Leave. She wanted to leave. Every nerve, every muscle ached to grab a sword or two and slice through every creature, dwarf or man, that gathered in the cavernous throne room. Mostly self-important looking men clustered about, weaving slowly in and out of each other, their movements skirting in disdain away from anyone else apart from their own kind. It looked like a dance from where she was forced to perch, her ass sore from sitting across Sauron's thighs. Galadriel dared not to shift much or often. Not that she could as the nerves of her legs began to tingle and go numb.
He toyed with her, obviously enjoying his future Queen on display for all of them to see. And surely all of them knew of her, of how the mighty she-elf commander had fallen straight into the Dark Lord's lap. Or his bed. The implications were clear and correct. Steely-eyed kings of men glanced in fear at them, perched on the throne together. Though they were scattered and moved around, she thought she counted maybe eight crowned heads. But it was hard to tell completely. She always kept the corner of her eye on that suspicious door off to her left. The one she assumed led to the dungeons, to any lost and forsaken elves. Carefully, she did not directly stare at it. Or anyone or anything for too long.
Instead, she focused all her attention on his court that milled about. Stories of Morgoth's court surfaced to memory, surprised Sauron hadn't called out the trolls or Balrogs, or other dark and foul creatures to sit before his throne too. No, the foulest of creatures were those Moriondor commanders yet, no other sign of Orc or abomination.
His court had begun without ceremony or address, no speeches or threats or executions. Just this quiet mingling with an undertow of hatred for one another. However, one figure slinked forward, returned from the shadows again. Adar's drawn expression remained unchanged as he bowed low before the dais, waiting permission to approach.
Galadriel could feel from the contact with him the exact moment Sauron saw his commander, a pulse of tension and hot smoke passing from his body, through hers and then beyond. That pulse must have been a signal to remove himself or wait, for Adar bowed lower and retreated backwards into the fray. She had wished Adar, or anyone for that matter, had remained, as she felt lips grazing the tender tips of her ears. Sauron's voice sent shivers down her spine, shivers that pooled unwantedly hot between her legs.
"So what do you think of my court, Galadriel?" he hissed gently. "A far cry from Lindon, I will grant you."
"No bloodshed, sacrifice, or executions, I grant you in return," she replied to the air before them, refusing to turn her head, even as his hands grabbed hold of her hips, attempting to slide her full across his lap.
"Games are beneath you," his voice harsher than before.
"A regal bearing before my future court is no game, my King," she lilted her words. And only then did she allow him to meet her gaze as she leaned herself against his arm, and that of his throne. The glinting smirk that twisted his face practically shouted affirmation.
"How true, my Queen," he nodded his approval once before gripping her chin and drawing her mouth against his own that hovered inches above her in wait.
Rough and biting, his kiss devoured her before all eyes. Galadriel tasted her own blood, her shriek of pain swallowed by his mouth as he bit into the corner of her lip. His clear excitement driven to aggression, claiming her as his before the cogs of power and politics that grinded below their throne. His tongue bathed the small spots of blood from her mouth, and the smell of smoke coiled into her nose and into her mind.
His voice echoed in her mind, the mossy tint of his eyes grinning mischievously at her as his lips stilled. "You are surprised how civil my rule as King of the Southlands is…"
Her own thoughts almost seemed to voice a reply, "You are King of Mordor, no longer the Southlands. It seems only natural I find it surprising."
"Hmm," he hemmed in approval. "I like your pleasant surprise almost as much as you have learned how to cast your voice." His brow raised in a deeper smirk, one of pure arrogance. "Seems my power is already affecting you, the more you accept it into yourself."
It was Galadriel's expression now that twisted, but in a defiant and taunting grin. "Or do you mean the more I accept you into me? Perhaps it's your cock and not your power, though I don't know which one you seem to think is more intimidating."
His hands ran a singeing touch over her legs to the edge of her white gossamer skirt. That glint of desire darkening the green of his eyes again as his fingers toyed with the skin of her thigh. "That mouth of yours grows as filthy as the mud of Mordor," his voice almost a caress down her spine. "You will have to be careful once you are crowned, or you will have to be punished."
"The way you say that with such enjoyment, I suppose you will find ways of having me punished regardless," she quipped in reply. Pressing her palm against the broad plane of his chest as he leaned his body in towards her. She would rather not have him bite her again, turning her mouth out of his reach.
"Such enjoyment," he rasped, a salivating smirk growing across his lips. "Once I saw a she-elf, such as you, punished by dancing naked until she collapsed from sheer exhaustion." His touch wandered to her hips, that now familiar heat searing through her dress.
"The ways of your former master were certainly cruel," she hissed in reply, her stomach turning at any memory of just what dark and vile place Sauron had arisen from.
"His ways are not my own," his voice echoed firmly in her head. "I had hoped you had seen that by now, Galadriel."
She could not bring herself to reply either way. Swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat, the embers of anger and vengeance still too hot to admit he might be right.
"Unsure, my Queen? You take more enticing rather than punishment it seems," he smirked again, but his face seemed taught, the laughing lines that creased at his eyes invisible despite the half smile on his mouth. And it made her ears prick with caution. "Would you like to dance?" his voice rang from his throat now, the smoke of his magic clearing from her mind.
"Alone?" she pushed, sliding from his lap to stand before him.
He paused, allowing her to test her steely confidence as the throne room grew as silent as a tomb. Her back grew ramrod straight, knowing full well every man, moriondor, or even dwarf eye was on her. His eyes flashed a brightness, darkening that color again as he rested his body back against the cold black stone of his seat. "Beg me," he whispered mind to mind.
"Or else?" she tested him, those sapphire eyes narrowing into her warrior hardened stare.
"Then you learn the fate of Morgoth's favorite way of punishing your fair race." "I thought this was enticement instead of punishment," her shoulders squared towards him. Ever the commander, he noticed with growing desire.
"It can be, if you beg me to dance with you," he hissed, that flash of his teeth, even though he did not speak, sent a burst of liquid heat to her womanhood. Betraying body, she sniffed.
"Would you, my lord, care to dance with me," she bid him elegantly, a spiteful shine to her eyes as she bowed her head.
Sauron cleared his throat, the cock of his brow enough to tell her she needed more panash and show.
"If it so please you," she clutched her skirts, offering him a deep curtesy, the white fabric of her gown a spilling fall over the onyx step before his throne.
Burning, billowing smoke filled her nose, choking her throat. Her eyes watering as she rose to standing. Somewhere behind the crowd, drums beat a rhythm of dancing. The eerie lilt of a reed whistle beginning a tune, its notes meandering and weaving around.
She could barely see yet, her vision still a blur almost as his heated touch grabbed her hand, leading her near-blind down the last step to the floor. His fingers clutched tight, never letting go of her right hand. Hot pressure on her back led her along as well, his other hand coursing her through the dance, her feet following the time of the ever-beating drums. Heat flared before her. His body must be close enough again, igniting her own in a matching twin flame of warmth and desire. But yet, her eyes could not blink away the stinging blur.
Pain intensified, but not just from the burning of her throat and eyes; her left hand ached where her ring wrapped around that finger, its own cooling burn increasing with every beat of the drums. Suddenly, as she gasped for air into her seared lungs, a wave of cold light crashed up her arm and into her very mind. In a flash, the smoke scent dissolved, the bleary smudge of her eyes returning to clear. She danced alone, a swirl of smoke around her, dark and thick, almost too thick for her to see beyond. But that cool light of her ring parted a small opening, her window to the room. And in that window, peering past columns and faces, Sauron stood against the wall, beyond layers of crowded vassals and visitors. His head bent low, his ear inclined towards the whispering mouth of Adar. And most chillingly, his eyes, though still unseeing her own magic, those eyes burned a bright and smoldering orange. The skin of his face a souring black. And, most chillingly, his lips turned in a twisting smile at what he heard.
Something in her gut roiled as what she observed, and as she almost felt the intensity of his sight returning to her, the wave of her magic disappeared, leaving her nothing but the taste of smoke and blinking blind eyes as his magic consumed her again.