#nlbw

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The curtain of the carriage rustles again, parted by a tawny hand bearing a set of rings. Amandil shifts in place next to Pharazôn, and there is the telltale rattling of swords in their scabbards behind him.

"..So it is true," a voice says from within, Adûnaic with a tinge of some accent that he can't place. "You have come after all, Ar-Pharazôn. Out of the Westlands yourself, and so far to the East."

"And you, out of Mordor," Pharazôn responds in kind. "I never thought I would live to see a true Mordoran outside of the battlefield."

"This Mordoran would rather be found dead than seen on the battlefield," the other laughs softly.

The sound of it sends shivers up Pharazôn's spine.

UP.... DATE......

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

"I should have you arrested," Pharazôn says slowly. He finds that his own voice sounds different, for reasons he can't yet pinpoint. Pressure in his ears, perhaps. Should fix itself soon enough.

"Arrested? For what? I said that my people would not withdraw so long as the Gate remained broken— something you did. I offered to venture outside your camp before repairing it, lest your men be affected." Sauron brushes the dust from his tunic, smooths out his robes. His fingers are not as still as they seem. "You declined it."

"If my men have been made worse by that singing of yours—"

Sauron comes right up to him, swaying almost unsteadily on his feet. "You declined it."

He stops only when one of the guards draws his sword and places it between them. The sharp edge has even Pharazôn backing away, yet Sauron stays where he is. Blood is inevitable.

hey guys guess what

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

habby borthday to mee here’s a chap update (it was friday actually but i ate too much and fell asleep)

Then Sauron's hand covers the entirety of the map as he leans in, throwing a shadow over Nalarik and nearly sending the rest of them scrambling backwards to get away.

"If Númenor tries to take the South Road," he says, so soft it might well be a lovers' whisper, "I will go to war."

Nalarik does not move back. In fact, he seems too frozen in place to even breathe or pull his gaze away.

Unsurprisingly, the Advisor makes no move to pull his master back.

Pharazôn reaches out to touch Sauron's shoulder lightly, shifting the attention to himself instead— and it is heady and pressing, bearing the sole focus of one who can Sing a massive gate back into place. The darks of his eyes, quiet and half-lidded, promise an ending sweeter than honey.

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we’re almost there bruh... 8-ish scenes (2 of which will be varying length depending how verbose i get) until illahm..... until kharif......

the v2 rewrite got hella long i have no idea how this happened (i say, having tried this newfangled thing called ‘planning’)