#rop sauron

[saurongorthaur9]

I adore Charlie's attention to detail with Sauron's mannerisms, and I particularly love his angry finger wiggle.

It shows that Charlie really thinks through Sauron's mannerisms. On the surface, it's kind of a cute, funny little mannerism, but if you think about it, it has a much deeper, darker implication.

Why? Because when we see Sauron using magic, particularly in Season 2, it's often by flicking his fingers or twisting his hands.

We see it most obviously when he uses his hands to control the elven guards and force them to kill each other. We also see it when he flicks his fingers to throw Mirdania off the wall.

With that in mind, it seems obvious what the "angry finger wiggle" really is. He wants to use magic. He wants to literally blast apart his surroundings and kill everyone in his path. He's doing everything to control himself to not let loose his magic, and it manifests as the little finger wiggle.

[thedeadtravelfast]

[marimosalad]

The Parting of Galadriel and Sauron (2022)

The Binding of Galadriel and Sauron (2024)

How it started vs. How it’s going

Prints here

[iamkelah]

52

🎵 Rok Nardin - The Mad Priest

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[ferretfyre]

Idk Sauron, if only there was a way to prevent this.

[thegreatzombieartisan]

Agreed, and none of this contradicts my prediction.

If you enslave and starve someone, why would you ever let them stand over you with a spiky crown unless you trusted them immensely?

Crowning a king wouldn’t be tasked to just anybody— but an honor bestowed to someone a king respects and trusts

It’s unclear how much RoP writers get this, but a coronation is a religious rite imbued with deep symbolism beyond mere investiture of power. The Who, What, and Where sends a message about the ruler. Permitting a scullery maid or valet to crown a king just because they have hands render the ritual meaningless.

As this scene is written, Sauron at least trusted and respected Adar (to a point) as his most faithful servant. It suggests that Sauron might have seen their relationship as “friendly” even, rather than a typical master-servant dynamic. Otherwise Sauron would simply have crowned himself à la Napoleon. Narrative logic offers no other explanation.

Perhaps it was all for show, but Halbrand didn’t just seem pissed at Adar for killing him — but also hurt.

As Adar does possess great wisdom, I’d welcome the idea of him playing a role in Sauron’s decision not to follow in Morgoth’s footsteps. Sauron’s assassination would be more visceral and existential; and his vengeance, more intensely personal.

[demigoddessqueens]

I’ll take more of these blonde bitches

[of-stars-and-seas]

Of Sailors and Sirens

Summary: No one quite knows why the renowned muralist of Eregion lives away from the city: she lives a secretive life, yet the paintings she leaves adorning the homes and businesses of Eregion tell a different story. When she is hired to commission a mural for Celebrimbor himself, she gladly accepts the opportunity, just as a new elven smith makes himself known at the Forge. From their first meeting, the muralist found herself at odds with the new smith and wanted nothing more than to toss him off the nearest cliff. He is determined, however, to understand this she-elf whose mind he cannot fathom, and whose past is shrouded in mystery.

Author's note: This is one of the drafts I've had saved for months now, and I finally have the courage to post it on here :). All characters except for a few OCs of mine belong to Rings of Power and the Tolkien Estate, respectfully. Enjoy!

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-Chapter One-

It was a quiet morning when the messenger arrived, knocking loudly on the elleth's doorframe. Grunting softly, the woman sat up, her hazel gaze unfocused and blurry.

"Just a moment," she said, stretching her weary limbs before standing, her joints popping with the effort. Nimbly stepping over opened jars of paint and misshapen clay, the she-elf pulled her velvet shawl from where it hung on its golden hook and patted down her hair before opening the wooden door. A younger Ellon stood panting outside, holding a scroll wrapped in the Lord of Eregion's seal. His brown hair was covered in sticks and dirt, as was his cloak and tunic. The woman looked him over, shook her head with a laugh, and slowly took the parchment, stepping back.

"You look absolutely dreadful. Care to come inside? It looks like you might need some tea," she said, and the Ellon smiled gratefully.

"Of course. Thank you," he spoke as he followed the elleth, taking in the sight of the palace muralist's home. Unfinished paintings hung from the rafters as morning sunlight filtered through the large windows on the walls, paintbrushes of varying sizes strewn over the floor. A neat alcove was situated at the back of the home adorned with bookshelves full of dusty tomes and brightly bound journals, a raven-haired feline resting peacefully on a lavender armchair in the corner. Cutlery clinked together as the woman gingerly took a clay mug from the shelf above her, throwing some wood from the pile next to the fireplace into the dying ashes. Looking back at the Ellon, the she-elf grinned.

"Sugar?" she asked, placing tea leaves within a pot hung over the fire, and the Ellon hummed in agreement.

"Feel free to sit. Haleth doesn't bite," she said with a giggle. The feline opened her bright orange eyes at hearing her name, purring against the messenger's elbow as he sat, petting her ears gently.

When the tea began to boil, the elleth poured the pot into the mug, bringing a small cup of sugar to the Ellon, who took the contents gratefully. Sitting opposite on an olive rug, the elleth took out a small engraved letter opener from her dress pocket, opened the seal, and read its contents. A bright smile adorned her fair features as she placed the scroll on the floor, looking up at the young Ellon.

"So, your Lord Celebrimbor wishes for me to paint for him again—at his Forge, no less. How exciting! Tell him I will start at once, given that he and his smiths do not interrupt my work," she said, standing and collecting various instruments from shelves. The Ellon started.

"Today, my lady? I do not believe-"

"Oh nonsense," the elleth waved his words away as she continued, "If he sent you here so urgently, he would wish for me to begin as soon as I can. In the short time I have known Celebrimbor, I know that if he wants something done quickly, he expects no delay. Am I mistaken?" The elleth said, raising an eyebrow, and the messenger wrung his hands nervously.

"No, you are not, my lady, but these are not normal circumstances-"

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, placing a satchel overflowing with brushes and parchment over her shoulders. The male stood and set the empty cup down on the kitchen table.

"There is a new arrival, my lady. A new smith is becoming acquainted with the Forge, and Lord Celebrimbor is his guide today. I was only instructed to bring you the letter as soon as possible and tell you that he will not be available until tomorrow morning," he responded, and the muralist sighed.

"...I understand. However, I only wish to view the walls I will be painting; I do not suppose your lord would mind if I simply took a peek?" she asked, her eyes glimmering with something he could not place, and the Ellon shifted nervously on his feet.

"I-I do not think that would be wise," he began, but the elleth was already gone, her hurried footsteps sounding down the forest path towards the city. The messenger groaned, following quickly behind her.

So much for an easy day.

............................................................................

Peering around a wall, the muralist watched silently as the messenger ran past where she was hiding; waiting until he was out of sight, she clambered up the stone staircase leading to the side door of the Forge and slipped inside. By this time, guards were changing posts, and for a precious few minutes, there was no one to stop her as the elleth took the next staircase, feeling the smooth stone walls with her fingertips and smiling as she thought of where to begin. Hearing voices from nearby, the elleth cursed under her breath before quickly descending the stairs and running into an empty room at the bottom before shutting the door quietly. Pressing her ear to the keyhole, the elleth listened.

"Have you met the newest smith? The city is clamoring for news about him," a familiar elleth's voice sounded from outside, and the muralist pressed her eye against the keyhole, seeing one of the female elven smiths stopping to lean against the wall in front of the exit. She tossed her blonde hair behind her, her dark blue eyes glittering, and the muralist smiled.

"Mirdania. Of course, it's you. You never leave the Forge," she whispered, chuckling, remembering the many nights she had spent lounging on the table painting as Mirdania worked nearby. The two had become fast friends ever since Mirdania had saved the muralist's artwork from being lost in the river, and they had been practically inseparable ever since. The female smith was one of the painter's only friends, as she was always too busy with her paintings to pay anyone any more mind than she wanted to (at least, that's what she tried to convince herself of).

"No, but I've heard Lord Celebrimbor has taken quite the liking to him. He seems to know the Forge quite well and is already beginning a project, with Lord Celebrimbor's guidance. Even though this smith is talented, he seems to be overly ambitious. One week with Lord Celebrimbor as his master, however, he will soon learn just how inexperienced he is," the other elleth spoke, her long raven hair obscuring her face, and the muralist smirked. Every ellon and elleth who had thought themselves masters of their craft had arrived just as proud as this new smith seemed to be, and they were all proven wrong when they saw the masterful creations Celebrimbor had achieved. It looked like this addition would soon join the rest. Both women chuckled, their laughter resounding as they opened the door and left. When she could hear no more visitors, the elleth slowly opened the door and walked up the stairs once more, hearing nothing but the wind blowing through the cracks in the windows. As she came to the large wooden doors that signaled the entrance to the Forge itself, the muralist knocked once; when nothing answered, she took that as a response and opened the doors, seeing the beauty of the Forge as the fires roared with life nearby. Sunlight shone through the balcony doors as she walked forward, feeling out of place in a world not much different than her own. Running her hands along the cool metal of the smelter, she breathed in the smoke that wafted through, smiling. The room's energy was vibrant and beautiful as she walked up to a table filled with bits of metal and multicolored jewels, seeing her freckled face staring back at her as the gems shone with an ethereal light.

"They are breathtaking, are they not?"

The muralist's heart stopped as she realized she was not alone, and looked up to see a new figure descending the stairs leading to Celebrimbor's study. His face was fairer than her own, golden hair pulled into a bun at the back of his head as he walked up to meet her. The dark green tunic he wore was covered with ash and pulled up to his elbows, the skin covered with scrapes and bruises from his work. His dark eyes met her own as she turned, and for a moment, his steps paused. The muralist looked him up and down, and he suddenly felt very exposed as the corner of her mouth tilted upwards.

"You must be the new smith. Bold of you to assume this space is yours since Celebrimbor never lets anyone save him to stay here," she said, and the smith smirked at her with a new glint in his eye.

"Bold of you to assume Lord Celebrimbor would allow a non-smith such as yourself to stride into his Forge without telling him," he responded, and the muralist narrowed her gaze.

"I-"

"So, I see you two have met one another. Wonderful," Celebrimbor's voice stopped both from responding further as the Lord of Eregion walked into the room, eyeing the muralist knowingly as he came to stand beside her.

"Do not think I did not know you were here, Alariel. Carion is quick on his feet," He whispered, and the muralist blushed as the lord laughed. The messenger from before smiled softly as the muralist glanced at him, shame filling her as she realized she had forgotten to ask his name.

"No matter. Now, back to the matter at hand. I was going to introduce you two at a later date, but since you are both here, I suppose there is no point in waiting any longer. Alariel, I presume you have a plan?" Celebrimbor asked, and the elleth nodded, avoiding the smug look on the new smith's face.

It had only been a few minutes since she met him, but she knew now that her hatred of him would grow if he acted like...that.

"Yes, hir nin. I was going to ask you what you needed to be done first-" she began, rolling out some parchment on the only uncluttered table in the Forge, but stopped as she saw Celebrimbor discussing something with the new smith.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked, and Celebrimbor shook his head. A grin started to appear on his features as she sighed.

Celebrimbor grinning could only mean one thing: He had signed her up for yet another endeavor she could not refuse.

"What is it this time?" she asked, dreading the answer as he spoke.

"I have decided to place you in charge of the midsummer festival, with Annatar as your assistant. Your talents combined shall make for an excellent time, don't you agree?"

The muralist and the smith wore equally shocked expressions as they turned towards Celebrimbor, who looked all too pleased with himself.

"Lord Celebrimbor, surely you are mistaken. My skills are needed here, with you. Have you forgotten what I came here for?" he said, and Celebrimbor waved him away as the muralist raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Ah, yes, that. That can wait. For now, focus your energy on the festival. It will only be a week, and then I promise you, Annatar, we will work on the r-project. But later. I have a city I need to take care of, first and foremost," he said, raising more questions for the muralist.

"But what about the mural, my lord?" she asked, and Celebrimbor smiled.

"Surely you will figure something out? You always do," he winked at her, and the muralist briefly wondered if the Lord of Eregion had lost his mind.

"My lord, with all due respect, I do not know how you expect us to manage an entire festival on our own. Annatar has only just arrived; he does not know how the city functions—" the muralist said. She saw the smith bristle indignantly, and the image of Haleth doing something similar the night before struck her.

"With your experience managing events around the city, it should take you no time to explain it to him. Annatar has gained my trust rather quickly and has shown an aptitude for gaining admiration from the people. He has spent much time with the merchants and artisans and developed many ideas with them. In the meantime, I am placing this event under your control, as I wish to visit with my people this year. Surely you understand?" he asked, and biting her tongue, the muralist bowed her head.

"Of course, my lord. We will do as you ask," she said, sending a glare at Annatar as soon as Celebrimbor turned his back.

The feeling was mutual, it seemed, as she could feel his gaze burning a hole in the back of her spine as she turned her back to him.

"Now, as to the project..." he said, picking up a gem from the worktable, and the muralist shook her head as she took out a charcoal stick and began sketching. As she worked, she noted how Celebrimbor and Annatar talked, their friendship evident as the forge seemed to respond eagerly to the new smith's touches. He gently handled the gems and the metal as if every piece was part of his soul. Crossing her legs atop the table where she sat, Alariel briefly met his gaze once more, and for but a moment, his eyes softened ever so slightly at the sight of her charcoal-stained cheeks and lips as she chewed thoughtfully on the metal. However, her gaze hardened once more, and the moment was lost as Annatar returned to his work.

After she returned home, her once blank parchments filled with drawings, Alariel poured a glass of wine and sat outside, staring up at the stars littering the sky as she fiddled with the golden ring she hadn't worn in thousands of years.

"I wish you were here to knock some sense into that smith," she smiled, draining her glass before lying back against the dirt and closing her eyes.

What a week this would be.

[conundrumoftime]

Been thinking about Galadriel and Sauron again

So intrigued by what their exchange on the raft in episode 8 says about where their story's going. I have seen lots of discussion about whether Sauron is genuinely repentant here, but what fascinates me is Galadriel's view that it wouldn't matter anyway.

"When Morgoth was defeated, it was as if a great, clenched fist had released its grasp from my neck. And in the stillness of that first sunrise, I felt the light of the One again. And I knew if ever I was to be forgiven, that I had to heal everything that I had helped ruin."

"No penance could ever erase the evil you have done."

This isn't "you're lying" or "I have read LOTR and know where you end up" or "your decision to impersonate my brother undermines you a bit on this one" - that is "what you have done is too bad for you to ever come back from it and forgiveness is beyond you now."

This sets her up as a very Javert-like figure, in her view of the criminal she's chasing as beyond redemption. Javert in the Les Mis musical: "Those who follow the path of the righteous, shall have their reward / And if they fall as Lucifer fell / The flame, the sword!"

Compare with Gandalf re Gollum, when Frodo says that he deserves to be killed: "Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement [...] I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it."

And Tolkien on Sauron: "He had gone the way of all tyrants: beginning well, at least on the level that while desiring to order all things according to his own wisdom he still at first considered the (economic) well-being of other inhabitants of the Earth."

Even LOTR Sauron's offered a chance, by the heralds led by Gandalf: "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Justice shall be done upon him. For wrongfully he has made war upon Gondor and wrested its lands. Therefore the King of Gondor demands that he should atone for his evils, and depart then for ever."

I don't think the narrative in TROP tries to present Galadriel as correct. She clearly believes in repentance & forgiveness for others, including 'Halbrand' who had done evil; and even he says so on the raft ("that is not what you believe!"). It's Sauron-specific rage and grief.

So what I think the show will do is:

show Sauron as 'genuine' in that he thinks he is doing the right thing, and his fall into Dark Lord-ness as a series of active choices he makes in an "ends justify the means" or "I know best for everyone" logic;

and Galadriel as continuing to work against him while - somehow? - coming to terms with the idea that he *could* choose that different path; that it's not totally out of his reach; that he still could, at any point, in any of what's to come.

and given how much TROP likes mirroring and echoing, probably bringing back a few of their earlier lines in a different context: "no peace for you except that which lies across the sea", but in a 'go back to Valinor' sense; "be free of it"/"never believed I could be"?

I do find it a bit disappointing that so much discussion on Galadriel's character arc is "will she chill out and stop being mean, yes/no" when there's something much more interesting going on here! (can't think why she gets this and male characters don't...)

[pursuitseternal]

“The Best Gift of Them All:” Chapter 5–The Gift of Peace (Bind yourself to me, Haladriel Week, Bind yourself to me)

Saurondriel (Annatar x Galadriel) | E | 2.7 K

Summary: Lord Annatar can wait no longer for Galadriel to ask him for the first of her three gifts. Impatient, he comes to her to give her what she truly seeks— peace, for what else is peace but the result of submission…

CW: BDSM (magical), degradation, humiliation, infidelity, no feelings just fucking, edging/ orgasm control

Ao3 link | Tolkien works Masterlist

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The gift of peace/submission

Restless, Galadriel tossed and turned, the sheets of her bed tangled around her legs even as she floated in and out of sleep. Night was quiet, alone, without even the company of Celeborn, his body heat, the subtle heavy breathing of his peaceful slumber. A week since his return, and he had not even suggested coming to her at night. It would have bothered her, if it hadn’t grown to be the constant custom between them. She had not cared, the dark may have grown lonely, but it was also private. It was also hers and hers alone.

Tonight, however, she slept, hot and disturbed. Her sleep, uneasy, her body, wet and hot as memories of Annatar filled her dreams. She could hear his silken voice, smell that smoky scent, she could even feel the way his body pressed against hers, searingly hotter than anyone else.

It was as if her darkness was no longer lonely…

“Not when you have me, Lavanen…”

Eyes flashed open, the sensation of a mouth at her throat, of lips caressing the secret, sweet spot beneath her ear. The sharp edge of enamel ran over her pulsing veins, the drag of his teeth on her skin rousing her body, more than just to waking.

“It would be so easy, Galadriel, to pierce through this thin veil of your skin, to bruise you or bite you, mark you as mine.” Annatar’s voice dripped with the same feral arrogance in her mind. “Can’t you imagine, having to explain to your poor husband how some creature crawled into your bed and ravaged your body?” His hand gripped around her chin, turning her head slowly, making her wide, flaming eyes meet that conceited stare. “Because, I am more than pleased to imagine it,” he said aloud, the fullness of his lips mesmerizing as she watched him speak in the starlight

“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed, every nerve in her body on fire as she felt nothing but his skin pressing against her own beneath her sheets. “What happened to your willingness to let me choose the gifts I desire from you?”

“You take too long, pet, it’s really your fault I am here. I have been more than generous with you,” he sneered, bearing his teeth, his body shifting over hers. Until she felt that thick, hard length of his cock prodding into the supple flesh of her belly. “Time to name your gift,” he breathed, the bright strands of his hair falling to tickle across her shoulders.

She placed a hand on the crest of his shoulder, pushing him to keep some distance, even as she shifted her hips to have that smooth, hard manhood urge over her mound. Keeping her voice near-inaudible, “I thought you were to ensure my peace, ensuring Celeborn was sent far away…”

“All in good time,” he crooned, “but what fun would it be without a little thrill, a little risk to heighten the mood?”

“I should have known you would crawl back under my nose again,” she hissed with a raise of her brow. “You crave the power you have over me…”

“And you crave those stolen moments when I exert it, lavanen. Lavishing you with all my attention, even if it is not wholly wanted. Certainly preferable to being ignored by that male who would not know what to do with these…” A flash of a smirk was her only warning before he angled his head, latching his lips on the pink peak of her breast, sucking so hard she nearly screamed, his hands pressing and massaging them as they filled the palms of his hands. “Nor would he know his way around this…” Instantly two fingers delved into her folds, that commanding press and stroke of his thumb over her clit, sending a gush of arousal to coat his hand. A soft, staccato chuckle sounded from his throat. “See, lavanen? No one could possibly draw such ecstacy from you as I.”

“No one,” she breathed, a slight raise of her hips to let him stroke harder, deeper to ease her immediate ache. Choking, she felt that wave of heat possessing her body, every muscle of her legs, her belly, beginning to clench as she drew near her climax. And ever his eyes watched from above, his tongue licking his impatient lips with each glance she made to meet that hungry stare.

But even as he drove her to the very edge of her climax, he pulled away. His teeth flashed a wicked smile as her eyes opened wide, furious rage burning back at him. He sighed in pleasure at her wrath, easing himself to his knees and peering down from between her thighs. The hot touch of his hands ran back and forth over them, savoring how they trembled even as her near-orgasm faded. “As pretty as your admission is, it isn’t sufficient to earn anything from me yet,” his voice dripped with his own desire. His cock pulsed, twitching as she tried to clench her thighs for any sort of relief. But his hands only stayed her by the knees, prying them open with little effort until they dropped to the bed. “Not until you tell me your request of me… what is your first gift, pet?”

“Peace,” she panted, trying now to reach her hands to chase her pleasure. “Peace, Annatar, just give me what I seek,” her voice was barely more than a snarl, his hands trapping hers so quickly, her breath caught. Hands he so effortlessly pinned to her own chest, trapped beneath his single palm, fingers stayed in the valley between her breasts.

“Peace, you want?” He smirked, running his free hand through the errant strands of her hair that sullied her pale, perfect neck. “I’m afraid I cannot grant that to you, but…” he closed his fist in the space between them. A sting of magic filled the air, brief and subtle, but enough to run like pin pricks over her skin. “I can give you the gift of… submission. A lesson you so grievously deserve by now,” he rasped, his voice losing that silken edge to drop into barely more than a growl. Fingers unfurled, a thin, golden chain pooled in the palm of his hand.

“What is that?” she breathed, squirming a bit even as his hand pushed her harder into the bed beneath him.

“There is no true peace in this world, other than to learn to submit yourself to the will of another…” His eyes flashed in the starlight. “…to my will.” He let the chain slip from his hold, soft little chinks filling the soft silence of night. “That is how you will truly know peace, Galadriel.”

She stilled as he purred her name. The slightest smile curled his lips as he said it. As if he truly enjoyed, savored her very name alone.

“Now, there’s a pleasing sight,” that grin widened as her muscles relaxed under his touch. His hand released hers, drawing himself away from her body. Head nodding to the bedside, his pale hair flicked with the motion. “Kneel for me, Galadriel,” he commanded, rasping and honeyed all at once.

She hesitated, resistance filling her heart in equal measure to the wave of desire that bloomed as he ordered her from her own bed. One of his hands clasped around her ankle, the gentle stroke of his thumb on the tender flesh of its inside sending tingles down her spine. Then, he flung it around him, twisting her with force to almost fly off her mattress.

“I said… kneel,” he growled, his body stalking closer, so close she could feel its heat radiating into her.

“And if I should refuse?” she snipped in reply, tossing her hair back to scathe him with her glare.

But his brow merely raised in a cool smirk, daring her to do so. “Then you shall receive nothing. If that is what you truly desire….” His eyes flashed as he gave her that roguish grin. “Nothing and you’ll like it…”

“No,” she breathed, her body betraying any hesitant fragment that remained, slipping from her sheets so quickly, the wooden floorboards almost skinned her knees.

One large hand pushed against the top of her shoulder, sinking her ass cheeks to rest on her heels, kneeling beside her own bed. In her own room. Kneeling to him. He grinned down at her, moving her arms behind her back. The soft slinking of metal pierced the nighttime quiet, the light, elegant chains worming its way around her body, only by magic. By power.

“There now,” he breathed, running a hand in her hair, softly at first, until he gripped hard into it, turning her roughly to look up at him. “True peace comes when you submit yourself to a power greater than you, and when you submit yourself so beautifully… so… willingly.” The hold on her head eased, turning into soft caresses that tickled down one cheek to rest beneath her chin. Keeping her gaze fixed on him above her. “Are you at last willing to receive my gift, lavanen?”

She swallowed loudly, unable to force a breath from her lungs even as the chain began to tighten, gradually, unhurriedly. So soft of a metal, such fine links, they almost crept like fabric over her skin. But they stung with the numbing tingle of magic and power. Not unlike the rings he had crafted and served to the dwarf lords. Now, the creation of his power curled around her figure, capturing her and restraining her. And she, Eru forgive her, she felt excited by it. Heart racing like in the battles she once fought, thrill and fear and anticipation, the heady mix that flowed in her veins as he made her face him.

“Now, open wide, sweet little She-elf, and I promise you’ll find more than peace once I’m through with you.”

She shuddered, cold on her skin, but so, so hot everywhere below her navel. But she smirked up at him, pressing her lips firmly together. “Only if you say please…” she hushed between locked teeth and barely-parted lips.

His brow quirked, eyes growing dark as he flashed her a wicked smirk. A deep, loud breath, followed by a low-throated sigh, a groan more like. “Please,” he replied through his own grit teeth.

Instantly, her mouth went slack, opening slowly in his palm, pink tongue licking her full, upper lip with deliberate care.

Salty, velvety, hard. She missed him. Missed his cock. How it filled her whole mouth, how it tickled the back of her mouth. He thrust into her open and supple mouth, his fingers clawing hard into her hair, keeping her from pulling too far from him. She swallowed around him, sputtering, eyes watering… he was relentless. But she would never let him see the edge of pain he caused in her.

He slowed himself, easing his taking of her until she could breathe, until she could swallow and relax around him.

“Mmm, my lady,” he crooned, his hot, silken voice a rumble from his belly before her face, “the more you submit, the more peace you’ll find, you know.”

Suddenly, the chains moved, easing in places, slinking tighter in others, compelling her to rise to her feet. Forcing her to lay belly first across the foot of her bed. The gold seared ever so slightly, a tickle on her skin as they pulled her legs apart, bending her knees to stick the swell of her ass higher into the air.

Holding her breath, she could have anticipated what was next. If only she could, give him as good as he concocted for her. To make him bend before her in supplication. She pulled on her strength, resisting the magic of the chains, fueled by her desire to bring him to heel. They bend, they tug hard into her skin as she pushes up from the bed.

But Annatar crept behind her in seconds, his hand landing on the right curve of her cheek with a shaking slap.

Gasping, Galadriel let out a piercing shriek into the bedding. Almost forgetting her husband slept soundly down the hall. The chains instantly tightened back into the place. But not before his hand gave an equal smack on the other side of her rear.

“Hush, now,” he purred, “let me tend to your every aching need. You need only to relax, to savour the peace I will give you…”

He slipped two fingers into her folds, already so slick for him. “That’s a good little She-elf…” he praised her, voice dripping with honey, sounding almost slick as the noises his fingers made as he delved constantly into her. “Not so hard, is it, to follow your desires, to give in to them, to give in to me…”

She moaned into the bed, fearing if she turned her head at all, she would lose all control, all her noises pulled from her throat echoing to wake her husband. “No, not hard…” she cried into her bedding. “But with how long you’re taking, I wonder, are you still hard?”

Something prodded against her ass, thick and blunt and hard and wet. He swallowed a groan, leaning over her body to put his cry of pleasure right in her ear, his cock burying deep inside her with one, swift thrust. “Hard enough to make you submit, levanen,” he rasped right into the pointed tip of her ear.

She squirmed at the delicious intrusion, bucking under the overwhelming pressure. Her eyes watered with relief, that beautiful stretching of her insides she dreamed about in the darkness finally realized one more time. Peace did wash over her, the more she submitted with each thrust he made, the more peace seemed to worm its way into her soul, binding there to her very being.

Galadriel sighed, from pleasure, from pain, and from the knowledge that in this moment, she did not need to think or question or command.

“That’s it,” he purred above her, the warmth of his touch wandering over where the chains bit into her skin the hardest. His fingers, so skilled at hammer and fire stoked the pleasure from the pink, angry lines her bindings made in her flesh. “Find that peaceful submission and bind it in your very being,” his voice sounded gruff from his own exertion.

Heat raged through her, hotter than the fires of those infernal forges he slaved over. Perhaps it was his own passion, his magic laced in her blood as their bodies joined. “That’s it…” his voice a rasping growl now. “Show me how badly you long for peace, not for Arda, but for you.”

A cry burst from her lips, her frame quaked beneath him as that fire of pleasure turned to molten earth. Glowing and searing, her orgasm tore through her, racing down every nerve and soaking her thighs as she came. He laughed behind her, breathless and dark as his voice rumbled in that wiry elven frame. A voice that did not match the form. “Find your peace, lavanen, find it only with me, in what I can offer you.”

Thrusts hitched as he felt her relax, her body relaxed, unburdened by cares or the trials of her kind. A slight smile turned at her perfect pink lips. And Annatar shuddered in his own pleasure. A few hard snaps of his hips against her rear, and it was finished. He sniffed, running his hand through the unruly stands of his long, yellow hair. “There, your gift, my lady. Find your peace, and know that your submission is cherished in exchange.”

He withdrew, leaving her bent and spent on her own bed. That tingle of his power disappeared, it seemed, yet her chains remained.

“No…” Galadriel hissed, panic replacing that soothing warmth of post-coital bliss he had given her. She fought her chains, yet they would not budge. “Peace, Annatar,” she panted, calling quietly after him. “You leave me thus, and there will be no peace for me or you.”

His laugh tickled her ears, “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Instantly the chains loosened and slunk powerless to the floor. “There is too much work to be done to be troubled.” His presence swirled around her naked form one more time before she felt him truly depart. “Until your penultimate gift, my lady.”

[loki-is-my-kink-awakening]

WIP Wednesday

Silvergifting. The pollen is starting to affect Annatar.

A breeze blows petals through the air, blotting out some of the sunlight. They fall like ash from the sky and Annatar hums at its beauty. They could sit almost anywhere but Celebrimbor seems determined to head deeper into this place and watching him marvel at the blooms pulls a smile across his lips. If he could bottle this feeling up, perhaps he would, but he knows a single moment doesn’t matter. He has grand schemes at play and this indulgence matters not. The elf will make the rings and then he will bring peace to Arda.  

Seeing Celebrimbor turn and smile also shouldn’t affect how he feels and yet something has changed inside. He can feel it. Something has begun building, desperate to reach out and connect, to touch. Annatar closes his eyes and swallows.

“Perhaps,” he says, hearing the strain in his voice, “this is the place we stop.”

“Really? I thought we could go a little further in.”

Opening his eyes, Annatar sees the ever-hopeful look on his face and relents. “How about a compromise? That patch over there looks inviting, does it not?”

“There?” Celebrimbor squints to circular copse of trees at the centre of the orchard. “It won’t catch the light the same in there.”

“There will be light from above, like always, my friend.” Annatar smiles. “So, do we have a deal?”

Tagging these lovely people 🎀

@damnyoubishop @saubrimbor @transmairon @skye-the-dragon @starrose17

@the-lefuet-blog

[saurongorthaur9]

Something I noticed as I was doing a ROP re-watch: the difference in how Sauron touches Galadriel vs how he touches other characters.

I had noticed the odd way that Sauron touches people, but I hadn't really thought a whole lot about it until I was doing a re-watch. Of course, a lot of people have noted how Annatar seems to be touch-averse compared to Halbrand who is very touchy with Galadriel. But I noticed a more subtle difference that may be nothing, but I still thought it was interesting (and Charlie is a good enough actor that I'm sure it's deliberate).

When Sauron touches other people, he usually does it with the back of his fingers, with his nails.

We seem him do this to Mirdania in S2E5 when he touches her hair. He uses the back of his fingers to brush it away from himself. Similarly, when he strokes Celebrimbor's face in S2E7, he uses the back of his fingers, stroking away from himself. In the same scene, he also uses the backs of his fingers to press on the arrow that he's using to torture Celebrimbor, which isn't direct contact with Celebrimbor, but is still intimate in a way.

Compare this to the way he always touches Galadriel. He always touches her with the front of his fingers, with the pads.

There's something awkward and unnatural about the back-of-the-fingers touches, whereas the ones with Galadriel seem more natural. Also, the pads of the fingers are more sensitive than the nails, almost suggesting that when he touches Galadriel, he wants to savor it, while on the other hand when he has to touch another character, he doesn't truly want to have to feel it any more than necessary. There's also something vaguely threatening about using his nails, even if he's not scratching with them, whereas touching with his pads is more vulnerable and soft.

There's also the direction of the movements. With the back-of-the-fingers touches, he's brushing away from himself, whereas with Galadriel, the movement is towards himself.

Just another interesting and incredibly subtle way in which the show indicates that something about Galadriel was different to Sauron.

[thedeadtravelfast]

[marimosalad]

Remastered Sauron art I made two years ago, in honor of Season 2 and the continued portrayal of the greatest villain in fiction by Charlie Vickers 🎉

Available as prints at my shop

[zaldritzosrose]

Sauron (including Halbrand & Annatar)

Show Me Your Darkness (Annatar/Sauron x Jewelsmith!Reader) 🔥

Adar

Favourite Sin (Adar x High Princess!Reader) 🔥

Elrond

(Any collaboration, celebration or OC series fics will be in their own or my main writing masterlist)

🔥 smut

🗡 angst

❤️ fluff

[beyonddarkness]

SAURON REBUILT

How was Sauron rebuilt by the end of the first season?

Always after a defeat and a respite, the Shadow takes another shape and grows again. [...] His plans are far from ripe, I think, but they are ripening. [...] The Enemy still lacks one thing to give him strength and knowledge to beat down all resistance, break the last defences, and cover all the lands in a second darkness. He lacks the One Ring. — Gandalf, The Lord of the Rings (FOTR): The Shadow of the Past

This is a pattern by which we may be able to answer that question for Sauron in the Second Age. There was a defeat, there was a respite, he took another shape and grew again. He had plans that were not yet ripe, but were ripening nonetheless.

SAURON: "I've got my own plans, Elf."

(1x02)

According to the pattern, he lacked something that would give him strength and knowledge to beat down all resistance. He made the One Ring with his own power. What would have given him necessary strength and knowledge before the One Ring?

[read]