"Hush my lady," a deep voice whispered, faintly it spoke, barely audible. "Quickly, he is leaving," the voice strained. "Awaken your senses, but do not open your eyes."

Galadriel inhaled, focusing on the voice that fought its way through her mind. There, a spark of light danced in the shadows, pulsating in its midst. "Is that you?" she whispered a reply. "Nenya?"

"Shhh, yes," the light sparked brighter with each word. "Now, quickly, we must not lose our advantage. The Dark Lord has just slipped from his bed. If we hurry, we can follow him."

Galadriel could sense warmth in the bed beside her, her true arm straying to the source. But grasping only air and blanket. More magic to conceal him.

"Foolish She-elf," Nenya tutted, "Evil does not sleep. He has much to do in the darkness when you cannot see. Fortunately, he gave us just the shadows of magic we need to conceal ourselves."

"What must I do?" Galadriel asked.

"Think of him, find his presence, and make yourself like his shadow. Pull on the dark power he granted us. I doubt he knows just what we may do with it now." The deep voice laughed twice. "Dark magic gave you pleasure, and for me, it only feeds what I may do now. Allows for us to move in the shadows just like him."

Galadriel took a breath, thinking of his deep red hair, his great height, his broad shoulders, and dangerously strong arms… soon she felt the rush of air on her face, following closely to the trail of smoky magic, sticking to his shadow before he closed the door behind him.

He hurried down the hall, the stones far more jagged than memory served. Steps coursed around one corner, then the next, until he entered his throne room. But now, instead of a great room packed with the almost silent bodies of men and their kings, the stench of Orc filled her nose. Black, grey decrepit bodies crowded at the other end of the hall, and before them stood a familiar figure, his long stringy hair hanging over his shoulders, his sallow face smiling.

Adar bowed below. "My Lord Sauron," he bid with a careful show of reverence. "Your first line of new Black Uruks to command, of greatest strength and vicious," he gave a sweep of his arm. Two dozen tall beings grunted and hissed as they turned to face their head commander. "More will come, Lord Sauron, more are ready to be born in the pits beyond the Dead Forest." Adar's steeled grey eyes dared to look up at his Master. "But I hope you see I have served my penance with their creation. Our scales are balanced, I pray."

"Once they taste battle and win, I will hold your debt paid, Adar, and not before," Sauron hissed, as he drew closer to inspect his newest warriors. Satisfied, he settled himself in his dark throne, laughing, low and deep, to himself as they were marched out of the room.

Bitter bile rose in Galadriel's throat, as raw wounds of betrayal cut deep to her heart. She could not watch any longer.

Her eyes flashed open, the room around her dark and cold as the fire slept in the hearth. Alone in the Dark Lord's bed, her tears fell into the sheets before her.

"Very good, my lady," her ring consoled. "You are not alone, remember," a flash of her light pushed away the darkness within her, pinning it at bay deep within her and sending that thrumming tingle of her own sweet magic back down her nerves. Glancing across the room, a glow shone around her face, casting enough light for her to see her reflection in the nearby glass once more. Pure blue eyes stared back at her, sad and wise once more.

"You are never alone now, for I am with you," Nenya whispered to Galadriel.

The Dark Lord on his Dark Throne... more choices to be made. How will Galadriel respond now?