Being lost in Mordor was not high on Galadriel's list of tasks to accomplish, she chastised herself, walking briskly and carefully down the hall away from that smithy. She was none too eager to return there at any rate, her cauterized palm still stinging from sorcery and a knife wound. She flexed that hand as she turned down one black-walked hall after another, passed that narrow window where… well, she hid her blushing cheeks behind her hands as she kept walking. Shaking her head, she could not clear the sight of those blood red eyes and pointed teeth, nor the sensation of dungeon bars against her bare skin from her head. One thing had grown clearer with each of their encounters, sexual or not. She would have to choose again: to save him or save those lost Elven kings and warriors.
If they were even there, her doubt raised its head for the first time since she had stepped foot out of Eregion. After all, what did she truly owe to Gil-Galad or even Elrond? Perhaps she was the only one who could save all of Middle Earth by saving his very soul.
He had said as much. But there was much he had not shared, the constant nagging question of just what role Adar held plagued her. And what could have made him grin so wickedly, she worried, biting her inner cheek in consternation. Thoughts scattered around her, somewhere she turned a corner, and then another. But all the while, her mind revisited moment after moment. Moments of magic and sex, of fear and also desire. Every moment that her heart raced in fear at his outbursts of rage. Every moment that her very blood pounded and simmered with desire for him. A slight pulse from her ring forced her thoughts away from those heated delights. As if to remind her why she was really there.
Her time ran quickly, she would need to make her choice soon, Midsummer was tomorrow after all. Her choice loomed closer like shadows that spread as dark approached. She needed more access, more information, more answers, and not just from Sauron. He had said she was growing in power, could it be she could read into other's minds and hearts, not just his and not when provoked or… stimulated.
She could try pushing more against Sauron's will when he invaded her mind… No, she warned herself as a shiver at the ghost of his nails running down her skin coursed down every nerve. She needed to find someone who might know more about those dungeons.
Another sharp turn left would put her back in the throne room, hopefully empty again. She tugged on the iron circle in the center to throw it open, but it remained shut tight. She turned cautiously, realizing that these doors looked unfamiliar. In fact, now that she stilled herself, pausing from that breakneck speed of plunging head long, she realized there had been no door to the throne room. So… wherever she was, in this black-stoned fortress, she knew not where.
Raising her left hand against the wood of the door, Galadriel breathed and shut her eyes. Her mind cast out a wave of effort, as if to bring to light what lay beyond. The scent of hay filled her nose, the soft swish of tails and gentle knickering of horses softly reached her ear.
A stable.
Please, she begged the locked of the door, open. She bid from deep in her heart.
She felt a flicker of darkness. Rejecting her.
She pressed her left hand harder into the wood. Almost clawing into the black beams with her nails. Open, she commanded, almost hearing the word in Sauron's voice from somewhere deep within her. And to her shock, she heard the word from her mouth, but not in her own tongue. But in Black Speech.
Something slid back from the other side, steadily and slowly creaking the door open.
She should have felt trepidation, tapping into whatever dark magic she had used to open the door. Pure joy flooded her, fresh hay crunched under her feet, the clean scent of leather tack somewhere near.
She had found his stables.
Slowly, she stepped forward, stall by stall, silent elven steps creeping to ensure she was alone. The first stall was filled by two fat ponies, dwarven mounts no doubt. Strong and well fed from work in the mines. They barely looked up from their trough of feed as she smiled at them for the door. The next held a beautiful mare, golden brown and long legged, proud and groomed to perfection. Undoubtedly the ride of a human king.
Stalls went on and on, each occupied with such a variety of mares and stallions, warhorses and destriers, she marveled, not since Numenór was she so impressed. A large wooden gate separated the stalls towards the end of the building. Galadriel leaned forward, peering into the shadows. From inky blackness, two red eyes appeared, towering above her.
Galadriel's very blood froze as it met her gaze. Something had found her. Someone was watching.