.

She sees no orcs here, knows the ones that had traveled with them had veered off a few miles back, their orders drawing them elsewhere. It’s only a sea of men before her, all of them calling out for ‘King Halbrand’ and for her. She flinches at the name. “Queen Galadriel’. It feels like a mockery of what she once wanted, what she’d originally left Valinor to do, but she senses no hatred from the people toward her. They look at her as if she’s blessed, weeping openly, tears streaming down their faces as they reach to toss her flowers or touch her dress.

Galadriel spares a glance toward Halbrand who smiles and smiles and smiles. His chin raised high. It’s too much like the parade in Númenor and she looks away, fingers tightening on the reins as she lets her horse lead her through the masses. They dismount at the steps to a castle and he’s at her side in seconds, hand firmly grasping hers and turning her towards the people.

“Behave,” Halbrand murmurs before he captures her mouth in a kiss.

It startles her, the press of his lips against hers, his fingers gentle as they grasp her chin, keeping her in place. Worse is how she kisses him back for even a second as the crowd roars in excitement, chanting his name, her name. She wants to bite his lip, to tear her face away from his, but he grips her chin. Do not, echoes in her mind.

Galadriel glares at him as he finally pulls away, sneers as he grins down at her before he turns to wave to the people. She heads up the stairs, cheeks flushed, panting with her rage as the doors to the castle are pulled open. Halbrand is beside her in seconds, catches her hand in his. She tries to pull it away, but his grip is steadfast.

“Welcome home, your highness,” an older woman says, bows to him and her. “The generals are waiting for you.”

Halbrand nods, stops walking and tugs the hand he holds to his mouth, presses a kiss to her knuckles. She glowers at him, wrenches her hand to her side as soon as he releases it. “Please take the queen to our rooms. It has been a long journey and I would have her rest and recuperate.”

“I want to meet the generals,” Galadriel says, holds his gaze.

“In time.” Halbrand bows his head to her. When I can trust you.

You dare talk of trust, she mutters in her head, steps back when he steps closer. So he can hear her too. She’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not.

“Don’t worry, órenya,” Halbrand starts, and she hates him for using another elvish endearment. “I won’t keep you waiting long.” It’s a threat, it’s a promise and he’s off down the hall before she can utter a single word.

“My lady,” the woman says, beckons for her to follow.

Galadriel stares as Halbrand’s back until he turns a corner and finally turns to the woman, nods in acceptance. Best to start to learn the layout of the place. It could be useful even if she knows she can never truly escape.

****

Weeks pass and Galadriel has fallen into a routine that she does not like. The one saving grace is that Arondir’s face and arm are healing, that Theo is there, whole and hale even if he is too enamored by Halbrand. The elf is freely allowed to accompany her in the castle, though the others keep a wide berth from him. Something they do not do with her.

There are ladies who draw her a bath and then help her into intricately designed gowns with far too many jewels laced into them to be practical. Who tend to her hair and add circlet crowns to her head, a new one every few days. “Crafted by the king’s own hands.” She breaks fast with Halbrand in a room off their bedroom each morning. He eats, she glares and nibbles before he sweeps off to talk to his generals and she’s left to entertain herself, to entertain their wives. She’s abysmal at the latter, simply does not even try, is well aware they tolerate her presence because of who she is, none of them dares to say anything or do anything against her.

She knows she’s sulking, that she needs to stop, that she should be strategizing, but the reality of her life falls heavily onto her shoulders.

She cannot run. Her people will be slaughtered.

She cannot kill herself. They’ll be slaughtered still.

She considers simply laying in bed and not doing anything, to let herself waste away but that lasts for about a day. She’s never been good at resting even if it’s to spite him. So she goes through the motions, lets the days bleed together.

Its nearly a month when Galadriel decides she’s had enough.

The only crown she allows on her head is one of her own braids, swats at their hands as the ladies try to help. She dresses in the simplest gown in her closet and follows Halbrand all the way to his war room, strides in ahead of him and sits down in the chair that is very obviously his. She ignores how he waves his hand and another chair is brought in and placed next to hers.

“I see you’ve finished sulking.” She hates how amused he sounds, that lilt to his voice. He’s probably smirking but she refuses to look at him.

She snorts. “As if you care.”

“I care very much about your wellbeing, Galadriel,” Halbrand says and she pulls her hands away as he tries to reach for her. Does not care how the air in the room seems to cool at that. He doesn’t take rejection well.

Galadriel files that away, wonders if she could provoke him enough to kill her. Her wound is proof enough that she can make him lose control, but she remembers his words—no halls of Mandos for her—and knows that even if he did so that he’d simply bring her back to life.

“If that was true I would not be here.” In this human realm, far from her people.

He snorts now and then smiles, but there is no warmth in it. “Ah yes, because you’d be better off in an elven realm where your strengths are considered nuisances, your stubbornness a problem, and your thoughts akin to treason.”

She glares at him, hates how he lays her fears bare before her. Even when she knows she is missed, that her kin love her. It does not change the fact that they so easily bartered her for their freedom even if she doesn’t blame them for that. “Do not speak to me of matters you do not understand in the slightest.”

“You are the one who told me of them,” Halbrand reminds, turns to better face her in the chair. “Did you lie when you said your company mutinied against you? That your closest friend conspired to exile you?”

“You twist my words,” she starts, shakes her head.

He catches her hand then, tugs her closer. “I twist nothing.”

Galadriel looks down at their hands, how he holds her so tightly. “As if you are any better.”

He touches her chin and she tries to shake him off, but his fingers grasp tightly, forcing her to look at him. “I wish to have the people of Middle Earth worship you.”

“You wish to rule me,” she breathes out. “To decide for me.”

“I gave you a choice, twice,” Halbrand says, tsks as he drops his hands. “You continued to choose wrongly, leaving me no choice but to choose for you.”

Does he even hear what he is saying? “That is not how choice works.”

“I seem to recall an elf giving me no choice on an island not long ago,” he replies and her cheeks are hot as she looks away from him. “Steadfast in her decisions.”

“I was wrong.” There. Is that what he’s needed to hear? Can he finally let her be, let go?

“You were stubborn. As you'll find am I, especially in regard to you.” He strokes her throat and she refuses to look at him, stares at the table in front of them. “I have little desire to break you, Galadriel.”

She laughs at that, hates the bit of hysteria that she hears in it. “You wish to heal me.” Her wound throbs at her words as she looks over at him, watches him glance down at where he’d thrust the crown into her body.

Galadriel hates how pleasant his smile is, how earnest. “I wish for you to see that who you were with me in Númenor, in the Southlands is your true self, heedless of your people's notions.”

She wrenches back from him. “I know who I am.”

“You know who you are supposed to be,” Halbrand says, turning fully to the table as the doors open and others begin to file in. If any of them are startled to see her there they do not outwardly show it, bowing their heads to them both before taking their seats.

Galadriel makes note of all of their names, their faces, what positions they seem to carry. Files them away in case they’ll be useful before she focuses on the matters at hand, swallows at how vast Halbrand’s territory seems to have become. It’s much larger than Gil-galad and the others thought and she notes that the two men who’d worn the rings are not in the room. She hasn’t seen them since they first arrived in Nimdor.

Has he distributed all of them? Or only the two?

She needs to search for the rest. Surely he’ll keep them somewhere close.

Galadriel folds her hands in her lap and Nenya shines in the sunlight that drifts in from a window. If she can’t destroy, maybe she can destroy the rings. Wrench some of this newfound power from his grip. She feels much freer now that she has a task to focus on.

****

She’s turned up every inch of their rooms but there are no rings. She finds none in the forge he heads to each day either. Watches and waits, catalogues every inch of the castle that he traverses and then ceases. Of course he won’t lead her to wherever he’s stashed the rings. He knows she watches him; she needs to check the places he doesn’t go to; catalogues the places she thinks he avoids. Except there are none that she can rightly tell.

He speaks kindly to the kitchen staff, to the chambermaids who enter their rooms each morning, to the ladies and men who come to help with their clothes as well. He steps into every room at some point in the days she follows him, his personal shadow that doesn’t utter a word in his direction, no matter the conversations he tries to start.

Worse still he meets her withering glares and stubborn defiance with calmness, with amusement. She’s not sure which riles her up more but she hates how his lips twitch, the image of a mare rushing out of barely opened gates flashing in her mind. Galadriel reels in the words she wants to scream at him, will not be provoked into an outburst.

Her anger swirls within her, layer upon layer of it strengthens as she continues to find no rings. It’s like a never-ending storm, never satiated, only ever building and she worries it will spill over at the most inopportune moment. That’s probably what he’s counting on and that makes her bristle further.

“You could always ask,” Halbrand says as they head into the throne room together.

She doesn’t say a word as she sits down on her throne. Hates that she even thinks of it that way as he takes his seat. His smile irritates her further. “About the rings,” he continues, reaches over and catches her hand before she can yank it away.

Galadriel glares as he brings it to his mouth, lips brushing ever so gently against her knuckles as he looks at her. “As if you’d tell me.”

“Ah, there’s your voice.” He smiles, triumphant and she wrenches her hand away from him. His chuckles incenses her further but she pushes down her ire, forces the storm to remain at bay, refuses to let it spill forward.

“What do they do?”

“Hmm?”

“The rings.” Galadriel turns to him when he doesn’t reply, arches a brow as if to say see, I knew you’d tell me nothing.

“It grants them what they want, of course,” Halbrand replies after a moment. She remembers conversations with Adar, with Celebrimbor, her own memories of him offering her what she’s longed for. Sometimes she longs for the world she used to know, back before she knew colors could be so bright and vibrant, not quite the dull gray it had turned after the two of them parted, simply before. Before the raft, before Númenor, before Galadriel had gotten precisely what she’d been pursuing for centuries. Before him. Some days she thinks she’d settle for that dull gray again if it means he’d leave her be.

“For them its wealth and power,” he continues. “Something they’ve each dreamed of having, of cultivating, but have come nowhere near close to what I’ve managed to give them. Even those who thought themselves content with what they’d had now have more power than they could have ever imagined obtaining in their lifetimes.”

And she doubts its anywhere near the power he holds in his tiniest finger in this body. Probably less than the power she holds as well, but she doesn’t even want to think that.

“And?” Galadriel doubts that’s all there is to it. Elrond had told her of the changes Prince—now King Durin— had seen in his father with the dwarven rings.

“Loyalty.” He takes her hand again as the doors are opened and others begin to file into the throne room, seeking an audience with them.

“Loyalty?” Galadriel spares a glance. What does he know of loyalty? Any sense of it that he has is a tarnished, twisted version to Morgoth. Brutal and corrupted.

She doesn’t like the way he looks at her, the desire that she sees there, that she feels in his touch as he strokes her hand and then kisses it again. “To me. To us.”

He refuses to let go of her hand as the first petitioner is brought forth, holds onto it throughout the proceedings. Keeps up the annoyingly gentle touch throughout as well. “Have you distributed them all?” she asks when they are finally alone again.

“All but two.”

Far more than she’d thought. Seven out there. Seven she needs to learn who and where they belong to now. She doesn’t even know how far his kingdom goes yet. “Would you like to help me distribute the last of them?”

Her head whips to him, mouth dry at the way he looks at her. “Are you truly asking me?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

Halbrand stands, releases her hand as he glances down at her ring finger. At Nenya. “It was always supposed to be two.”

He leaves the room before she can answer and Galadriel slinks back into the shadows of her throne as the doors bang shut behind him. His words leaves her reeling. Maybe she should have stayed in bed.

****

Halbrand draws his fingers down her arm as they walk through the city. He places his hand on her waist as he stops to talk to various merchants. Galadriel makes note of their names and faces, counts the number of steps to the wall, the distance between the upper ramparts and the ground, to the various balconies and the angles of the rooftops, which pitches are better for scaling or landing on. It’s an old habit she can’t shake, even though she knows there is no running for her.

She lets the information drift away, like the leaves in the wind, lets them fall where they please, no longer something for her to hold onto.

He continues to touch her, nothing overt but it lingers, brands her even through her clothing. She hates the way her body reacts to it, the way she finds herself leaning into it every so often. Despises how he offers up a rose to her as they leave a florist selling her wares. Galadriel wants to toss it to the dirt, to stomp on it, but the woman he’d gotten it from looks at her so earnestly, so hopeful and so she brings it to her nose, sniffs it, smiles and holds it close as they leave the market.

She throws it at him as soon as they are away from the area.

Galadriel does not care that he sighs or that he’s waved off the others as she continues on, heading toward the stables. She hears him following after her, calling her name. For someone who can see into her mind it’s amazing how often he seems to not realize she wants to be alone.

Or no. He knows. He simply doesn’t care.

She stomps into the stables and the stable hands seem to have all vanished, even the horses have drawn further into their stalls, wary as he comes in after her. “You’re scaring the horses,” Galadriel mutters as she stops in front of the stall for the one she usually uses.

“You are being ridiculous,” Halbrand says and she feels him behind her. Not yet touching her but close enough that she can feel the heat of him.

He touches her waist and she rounds on him, shoves her hands against his chest but he doesn’t even budge. “You are too free with me.”

“I am your king,” he reminds. “You are my queen.”

“You are my captor,” she bites out. “I am your prisoner.”

His gaze darkens, fingers bite through the fabric of her dress. “Shall I give you no say in anything then?” he hisses, and she glares up at him, raises her chin. Halbrand grasps hold of it before she can utter a response. “Take you as I want to do, tear this gown off you and satiate my hunger without a thought to your pleasure? Or shall I force it out of you? I bet I could make you cry so prettily right now, my fingers in your cunt, my mouth feasting on yours.”

“I will gut you if you try,” Galadriel hisses, nails digging into his tunic. She will not think about the way her thighs press together, the way her stomach clenches at his words.

“You wouldn’t be able to lift a finger if that was what I desired,” Halbrand reminds and his hand rises. She snarls but he bypasses her breast, fingers brush over the fabric where her wound is instead. “It is not. I want you willing.”

“That will never happen.”

“Oh, Galadriel.” He twirls a strand of her hair between his fingers, brings his mouth so achingly close to hers that she feels their breaths mingling. “I thought we were past you lying to yourself.”

“Let go of me.”

His lips brush against her cheek, so achingly close to her mouth. Her breath catches, fingers twist in the fabric of his tunic, though whether to push or pull she’s not sure. It takes all of her effort to not close her eyes. He lingers there for what seems like an eternity but is probably no more than a few seconds. “Enjoy your ride,” Halbrand says, bows his head to her and then heads off.

She falls against the stall, grips the wood tightly between her fingers as she tries to remember how to breathe again. Her horse nudges her and Galadriel forces her head to rise, to greet the gentle beast that seeks her touch and the bits of apple she has for him. It’s not long before they are out in the field, racing through the land near the city, past the strips of farmland being turned and toiled.

They wave at her as she passes and their satisfaction and joy are simultaneously a balm and a wound. She remembers Bronwyn and the others Tirharad, the worry and toil that had layered beneath their joy over the lost king’s return. She remembers the state of the villages in the Southlands even before it had become Mordor. The hardness in their faces, the looks of despair that were seemingly etched into their faces. She’s seen none of that here. Even when disputes are brought to the throne room or dealt with out in the marketplace, the lines of turmoil have begun to fade, and are no longer stitched into the faces of the young.

There’s laughter, there’s happiness.

An illusion of it.

One she knows will crumble to dust when he has no more use for it, for them. Or if they stand against him, something she hasn’t seen any of them do just yet. They will in time. No one is ever satisfied forever.

Galadriel pulls at the reins as they near the forest’s edge. She can feel Halbrand’s gaze on her even from wherever he stands at the city’s walls. If she looks over her should she’ll probably be able to see him with her sight, but she has no intention of running.

Where could she even go?

She steers the horse back around but takes it slower to return. Her freedom is as much an illusion as theirs is.

****

It’s another month before they leave Nimdor, before Halbrand informs her that they are going to distribute another of the rings. Galadriel had been ready to tell him to enjoy his travels without her, ready for a respite from his constant touches. A kiss to her knuckles, a brush of her hair, constantly tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow as they walk anywhere. He’s constantly there, always at her side, leaves her little time for peace. A shadow she cannot get rid of.

Worse is the way he watches her. There’s nothing seemingly indecent about it, he does not let his gaze roam her body, but she feels his gaze on her always. Even when she sleeps now she knows he’s there at some point, wakes to him sitting on the window seat as he drinks his coffee and stares at her sleeping form. She finds herself touching her cheek more and more, the whisper of his lips there a constant torment that wisps to the forefront of her mind more than she’d like to admit.

Galadriel clutches the hood of her cloak tighter as the wind picks up. The days have grown shorter, heavy heat giving way to chilly mornings, frost taking over where dew had been her morning greeting. She still has not found where he keeps the rings, but knows he must have them on him now, that he would not trust any of the others to carry them for him.

There are few in their company, though she is grateful for Arondir’s presence. He travels at her side as one of the guards Halbrand insists she has when they leave the city. Theo is left behind, to carry on with the duties he’s learning but she knows it’s also an insurance policy. Arondir will do nothing that might endanger the boy. To endanger her.

Their journey takes them near Greenwood and Galadriel tenses at the long trench that has been dug around the area they are by. She can feel the enchantments woven into the area, ones meant to keep others out, knows they’d do little to prevent Halbrand from barging in if he truly wanted. He pulls up beside her and her horse slows, the opposite of what she wishes.

Galadriel glares at him, mouth pinches as he tilts his head, expression oh so innocent. “Reports say they are leaving,” he begins and she pulls at the reins, startles her horse into rearing back.

Leans forward to soothe the animal, whispers her apologies as she inwardly sends daggers towards him. She can see the elves in the trees, their bows and arrows at the ready as they track their path. “Not this lot, of course, but they never did see the light of the trees,” Halbrand continues. “Never did make it wholly across the continent in the first place.”

Galadriel doesn’t reply, ignores him and whatever lies he’s spilling. I do not lie to you. She shakes her head, tries to pry him out of it as she urges her horse to move a little faster. It cannot. “The new realm has been abandoned,” he says and she whips towards him then.

“It is not,” she bites out. Elrond would not abandon it, not with the hope it means for those who’d lost so much.

She lurches forward as her eyes are no longer her own. Galadriel feels Halbrand’s hands on hers, clutching her to the safety of her horse while also feeling as though she is above, somewhere in the sky and looking down on what is supposed to be Rivendell. She sees the structures that had been built, the ones that were being worked on are nearly the same as what she remembers. But there are no elves, no fires, nothing to show anyone living in the area any longer. Vines have begun to take over some structures, nests visible in places where she knows they would have been moved from by now.

Galadriel lurches back out and his hand tightens on hers, keeps her from falling off her horse. “What sorcery is this?” she demands, tries to pull away from his grip.

“Do you see now?” Halbrand asks and she shakes her head, wants to deny. It is a trick. A means to hurt her, to enact pain for a reason she cannot fathom. To break her probably, even if he says that is not what he wishes.

“They head for the harbors,” he continues and she closes her eyes, wants to obliterate his words. Her vision sways again and she’s so high above, sees the elves boarding the ships, new ones being built by the dozens in Cirdan’s shipyard. “They are abandoning these shores.”

“Why do you show me this?” Her vision clouds with tears but she brushes at them, refuses to let them fall.

Halbrand lets her go. “So you realize there is no reason for you to continue playing a part. They will not be here to see or judge you.”

She stares at his back as he pulls forward again. Spares a glance back at the piece of the Greenwood forest, at the elves who bow their heads slightly to her before they disappear back into the trees. Looks over at Arondir, watches as he bows his head to her as well, gaze not quite meeting hers and knows what Halbrand has shown her, what he says is true.

Galadriel wipes at her cheeks as she looks away, tightens her grip on the reins. It is for the best. If they are not here then they cannot be used against her and that is a good thing, is it not? And yet, even with Arondir at her side, in the middle of this convoy, she feels completely and utterly alone.

****

A tent is constructed when they stop for rest. It is a ridiculous contraption, one with so many layers, that would hold their entire entourage but is set up for only the king and queen. Galadriel doesn’t go into it even as supper has finished and the sky has been dotted with stars for hours. She sits on top of a rock far from the firelight and raucous amusement of the men in their party.

Arondir stands near the tent and she knows he glances over at her every so often. She’s not said a word to him since Halbrand’s reveal. Not said a word to anyone since she’s glimpsed those images of her kin. She wants to hold onto the idea that they are not real, that it is an illusion, one to make her falter, to send her off-kilter. But she knows it is something Gil-galad had been considering, knows that experiencing what Halbrand is able to do in that glade must have sent a shock right through them.

No one wants another war.

Galadriel drops her gaze to the ground, sinks her toes into the damp soil around the rock. She cannot blame them if they truly are leaving. They’ve endured so much and they have another place they can go, where they will not need to live in this constant state of turmoil. Somewhere they can truly know peace.

As she once did in her youth.

She thinks Elrond would have come to say goodbye though. That he would not leave without doing that. Though perhaps he still will do so. There are a lot of elves to move across the sea.

Galadriel feels Halbrand approaching her before she sees his feet inches from her own. She does not look up, draws her toes through the soil, leaves behind little zig-zagged lines that will disappear in the rain she can sense coming. He says her name. Once, twice.

“I am not tired,” she murmurs. It’s a lie. She’s exhausted. Mentally, physically. She wants to lay down and not wake for a century, give the heaviness in her heart time to dissipate, but she knows she cannot do so. That she’d barely make it a full day laying about in bed before she’d be up, storming about again.

He touches her chin and she closes her eyes, hates the tears that slip down her cheeks. Hates even more how gently he wipes at them. He tugs her up and toward the tent and she’s too tired to fight him as he brings her over to the blankets that have been laid out. Doesn’t even protest when he wipes her feet clean before she lays down and pulls one of the blankets over her body.

Galadriel feels him beside her and curls up tighter under the blanket, away from him. He brushes her hair, over and over again, fingers threading so gently through her strands. It’s meant to be soothing. She doesn’t want it to be but it’s not long before she can no longer fight off her exhaustion.

In the morning, she berates herself for not looking for the rings when he was so close to her. But he is not at her side when she wakes, though there is a mug of hot coffee sitting nearby, ready for her.

She shifts, picks it up. She will be ready next time.

****

Galadriel doesn’t trust the lord at the next stronghold they arrive at. He smiles merrily at Halbrand, has an entire feast ready for them on arrival, even a procession greets them. There is laughter at the feast, drinks poured liberally, but she notes the way the servants flinch at the sounds, the way men’s hands linger on places they should not. The villages on the way to the castle are withered and while the people had waved to them, called him king and her queen, there is none of the renewal that she’s grown used to in Nimdor.

There is no ring on the lords hand.

She does not want him to receive one.

“I do not like him,” Galadriel says when she and Halbrand are alone in their provided rooms. Halbrand arches a brow at her. She moves to the window, looks out over the darkened fields that surround the place. “He does not need strength or wealth. He does not deserve power.”

Halbrand says nothing but she hears his footsteps, knows he’s heading over to her. He presses up against her back, hand sweeps hair from her shoulder. “He has a vast army that could be useful.”

“As if you need him to gain his army,” she counters, closes her eyes at the touch of his lips against her neck. Galadriel grips the windowsill, holds herself still, not leaning in but not moving away from him either.

“Shall I slaughter him then? Lay him dead at your feet?” he asks as he tugs her back against him. Slowly drags his nose along her throat, up to her jaw before he peppers kisses along it even as he presses a hand to her middle, holds her in place.

“Him and his generals.”

He chuckles against her skin, nips her just below her jaw and Galadriel can’t bite back her moan. She holds her breath as she realizes she’s made that sound. He runs his tongue along her skin there and she digs her teeth into her bottom lip, tries to hold back another moan. “And who shall I put in his place?” He skirts his hands at the bottom swell of her breasts, barely touches her through the fabric.

She forces her legs to stay apart, to ignore the heat in her belly, the slick that she can feel between her legs. “I do not know,” Galadriel replies as she grabs his hand, stills his movements. “Surely one can be found who’d do a fairer job than any of them among the lot.”

She turns, presses her hands against his chest. The first few ties of his tunic are undone and her gaze flicks there, tongue darts out to lick her lips at the chest hair that peeks out. She can’t help how fascinated she is by it; knows how far it goes because of the injury she’s not even sure was real from Tirharad. But it’s the chain she sees tucked against his chest, the promise of a location of the rings that thrills her more.

Galadriel slips out from under him. Knows what she needs to do.

But not yet.

Doesn’t want him suspicious.

Needs to ease into it, have him think it’s a natural progression between them.

“I suppose we know what you’ll be looking for these next few days then,” Halbrand says as she heads over to her trunk and pulls out her nightgown. “Figure out who you think is worthy of one, melmenya, and it will be done.”

She bristles at that, ignores his chuckle as he crowds her space again. He sweeps his hand through her hair before he strokes her chin and tilts it so she’s looking up at him. She watches him look at her lips, watches as he licks his own before his eyes lock with hers. “Would you like me to call for a bath?”

There’s entirely too much mirth, too much mischief in his gaze as he smirks down at her. “That depends, are you going to stay here and watch me bathe?” she asks, narrows her eyes.

He leans in, nose brushes hers. “Would you like me to?”

She shoves him back but he catches her wrists, presses kisses to the inside of both. Lips lingering on her right one. “I’ll call for a bath and leave you to it. I have matters to deal with.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to ask what those might be but she’s grateful he’s let go of her. Galadriel watches him tip his head to her and then he’s out of the room. She lays the nightdress down on the bed and slowly exhales.

Tries to shake off the feelings of longing he draws from her and to focus on the plans that brews in her head.

****

She allows herself to lean into his touches more, doesn’t pull away as he draws her closer. Let’s him think that her barriers are slowly falling down, that he’s won. Galadriel can feel his triumph, sees the flicker of possessiveness as he watches her from across rooms. She does as she said she would, talks to the others, looks for someone who could become a ring bearer, even if she means to never let one of the rings slip onto their fingers.

His touch stirs a desire in her that Galadriel has long thought she successfully buried, but he stokes the dying embers, gets them gathering into a raging fire. Finds herself watching him as he converses with others, as he walks about the stronghold taking in every inch of the place. She forgets sometimes how tall he is, how he towers over her, how his hand can wrap so easily around her arm or how small she is compared to him. But she’s reminded as she watches him now.

The curl of his hair, longer than it had been when she first met him, burnished in the soft glow of the sunlight as they traverse through the villages outside the stronghold together. He keeps her hand tucked against him, draws her nearer as they step over puddles and inspect farmland. Her gut twists as she realizes she’s anticipating the gentle stroke of his fingers down her arm, his hand at the small of her back as he leans in to tell her something.

Her gaze drifts to his lips on her own accord more often than not. Her tongue darting out to lick at her own as she lowers her gaze and forces herself to look away from him.

The lord and his generals live for now but she knows it’s only a matter of time, that their blood will spill once she makes her decision. Their behavior grates on her. She can handle their coarse language but it is their stares, the way their serving girls flinch so easily, darting from one room to another, always trying to never be alone with anyone that fills her with a rage she’s long thought tempered. It thrives in this place, this mockery of a kingdom, of civilization.

She fails to contain it at the next supper.

“You will not touch him,” Galadriel orders as she rises, gaze pierces the lord who’s already backhanded the servant who’s accidentally spilled wine. They all rise as is customary.

“Your highness,” the lord starts but her gaze is on the servant who struggles to stand. “He is wasteful.”

“And you made him even more so by your own actions,” she replies, nods toward the carafe of wine broken on the ground behind him.

The lord glances over at Halbrand, as if he’ll be of any help with the situation. Halbrand merely takes a drink from his own wine, looks to her. She hopes her distaste for the situation is plain to see, how she lays the blame solely at his feet for the treatment of the people. He sits taller at her glare, sighs but she speaks before he can.

“Your choice of allies is a poor one here,” she says before she sweeps out of the dining area. The others are talking, muttering something about the peculiarities of women as the doors close behind her. A smile graces her lips as she delights in the shouts she hears before there is nothing but a deadly silence.

It quickly falters. She knows she should not delight in the deaths that have no doubt just transpired.

Galadriel barely makes it to the bedroom door before Halbrand is on her. “You will need to pick quickly now,” he tells her. She finds no blood on him, but there is a frenziedness about him as he presses her against the bedroom door. She is the one who digs her fingers into his curls, who guides his mouth to hers, desperate to kiss him.

There is no gentleness to be found and she’s grateful for that, sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, tastes blood as she pulls back. It’s black as pitch, so similar to how the others had described her wound. He wipes it away with his thumb, never takes his gaze off of her. She should pull away now, be disgusted by this new development but she will not falter now, not when she’s so close to finishing her plans.

Or at least that’s what she reasons with herself as she pulls him closer again, kisses him as if she’s starved and he’s the only thing that can satisfy her now. It’s true enough as she feels him undoing the laces of her gown even as he manages to push open the door. One of his hands presses against her back, keeps her to him as he walks them into the room.

He wheels her around as soon as they’re inside the room, the laces on her dress so easily undone before he’s pulling it off of her completely. Halbrand presses up against her back before she can say a word, hands sliding up her stomach, cupping her breasts as he kisses along her shoulder, up her neck. Galadriel feels like she is falling, his touch overwhelming, far more than she’s used to all of these centuries. He elicits gasps she hadn’t known she could make, strokes places that she wasn’t aware could make her toes curl, legs weak.

“I killed them all,” he breathes against her neck. “The obnoxious lord and his generals.”

“But you left the servants alone?” she asks, reaches behind to clutch at his hair as he scrapes his teeth along her the junction between her shoulder and throat.

“Of course,” Halbrand murmurs, before his tongue soothes the area. “I’ve no interest in earning your ire right now.”

She knows she will be earning his soon enough.

Galadriel turns, crashes her mouth into his before she can think too much about that, brings his hands back to her breasts, wants to feel him there, aches for his touch. He smiles against her lips before he’s back to being the one in control, has her gasping as he runs his thumb over her puckering nipple and then dips down, leans her back against his hand so he can lathe his tongue against it before he sucks.

“Halbrand,” she cries out, fists her hands in his hair, grabs hold of his shoulder to help steady herself.

He chuckles against her breast, the movement vibrates through her and she lets her head fall back, eyes shut before she realizes he’s rested her back against the bed. Galadriel looks up, finds him kneeling in front of her and it’s a sight that’s haunted her dreams far longer than she wants to admit to. He strokes her legs, runs his fingers over her knees before he places a kiss on each of her thighs. And then he parts them. Galadriel almost hates how easily her thighs part for him, how she shifts her hips up when he urges her to, watches as he slowly slips off her small clothes, his gaze never leaving hers.

She’s breathing heavy, lets out a yelp as he yanks her down further on the bed, moves her legs so they’re over his shoulders. Is not at all ready as he dives into her. She’s already wet but it’s been ages since she’s been touched where he so eagerly licks and sucks now. It’s too much and not enough all at the same time. She writhes, hips try to move away from him, but he has an arm pressed against her stomach quickly, locks her in place.

Galadriel digs her hands into the blankets beneath her, pulls at the fabric as his nose nudges that bundle of nerves while his tongue delves between her folds. She cries out when she feels his fingers brushing through next, his tongue pressing against her before she feels him press a finger inside of her. He doesn’t let up, no matter how she cries out his name, no matter how her fingers leave the blankets and pull at his curls instead. He keeps feasting and feasting and feasting, draws her over the edge and continues to pleasure her even after she’s crashed over it, her mind blissfully vacant.

He’s kissing her before she knows it and she tastes herself in his mouth, feels her stickiness on his lips, sees it in his beard as he lifts his head to gaze down at her. She almost can’t take the way he looks at her, the reverence in his gaze. Thinks he might truly see her as a being of light, that he does mean to worship her. The necklace he wears slips out of his tunic and she feels the rings brush against her chest, slide against her breasts before he pushes himself up and begins to divest himself of his clothing.

She licks her lips as she watches him. It’s easy to not look at the rings, her mind tries to capture every inch of his body instead, teeth brush against her bottom lip as his cock is bared. “Breathe, Galadriel,” Halbrand teases as he climbs onto the bed with her, easily kisses her again.

Galadriel presses herself up against him, wants to feel every inch of his body against her own, wants to be consumed in ways she’s never quite been before. She kisses his chest, draws her fingers down the hair there before she tentatively strokes his cock, fingers featherlight. Likes how he jerks into her hand, the way he groans at her touch. She knows she’s smirking as he presses her hard against the bed.

He strokes her cheek. It’s such a gentle touch, the way he looks at her is far more tender than she’s thought him capable of. He tilts her hips and she feels him stroke himself through her slickness before he’s pressing into her. He holds her gaze as he stretches her, never stopping until he’s seated fully inside her. She gasps for air, her hands gripping his shoulders as she tries to adjust to the feel of him, of the fullness.

And then he moves, draws back out only to plunge into her again.

She knows she will always be bound to him now.

That nothing will be able to break the connection that forms with them as her hips meet his, as he fucks her into the bed, his mouth seeking out hers. It’s supposed to feel like a sacrifice, the last thing she can give to the world, that she can give of herself, but all she feels is pressure and pleasure. All she feels is love. Some twisted love that she knows she cannot shake.

That maybe part of her doesn’t want to shake.

She gives into the pleasure, into the bond and lets her body experience what it wants, stops fighting for once in her life and allows herself to simply feel. There is no regret when they are done, when he peppers her face with kisses. She strokes his cheeks, blissful as she closes her eyes and works to come down from her high.

She rolls onto her side after some time, finds Halbrand with his arm flung over his eyes. He’s snoring softly. Galadriel doesn’t think she’s ever heard him do that before. Doesn’t think she’s ever seen him fall asleep before either. She touches his arm but he doesn’t move, nor does he when she slips the necklace around and undoes the claps. The rings fall easily into her hands and she holds her breath as his arm falls a bit.

But he stays asleep.

She hurries to put on her dress and shoes, doesn’t know how much time she has as she heads darts to the window and then out of it. Galadriel slides down one rooftop and then leaps to another. Her footsteps are light and none of the guards spot her as she makes her away along the wall and then over it. She runs as fast as her legs will carry her toward the river, throws one into its waters. The other she clutches in her hands as she hears a scream erupt in the distance. Knows its him as the morning sun begins to rise. She considers throwing the other into the river as well but doesn’t want them in the same place, wants to make it difficult for him to retrieve them.

She wades across the river, hears her name being called in the distance. The fury behind it has her shuddering but she cannot hurry, does not want to slip on the wet stones beneath her feet. She chances a look back as she makes it across, pants as she sees the riders, spots him leading the charge. Galadriel takes off running again, darts into the forest and towards the cliff faces she knows are only so far away.

“Galadriel!”

She’s not going to make it to the cliffs but she thinks she can throw the ring, that at least it can go tumbling over the side, get lost in the landscape below. She throws it as Halbrand breaks through the tree line with his horse. His face is a mask of rage, eyes narrowing as he spots the ring falling over the edge. She tries to dart away, certain he’ll go for the ring over her, but it’s her body that locks up. It’s her he approaches after he dismounts the horse.

“I should have expected as much,” he mutters as he rounds on her. She’d jut her chin out if she could but settles for wrinkling her nose as she glares at him. “I do hope you’ve not tried to convince yourself that letting me fuck you was only so you could get your hands on the rings.” She doesn’t like how he strokes her throat, the way his other hand travels to her hip and up, brushes the underside of her breast. “We both know it was more than that.” His lips brush against hers and she closes her eyes, tries not to respond to him; to ignore the way his mere presence intoxicates her.

“You are mine now, just as you were always meant to be,” Halbrand breathes out against her lips. “Bound.” He feasts on her mouth and she can do nothing but let him. Tries not to think about how she kisses him back, how she yearns to dig her fingers into his curls, to claim him just as he claims her.

He presses his forehead to hers but she still cannot move. “The power that I will give you, Galadriel. The way they shall worship you.”

Some of the others manage to make it to their side and Halbrand nods towards the cliff face. “Search below. I want that ring found.”

Galadriel smirks as he looks back at her, expects to find at least annoyance again in his gaze but all she finds is amusement. His hold on her body eases up but he grabs her arm, pulls her back through the trees and towards the riverbank. It’s not particularly a fast-flowing river but she thinks the ring should be well down it by now. Far beyond the reach of any of these mortals searching hands.

He walks the two of them into river and then stops in the middle of it. “What are you doing?” she hisses as he forces her downward. For a moment she thinks he means to drown her, but he follows her down, his grip moving to her hand that wears Nenya before he plunges it in the water.

Halbrand speaks, Black Speech now, and Galadriel struggles in his grip as she feels his words twist around her, utilizing her and Nenya to part the river waters. “No,” she struggles, tries to break his hold on her, but he simply hushes her, grip tightening before he presses a kiss to her cheek. She wills Nenya to not obey but it hums to her as she feels his power coursing through her as well, manipulating her body and mind to do what he wants, pulling on Nenya’s abilities.

She senses the ring now. Feels it as it draws back through the water, against the current that should be pushing it far away. He picks it up and the river plunges back to its usual movement. He does not let up his grip on her. Nuzzles her neck before he spins her around. She tries to hit him, but he easily catches her wrist, tsks at her.

“I will never stop fighting you, never stop trying to get rid of these.”

He smiles at her, looks absolutely delighted as he yanks her closer again. “Please feel free to manipulate me as you did last night for another chance at them.”

Galadriel glares at him, tries to ignore the hardness of him pressed up against her, to ignore the way desire shoots right through her as he smirks down at her. “We should get you out of these wet clothes,” Halbrand says as he pulls her from the river. “I’d be more than happy to help warm you, melmenya. After all, we’ll be here longer now that we will not be leaving until they find what is mine.”

“You will rue the day you decided to make me queen,” she hisses at him, wrenches her arm away and starts to stomp back toward the stronghold.

"I look forward to continuing this dance with you, Galadriel,” he calls out and she looks back at him, glowers as he smiles. “We have millennia upon millennia to perfect it.”

He laughs, loud and bright, and Galadriel hates the desire that pools inside of her because of it. She’ll figure this out. He does not get to win. Not as long as she continues to draw breath.