Well, I Would Let Myself Ruin By Him Everytime I Just Love This And Your Writing Wow. I Would Be So Happy

well, i would let myself ruin by him everytime 🤭 i just love this and your writing wow. i would be so happy if you continue. i can’t wait for more

And Comes Dawn.

Pairing: sauron/halbrand x reader, more pairings in the future to be tagged

Summary: In all beings, there exists darkness. when the deciver finds one who seems to defy this, he becomes obsessed with finding it within her. and if he can't find it, he will ruin her himself.

Tags/Warnings: clichés abound, opposites attract, sauron being evil but also hot but also evil, no use of y/n. This is pretty barebones. There's not much to tag, I don't think.

Notes: there was a lot of interest in this when I made a post. This is not super duper long and a Lil choppy but I wanna see what people think. Lemme know if you like it. If I should continue it. I have a lot of ideas. It's all written and edited on my phone so I'm sorry if it looks bad or mistakes were made.

The wind from the sea felt nice on his face. After so many years spent as nothing more than mud and slime, it was nice to feel. Feel anything. Freedom, independence, revenge. His plan to create order and heal the world would come to fruition. Being stuck on a ship with these men was worth that price. They were like bugs. If he wanted to, he could squash them and feel nothing. Though there was one who spoke to him kindly as a mentor would, and there was the ever so slight stirring of emotions he presumed were long dead. The old man was enough to make him question what it was he desired. Did he want to be good? Did he want a fresh start? What about his plans? The desire for order was there, the want to heal the world and bring peace, but would he get that through evil, through deceit and violence? Or could that be obtained another way? He continued to stare over the vast ocean as the wheels in his head turned, and he waged a war inside himself.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" A voice broke through the silence of the night.

He turned sharply, greeted by the image of a young woman. You were beautiful. He noticed it right away. Never had he looked at a human and thought they were beautiful. The thought was usually reserved for elves, but you were different. He could tell just by looking. You were soft, gentle, pure. There was a light to you that permeated all of your features.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. We have more food tonight than expected, and you had been on your own so long before finding us. I supposed you might be hungry." You held up a bowl for him, which he accepted with a nod.

"Thank you. I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Halbrand."

You smiled softly back at him, giving him your name and taking a few small steps towards him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He watched you. It was curious. Everyone here was gruff and rude, not wanting to help a stranger, yet you brought him a bowl of soup instead of keeping it for yourself. He watched as you looked up at the stars and how they were reflected back in your eyes. Humans didn't often intrigue him, but you did.

He leaned back against the railing of the boat with his arms crossed, but before he could speak to ask his question, you spoke.

"The stars are beautiful, aren't they? The light against the immense darkness. It reminds us that there is light in all things. Even in the darkest of times, there is hope."

"Your people were just slaughtered by orcs. You're on the run. Hope in the stars seems pretty useless." His eyes watched you with keen interest.

"Hope is never useless. Without it, all is lost." The earnestness in your voice further fueled his curiosity.

"And what do you hope for in times like this?"

"A new start. A place to start fresh..."

"Yes," he interrupted, "That is what all hope for, but what do you hope a new place or fresh start will do? What do you want from it?"

"I want a safe place to lay my head. I want to live without shame. I want fresh air and to grow my food and I want music and I want laughter. I want to drink tea with my friends. I want to love and feel the wind on my face. I want happiness. I want peace." You smiled and closed your eyes as you pictured this serene future.

He watched you, his brows furrowed. You were odd, but he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing as of yet.

"You have a lot of this hope. It's almost oozing out of you. I can almost taste it." He took a step towards you. "As if there is no evil out there."

"There is evil, yes, but there is good. Do we despair because there is evil or have hope because there is good? I do not think there is truly anything that is created evil. Evil is only when the good is taken from someone, and if you're able to take it, then it's able to be taken back." Your eyes had opened, and you looked up at him.

"I doubt you'd believe that if you knew the evil I'd done."

"Thousands of years ago, the people of the southlands sided with Morgoth. Our ancestors fought alongside the most evil being to ever exist. Most would say that the things our people did were deplorable and worthy of the worst shame. But I look upon my home, I look upon the people I have grown with, and I do not see evil. The people here, I am but a stranger to them. I have yet to meet most of them, but they took me in, as they did you. If my ancestors were evil, they could not have created such good."

“Whatever evil you did, it can be forgiven. You can do good, be good.” You moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. The feeling brought a sense of warmth that he had not felt since before he joined Morgoth, when he went by a different name. His eyes traveled down to where your hand rested, and you dropped it back to your side. He'd found himself missing the feeling.

"Your ancestors did do evil, though. They did plenty of evil things. Just as I have."

"Did they do evil out of the desire to be evil? Or did they do evil to protect those they loved? Were they born that way, destined to be only evil? Were you made evil? Or was it thrust upon you in a moment of hopelessness? Does every being have the capability to do both good and evil?"

He was left stunned at what you said, it took longer than usual for him to come up with a response. He wet his lips, looking over the ocean for a moment before looking at you once more. Your hair was gently blowing in the breeze of the ocean and he found the sight captivating. His intuition told him you were telling the truth, that you believed the words you were saying with your whole being. How could that be? There had to be some darkness that motivated you, that tainted your soul.

Everyone had darkness.

His mind played over the interaction long after it had happened. He wanted to feel that warmth again. You were a puzzle, a mystery. He would not know peace until he figured out what darkness was inside you because surely there had to be something. It was one of the many things that plagued his mind late at night. He watched as you slept peacefully. You were rows and rows down from him, but he could zoom in on your form. He watched your chest rise and fall, the calm of your features. You were a mystery that he had to solve.

This was what was on his mind when the worm attacked. He needed to know you. Even now, he watched as you attempted to help an elderly woman stuck under a beam instead of rushing to safety yourself. He couldn't bring himself to save the old man, but his fingers wrapped around the relic, and as water rushed the ship, he lept over and shielded your body with his.

He couldn't let you die. He had to understand you, to know you, to find out what motivated you, he would find your inner darkness.

And if he couldn't, he'd ruin you instead.

makes me weak in the knees all the time 🫠

Sauron was greater, effectively, in the Second Age than Morgoth at the end of the First. Morgoth squandered his power of being in the endeavour to gain control of others. [...] Morgoth at the time of the War of the Jewels had become permanently incarnate; for this reason he was afraid, and waged the war almost entirely by means of devices, or of subordinates and dominated creatures. Sauron, however, inherited the corruption of Arda, and only spent his (much more limited) power on the Rings; for it was the creatures of earth, in their minds and wills, that he desired to dominate. In this way Sauron was also wiser than Melkor. Sauron was not a beginner of discord; and he probably knew more of the Music than did Melkor, whose mind had always been filled with his own plans and devices, and gave little attention to other things. 

give me a sword he made and i will never lay it out of my hand ever again 🤭

Imagine asking Halbrand if he'd make you a sword...

Imagine asking Halbrand if he'd make you a sword after shamelessly admiring him while he worked and being in awe as you inspect the blades he made.

You commented that they almost sing as you wield them, quietly murmuring, wondering, if it would be possible to make a blade that would sing on its own.

He asked what you meant, and you bashfully explained that you were always fascinated by the stories you heard about the blades that the Dark Elf, Eöl, created.

The following teasing banter was nothing out of usual, except you have seen the spark in his eyes that your unsaid challenge started in him. He would do it, you could tell, and it would prove your suspicions about him.

Only, you were not sure you wanted to be right anymore...

Perfect illusion (Sauron x Celebrimbor’s daughter!reader)

-> in which you have to sit by your father’s side as Sauron coerces him into finishing the Nine, realizing just how blind you have been all along

Warnings: No romance, just angst. You marry Annatar (+ implied smut) when you don’t know he’s Sauron, so there’s all the emotional torment and consent issues that come with that. Uncomfortable touching (not smut) after you find out he’s Sauron. Manipulation, mind control and victim blaming as per canon

You sit in your chair, watching your father work. A familiar thing, which you have done a million times before. Before, however, there had never been a shackle around his wrist, or blood marring his brow. There had never been rubble scattered about the workplace, or the sound of battle coming through the window. Before, there had never been The Dark Lord standing behind you, his hands weighing you down as though the ceiling had collapsed upon you.

That is not to say that they are forceful. No, his touch is soft, as it has always been, his fingers brushing your hair gently, almost absent-mindedly. At times they reach your neck or your cheek, grazing your skin and sending shivers down your spine. You dig your nails painfully into your own hands to keep from trembling. It’s the least, even if the most inconsequential thing, that you can still do—to deny him this small satisfaction.

“Stop that,” Sauron says, his voice deceivingly gentle as he gives your shoulder a warning squeeze. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

Of course, that only makes you want to clench your fists harder. But you force yourself to open them, mindful of what might happen if you disobey.

“You once took comfort in my touch,” he says. If you knew no better, you’d believe the sorrow in his voice is genuine. “It is only comfort I wish to give you now as well.”

His knuckles brush your cheek, painfully tender and excruciatingly familiar. Though you’ve been trying to keep as still as possible, you cannot help but turn your face away, if only just an inch.

His hand stills mid-air, then returns to your shoulder. He takes a breath, quiet but long and deep.

“I have caused you suffering. That is true,” he admits, patiently. “But I assure you that this too shall pass. Once Middle-Earth is healed, and the people will see what we did here... your feelings will change.”

You can’t help how your breath quickens, chest trembling with anger. It only becomes worse when Sauron puts his fingers to your chin, coaxing you to twist your neck and look up into his piercing eyes. “You must know it pains me,” he says, “treating you like—”

“Like you have treated countless others?” your father intercedes in haste.

Sauron’s attention turns to Celebrimbor then, as your father had no doubt hoped it would. The whole time he’d been working, his eyes kept straying to you, as if to make sure you are still alive and whole. To your relief, Sauron removes his hand from your face. To your dread, he is now moving towards Celebrimbor, displeased with his remark.

“Like Morgoth treated me,” he corrects, hovering over your father.

You are not bound. You could, in theory, try to run. But you are not foolish enough to believe you could escape. Any such attempt would only earn you a shackle of your own, similar to your father’s. Though, you’re starting to believe that the cold bite of metal might just be more bearable than the silent imprisonment of your husband’s touch.

Your husband. The word twists in your stomach, carves holes into your heart. It all came so naturally to you when you spoke the vows and sealed the bond. Now, you can’t imagine how you got here. All you know are the facts of what happened, and even those no longer seem to make sense in your weakened mind.

You know who you used to be, when the world still made sense: daughter of Celebrimbor, the greatest of Elven smiths. You think his talents mixed with your mother’s magic may have resulted in your gift to manipulate materials in particular ways which do not necessarily come naturally. You know the mithril had refused to be coaxed into joining with the other metals without your intervention. You know Halbrand had been the one to suggest that you try it.

You know how easily he had endeared himself to you from the moment you met, and how confusing and sharp the pain had been when he disappeared without a trace. You know how quick you had been to let him into Eregion when he returned, despite Galadriel’s inexplicable request that you refrain from doing so.

You know the transition from Halbrand to Annatar had been unexpected, if not jarring, but in the end the pull you felt towards him was unchanged. You know there were touches, desire... trust.

You no longer know why. Because there never was a reason—not a true one, anyway. Only his deception, his mind games. But at the time, you didn’t know. At the time, it had made perfect sense when, one night, you had found yourself at the dining table, anxious about giving your father the news of what had happened a mere few hours prior.

Annatar was to your side, sitting at the head of the long table, while your father was across from you. He may be the Lord of Eregion, but he had insisted that an emissary of the Valar should take the most important seat. Yet despite your father’s deep admiration for Annatar, you were not sure how he would react.

“As you know,” you began tentatively, “Lord Annatar has been a close and trusted friend to me, these past few weeks. As he has been to you.”

“Indeed,” your father nodded. His unsure smile and knitted brow told you he was at a loss for what you were leading up to. You opened your mouth, but found yourself quite tongue-tied. You glanced at Annatar, who graciously took over.

“However,” he continued, lips forming a gentle, almost bashful smile, “after a time, we found that there were... deeper feelings between us.”

Though he was speaking to Celebrimbor, his gaze sought yours. You met it, heart fluttering as he wrapped your hand in his, resting them on the table in such a way that the new ring on your finger was in your father’s line of sight.

“Annatar has proposed marriage, father,” you finally say, turning to him. “And I have accepted.”

Your father blinked, eyebrows lifting in an expression of wordless surprise. When words failed to leave his mouth, Annatar took it upon himself to break the silence once more.

“My friend, I...” He trailed off, uncharacteristically hesitant in his choice of words. “I am well aware I should have asked for your blessing beforehand. Especially since things have progressed with such unusual haste, but—”

“Oh, nonsense!” your father burst out, as if finally regaining his senses. “Nonsense, my friend, this...” A short laugh bubbled out of him as he turned to you with a face-splitting grin. “Such wonderful news! Oh, my dear,” he took your hand in his, gazing in wonder upon your betrothal ring before he pressed a kiss filled with fatherly love to your knuckles. “You could not have found a better match,” he praised.

“The same is true for myself,” Annatar said, giving you that kind smile of his that never failed to have you return it.

Relief washed over you. All was well.

You’d be lying to say there isn’t a part of you that resents your father for giving you away so eagerly. He could not stop you no matter who you chose to wed, but with anyone else, he’d have at the very least warned you that the engagement had happened much too quickly. He’d have been more cautious of your betrothed, tried to determine whether or not their intentions towards you were true. But Annatar, in your father’s eyes, was of divine nature, and the thought of becoming kin with one of his kind had filled your father with such pride, it overshadowed all else.

You wonder if he is as ashamed of that moment now as you are. And of everything that came after.

You’re not sure if speaking the wedding vows had somehow allowed Sauron better dominion over your mind, or if you were simply too far gone by then. Little by little, more and more over time, you came to depend on your husband. When your father began acting strange and ill-tempered, Annatar alone knew of his ailment, and he alone could help him heal. He alone could provide the comfort you needed as you watched your father lose himself by the day, unaware that the same was happening to you.

He always knew when and what to say to bring you peace. He never seemed to leave your side, whether in the presence of others or alone. And you craved being alone with him more than anything else. He was an expert lover, so attuned to the needs of your flesh, it was as though he could slither beneath your skin and discern for himself which of his touches felt the most exquisite. Being near him was a delight in itself, but intimacy with him was simply addictive.

Warm morning light flooded through your window, and you wondered how you were supposed to ever leave this bed. Lying on your husband’s chest, skin to skin in the afterglow of your love-making, everything else in the world seemed so inconsequential in comparison.

“Do you ever sleep?” you asked, wondering suddenly how it had never crossed your mind before. He was always by your side as you drifted to sleep—most often spent from yet another passionate exchange—and he was there to greet you each time you awoke. Yet he was not of your kind, and an emissary of the Valar seemed to you above such things as sleep.

“It is not in my nature to sleep,” he admitted, fingers tracing gentle lines up and down your spine. “But I rather enjoy laying by your side as you do.”

Your heart soared at the quiet adoration in his voice. And before long, you found yourself aching for him once more. You brushed his neck with your lips, lightly at first, and then with more insistence, making your desire known.

“Again?” he asked, faintly amused.

You lifted your head, the smallest furrow in your brow. “Does it bother you?”

“Not in the least,” he replied. If that wasn’t reassurance enough, his lips caught yours, and he moved so that your body was safely beneath his, and even the thousandth time would not have been enough.

You can still taste his kisses—and they feel like ash. You remember how each time you became one, it felt better, but only now can you see how it made things so much worse. A corner of your mind, growing larger by the day, was always occupied by him. Each time you aided in the making of one of your father’s Ring designs, you did so with thoughts of Annatar. You know now why he wanted it that way—your craving for his touch, your utter devotion to him, seeping into the Rings the Power, one by one. You think you might have known even then. But he was always careful not to push you too far, to bring you back from the brink of suspicion before it ever started to take shape in your mind.

Even when the reality of things was undeniable before your eyes.

Your last night before finding out had been spent in a dreadful haze. Sleep felt more like a waking prison as you dreamt of terrible, yet distant things, hearing screams without seeing where they came from, seeing blood and ashes on streets you felt you should but could not recognize. You were grateful to wake up and see the sunlit sky beyond your window. Its light adorned your husband’s hair beautifully, the familiar sight of him sitting on the edge of your bed bringing you further relief.

“There you are,” he greeted softly, brow creased with a trace of concern. “You gave us quite the scare.”

“What—?” Your attempt to speak ended in a cough, as if you’d been breathing dust instead of air. Annatar left your side in haste, returning but a moment later with a glass of water.

“Here,” he said, putting the glass to your lips. You took it gladly, relishing the water soothing your throat. Once Annatar had helped you sit up and settle against the pillows, you asked, as you had meant to, “What happened?”

There was pity in his gaze. “Don’t you remember, my love?”

You shut your eyes, trying to grasp at figments of blurry images. “I was outside, I think. Mirdania was there. And you. And...”

Annatar shook his head, speaking as softly as if to a frightened child. “Earlier in the day, perhaps. When you collapsed, you were in the forge, with me and Lord Celebrimbor. When you sought to aid your father in merging the metals for his latest attempt at the Nine, your efforts over these past weeks took their toll on you.” He gave you a sympathetic smile, fingers brushing your cheek. “You fell right into my arms.”

“I did?”

His words did evoke images. The memory was there, somewhere. But the more you tried to reach for it, the more your insides churned.

“Be at ease,” Annatar soothed. “You merely slept through the night. I have watched over you all the while, and I shall do so until you are better.”

Better. Yes, you would get better.

But you knew, deep in your bones, that you were not well. The sense of dread within you refused to recede, lingering in the furthest corner of your mind even in the moments where you felt the safest. Something deeply rooted in you wanted it all to be over—the work, the forging, the ailments, your father’s as well as yours. You wished so desperately for things to return to the way they used to be before the Rings, it felt as though a great fist had clenched around your heart and refused to release it. But then again, before the Rings, there hadn’t been Annatar. And your need for him hurt just as terribly.

In the end, everything hurt. Everything.

“Are you in pain?” your husband murmured. You hadn’t realized tears were already sliding down your cheeks.

You broke into sobs.

He slipped beneath the covers and wrapped you in his arms. It became even harder to breathe, and you clung to him all the harder for it, desperate to find that peace that he had offered you time and again.

“Hush, my love,” he cooed, holding you close to his chest as you wept for reasons unknown. “All will be well soon.”

You had fallen into his arms, just like he’d said. Only, you hadn’t been inside the forge, but outside, just as your mind had fruitlessly struggled to remind you. You were there when the siege alarms began to blare and chaos erupted in the streets. When you saw your husband walk amongst it, you had run to him at once. Asking where your father was, wanting to stand united with your kin amidst the unfolding madness.

Darkness had engulfed your vision instead, shrouding your memory as well. He must have carried you back to your chambers himself, crafting an illusion within your mind to match the one in which Celebrimbor was already trapped.

It makes sense now. How desperately you had clung to the very source of your misery. One cannot satisfy thirst by drinking sea water, but you, in your foolishness, had drunk enough to drain the sea.

“You chose it,” he now tells your father, speaking of the suffering he had inflicted, “not I.”

And there’s a part of you that believes him, even as another screams inside you that his words are poison. You cling desperately to the scrap of reason within you which recognizes that his claims are atrocious—that it is Celebrimbor who forced Sauron to torment him, that he is the true author of his own torment. You watch in disbelief, feeling as though you’re falling through the floor, waiting for your father to refute Sauron’s lies as if hearing the truth spoken out loud will save you from shattering to pieces at the bottom of the abyss.

And you can tell he wants to. There is defiance in Celebrimbor’s eyes as he glances to you, the fire of his will still burning beneath the burden of his torment. But, slowly and surely, he tames it. Averts his gaze in shame.

“Very well,” your father says. “Give me the blame. Punish me as you see fit. You have already taken my city. But I beg you,” his voice trembles, tears gathering in his eyes, “let my daughter leave.”

A smirk tugs at Sauron’s lips. “Your daughter...” He returns to your side, gathering your stiff hand in his and thumbing your wedding ring. “...is my wife, Celebrimbor. It is only natural that she should remain at my side.”

You and Celebrimbor exchange a despairing glance. Your father, determined to plea for your freedom—you, fearing the consequences he might bring upon himself.

“Please—”

“Father, don’t—”

“No!” he cries out. “I all but pushed you into his arms.” Tears slip from his regret-filled eyes. “That is my fault.”

Sauron takes a seat next to you, his brow furrowed as if he couldn’t possibly grasp the reason for such grievances.

“She has given herself to me freely,” he says, your hand still trapped in his as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Have you not?”

You glare daggers at him.

“How could I have chosen you freely, when I never knew who you were?” you hiss. It does nothing to deter him.

“Why do you lie to yourself? You knew.” You shake your head. He nods his, insisting, “Yes. Deep within your heart, you knew.”

“Don’t say such things to her,” Celebrimbor pleads, “I beg you—”

“Such things as the truth, Celebrimbor?” Sauron asks roughly, irritated by the interruption. “Tell him, my dear wife,” he challenges, “that you never once suspected I was more than what I claimed to be. That you never felt the caress of darkness within my touch.”

You cannot look at him, or at your father. You cannot speak those words, however desperately you wish you could.

“Tell him,” Sauron insists cruelly, squeezing your hand to the point of near pain.

“I did,” you murmur miserably. Sauron loosens his threatening grip on your hand, pleased.

“Yet even as you cried yourself to sleep in fear of it,” he goes on, “it was within my arms that you took comfort. Because, in truth, you were not afraid of who I was—you were afraid of how little it mattered to you.” A last spark of defiance drives you to make the mistake of meeting his gaze, and his sickly sympathetic smile makes you shudder within his hold. “He needed to create,” he reasons. “You needed to be desired. And I needed you both.”

His arm is no longer around you, but the relief is meager and short-lived as he then cups your cheek, thumb catching the tears that have begun to fall from your eyes. He insists to hold his hand there as you flinch, screwing your eyes shut. A small sigh leaves him.

“Have I not treated you well?” he asks. “Was I not kind to you when you most needed it? A caring husband, a most... generous lover?”

“Hold your wicked tongue!” you all but growl, your head jerking with enough force that he retracts his hand. Your eyes fly to Celebrimbor, and see that he has shut his in great pain. Shame crawls under your skin. Sauron smiles in a mockery of bashfulness.

“Forgive me for speaking of such matters before your father, but it is only the truth. You must admit that. And it need not change.”

His hand returns to your cheek then, pressed more firmly to it, and you only now realize it’s the one he cut. You feel a warm wetness on your skin, and know that once he removes it, his blood, black as the pitch, would be smeared there, marking you even further as his.

“The Rings are nearly finished,” you say through gritted teeth. “You never truly desired me. What more use could you have of me?”

“Who says I never desired you?” he whispers, almost as if wounded. “I would not have made you my wife, if it hadn’t been my wish to make you my Queen as well.”

His voice is so alluring, so saccharine and familiar to your ears, it takes everything in you to remind yourself that every word is a lie. And if you grasp at reason, you can tell why he speaks them. Because of your involvement in making the Rings, you would always have some measure of influence over them, so it serves him well to have you under his control. But not only that. He would relish knowing he has subdued you to his will. That he not only ensnared the mind of the greatest of Elven smiths, but also claimed his daughter as his prize.

A storm brews in Sauron’s eyes as he senses your persisting reluctance. His fingers grip your chin, pulling you close so that his breath falls on your cheek as he speaks.

“You will say yes to me once more.”

You hate how determined he is to make it so. You hate how helpless you are to do anything other than glare back at him.

But what you hate the most is that you are not certain he is wrong.

This is what he actually said

oh wait, you’re words are making me blush so hard rn 🤭 this definitely is valinor — and ofc i like it!! i’m so excited what will come next from you 🫶🏽

bound

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: reader is captured from the comfort of her home to serve the Dark Lord, Morgoth. his loyal servant lures her further into darkness

warnings: some fighting, but nothing really

word count: 2,3k

author’s note: i had an idea in my mind for weeks now and really wanted to write a witch!reader but i’m not sure how it will turn out if i start writing more for it. consider it a one shot for now

The chains dug mercilessly into your neck and wrists, every movement reminded you that you would not be so easily free. You cursed yourself for being so reckless, for becoming too careless, too comfortable in your own home. He needed a healer or so they said when they stormed in the middle of the night and dragged you away from Greenwood. Your body covered in wounds, dried blood clinging to your clothes as they threw you into a cell and laughed as they left.

You were aware of who Morgoth was, how could you not? Forodwaith was a fortress that not many dared to cross into and not many managed to leave unharmed. Every fight, every battle you tended to him, much to your dislike. He nearly killed you the first time you refused and left you unconscious for days from one single blow. The next time you didn’t fight back, you told yourself it would be easier to stay compliant until the opportunity arose and after centuries of waiting it did.

Morgoth was defeated, you should rejoice, then why didn’t you? Years of torment left you numb and still chained in your cell with no light of hope for freedom.

You awaited your end and as the last bit of light shone into your cell you heard it, an orc staggering through the halls, his steps uneven as if he drank too much ale, and perhaps he did. You move to the shadows and wait, your hand lingers by the bars as the orc passes through, one precise cut is all it takes for him to stumble onto the ground.

Your hand holds a bone, carved to a sharp point and for a split second, you think back to that faithful day when it landed in your cell. Months it took you to carve it, your nails broken, your hand cut by the many stones you used to chip away piece by piece at it.

The orc crawls to you but you drive the weapon into his neck, his scream dies as it pierces his throat, you grab the set of keys at his side and retreat your weapon. You unlock the cell and your chains, a breath of relief goes through you as the weight is lifted but your moment of joy has to wait, you’re not free yet.

You toss the orc into your cell and hide him in the shadows, his legs peeking in the light, a small diversion should anyone look for you. You grab his weapons and lock the cell, you step quietly on the stone and hear an orc at the end of the path, you hide in the shadows but they do nothing to shield you from his view.

The orc attacks you and another joins, you stumble back as he kicks you in the stomach and you duck to avoid his blade. Your eyes flash with anger as you cut at his calves and stab him from behind, the other orc receives a dagger thrown at his head, both of them land with a thud. A moment passes as you compose yourself when you hear the orcs coming to inspect the noise.

You do your best to hide and cover yourself with a piece of fabric that was tossed on the floor, a foolish hideout but your mind did not cooperate how you wanted it to.

Morgoth took whatever rational thinking you had left and shattered it to pieces, he prided himself that a Silvan Elf could be so easily broken.

The orcs leave and you walk away as quietly as you can. The halls continue to stretch as you walk down and you hear a voice and chatter of orcs, you realize it’s the throne room but where Morgoth usually stood, another took his place, his most loyal servant. You hear him before you see him as you take a glance from the column that shields you on the gallery.

“For I seek a new kind of power.” his voice commands in the place but you see his hands fidgeting slightly. “Not of the flesh, but over flesh. A power of the unseen world.” you scoff under your breath.

Those were your words.

As you laid in your cage he visited you, a strange occurrence it was as no one has talked with you in centuries. Not a real conversation at least.

“I see why he has kept you around.” he says as he strides towards your cell. The cut that previously adorned his face now completely healed. “No healer of his has ever survived that long.”

You do not answer, your mouth too dry to fire back any response. He had no orders to come to you, his curiosity got the best of him for he knew you were not simply a Silvan Elf, something else resided in you, something that he could use.

“It is not very often that an Elf would separate from their people… I wonder what caused your decision for such an act?” he says and you look up at him, his red hair neatly combed, not a mess you saw after the orc brought him to you.

“Why did you let Morgoth corrupt you?” you ask suddenly and he arches an eyebrow in amusement.

“She speaks.” he responds. “What makes you think he corrupted me?”

“You used to serve Aulë, the very smith of the Valar. How can one turn to darkness so swiftly?”

He waits before he speaks. “Shouldn’t you know?” a breath catches in your throat, for that single question makes you rethink some of your choices. It’s no secret to why you left, you have all but became a whisper on their tongues, a passing shadow.

No respected Elf should dabble in the dark arts.

“You may have reached for it but you do not know how freeing it can be once you let it in completely.” he responds and you walk closer to the bars that separate you. Your hands rest on the cold iron as he steps closer. He takes a longer look at you but you don’t avert his gaze. “You could be free of this.” he taps the chains around your wrists. “You could be more than just a Silvan Elf, cast out by their own.”

Your lips part to speak but he leaves as quickly as he arrived, leaving you to ponder over his words.

Oropher knew you’d grown too accustomed to studying it, your hands reflected it as they grew darker at your fingertips. He saw how quick to anger you’ve become over the simplest things and had no choice but to cast you out. People started to talk.

The balance in his kingdom could not be disrupted so quickly.

Solitude has become your friend in the long years, the trees surrounding you a solace and the spiders crawling over your head an omen for the Elves. They knew you practiced magic, but even the smallest dip into the dark had set the pond to ripple through. The spiders ran down from the north and near the Elvenking’s Halls, leaving webs and plundering the forest ever so slightly.

It’s a few months later when he appears before your cell again. He’s been known to seek you out every now and then.

Morgoth never knew that his loyal servant would spend his time in front of your cage.

You don’t hide in the shadows this time and walk closer. He studies you again, his gaze unyielding as much as yours. Morgoth took his time tormenting you and yet you stand without a trace of any pain, you’ve learned to hide it well.

“Have you come to gloat?” you ask him. He was there as his master placed wounds on your body, carved marks into it to condemn you, should you ever return to the Elves. He shakes his head.

“Believe me, I did not take pride in witnessing it.”

You’re surprised. “Does your wretched soul have a heart?” you ask with a hint of sarcasm. You’d be a fool to believe a word out of his mouth and yet you feel a hidden intention beneath it. “What do you want?”

He places his hands on the bars. “You come rather quick to anger.” he exclaims.

“So you’ve come to lecture me.”

“No, no. I would not dare.” he raises his arms as if in surrender. He lets his hand fall and he grabs your chains, he traces the iron before his fingertips go over the blackened fingertips, you feel a quick sting under your finger and notice he drew your blood. You look at him with a question. After a moment he asks the one thing that has been on his mind. “Have you considered my offer?”

You look down at your hand and the blood as you heal yourself. “Is that what you call it?”

“You and I are not so different.” he begins. “Both lured by the darkness, bound to it whether in this life or the next.” his eyes watch you as you use your magic and he smiles softly. It’s a strange sight coming from him but you suppose it goes hand in hand with his twisted nature.

“I did not chose it. I did not want it.” you lie and make yourself believe in the truth of your words.

“Then how did it come to being in your life, hm? Surely you must have sought it out, any scroll, any passage in a book that could help you understand it.”

“Hold your tongue.” you warn him.

“I think you did want it. You craved it, in fact.” he says and whispers. “You could have the world at your fingertips, within your reach. No Elvenking to ever exile you again.” his voice grows softer as he says it and a part of you wants to believe him.

“You’d make me a tyrant.”

He shakes his head. “No, not a tyrant.” his words are left hanging in the air.

You step closer until you reach the bars, he doesn’t step back. “And if I agree, what then? I’ll have the power of the unseen world but what of the lives of others?”

“It will be in your path to decide what you should do with them. A power over a world you would see fit.”

You laugh and turn away from him. It dies down as you mutter to yourself, the bit of your mind that Morgoth has twisted makes itself known. “A power over flesh.”

He tilts his head as he listens, he knows you could be a valuable ally to his scheme, you simply need a little persuasion. “You’ll be at peace once you let it in.” he leaves you once again with his words echoing in your mind. No use of the dark magic takes toll on your body, even if it’s a quick spell your mind yearns for the familiar warmth of it.

His words don’t leave you for days.

Peace.

Something you haven’t felt in a long time. Could it be the answer?

“Doubt me at your peril.” he says and after a moment an orc attacks him. He stabs him in the eye once, for a split second he observes before plunging it into him again and again until the orc lays dead on the ground. You look down at Sauron as Adar comes with Morgoth’s crown, he looks up at it and his eyes wander to the place where you stand. You hide behind the column and hear the roar of orcs, you look down to see them attacking Sauron, the black blood pools around him and you use the commotion to run to the exit, no orc sees you, no one follows as you run through the land with your feet bare.

You run as fast as your legs are able to take you and a blast from the fortress knocks you down. When you come to it you see the snow and ice surrounding the area.

It came from the fortress. You feel a pang in your chest and hear a passing whisper in the back of your mind. You think nothing of it but a part of you wants to return and see for yourself.

You shake your head from the thought and begin to march forward.

As you walk through Forodwaith you reach a road, despite being miles away from your prison the snow covers all land and now it makes you wonder if it could be Sauron’s doing. You don’t get to think over it as a searing pain goes through your head, stronger than before.

Your knees buckle underneath you as you cradle your head, trying to make the pain go away. You don’t feel the ground when you fall unconscious.

Softness is the first thing you notice as you come back to it. The light shines through the balcony and the curtains flow in the wind, a familiar face sits by the bed. Her voice is muffled in your ears when she calls your name.

“We have all thought you were gone.”

You sit up on the bed as you take a look at Galadriel. You cough and rub at your eyes. “I would not be so easily killed, Commander.” you look around the room and notice the guards at the door. You look to Galadriel and her gaze is sorrowful.

You knew this day would come, Oropher made sure of it that every Elf was made aware of you.

A witch.

An Elf who was seduced by the dark magic. You hide your hands within the long sleeves of your dress. It is then that you notice the torn clothes you wore for years are gone.

You sigh and get out of the bed. “Lead away.” you say and you follow her through Lindon. You see the looks the Elves give you, the whispers where the word “Morgoth” lands on their tongue with such ease.

Lindon is ever beautiful as you remembered. Trees soaring around you, birds flying above you. And yet you feel the sickness that lies upon the land.

You look up as you reach the Great Tree and notice the black veins curling around some leafs. You give a short nod to the High King but his expression is ever so serious.

You dread his judgment.