Even her breathing echoed in this cavernous room, all black stone and shadows. And even the shadows seemed to creep and swirl of their own accord. Perhaps she wasn't alone after all. There was little damage she could do here, Sauron had said before turning on his heel in those pitch black robes again, his black-stoned crown on his head again. Given the pleasured smirk he gave her before leaving for unannounced places, she was almost certain his formal attire was just for her own benefit.

He said she would be alone, left undisturbed in his supposedly brief absence. She was beginning to notice how to mark time, shadows did still shift, even the clouds of Mount Doom could not prevent the sunlight from wholly reaching the earth. Shadows still changed angles, disappearing more as time passed. Approaching noon she guessed. Her feet paced from windowed wall to entryway door. Not much for her to see here. And the massive obsidian throne at the end of the room made her stomach sour; he bid her to wait before exploring it. Until he could afford the time to show it to her properly. Once again involving some other act of pleasure, she could easily glean from his tone and glinting eyes. But before then, she had to explore more to find what she could.

Barad Dûr it was called. This castle fortress. But even as it was being built still, Galadriel remained chillingly unimpressed. Even the throne room's walls were still unhewn, as if the masons had been ordered to stop before completion. Each edge, each column and doorway still jagged and rough. Rooms branched off at angles to this throne room, but each door, she checked, remained locked. Surely one of these reached into the dungeons. Every lord and king wanted prisoners brought before their throne for sentencing.

Reaching her seventh locked door, Galadriel sighed in frustration, her hand still gripping the circle of metal that served as doorknob. We will need every last Commander, every last elven king and queen to check the darkness behind the mountains of Mordor, Elrond had assessed. Then he had thrown her a suspicious look as she volunteered for the task. By then the whispers of the Commander and the so-called, errant King were in every pointed elvish ear. And what was more, he suspected the truth, that every choice she had wrought, every action undertaken, and every stirring of her heart had only put Sauron on the throne of the Southlands. Of Mordor. So now, it was her turn for atonement, to find those lost to the wars of the First Age if they were still alive. And captured.

Only when she realized her hand was beginning to burn from the heat of the handle did she withdraw it, snapping her attention away from the shadows of the past. Heat scored a line across her palm, red and blistering. Heat from

Underground, maybe, she assessed, thinking of the lava flows from the volcano. If this door led to vaults below the earth then….

"Behind enemy lines, Commander?" a rasping whisper echoed from a shadow behind her. Adar crept out on silent steps and rounded on her with that narrowed-eyed empty stare only and Orc could give. "Or have you really come to rule and warm the Dark Lord's bed?" He stopped three paces away. Just out of arm's reach, she noticed with all her warrior-like calculation. "I never thought our kind would have it in them," he shrugged those sloped shoulders.

"You are not my kind," she spoke clearly, swallowing her desire to steal his weapon where it hung at his side.

"You made that clear when last we met," he turned his head to expose a thin scar, "your beautiful blade at my neck, if I recall." His dark eyes scanned where she stood, cold and unflappable suspicion furrowing his thin brows. "Looking for something?" he rasped.

"Just for my king," she breathed, relaxing her stance before retreating her steps towards the black throne beside her. "I'm surprised he hasn't gutted you for what you did, Adar."

"We've reconciled," his words terse as he followed her, still keeping a careful distance.

Galadriel trained her full gaze down on him as she stepped up the dais, seating herself on the cold black volcanic stone of the massive chair. "Shame I did not let him finish his task on the battlefield that day," she sneered.

Doors groaned opened at the far end of the chamber. "I had thought the same myself," an arrogant and powerful voice sounded from the end of the giant hall. His rounded Southlander vowels resounded much more pronounced, as they used to be to her ear. Halbrand's voice.

Adar bowed low at the voice in an instant. Ages of practice. He held still, his nose almost touch his knee, as the heavy foot falls sounded closer. Galadriel watched from her perch on the throne as Sauron fairly glided towards them, his black robes billowing and his brow darkening to see where she was seated.

As he reached them both, one at the foot of his throne, the other sitting comfortably in it, he drew to a halt. A trick of light or shadow perhaps, but in his now visible anger, he seemed almost two, maybe three heads taller. The flesh around his eyes blackened, his eyes red and slitted, and wisps of smoke cured from his hands, his shoulders. Sauron's voice boomed, only amplified by the cavern walls, his arm shot out, his claw-like finger now pointing at his Uruk Commander. "My orders were to leave your Queen alone, were they not?" he bellowed.

Adar somehow bowed even lower before hurrying out the closest door.

His head remained turned to watch Adar's retreat, but once the door tumbled shut, that enraged gaze flared in her direction. It was then she realized her disobedience in her attempt to dominate and intimidate the Uruk. Galadriel jumped to her feet, but not before he rushed at her, leaping up all the stairs of the dais in one bound and trapping her body against his. His hand gripped at her hips, slamming her into his lap as he claimed his throne.

He laughed, low and thundering in her left ear. "Get comfortable, Galadriel, for your throne will be my thighs until you are crowned," he growled.

"Yes, my lord," she swallowed, a feeble but delighted smile as she set her lips against his.