Sauron shifted his weight in his saddle, careful to meet her eyes, speaking slowly and clearly for her to comprehend the matter of their race. "On the outermost edge of my lands, on the northern line of mountains, we will race to the top. There is a tree you will not be able to miss, half in sun and flowering, half charred and blackened in the darkness of Oroduín's shadow." Sauron grinned, stroking Burzum's ear as it twitched, as if hearing his master's directions. Shifting comfortably in his saddle, a tinge of gloating colored his words. "Unless you give up, poorly mounted and on a foreign horse as you are, Elf."
"Do not underestimate the way of Elves and their horses," she taunted in return.
His brow rose wryly. "I do not tremble in fear at the ways of the Elves, but rather you, Galadriel," he savored her name low and rasping, "you make me long to see you tremble," he flashed his grinning teeth, "and not in fear."
But before she shot him a silencing look or a reply, she kicked her mare, turning her sharply to the North, to the highest furthest point. His rolling, stacotto laughter spurred her on as it sounded close behind. She strained her sight as far as she could, looking for any rays of sunlight at the mountain top. There, around a curve and straight up the path of the mountain's face. Galadriel shook her head, and her heart pounded in dismay as her sight refocused before her, only to see Sauron's gloating grin as he glanced over his shoulder, his horse pounding a gallop and clear in front of her.
She urged the mare, whispering in its ear, encouraging every ounce of speed those long legs could give. But each effort she made to move around him, he could sense, dodging and swaying in line to keep her tailing. Trails began ascending the mountain, and Galadriel's horse lathered and panted with each gallop. She would tire before the top, Galadriel worried. A bolt of light flowed from her left hand as she placed it into the damp mane, strings of hair winding in her fingers. Energy pulsed beneath her touch, her horse loudly neighing as she somehow broke into more speed.
And, just once and for a moment, Sauron threw her a look of grave and assessing concern. Worried she could in fact come from behind to best him.
She was so close, dodging gracefully from the rear, drawing herself straight alongside him, close enough to hear his disgruntled barking at his warhorse. One more pulse of her magic would push her clear ahead, and she drew inward with a breath.
Oh, that rush of smoke filled her mind with a prideful chuckle. I did not realize we could use magic to win.
Enraged and unpleasantly surprised, she fairly snarled at him as they loped ever higher up the trail.
A cool look and a dashing smile was all he left her with, vanishing in streams and wisps of inky smoke. Horse and all. Gone.
Her own steed slowed, sides heaving as they climbed. Galadriel's breath quickened in her own chest at the defeat. Stomach swirled nervously as she reached the grassy plateau, and indeed that peculiar tree perched with branches outstretched. Some twisted into the last patch of summer sun. The other side was almost crumbling to ashes like the rest of the earth of Mordor.
Burzum grazed in the darkness for which he was named, tearing up patches of dried and dying brush from the ashes. As she rose by, it stared at her with those unnerving red eyes. Fitting it ate the dead plants, a creature like that springing up created from only… well only Sauron knew where.
The Dark Lord stood waiting beside the mysterious tree. Dirt, soot, and apron replaced by a shimmering tunic of deepest purples. Any sign of darkness, of forges and sorcery, all replaced with regal and summery splendor. He looked out from the mountain, his back towards her as she eased her horse and slipped down to the soft grass that still spread into the sunlight. She could hear his deep, long breaths even at a distance, his reddish hair dancing gently in the warm breeze, held at the crown of his head by a simple golden circle. It's metal shining and hammered, catching the midday sun.
A picture of tranquility, but her irritability burned too hot, the injustice of his magic made her nostrils flare.
"I can feel your rage flaming from here, Galadriel," he chuckled. "But in honesty," he turned slowly, arms folded over his chest in unflappable contentment, "you used yours first."
He smirked so arrogantly, she couldn't help but stride across and punch him square in the shoulder.
Sauron feigned injury, cradling the injury with his hand. "You wound me, my lady," he forced a whimper before he returned his face to that self- satisfied and slightly hungered grin.
"I only evened the odds against me," she tossed her chin up towards him again. "Your mighty magic against any attempt of mine to equal you," she shook her head in derision. "I should have known you would deceive in any way."
"A peace offering then?" he questioned gently. "A kiss and a question a piece, and you may begin… " he closed the distance, wrapping his arms around her. "Now just where on my person will you kiss?" He whispered in her ear, savoring the slight quaking of her body in his embrace.
She shot him a look that showed she would rather stab him than kiss him, but she placed a soft but brief kiss in the rough stubble of his cheek. "That's all you win from me, my lord," she sneered, scratching up her nose and taunting. But enjoying the sensation of his beard on her lips all the same.
He clutched her tighter, that half smile gleaming down at her, brighter than the warm summer sun. "I don't think that was the agreement, Galadriel, but I'll give you the choice. Question?" He put his mouth barely grazing that point of her left ear. "Or kiss?"
"Question," she relied without hesitation in her voice, but her stomach flipped over itself as he released her.
He turned ever so slightly, gesturing with his left arm to a blanket spread in the sun, shaded by the blossoms of the tree and spread across its woven lengths were platters laden with a spread of fruits and cheese, of bread and meats. Galadriel's eyes widened, the variety of foods she had not seen since… since…
"Not my question so hard-won, but do you forget I once was in Valinor?" his soft- green eyes dancing as he enjoyed her stunned silence. "Of course I attended a lifetime of Midsummers with the Noldor to know of your foods and traditions…" he knelt alongside Galadriel, who had fairly flung herself down to inspect the bright pink fruits, testing their perfect ripeness with a delighted grin. "I had to guess as to your favorite fruits however."
"You guessed correctly," she breathed, pressing the pink fruit to her nose to inhale its sweet, soft fragrance. Instantly her mouth watered. Hundreds of years. She had not had the sweet ambrosia of these fruits for nearly a thousand years.
Heat drew closer as he lounged across the blanket, spreading his own long and powerful legs out to rest back on his elbow. His hand fished out her own from the folds of her skirt, bringing her closer from where she knelt. Her body leaned gently towards him, tantalizingly brushing his side, his hip, his thigh. "Are you ready now for my question?" he purred, catching the ironic twist of her expression quick enough to add, "and no, that is still not my question."
She nodded as her reply, keeping her gaze on the horses as they grazed. One in the shadows and one in the sun, ever munching and softly knickering in contentment. Praying, she hoped against all, he could not hear or feel her heart racing in fear at whatever he would ask. His touch circled on the back of her left hand, slowly brushing the pad of his thumb with an increasing rhythm. That caress brushed her ring, as if by accident, but the touch of his skin against the cool metal flashed a wave of magic sharp enough to catch her breath in her chest.
"Sorry," he murmured, the wincing lines at the corner of his eyes telling he felt the sharp wave as well. His touch stilled, before weaving his fingers between each of her own. "Now, I promise you, above all else, I will answer your question honestly in time if you do the same to me." His lips flattened, his brow arched. "And I have ways of sensing deception with you," he cautioned in a mischievous whisper, sending a puff of smoke-laden magic into her mind.
"I accept," she rejoined with a confident smile, pushing back against his inner magic with her own, watching his smile grow as she did so.
Sauron paused, and Galadriel held her breath, keeping her eyes locked into his. As if she could read his question before a single word slipped from his dangerous lips.
He could sense her anxiety, her disquiet. Feeling there was much more to her acceptance of his throne and his body than for sex and power. With Elves, something more noble drove their every choice. A purpose, a calling. That cursed ring was most likely the root, he thought, his eyes glancing to its beckoning band of silver and glinting adamant jewel. The corner of her eye twitched almost imperceptibly as she waited for his query. He should ask her, demanding at the point of a dagger, on pain of death, what she was doing to him with that blasted ring of power. He should torture the truth from those delicious, decieptful lips, until he knew without a doubt how she was using his own powers, his very essence; how she could see into his mind and escape his control with such ease.
Not that she would know how to answer any questions of power or magic. No, she was too pure. Filled with too much Light. And given the quiver of her lips as his eyes darted to their fullness, he had already found the quickest way to stem her insolence and question even the most righteous of motives she could hide from him.
His lips twisted as he raised himself to seated, his body so close to hers. A position she did not shy from. "Now, Galadriel, here is my hard won question: after we eat our meal in the sunshine and dally about for the Eve of Midsummer, I am going to carry you in my arms back to our bed. How best will you like to be taken?" Her eyes widened, her jaw dropping at the rudeness. But he only smirked wider. "Would you rather I bind your hands and legs to the bed so you can't even touch me, let alone yourself, or…" he savored the sight of her eyes fluttering at the mere image mentioned. "Or would you rather I let you sit astride me like your favorite beasts and ride my cock until you shatter in ecstasy?"
Galadriel shuttered, mouth still open, but not in shock. Waiting as she watched him approach slowly, his lips just beginning to brush hers.
"Don't try my patience waiting for your choice," he growled, the burning touch of his hand ghosting up her side.
The nagging question she was longing to ask of him herself evaporated from her mind. Gone was her suspicion, her gnawing doubt of what Adar had hidden behind that wall of magic. All she could see, all that filled her vision was those summer-green eyes and those tantalizing lips that brushed her own, passing his breath into her very being.
"What is your honest answer?" he whispered, almost silently, allowing her to merely taste his words.
"Both," she replied, her voice trembling against her will.
"Mmm," he hummed in delighted approval, "Honesty at last."