Hours ticked ever on, but still she did not stir. Did not wake. Sauron watched her every breath, counting seconds between them to see if it slowed. His fingers pressed into the softest flesh of her wrist, keeping time with each beat of her heart. A quiet beat. More than sleeping. But not dead.

Colored bottles of remedies lay strewn across the bed and nightstand, every shape and size and color of glass dotted the green of his bed. Tinctures and draughts, remedies from every race of Middle Earth, even a paste of dragon scales made by himself in his days as Morgoth's chief servant. None of it had any affect on her consciousness.

The cream of her cheeks grew sallow, the rise of her chest shaking and random.

And it was his fault.

That pulse of her light, of whatever it was he had gripped his claws into, deep within her being, to pull to the surface. It had shattered her. Her light had scattered from within, her power flooding with his own to turn back the decay of darkness in one tree. It was so easy and magnificent, even now he salivated at the rush of pleasure and magic.

It had finally been easy. Arousal left her open for him to push further past her defenses, her power beckoning him to join it, to tease it and pluck it for his own. Perhaps he had taken too much for himself, glutting on the taste of light magic, as delicious and pleasurable as her body. That rush of light still tickled his nerves, thrumming from the tips of his fingers with every beat of his ancient heart.

Her screams and spasms still reverberated in his flesh, her face one of purest bliss and blinded orgasm. But then her very skin chilled, her blush turned white as frost. Her light gone dark as her body fell limp in his arms.

Now she laid in his bed, the strength of her light draining, festering despite every tincture or tonic, potion or power he had at his disposal. He had one more inkling, and as he stretched his hand over the damp parlor or her face, he closed his eyes.

His magic pushed hard through darkness, trudging deeper into her consciousness like wading in muck and mire. Nothingness suffocated him, pushing against the darkness with his power, until a faint glimmer of light guided his way. Gentle breathing brushed his cheek, like the whisper of the summer breezes that had just kissed their bodies on that mountain top. As the breathing grew louder, he felt himself stopped, almost slamming into a wall of adamant and deeper magic than she could craft.

A voice groaned from beyond it, low and rumbling and unearthly. "Give back what you stole from us." The tickling thrum of light felt sucked from his being as the groaning reverberated louder in his head. "You thieving servant of Morgoth," it hissed.

"What are you?" he demanded, feeling his form shifting against his will. The voice laughing as his skin of Man flaked from his body, leaving nothing but blacked scales beneath.

"Nenya," it boomed, and Sauron braced himself with all the strength he had within him to stay present in Galadriel's mind. "I am all that is light and healing. And you Dark Lord, will kill my Lady should you not return what little sliver of our power you stole from us."

Sauron stretched out his power, smoke curling from the pointed claw of his hand as he attempted to penetrate beyond the wall. "And should I not believe you," he snarled, keeping his gaze from looking too closely at his reflection in the shining diamond barrier before him.

"Then she will die in your bed, Dark Lord."

Now, Dear Reader, I ask for your prediction. Will the Dark Lord give back that stolen power to save her, or will it need to be returned by force?

Does he choose her or her power?

I know my mind, but what of yours? ;)