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And just for a second, I could be one of the greats,
I'll be Caesar on a TV screen, champion of my fate,
No one can tell me to stop, I'll have everything I want,
And everyone will like me then.
― Caesar on a TV Screen, The Last Dinner Party
The question isn’t captured on screen, but the reaction is. “Tell us about Halbrand.”
Galadriel rolls her eyes so hard her head seems to swivel with the movement. “What is there to say about Halbrand? I mean, I only met the guy for five minutes. But judging by his behavior at all the challenges, five minutes was more than enough.”
Onscreen, the image flashes from Galadriel’s talking head to a moment captured after today’s challenge. Pink-faced, sweaty and disheveled, she is glaring daggers at Halbrand on the other side of the course, who is whooping and hollering with his team, Immunity Idol held high in the air.
“I mean, he’s just obnoxious.” The image flashes back to Galadriel’s talking head. “I’m glad he’s with the Angbands and not the Valar — I just hope they’re smart enough to vote him out before the merge.”
“So Halbrand,” Manwë begins, “let’s talk about that moment after the reward challenge yesterday.”
The other members of the Angband Tribe surrounding him chuckle softly. Halbrand plays along and simply smiles. “Was there a moment?”
“I would say so,” Manwë says enigmatically. “There were some pretty heated words tossed around between you and Galadriel from the Valar Tribe. Sensing there’s a little bit of friction there?”
Halbrand snorts. “What can I say? Look, the girl’s a strong player, there’s no doubt about that, but she’s also a sore loser.”
“Some might call you a sore winner.”
“Let them! Why should I care what the losers say about me?”
Manwë’s eyes glitter in the torchlight. “And yet, those ‘losers’ won immunity today while you’re sitting here at Tribal Council.”
“Well, every dog has its day.” The remark earns Halbrand another round of titters from his tribe mates, but Manwë’s focus remains honed in on him.
“Worried about the vote tonight?” he asks.
No, Halbrand thinks. But he isn’t fool enough to say that out loud. “You know, this game changes so fast,” he says, solemnly. “I’m always worried when we come to Tribal Council.”
“Well, let’s see how tonight plays out for you. It’s time to vote.”
Galadriel’s focus has narrowed down to three distinct points; the trembling bamboo plank in front of her, her team hollering encouragements behind her, and the rising tide below her. She’s worn her buff as a top today and has the pennant flag stuffed under the tight fabric, freeing up her hands for balance. As long as she makes it back to her team’s platform before the next Angband member gets to their’s, the Valar Tribe will keep their lead.
On nimble feet, Galadriel crisscrosses the narrow bamboo paths as quickly as she dares, pulse hammering in her ears. But when she comes to a straight plank wrapped in black tape at the center of the course, she skids to a halt. So far, she’s been able to avoid the attack zone — the one place on the entire course competitors can try to push each other off — but her luck has run out. Head on a swivel, she quickly evaluates the way she’s come, trying to find an alternative path forward, but she’s boxed in.
On the other end of the attack zone, Halbrand saunters forward, appearing every inch the epitome of hulking male ego. The usual antipathy Galadriel has come to expect when seeing him flares hot in her stomach, setting her teeth on edge.
“What’s the matter, Sunshine — scared?” Halbrand’s menacing grin only grows as he approaches. He steps brazenly into the attack zone, but when she doesn’t follow suit, he taunts loud enough for everyone to hear, “Aww, don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you, I swear.”
The heat in her veins goes deathly cold as something stronger than anger takes over. Galadriel steps into the attack zone. The world in her periphery fades away, the hollered encouragements, the braying shouts — they all turn to white noise as her focus narrows even further to its smallest point. There is only Halbrand: Halbrand and the wicked glee that erupts in her chest; Halbrand sprinting towards her, his long arms outstretched; Halbrand swooping in to grab her.
And at the last moment, Galadriel drops to a crouch, grabs the plank for support and kicks up with all her might. Her heel connects with Halbrand’s solar plexus in a satisfying “oof!” and he goes flying through the air, tumbling backwards into the water. As he falls, he grabs her outstretched leg, nearly wrenching it from the socket as he tries to drag her down with him. But she clings to the bamboo, her nails splintering in the wood as she struggles to keep her arms wrapped around it.
Halbrand’s hold is weak and he lets go as soon as he hits the water, leaving her dangling below the plank, her tribe shouting her name with manic joy.
Even Manwë can’t contain his excitement. “Whoa! I’ve never seen anything like it — a shocking save from Galadriel!” he cries. “As long as she can pull herself up, she’s safe to keep going!”
With the adrenaline still coursing through her, Galadriel does just that with ease. She races down the final leg of her course, tags Elrond in to go next, and succumbs to the screaming hugs and joyous disbelief of her tribe mates.
Eventually breaking away to catch her breath, Galadriel grabs her canteen from the back of the platform. Chancing a glance over at the Angband Tribe, she’s somehow not at all surprised to see that Halbrand is brazenly staring at her, assessing her with new interest. When their eyes meet, he smirks and inclines his head, and she can’t help but mirror his response, a wide grin cracking over her face.
Later that night as she tries to sleep, she can’t stop thinking about the look on Halbrand’s face — the look of one power player recognizing another. It shouldn’t please her so much to know that she’s finally found some competition in this game.
But then again, Galadriel has always loved a challenge.
“Adar thinks I’m in an alliance with him and Glûg, Celebrimbor and Mirdania think I’ve gone in with them, and here’s Melkor out by himself thinking he’s running the game.”
Halbrand is a natural onscreen; to say the camera loves him would be an understatement. He speaks emphatically during his talking heads, hands twisting in the air as if to pull the viewers at home along with his logic.
“And is he?” the producer asks. “Running the game, I mean.”
“Sure.” Halbrand winks at the camera. “But it’s just not the same game the rest of us are playing.”
Offscreen: “So, would you say you’re the true mastermind of the Angbands?”
“Oh, I don’t know about ‘mastermind.’” Halbrand’s laugh is boyish and it strikes a compelling discordance with his cut-throat gaze, which only adds to his charm. “But I’m definitely the one running the game here.”
“A bit dangerous, playing all these people at once,” the producer observes. “Aren’t you worried you’re going to get caught?”
“That’s the beauty of my system — I’ve never been the one directly calling the shots. I make a suggestion here or there, but by the time we’re at Tribal, everyone’s voting the way I want them to. It’s just that they think it was their idea from the start.”
“And where does Galadriel factor into all of this?” the producer asks.
For a rare moment, Halbrand looks perplexed. “Galadriel doesn’t factor in at all. Why would she?”
“Well, with the merge coming up, you must be assessing your potential new tribe mates. And other members of the Angband Tribe have said you consider Galadriel your biggest competition.”
“I mean, she’s a fierce competitor, there’s no doubt about that. But no more so than say Elrond or Míriel.”
“So, you’re not worried at all?”
“Not one bit,” Halbrand says. “If anything, it’s Galadriel who should be worried about me.”
At Tribal Council, Manwë turns to her and asks, “Galadriel, what’s camp life been like since the merge?”
Utter fucking Hell, she thinks. But she’s not about to draw attention to herself by stirring the pot in front of the host, so instead she answers, “It’s been good. A little strange adjusting to the new dynamics and all. And it’s still early days, so obviously things might change, but right now everyone’s on their best behavior. For the most part, I’d say we’re all getting along.”
Her stomach sinks as Manwë gives her a knowing look and repeats, “For the most part,” but she keeps her smile serene and simply nods.
“So,” he prods, “you don’t think people will vote down tribal lines tonight?”
Of course they will. “I would be really shocked if they did,” she lies. “There’s no more Angband Tribe versus Valar Tribe — we’re all just the Endor Tribe now.”
“Which is a nice way of saying it’s every player for themselves now, don’t you think?”
“There’s only one winner,” Galadriel points out. “And at the end of the day, the only person who has your best interest at heart is you. We all have relationships with one another, but it’s too dangerous to form a really close bond with any one person.”
“I don’t know if I agree with that, Manwë.”
Galadriel’s head whips around to stare at Halbrand, who towers above her from his seat on the back bench. The firelight glints off the Immunity Necklace around his neck.
Focus shifted, Manwë asks Halbrand, “You’re saying it’s possible to get through this game without it being every man for himself?”
“Sure.”
“So, I take it that means you’re still holding to your alliances. Maybe even outright protecting someone when their head is on the chopping block?”
“Not if they really deserve to be there, I suppose,” Halbrand chuckles. “I just think it’s hard not to make real connections in this game. And when you form a bond with someone, you start to take them into consideration as you play.”
From the end of her row, Glûg scoffs. “Like how you considered Adar?” he sneers.
Halbrand’s look of thoughtful congeniality never drops as he turns to face his former tribe member. “Like how I considered Adar,” he concedes; his smile is all teeth and the effect is chilling. “Considered the way he was planning to stab me in the back. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about your involvement in that, Glûg. You’ll be getting yours too, don’t worry.”
“Your relationship with Adar almost blinded you to his true nature,” Manwë jumps in, cutting the tension. “You thought he was a friend and didn’t realize he was campaigning to get you voted out. So maybe having a bond with someone isn’t always a good thing.”
“Guess it depends on who it’s with.”
Satisfied, Manwë nods and moves on to question Disa farther down the line.
Galadriel tries to pay attention to their conversation, but she is suddenly distracted by a light tug on her hair. From the corner of her eye, she can see that Halbrand has moved to the edge of his seat, practically leaning over her, and is toying with the end of her braid.
Her breath stutters in alarm and she scans the crew to see if any of them are watching, but all eyes are turned to Disa and Manwë. Still, that could change at any moment. Desperate not to cause a scene on camera, Galadriel remains stock still, trying to ignore the feeling of Halbrand twisting her hair between his fingers. But when he brushes the delicate skin on the back of her neck, she yelps and jumps to her feet.
Immediately, all eyes and all cameras turn on her, poised to capture an outburst. Flushing with embarrassment, she waves off Manwë’s questioning look. “Sorry — bug flew in my ear. Won’t happen again, I promise.”
The director glares at her from behind his monitor, but motions for filming to continue as Galadriel returns to her seat. She perches on the very edge, her back ramrod straight, and tries to ignore Halbrand’s soft laughter. But it echoes through her head for the rest of the night, because it hadn’t sounded like mocking — it sounded like a dare.
“So, at the beginning of this whole thing, you told us that being marooned on this island was comparable to vacationing in paradise. Still feel that way now?”
Galadriel gives a self-deprecating laugh. “My god, did I actually say that? How embarrassing. If anything, this place is paradise lost — Dante should have included it in one of his circles of hell. Wait — no.” She groans into her hands. “I’m so tired I think I’m mixing metaphors? Or allegories? For fuck’s sake, I must sound like a lunatic. But that’s what this place does to you!”
“Tell us what’s so horrible about the island.”
“The days here are unbearably hot and ungodly humid. Have you ever tried to run a relay race inside a sauna? Because that’s what it feels like during most challenges. Some days it’s so bad it’s like you can’t even draw a full breath. But then the nights! We get these massive, horrific thunderstorms almost every other day with these freezing rains. Those nights are the absolute worst.”
As Galadriel speaks, the screen flashes to a night time shot of camp and the image is almost completely whited out by sheets of rain, the audio crackling from the downpour. The camera zooms in on the shelter where the players are crammed together side by side as they sleep — or at least attempt to. In the corner, wedged between Míriel and Halbrand, Galadriel is wrapped tight in her rain jacket and visibly shaking.
What dialogue the crew is able to capture is captioned at the bottom of the screen.
Halbrand: “Quit fussing over there, Sunshine.”
Galadriel: “S-sorry, I c-can’t stop. ‘m so c-cold.”
Back in the talking head, the producer asks, “What do you do to keep warm on those nights?”
The image onscreen is almost too blurry to see through the rain, but the cameras still capture the moment when Halbrand shifts and drags Galadriel back against him, throwing her blanket on top of his.
Galadriel: “What do you think you’re doing?”
Halbrand: “You’re vibrating so hard you’re about to drill a hole through the floor. Just settle down and let me get some sleep already.”
There’s a few moments of silence, then —
Galadriel: “God — you’re so warm.”
Halbrand: “I know. Now, relax and try to get some sleep.”
The screen flashes back to Galadriel’s interview where her cheeks are a brilliant shade of pink. “Oh, you know,” she says, offhandedly. “You make do.”
She finds him after the immunity challenge sitting on a cluster of rocks exposed by the low-tide, shoulders hunched and energy off-putting as he stares miserably out to sea. Gingerly picking her way across the algae-covered stones, Galadriel sits at his side but says nothing.
Halbrand breaks the silence first. “I can’t believe how badly I did today. Of all the challenges I needed to win, and I blew it.”
She hums in response but doesn’t contradict him, which Halbrand appreciates. He doesn’t need some sugar-coated denial of the truth, doesn’t want some false platitudes to soften the blow he’ll inevitably suffer when he’s sent home tonight.
“I should have voted out that bastard Melkor when I had the chance,” he groans, dejected. “But I let him sweet-talk me into turning on Adar instead. I was so concerned with making it to the merge I didn’t really consider who I was going into it with. And now he’s gone and turned all my former tribe members against me and I let him get in my head during the challenge today. And now I’m fucked.”
With the sword of Damocles hovering above his throat, he’s reconsidering his surroundings in a new light. It really is beautiful on this island, with its crystal clear waters and verdant jungle. The sun is beginning to set, brilliant reds, pinks and golds devouring the endlessly blue sky. He really should have taken the time to appreciate it all when he had the chance.
Finally, after several moments of protracted silence, Galadriel turns to face him and asks, “Are you done whining yet?”
Halbrand gapes at her. “I know you don’t really care for me, Sunshine, but damn, talk about kicking a man while he’s down.”
“I’m just curious to know if you’re still interested in staying in this game or not,” she says with a shrug.
“Of course I want to stay in the game,” he hisses, annoyed. “I just don’t see how that’s possible with all my former tribe members out for my blood.”
Halbrand has never in his life felt so low. For weeks, this game has been stripping him down to the bare bones, eating away at his physical strength, deteriorating his mental acuity. He has licked rain water from leaves to stave off dehydration, eaten grasshoppers to fill the ache in his belly, slept in mud with only a few paltry palm fronds for protection, pushed his body beyond its limits. And for what — for the people he thought he could trust to turn on him and send him packing?
“The Endor Tribe is composed of more than just former Angbands,” Galadriel tells him patiently, her brow raised.
“What, you think I should go plead my case to your Valar friends?” Halbrand snorts. “You know as well as I do that they would be ecstatic to see me go.”
“Leave the Valar to me, I can persuade them to come around.”
He catches himself mulling the idea over and squashes out any flicker of hope before it has the opportunity to catch fire. “Don’t insult me,” he grumbles. “I’m not nearly as dumb as you think I am, Sunshine. I don’t trust you.”
“You should. I’m being serious.”
“Why in the world, after everything that’s happened, would you want to help me?”
“Because I’ve been watching your gameplay and I think there’s a strength in you that others are overlooking,” she says simply. “You may act like a hothead relying on your physique to get by, but that’s a lie, isn’t it? You’ve got this whole thing figured out — besides your slip-up today, that is. You’re the only one here who can match me, really match me, and I think that if you and I formed an alliance, if we stopped fighting each other and started fighting together, we’d be unstoppable.”
“Even if you’re telling the truth, and if you could convince the remaining Valar to side with me,” Halbrand begins slowly, “and those are two very big if’s, it still wouldn’t work. There are just more Angband members than there are Valar. I’d still be outnumbered.”
Galadriel gazes at him with keen eyes, the force of her assessment making him feel like a frog under a microscope, his belly split wide and all his glistening, vulnerable organs bared for her taking.
“Do you want to stay in this game or not?”
“I do.”
“And if I can engineer a way to keep you around, will you form an alliance with me? Will you promise to stick with me until the very end?”
“You’re so sure of yourself it’s a little alarming, has anyone ever told you that before?” Halbrand huffs a joyless laugh. “Alright, sure. If you can make magic happen tonight, then consider us aligned until the very end.”
He holds out his hand, and when she takes it, she slips something between their palms. “We can get Melkor out tonight,” she says, face shining with determination. “We don’t need the majority of the votes on our side, we just need enough.”
With that, Galadriel stands and leaves with a parting warning: “Don’t make me regret this, Halbrand.”
It’s only after she’s out of earshot that Halbrand looks to see what she’s slipped into his hand; a small pouch with an ancient iron heraldry.
The hidden Immunity Idol.
When the producer asks: “So, what’s going on with Halbrand and Galadriel?” Disa bursts out laughing so hard that production has to pause taping until she’s calmed down.
Fanning herself, she finally admits to the camera, “I wish I knew! It’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. Those two do nothing but fight, and it’s driving everyone at camp batty, let me tell you. But then, last night when I got off fire duty, I went back to the shelter to get some sleep and — lo and behold! — I found them cuddling! Which … listen, it’s cold out here at night, and we’ve all had to snuggle up to stay warm. Who knows if they even meant to fall asleep like that? But they looked very cozy for two people who supposedly hate each other.”
Like a shark in the water, the producer sinks their teeth into Disa’s dangling bait. “Well, isn’t that interesting. Do you think their animosity is all for show?”
“Oh, I think it’s genuine alright,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I just think … well, I know it sounds odd, but I think they enjoy it. Fighting with each other, and all that. I think they kind of get off on it.”
“And is that making life at camp uncomfortable?”
Disa scratches her chin, considering. “Truthfully, flirting would be preferable to the endless bickering,” she says with a shrug. “At least kissing would keep their tongues from wagging every minute of the damned day. It’d give us all some peace and quiet.”
“But,” the producer presses, “besides the cuddling, you haven’t seen them do anything more … amorous, right?”
“No, and thank god for small miracles. But just because I haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it’s not happening.” With a sly smile, Disa winks at the camera and lowers her voice, an invitation for the viewers at home to lean in to share in her gossip. “And let me just say this: I feel sorry for whichever poor bastard masterminds a way to get one of them voted off before the end.”
“Because they’ll be out at the next Tribal Council?” asks the producer.
“Tribal Council?” Disa throws her head back cackling with no small amount of glee. “They’ll be out that night — and probably on a stretcher.”
“Wow, that sounds pretty intense.”
Disa snorts. “Have you met Halbrand or Galadriel? Intense doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
It’s not safe to wander around the island alone.
Correction — it’s not smart to wander around the island alone.
For Galadriel, finding her balance in this game has seemed at times to be almost impossible, the fulcrum of political power shifting daily. One minute, she’s accused of scheming for simply going with Míriel and Disa to the waterfall, the next, she’s being labeled as “lazy” for exploring the far side of the beach by herself instead of participating in camp chores, and she has to fight tooth and nail in the following days to prove she’s worth keeping around.
Surviving is hard enough; the mental gymnastics required to navigate the social aspects of the game are downright exhausting.
But the jungle is peaceful in the early dawn light, worth the risk of sneaking past the camera crew and her still-sleeping tribe mates to go off on her own. With the sun barely cracked over the horizon, the moist air is cool and refreshing. Around her, the trees shiver with the chittering-chirping-rustlings of animals — a soothing white noise compared to the endlessly bombastic tumult at camp.
Lost in thought, she doesn’t see Halbrand approaching and nearly runs straight into him. Startled, she stumbles back with a soft cry, “What are you doing out here?”
“I could ask the same of you,” he chuckles. “Skulking out of camp while everyone else is asleep — it’s a bit suspicious, don’t you think?”
“You followed me?” she asks in disbelief.
“Well, naturally,” he says blithely. “I figured wandering the jungle by yourself, you were bound to run into trouble.”
“How chivalrous.”
He shrugs. “You’re so small, it would be easy to mistake you for prey.”
Galadriel scoffs, raising her chin imperiously. “And you don’t think I can take care of myself, is that it?”
He dares to take a step closer, challenging her to cede ground. When she crosses her arms and refuses to move, he grins a sharp-edged smile that makes something in her stomach squirm.
“Oh Sunshine, you and I both know that you are more than capable of taking care of yourself,” he says, carefully enunciating each word. “Maybe I just wanted to watch.”
The memory crashes through Galadriel’s head, but she refuses to acknowledge it, braces her mental barriers against the cresting wave of embarrassment that could pull her down if she let it. She will not remember how she’d woken up the night before last protected from the cold by the solid heat and muscle of Halbrand wrapped around her back; will not think of how, for the first time in weeks, she’d felt truly comfortable lying there in his arms.
It had been so late, her mind still so thick with sleep, that it’d been easy to pretend it was all just a dream. A warm, sticky dream that had throbbed through her stomach; one where she’d nestled further into his embrace as her hand crept between her legs; where she’d slipped her fingers through the wet heat at her core, stroking herself in languid, sleepy circles; where she’d buried the sound of her pulsing release into the crook of Halbrand’s arm lying underneath her head. It hadn’t been real — the hitch of Halbrand’s breath in her ear, the soft whispers of encouragement, the erection grinding against her backside, the feel of his tongue wrapping around her fingers as she settled into a post-orgasmic bliss — none of it.
But it could be, if she wanted it to.
Halbrand stands toe-to-toe with her now, so close Galadriel has to strain her neck in order to meet his gaze, baring the soft expanse of her throat. His arms hang by his sides but she feels his caress as his eyes dart across her face and linger on her lips.
When she speaks, she hardly recognizes the pitch of her voice, low and breathless. “Is that all you want to do, Halbrand?” Galadriel asks. “Watch?”
A groan rumbles deep in his throat and he surges forward, capturing her chin between his fingers and pulling her into a kiss. His lips are chapped, his stubble rough, but the feel of his mouth zips through her body like white heat. Her skin sizzles with each bruising kiss and she clings to him, drawing him closer and enveloping herself in his warmth.
They break apart panting, noses bumping as they share the charged air, arms wound tightly around each other. Galadriel presses up on her toes to kiss him again, but has barely brushed his lips when the tell-tale sound of crunching footsteps clatters through the underbrush.
They freeze, and just a few paces away, Elrond calls through the trees, “Galadriel? Are you out here?”
Instantly, Galadriel pushes Halbrand away, her face twisting in alarm. Before he can say anything, she hisses, “Stay here and be quiet. Take another way back to camp.”
Straightening her top and smoothing back her tangled hair, she darts around Halbrand and intercepts Elrond before he can take another step. “Hey!” she says, a touch too brightly. “What’s up?”
Elrond sighs in relief. “Gal, you’re going to give me a heart attack before anyone has the chance to vote me off the island,” he chides, rubbing his chest. “I thought we talked about wandering through the jungle by yourself?”
“We did,” Galadriel agrees, looping an arm through his. “But everyone was asleep and I was bored.”
As Elrond steers her back to camp, she looks back only once, searching. But Halbrand is nowhere to be seen.
When they return from Tribal Council, Halbrand goes to take a seat next to the fire but Galadriel steps in his way. Pushing him hard in the chest, she snarls, “You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?”
He uses the momentum of his stumble to try and edge around her. “Don’t start. I am not in the mood.”
Galadriel pivots back in his face. This time, with all the resignation of a man about to walk the plank, he allows her to push him farther back along the beach until they’re standing in the outer ring of the firelight.
“You promised me!” she yells, “you promised me Celebrimbor was safe! You swore up and down that the three of us were in it until the end!”
Bristling with frustration, Halbrand snaps, “You’re right; I promised that to you. But I said shit-all to Celebrimbor about an alliance. And why would I? He’d served his purpose and was just dead weight at every challenge. I’m not about to give someone like that a free ride to the top.”
Galadriel gapes at him, open mouthed. “He trusted you.”
“Because you told him to, which is your own damn fault.” The leash on his temper is slipping fast and he seems to grow with the force of it, towering over her with a hard look in his eye. “Between the two of us, Galadriel, you’re the only liar here.”
“Oh, get fucked.” Their remaining tribe members have gathered around them now and are trying to pull them apart, but no one is willing to put themselves between the two of them. “Of course you’ve found a way to twist this all back on me somehow. You’re nothing but a snake.”
Gil-galad presses a restraining hand to Halbrand’s shoulder, but he shoves him off and advances on Galadriel, his eyes glittering in fury. “Celebrimbor was going to be voted off sooner or later, or have you forgotten why we’re all here?” He sweeps his arms wide, laughing in disbelief. “We’re playing a game here, Sunshine, remember? None of this is personal. Only one of us is going to get the grand prize in the end, and it’s not going to be some holier-than-thou brat who’s afraid to get her hands dirty — it’s going to be the one who did what was necessary in order to win.”
“You know what, keep telling yourself whatever you’d like, Halbrand,” Galadriel hisses, “I am done with you.”
He clutches his chest and mocks, “Aww baby, you’re breaking my heart.”
Elrond has an arm around her shoulders and has gotten her to start walking back to camp, but she turns in his grip to get in one last volley. “You better be ready to win immunity from here on out, because the first chance I get, you’re gone. And that’s a promise, do you hear me? Finished. And unlike you, I always keep my word.”
“Oh, really?” Halbrand taunts. “I’d like to see you try.”
Offscreen: “Here’s the thing I don’t understand; you actually did make a promise to Celebrimbor; we’ve got you on tape saying it loud and clear. But you told Galadriel you hadn’t lied.”
“What’s your question?” Between Tribal Council and the fight with Galadriel, the night is clearly weighing heavily on Halbrand. His energy is flat and he keeps his cold eyes trained solely on the producer, refusing to look at the camera.
“You obviously lied to one of them, my question is which one — Galadriel or Celebrimbor?”
He groans, running a hand through his shaggy hair in agitation. “Neither of them, I swear.”
A beat of disapproving silence, then —
“Okay,” he admits, “did I promise Celebrimbor I’d owe him a favor if he helped me keep Galadriel from getting voted out? Yes. But I didn’t say what that favor would be.”
“I think most people, including Celebrimbor, assumed it would be an alliance.”
“Well, that’s on them!” Halbrand snaps. “This is a game where trust is currency, and time and time again, I have shown that I am willing to spend that currency to get ahead.” His tone is brutally defensive, as if daring someone to test his resolve, and he grows more animated as the confession rushes out of him. “If anyone had bothered to flat out ask me if I was in an alliance with Celebrimbor, I would’ve honestly answered no. But no one asked, they just assumed. And that’s not my fault.”
“And for the record,” he adds hotly, face and neck growing flushed, “I did keep my word to Celebrimbor. When I had to choose someone to share in my reward from the last challenge, I chose him. Didn’t want to, but I did. Because I owed him.”
The producer waits for him to calm down before continuing. “Whether it was a formal alliance or not, you did vote off one of your allies in the game tonight, and in doing so, lost the support of arguably your strongest ally on the island.”
The talking head is interposed with a shot of Galadriel inside the shelter, tucked in tight with her arms wrapped around her knees. Elrond's arm is around her shoulders in an attempt to soothe her, but the look on her face is miserable.
In the interview, Halbrand scoffs and tousles his hair again, harder than before. “Like I even care,” he grouses.
The camera cuts back to the moment right after the fight, its unblinking eye trained on Halbrand. It zooms in on his face to capture a rare, unguarded moment of his features twisting in a look of longing as he watches Galadriel walk away.
Manwë tells the cameras it’s just a coincidence.
Halbrand doesn’t believe in coincidences, but he does believe in producers’ interference. There’s no other way to explain how he and Galadriel just happened to be randomly paired together for today’s reward challenge.
Away from the cameras, he pulls her aside and asks “Are you going to be able to handle this?”
And true to form, she bites back, “Are you?”
Even if they had been on speaking terms, Galadriel is the last person Halbrand would have chosen as his partner for the obstacle course race. Fast, deceptively strong and nimble, Galadriel has proven that she’s a tough physical competitor — but she’s also short. The course looming ahead of them menaces, among other things, mud-pits to leap across, walls to scale, and towers to climb — feats that were going to be challenging even at his height. He has no earthly idea how Galadriel’s going to make it.
But all worries melt away the minute they start. The spirit of competition is a great equalizer, forcibly muzzling mutual enmity in favor of winning. Whatever had ruptured between them is completely forgotten as they run, jump, crawl and climb through the course. They work together as one unit; Galadriel puts up no resistance as Halbrand bodily hauls her up and over some of the taller obstacles, and in the moments that he stumbles, her hand is there to keep him from falling.
They pass the finish line in a wave of euphoria as Manwë shouts, “Halbrand and Galadriel win reward!”
He lifts her into the air, spinning around and shouting with joy. And her face glows brighter than the sun as she wraps her arms around his neck and shrieks with laughter.
Galadriel and Halbrand walk into a large, airy room that contains a giant bed stacked high with thick, white covers, an open wardrobe with sundresses waiting on hangers, and a sliding door opened to showcase the pool waiting just outside.
“Since Halbrand and I won the challenge we got to spend the night at this really beautiful resort,” Galadriel narrates over the scene. “We got these amazing rooms with king size beds, new clothes we could wear while there, massages, and this incredible four course meal.”
Clips of the experience flash onscreen as Galadriel mentions them. There she is with Halbrand, both of them laying on massage tables in an open air hut while masseurs dig their fingers into the tanned skin of their bare backs. There they are inspecting the clothes hanging in their respective wardrobes, exclaiming in delight when they find thick, fluffy robes. And there’s Galadriel out by the pool, leaning over the railing as she watches the sunset with a dreamy expression on her face.
Back in her talking head, Galadriel laughs. “Oh, and the shower!”
The screen cuts back to the resort, following her as she enters the Jack-and-Jill bathroom and stares at her reflection in disbelief. “Look at my hair!” she cries, hands flying to the twisted, knotted mess piled on the top of her head.
“I don’t even have the words to express how wonderful it was to finally bathe with actual soap,” she continues to narrate. “It took me an hour just to wash my hair.”
“Sounds like a great experience,” the producer observes. “But I have to ask, was it awkward going on this one-on-one reward considering the falling out you two had just had?”
In his own talking head, Halbrand chuckles. “You would think. But we talked on the boat ride over and decided that we were going to put the game aside for the moment and just enjoy the reward. We’ve had so few opportunities to just rest since we’ve been here — all of us have been run ragged. Now that we’re in the home stretch, every little bit helps you get an edge on your opponents, whether it’s a good night’s sleep or a full meal or even some distance where you don’t have to think about any of it so you can return to camp with a fresh perspective. We figured that as long as we were here, some peace would do us good.”
“I imagine it was nice to unwind away from everyone else,” says the producer. “Maybe it allowed you two to really get to know each other as people, rather than opponents?”
Back at the resort, night has fallen — a deep, velvety blue that makes a halo of the firelight being emitted from the small torches and candles in the covered dining lounge. Halbrand sits alone at a large table dressed in a black shirt that he’s kept unbuttoned to his sternum, the golden band he keeps on a thick chain bright against the dark skin at his throat. He’s pouring himself a glass of wine when Galadriel enters, and he stops abruptly at the sight of her.
The camera pans up slowly, making sure to capture every inch of her transformation. Freshly showered, she wears a simple white sundress that makes the deep tan of her skin glisten. Her loose hair cascades down her back in gentle waves, the effect softening the sharp lines of her body and making her appear almost girlish.
Another camera zooms in on Halbrand’s face to catch his reaction, making sure the audience can clearly see the glimmer in his eyes and the bobbing apple of his throat as he studies her. Most telling of all is the gruffness in his voice when he says, “Well Sunshine, don’t you clean up nice?”
“Galadriel and I, we’ve had this … connection with each other from the moment we met,” Halbrand tells the camera. “Which is probably why we rile each other up so much; we’re both so similar. And having the time to get to know her — to really know who she is as a person and not just as an obstacle in my way to the grand prize — it was a nice surprise. I even got her to laugh once or twice, which, if you know anything about Galadriel, you know that’s a huge achievement.”
Onscreen, a series of shots underscore his words. There’s Galadriel laughing, her head thrown back and shoulders shaking with the force of it. There’s Halbrand swiping a bite off her plate and grinning smugly at her fake outrage. And there they both are clinking their wine glasses together, cheer-sing their good fortune and the beautiful, balmy night.
“What did you two do after dinner?” asks the producer.
Galadriel says, “I was so full after dinner I immediately went back to my room and passed out.”
Halbrand says, “We had this great private pool with a hot tub just outside of our suites and I spent some time in there. Just soaking in the moment, enjoying the quiet and reminding myself how lucky I was to be there.”
“And that’s all?” prods the producer.
Galadriel rolls her eyes. “Of course that’s all,” she says, flatly.
“Why?” Halbrand asks the producer, tongue pressed to his cheek. “What else did you expect?”
After the crew wraps up for the day and say their goodnights, Galadriel marches into her bedroom, locks the door without saying another word to Halbrand, and immediately crawls into bed. The softness feels downright decadent after weeks of sleeping on palm fronds and bamboo. She stretches out under the cool sheets, luxuriating in the ability to spread her arms and legs without hitting another body.
With the pool lights outside shining through the curtains, the night is brighter than she’s grown accustomed to. She watches the fan spin lazy rotations through the thin rays of light painting the ceiling, trying to even out her breathing and center her mind on the cyclical movement. But despite her efforts — despite her exhaustion, despite her full belly and her comfortable bed — Galadriel simply cannot sleep.
Every time she closes her eyes all she can see is Halbrand; Halbrand smirking into his glass of wine across from her at the table; Halbrand walking around camp in nothing but swim trunks slung dangerously low on his hips; Halbrand sitting by the fire at the crack of dawn dressed in a worn henley and glasses, his hair sleep mussed and voice raspy.
Halbrand’s smug look of superiority when Manwë announced that it was Celebrimbor who had been voted out; the frightening zeal in Halbrand’s eyes when he hit Gil-galad hard enough in a combat challenge to require medical attention; the frenzied rage that contorted Halbrand’s body when his cold war with Glûg finally came to a head.
Dangerous — every path forward with Halbrand is a dangerous one no matter which way she looks at it. But then again, Galadriel would not even be here, would not have made it this far, if she wasn’t a little dangerous, too.
It’s quiet outside, nothing but the sound of the wind and the distant crash of the surf filling the air. Halbrand is sprawled out in the hot tub, his head tipped back against the ground and face soft, as though sleeping. He cracks open an eye at the sound of her approach.
She stops just before the water’s edge, toes curling against the concrete. “How’s the water?”
“Absolutely fucking perfect,” he groans. The steaming water bubbles gently around him, obscuring his nudeness but not hiding it. “Care to join me?”
There’s a challenge laced through his offer, sparking against that charged something that sizzles between them; a force that could backfire on them both if severed with indelicate hands. She lets it linger, lets the weight of it hang heavy in the air, then pushes the thin straps of her nightgown off her shoulders. The fabric slides down her body, pooling at her feet.
It’s nothing Halbrand hasn’t seen before — privacy at camp is a luxury no one has been able to afford. But when Galadriel had seen herself naked in the bathroom mirror after her shower, she’d been shocked by her emaciated appearance — the flatness of her chest, the visible indents of her ribcage, the frighteningly sharp points of her hip bones. She has been reduced to nothing but skin and bones, and as Halbrand studies her, she braces for his judgment. But she meets his gaze and it is one of unabashed hunger; he looks at her as though she is the only thing in the world that can sate his appetite.
He remains utterly still as Galadriel slowly enters the hot tub. It is only when she stands between his spread legs that he moves, grasping her hips in a firm grip. Drawing her closer, he noses softly at the delicate skin of her belly right above the waterline, tongue darting out to capture an errant water droplet. The sigh he emits cascades over her flesh and makes her shiver.
Breathing raggedly, Galadriel cards her fingers through his hair to steady herself. “This doesn’t have to mean anything, you know.”
“Of course not,” he agrees, lips drawing a whisper-soft line up the valley of her breasts. “After all, you don’t trust me, right?” His hands slide higher, nearly encircling her waist, and she gasps as the heat of his words skate over a pebbled nipple.
“No, I don’t,” she says, mouth dry. “That door is closed.”
Halbrand huffs, making his displeasure known with the scrape of his teeth on her tender flesh. “Tell yourself whatever fantasies you like,” he murmurs, “but that door is — will always be — open.”
He pulls her down with a sharp tug and her knees hit the bench on either side of him. They both moan as the movement splits her wide, rocking her against his erection. Fingers curling tightly in his hair, the need to taste him carries Galadriel forward and his mouth opens easily to the insistent demands of her tongue.
Halbrand is a man of utter and complete control, every move deliberately calculated, his emotions kept on a tight leash. Galadriel has seen that control waver over the past several weeks, has been the cause of more than one crack in his smooth surface. Tonight, she is set upon breaking it completely.
There is no gentle exploration, no tentative touch, no appetite for something sweet and slow between them. Halbrand’s body shakes with tension as he fights to remain pliant under Galadriel’s rocking hips and questing hands. She relishes the exquisite piquancy of desperation on his tongue as he pants raggedly into her mouth, his muscles jumping at each featherlight brush of her fingers.
“God, Sunshine,” he moans, brokenly. “You have no idea — no idea — how badly I want you. I can’t sleep without dreaming of you touching yourself. Fuck, the taste of you —”
Little by little, she strips away his control with unerring precision. In the end, he is so easy to unravel; lips against his ear, teeth scraping along the column of his throat, fingers fisted in his hair, a loose fist gliding over his erection. His hips pulse helplessly under her, urging her for faster, for harder, for more, more, more — Sunshine, Galadriel, please — just like that, baby, just like that —
“Tell me you were thinking of me that night.” His voice is barely recognizable, a sound made more of ash than fire. “Tell me you were imagining it was my hand playing with your cunt.”
Galadriel’s head is spinning, her stomach cramping with an unbearable emptiness. Mindless but for the primitive demands of her body, the biological imperative to take and be taken. She sinks onto Halbrand’s cock and he makes a sound like falling, something halfway between a cry and a whimper. Blood roars through her ears as he thrusts up harder into the tight clench of her body, grinding himself in to the hilt. The air is pushed from her lungs and she is suddenly so full — so brutally, awfully full. Tender from his touch.
“Galadriel.” Her name unspools from somewhere deep in his throat as his head falls back, Adam's apple bared to her teeth, bobbing as he gulps for breath. “Fuck.” His eyes are black and wide, a look of wild starvation she feels echoing through her. A desperate hunger locked in battle against the desire to savor each bite.
As they do in all things, they move together instinctually. The push and pull of the artificial currents within the water accentuate their movements, rocking them against each other with deeper intent. Galadriel can’t stop kissing him long enough to catch her breath, addicted to the feel of his lips, to the groans and sighs he presses into her mouth.
The steam from the water mixes with their frantic coupling and she is deliriously lightheaded, pleasure twisting in her belly tighter and tighter with each thrust. Her body stutters on the precipice of the fall, the feeling sticky and sublime like the stretch of taffy, but maddeningly endless.
At the broken whimper of his name, Halbrand laughs, half-crazed and wild. “Is that what you need?” he pants, his fingers finding the point where her ache is most acute and circling her with knowing strokes. “Need me to touch you?”
“Yes,” Galadriel gasps. “Yesyesyesyesyes — ”
It is hard — it is too much — and she relishes the needle-prick points of pain that accompany each wave of pleasure, pushes into it. And then she is falling, crashing around him in mindless pulses, dragging him down with her. He buries his face into her neck as he comes, her name shattering between his lips into a cry that is almost pained.
Galadriel holds Halbrand in the shuddering aftermath, stroking his neck as he clings to her. In the morning, she’ll have to invent a story to explain away the bruises littering her skin. But for now, with exhaustion sweeping heavily through her body, she does not care.
Carefully unwinding from Halbrand’s lap, she takes his hand and leads him to her bedroom where they both towel off. And on that decadently soft bed, Galadriel sleeps deeply through the night, nestled comfortably in Halbrand’s arms.
Even mic’d up, Manwë has to shout to be heard over the studio audience. “Let’s give it up to our contestants for one of our most exciting seasons yet!” he proclaims, clapping his hands. “And wow, it goes without saying that this was one of our most explosive final Tribal Councils we’ve ever seen.”
Halbrand hears his tribe members laugh from their seats behind him — most sound good-natured, but he notes a few voices that sound openly resentful. He rubs his sweating palms against his pants and grins, playing along for the crowd.
Beside him on the prop log situated in the center of the stage, Galadriel snorts derisively, arms folded and defensive. He doesn’t blame her. He’d been prepared for the jury to treat him harshly during the final Tribal Council, when the contestants they’d both had a hand in voting off at last had the opportunity to speak their minds. But Galadriel had been truly shocked by the amount of vitriol thrown her way. Words like “traitor,” “evil,” and “back-stabber,” still hung heavy in the air, along with accusations of riding Halbrand’s coattails to the top.
That last indictment was the one that had set Halbrand off the most. Any moron watching the show could see that Galadriel had been a power player from the moment she’d set foot on the island; she was the one who had seen strength in him, who had pushed him to heights that no one else could have. So it’s with some satisfaction he’s noted that Melkor is suspiciously absent from tonight’s taping.
“A lot of heated words,” Manwë continues. “Galadriel, Halbrand, what was it like watching all that play out again onscreen?”
“Going back and watching this entire season has been really … illuminating,” Galadriel says. “So many people accused Halbrand of being some evil mastermind, which — sure, I can see that take. And don’t let him pretend otherwise, he loves it.” She pats his knee and shoots him a small smile amid the audience laughter. “But what I found really infuriating was how many people discounted my game. I was integral to so many of the Valar Tribe’s victories, but my team mates were talking about me to the camera like I was some little girl who needed their protection. Like I couldn’t fend for myself. And all of this bullshit that I’ve been seeing about being ‘manipulated’ by Halbrand, that I was a ‘victim’ of his schemes — give me a fucking break. I am more than capable of making my own decisions, even if they’re ones you don’t like, and it’s infantilizing to think otherwise.”
A roar of applause accompanies her response, the enthusiastic cry of “yes, girl!” lingering in the air as Halbrand adds, “Galadriel’s genuinely a nice person, and people think that just because she’s nice she can’t be ruthless.”
Manwë smiles. “But not you.”
“Of course not,” he scoffs. “When she sets her mind on something, she’ll do whatever it takes to get it. But unlike me, her first inclination is always to do something self-sacrificing. She’s an unstoppable force and it’s ridiculous that other’s still don’t see that.”
With his attention still honed in on Halbrand, Manwë asks, “After watching this season, what do you think your chances are of winning the grand prize?”
Halbrand chuckles. “Well, since apparently I’m so great at deceiving myself —” behind him, Celebrimbor groans at hearing his own scathing remark parroted back as a joke, “ — I’d say my chances are excellent.”
Manwë waits a beat for a punchline. When one never comes, he raises a brow in disbelief. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Halbrand shrugs, winking at the snickering audience.
“After watching that whole season and seeing that last Tribal Council, you really think there’s an excellent chance more jurors voted for you to win than Galadriel?”
“Oh, no — I’d be shocked if anyone voted for me, honestly.”
After nine seasons of filming the show, Manwë has rarely, if ever, broken his consummate hosting persona on camera. But judging by the way he’s staring at Halbrand, he’s teetering dangerously close to the edge.
“Okay, help me out here, man,” Manwë sighs, rubbing his forehead. “We’re both talking about winning the grand prize, right?”
“Yessir.”
“The cash prize, not your relationship with Galadriel?”
“That is correct.”
“And you think you’ve got an excellent chance at winning?”
“In fact, I know I have.”
“But you’ve just said you’d be surprised if anyone voted for you over Galadriel.”
“I would be shocked.”
There’s a growing wave of awkward giggles from the audience and Galadriel drops her head into her hands with a groan. But Halbrand is clearly enjoying himself, beaming at the host with an earnest expression on his face.
“Halbrand.”
“Manwë.”
“What am I missing here?”
“We-ll — ” Halbrand begins, but Galadriel immediately cuts him off.
“Okay, you’ve had your fun.” She shoves his shoulder playfully before turning to Manwë with a sheepish expression. “What Halbrand is conveniently not saying is it doesn’t matter who ultimately gets the grand prize because — ”
“ — Because Galadriel and I got married this morning,” Halbrand interjects, grinning wildly. Galadriel laughs and holds up her hand to show off her ring to the astounded audience.
The bonfire on stage gutters as the audience explodes with screams and cheers. The stage erupts into utter chaos as the jurors jump to their feet, all animosity forgotten as they crowd the two finalists, smothering them with hugs and kisses and congratulations.
It takes some time to get the audience to settle and to extricate Galadriel and Halbrand from their friends. When at last everyone is back in their seats, stage makeup smudged and hair mussed, Manwë returns to the stage and resumes his spot next to the podium.
“Well, first off, congratulations to you both,” he says, warmly. “That really is exciting news — and obviously, a first for this show! Now,” the audience laughs as he taps the jar of votes at his elbow. “We still do have to read these votes, which …. huh, interesting dynamic this all adds to that now. Suddenly, I guess you’re both grand prize winners no matter how you look at it.”
“Unless Gal signed a prenup!” Disa hollers.
Manwë chuckles. “Galadriel, before I read these things, I have to know — you and Halbrand are both pretty competitive. Do you think these votes are going to have any impact on your new marriage?”
She pretends to think it over. “Maybe,” she finally admits. “After all, the grand prize is just money — that’s easy. But being named the winner? There can only be one. And she,” Galadriel weaves her fingers through Halbrand’s, smirking, “will not share power.”