Halbrand is hurt after the eruption of Mount Doom and Galadriel takes him to Eregion. This is a missing scene during that ride. :)
5. Hurt
His body was in agony. The wound throbbed, his limbs ached with fever and his head swam. He lay in a stuffy room, dimly lit by candles, the latter likely there to hide the nasty stench. Sticky, disgusting liquid oozed from his abdomen and discolored his shirt.
Humans were so fragile, their bodies so damn weak, reacting to injury most chaotically and unexpectedly. Being sick was the opposite to the things he loved; strength, beauty, order.
But worse than the pain and humiliation of lying like this was the knowledge he had failed. That his plan to heal Middle-earth had shattered in ash and poisonous fumes. Even the plan to kill this Halbrand body so he could take a new form had failed.
Everything had been in vain: the battle, saving the Southlanders, becoming their king. Everything had been ruined by the traitor Adar.
He should have stayed in Númenor as planned, rebuilding his power until he was mighty enough to make a difference. But instead he had allowed Galadriel to talk him into coming here. It was ridiculous; the most powerful being in Arda had let himself be persuaded by an elf. She had used him to get what she wanted and for some reason he had not refused.
Galadriel had disappeared after the volcano; gotten herself killed, most likely. Bloody elf.
He took a breath and tried to find a more comfortable position on the clammy bedsheets, wincing as a spear of pain stabbed him.
Oh well. Perhaps he hadn't failed to kill himself, after all. It was only a matter of time.
oOo
The curtain was pushed back and he blinked against sharp daylight.
It was her. She stood in the opening, lit from behind, her hair shining like a Silmaril. At that moment he had never seen anything more beautiful.
"Halbrand." She hurried inside, her face full of concern. "I thought you had died."
"Better for me if I had done," he retorted bitterly, feeling rather sorry for himself. The first wave of relief at seeing her quickly changed into anger. If she had been alive all the time, why hadn't she come sooner?
One of the elf soldiers described how they had found him wounded, and Bronwyn, the healer woman, added that the wound had soured during the night.
Of course it had; he had uttered a strong curse when he fell on his sword to ensure swift death.
Galadriel carefully examined him, her fingers cool against his burning skin. He swallowed thickly, grinding his teeth as more pain flared up with her touch.
"This wound needs elvish medicine," she stated. "Can he ride?"
No, he thought.
But apparently Bronwyn thought differently. "I'll have the healers gather what provisions they can," she replied and bustled out.
Halbrand looked after her, a bit surprised as he realized how chance once again worked in his favor. Elvish medicine… That meant an elvish realm, which in turn meant he would be taken to a place where he had the perfect position to infiltrate their kind, gain their trust and eventually take control over the world. Perhaps his plan to heal Middle-earth was not ruined, after all.
Lucky him he was a patient Maia. And lucky him his wound wasn't as deadly as he thought.
"Well, my friend," said Galadriel, smiling kindly. "It seems fate has in store for us one more raft."
Feeling confident again, he resolutely replied: "This is not over. I will not abandon these lands and condemn them to burn. Nor will you."
oOo
The people cheered as Galadriel and Halbrand galloped away. "Strength to the king! Strength to the Southlands!" It took all his will-power to sit straight and hide his agony until he was out of their sight.
When finally a copse of trees covered them, Halbrand slumped forward in the saddle, groaning a curse.
"Why, Halbrand, you swear like a sailor." Her understanding smile took the edge of the reprimand.
"You said we were going on a raft," he retorted dryly. "I'm just acting the part."
She chuckled. "I am glad you are alive and able to jest, my friend." With some afterthought, she added: "I could use a friend when I meet my people."
Ah. So she expected a harsh welcome. Interesting.
He ought to inquire about that, making her expose her secrets, but found he did not have the energy.
oOo
As the journey went on, his fever worsened and strength waned quickly from his limbs. "I… may need… a break," he managed after what felt like an eternity of torture.
"The ride is long. We do not have time."
Cruel elf. He tried a different approach. "I have to pass water." She couldn't refuse him that.
Her wry face would have made him burst out laughing had he not been in so much pain. She was still a prude, even after being alone with him on the raft for days.
They halted and he slid off, heading for a pine to relieve himself against its trunk. Walking was tenfold worse than riding and sweat broke out on his forehead.
The surroundings wheeled when he pulled his pants back up, fumbling to fasten them.
New flares of sharp pain forced him to sink to his knees, panting. His ears filled with a whooshing sound and light flashed in the corners of his vision. On all fours, resting his forehead on the carpet of needles, he struggled to stay conscious.
"Halbrand," came her voice, sounding distant. "Are you done yet? We must continue."
"Coming," he muttered. He just had to lie down. Only for a little while…
"Halbrand?"
And then she was there, ever his savior, helping him lie properly and supporting his head with her cloak.
"I will give you something for the pain." She rummaged in the satchel the healers had given her, pulling out a flask. "Willow bark. It should do the trick."
He nearly gagged at the bitter taste.
Galadriel wiped his damp forehead with a cloth. "You can do this," she told him, her fair features determined. "You will survive, Halbrand. You hear me? You must."
"I must," he repeated weakly, unsteadily looking up at her. "It hurts," he added.
At his words, her face filled with sympathy and he sucked it in, every last drop. Had he been a real human man he might have scorned her pity, but he was not, and instead he reveled in the novel experience of being cared for. Nobody had ever comforted or pampered him before.
She felt his cheek with a cool hand, her touch soft, so soft. "As soon as the fever is down you will feel better," she soothed. Her voice was soft as well.
"Thank you." He meant it.
He had been so determined not to let his feelings get the better of him, but now, practically in her arms, that resolve left him. Perhaps he should not merely use Galadriel for his own purposes, but allow her into his plans. He had never had a friend before, but for the first time he realized it might not be such a bad thing after all.
A partner to balance his darkness.
An ally.
"Galadriel," he whispered.
"Hush now. Rest, my friend."
"...friend," he echoed and drifted into slumber.
A/N:
In my headcanon Sauron's shapeshifting is not effortless, and hence he can't do it when weakened by fever. Also, I know Charlie said in interviews this whole wound and being taken to Eregion was part of Sauron's grand plan, but I think it's more fun to make him just ride with the tide, and be one lucky bastard. :)
