Bells rang, resounding off of mountains and cliffs of blackest rock. Green had returned to the plains of the Southlands, as the sun had shone once again for months now. Trees of ash gave way to new sprouts and saplings, even the black rocks of the Mountains of Shadow grew life. And what was more, the farms grew a bounty, field after field of vegetables and fruits, grains and crops dotting the villages of Mordor. The sun blessed soil somehow sustained even better produce, the blessing of the Valar, the word had spread.

All thanks to the soon-to-be crowned Queen of the Southlands. It was for her, and her alone, those Black Gates had been thrown open and left open. Banners flew, and groups of Men and Elves paraded into the lands. Looking down from their black tower, Sauron could almost see the ripples of anxiety flowing from them. Their eyes darted and scanned for ambush, their shoulders tight and hands gripping weapons at their hips. Fine, let them be pleasantly surprised, he decided. He even watched as their mouths would drop to see the Mountain asleep once more and leaves growing on the new trees of the Southlands.

He could not wait to see their shock at the baskets, crates, and cartloads of ripe harvest his vassals were gathering even as they entered his lands. The ash of the Mountain had given the land an even more fertile produce. And all under the reign of the Dark Lord and his Lady of Light.

Just thinking of his lady sent pangs of desire to his core. It was nearly time, and even the few hours for her dressing and preparation were a trial to endure alone.

His fist crumpled the letter that he had just received tighter before tossing it to the floor in frustration. Another request from Adar to bring back the Shadow, to return freedom of movement to his children instead of relegating them to mines and the dark of night. With a disgusted sneer, he left the offending paper where it landed as he made his way from the balcony balustrade. Adar knew the answer he would receive, with no recourse or appeal. He had already whined about the matter to his face too many times since the light had returned. The Orcs would have to learn to serve a new purpose if they wanted to belong in his new vision of Middle Earth.

A blast of distant trumpets signaled it was time for the whole blessed affair to begin. Pausing before he opened their bedroom doors, he adjusted the iron and obsidian of his spiked crown, smiling at his reflection in the mirror. Of course Galadriel had suggested a new crown for himself, but he would have it no other way, lest anyone forget who he was before his change of heart. Or lest anyone forget his power.

Two hands gripped the double door, pulling them open wide as he strode forward. His boots rang with exacting rhythm as he marched, his lines of Moriondor commanders filling in behind him, and of course, he took careful note of the way Adar's dark eyes could not even look in his direction. Sauron gave a single bark of a laugh and a flip of his black cape as they turned the corner to enter the throne room. Eyes were wide to see the Dark Lord take his dark throne, the masses of Men and Elves parting far away to make room for his entrance. Some bowed, and some proudly refused to lower their heads. Or even look at him. He let his power ripple through the room with a roll of his shoulders, as he climbed the shining black stairs of the dais. His large and shining obsidian throne gleamed in the sunlight that poured from the window. The only thing brighter than his throne was hers. Equally tall, equally black, but it sparkled in the light. Eleven gems of pure adamant glittered at the head. A shining five pointed star to gleam above her golden and crowned head. He smiled, barely containing his own desire and excitement to see her at his side. Turning with a swish of his cloak, he waited, standing before his throne.

Still heads turned away from him, waiting for the closed throne room doors to be thrown open. Tension rippled in the room as he scanned the thin crowd of guests. Not a crowned head among them, their delegates clear enough in their unspoken message of suspicion. In time, they would see. But today was not about his pride or his power.

It was about her. About their power.

Then, the trumpets blared again, drum and whistle weaving a melody of beauty and joy as the doors swung open to bring forth the new Queen.

Lady of Light, a more appropriate name he could not think of. Her dress glowed, as if lit from her own inner Light. White gossamer clung to her every curve, silver threads lacing leaves and vines around each border and sleeve of her gown. Her train flowed over the black stone of the floor, a waterfall of white furs down her back, pooling many feet behind in her wake. Even her golden hair, woven in braids and cascading, caught the iridescent sun that fell in beams through the windows.

Faces softened and glowed to see her joy, her excited blush that tinted her cheek and colored even her long alabaster neck. Some familiar faces smiled at her from the crowd, some with joy, some with a forced grin of acceptance. On the edge of the line as she walked, an aged face cracked in happiness, Mithrandir's grey beard unable to conceal his smile. And then there was Elrond, that serene half-smile of pity and approval, if reluctant. But her gaze only glanced over these faces of her past. Instead, her sights fixed only on the one who was her future.

He looked so regal, standing and attending her. The way his burnished red hair caught the light, looking bright against his crown of glittering black spikes, the way his gaze burned brighter the closer she drew, the way his desire and love for her was etched across every muscle and bone of his face. His power pulsed out to meet her, drawing her near.

His voice tickled her mind with his rumbling laugh. "A queen fit for all Middle Earth, a queen meant for my throne and my heart," he caressed her body through burning vision and lustful thought. Extended arm reached for her hand, reaching for her perfect fingers to lead her up the final steps and rest beside him.

But first, he placed a lingering kiss on her bare forehead, on the flawless skin that would soon bear the crown of his kingdom.

At that kiss, the tension in the room began to melt. As if rumors as to their relationship had been confirmed or denied to reveal the one truth. He truly did love her.

Lacing his fingers through hers, he turned her to stand before her own glittering throne. "This day is not for Mordor or for the Southlands, but for the one who brought the light to the dark, who made the Mountain sleep once more, and who healed the soul of the Dark Lord," he enjoyed the reverberation of his sonorous voice off his throne room walls. He lowered her into the seat of her throne, drinking in the sight of his white-garbed queen. His hand slipped from her, and, snapping his fingers, smoke formed and swirled between his hands. In the stinging cloud of magic, something round, pointed, and gleaming materialized. Metal brighter than light, diamonds shining and glowing and lit from within. Her crown matched his pointed one, lustrous where his was fierce.

Her eyes shined, her smile warmed the room as the cool metal came to rest on her golden braids.

"All hail, the Queen of the Southlands!" Sauron called to the crowd. The voices echoed the same.

And Galadriel turned her head, gazing at her King with eyes brimming with adoration. "All hail, the King of the Southlands," she rejoined loudly, holding up his hand. And while the crowd may have been wary in their hearts, they hid it from their voices, shouting equally strong.

Then Sauron did something no one expected. He bent low, knelt before his queen, and rested his head on her lap. The Dark Lord truly tamed by love, the crowd gasped silently.

"All for you, my Queen," he whispered into her mind.

"And all for you, my King," she breathed in reply.

"If only we were alone, there are more ways I would pay you homage," his words, the way they rasped in his throat set that fire in her stomach and ache between her legs. He flashed her another vision, his head between her knees, skirts spread wide, his tongue licking while fingers stroked her as she arched back against the unyielding stone of her throne.

Galadriel's tongue unknowingly licked her lips, her mouth parting as she could feel the vision's ecstasy as if it were real. Her hands wove into his locks, lifting his head and breaking his vision's enthralling rapture. "There will be time enough in this age for such pursuits together, my Lord," she smiled before pulling him up to his feet and kissing that smirking mouth in full view of all their guests.

"In that time, I plan to take you in every way and as often as I please, my Queen," he rasped, even his voice in her mind rumbled in desire. "In fact, I plan to order our guests away to take you right here, right now."

"Patience," she hissed as their lips remained unbroken from their kiss. "First diplomacy, then pleasure for today."

"Today only, since you are now officially Queen," he taunted and nipped her lips before turning with that flashing gaze and arching brow. His voice tickled her ear as he whispered right into its pointed tip. "And I give you twenty minutes before I order the room cleared," he growled.

Dear Reader, large and sweeping group scenes are certainly more of a challenge than any more intimate. Feel free to leave feedback on what came across clearly in the scenery, I try with humblest heart to give the same level of livid detail to these sorts of scenes as others, but I wonder to what degree it comes across.