𝕻𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗 𝕲𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗

𝐒𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 / 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒.

The Archangel Michael defeating Satan is by Guido Reni. The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel. Satan as the Fallen Angel by Sir Thomas Lawrence. Lucifero by Roberto Ferri. Lucifer by Alice Pike Barney. Lucifer by Franz von Stuck.

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐈𝐒  𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄  𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇  𝐈𝐓  𝐈𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐒  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓;  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒  𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐉𝐀𝐖,  𝐎𝐑  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  𝐎𝐅  𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄.  Both  surround  her,  command  her,  shut  away  every  stray  thought,  his  presence  overpowering  all  else  in  a  way  she  has  never  experienced  before.  Power  is  something  familiar  to  her,  for  she  has  dealt  with  the  power  of  dragons  for  thousands  of  years.  But  this  is  different.  Something  greater  than  what  a  dragon  would  hold  in  his  gaze.  Something  dark  beneath  those  burning  eyes,  simmering,  as  if  hardly  contained  by  the  vessel  that  holds  it.  A  fire  that  will  consume  her  entirely  if  she  lets  it.

ㅤㅤㅤIt  should  be  a  frightful  thing.  It  should  terrify  her.  She  would  be  a  fool  to  hold  no  fear  at  all  for  a  being  that  could  destroy  her  with  ease.  Yet  as  he  holds  her,  she  feels  no  desire  to  flee,  only  to  sink  further  into  the  invitation  of  his  embrace.  He  leans  ever  closer,  and  her  heart  leaps  within  her  chest  in  response,  the  rhythm  drumming  in  her  ears.  Is  it  fear  or  excitement  that  he  elicits  so  easily?  Is  it  both?  For  all  of  the  distraction  of  his  proximity,  his  words  still  ring  true.  It  is  what  she  has  feared  for  the  longest  time.  She  will  never  be  safe  among  her  kin  again,  nor  accepted;  less  so  the  dragons  she  has  sacrificed  everything  to  protect.

ㅤㅤㅤTime  is  not  her  ally.  Time  has  only  taken  from  her  time  and  time  again,  and  dashed  every  hope  she's  ever  mustered.  How  many  more  centuries  must  she  spend  utterly  trapped  and  alone,  her  only  repayment  for  her  attempts  to  help  the  people  of  middle-earth  more  death  and  destruction?  She  is  tired  of  bloodshed,  but  no  matter  what  she  does,  she  cannot  stop  it.  What  if  he  is  right,  and  there  must be  purpose  found  in  sacrifice?  No  more  senseless  death.  A  new  order  established  to  fix  what  has  been  long  broken  in  this  world,  a  guiding  hand  where  they  had  all  but  been  abandoned  by  the  ones  who  made  them  what  they  are.

ㅤㅤㅤA  quiet  gasp  exhales  at  the  pull  of  his  hand,  torn  once  again  from  her  drifting  thoughts  as  her  body  collides  into  his  own.  Daenerys  does  not  pull  away,  looking  up  into  his  eyes  wordlessly  as  she  lets  herself  rest  into  the  comfort  of  his  larger  frame.  Her  remaining  hand  clings  to  his  robes  as  the  other  is  guided  to  feel  the  calm  rhythm  buried  in  his  chest;  a  contrast  to  her  own  as  it  beats  wildly  within.  ❝ A  week,  ❞  she  assures  him,  settling  the  matter  to  herself.  ❝ You  will  have  your  answer  then,  and  no  later.  I  promise.  ❞  Though  perhaps  she  has  already  made  her  decision,  whether  she  is  keen  to  admit  it  to  herself  or  not.

Eyes   bore   back   into   her   own   with   a   small   delight.   There   is   a   fake   gentleness   to   it   when   she   promises   him   what   he   desires.   "A   week   then."   He   repeats   out   loud   and   let   the   disguise   do   much   of   the   trickery.   He   gives   power,   he   gives   gifts   and   he   serves.   He   could   serve   her   greatly,   could   he   not?   After   all,   he   is   made   to   do   so,   so   why   deny   his   help   when   he   could   rise   her   above   everything   else   and   make   sure   her   creatures   remain   untouched   and   unharmed?   Children,   she   calls   them,   and   he   could   make   it   true   there   are   more,   that   they   prosper.   The   kiss   is   a   deal   sealed,   even   if   she   has   yet   to   give   him   an   answer,   he   allows   the   indulges   of   what   is   unnatural   to   his   kind.  

Flesh   upon   flesh,   he   always   found   it   odd   how,   despite   how   they   were   made   not   to   feel   such   things,   he   does   anyways.   Perhaps   a   flaw   in   the   machinery   or   perhaps,   Eru   had   simply   made   him   this   way   and   such,   the   Valar   could   only   be   the   ones   to   be   blamed   for   this.   "To   be   a   Queen.   To   bring   these   creatures   peace   and   to   show   the   world   that   power   and   peace   sometimes,   come   in   hand."   He   shows   her   images   of   it   in   her   mind.   The   dragons   by   her   side   and   a   crown   upon   her   head   and   him   by   her   side,   he   leans   down   to   kiss   upon   her   shoulder,   and   letting   one   hand   fall   over   the   sleeve   of   her   dress,   pulling   down   until   gentle   fabric   leaves   nothing   to   be   covered.

And after what seemed endless thirst and hunger… I saw it. His servant's face. Sauron's face. And it was beautiful. He offered me wine, red as a blood moon. He offered me wine, and on that dark and nameless peak, I drank it. I drank it all.

Part III An assortment of random sentence/dialogue prompts that popped into my head. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ Of all the people to send, they sent you. ”

“ Had I known you'd be here, I wouldn't have come to all. ”

“ I looked right into darkness, and guess what? It stared back at me. ”

“ I want to say I love you, but I can't."

“ I don't believe in coincidences. ”

“ I would like to try that again sometimes. ”

“ Anything is possible as long as it's with you. ”

“ Can we start over again? ”

“ There are no words that can describe my hatred for you. ”

“ There are no words that can describe my love for you. ”

“ I see you, you know? You're not alone. ”

“ When was the last time you treated yourself to something special? ”

“ You make my skin crawl. ”

“ Let this be a lesson to you. ”

“ I'm proud of you. ”

“ Can we take this slower? "

“ Oh my god, I've always wanted to meet you! I can't believe it's really happening! ”

“ I wish you could admire yourself the way I admire you. ”

“ You always make me feel so comfortable. Thank you. ”

“ Don't bother trying. We're done here. ”

“ Don't look at me like that... ”

“ Can we go? I hate this place already. ”

“ I loathe you even more with every second I spend in your presence. ”

“ Practice makes perfect. Come on, I know you can do it! ”

“ Breath, focus. I'm here, I got you. ”

“ Don't go starting fights you can't finish. ”

“ Never come back here, do you hear me? You're not welcome! ”

“ Why are you here? ”

“ How did I get here? ”

“ I know I should probably go to sleep, but there's just one more thing... ”

“ Heresy! Blasphemy! It's all lies! ”

“ Can I trust you? ”

“ I've never tasted lips sweeter than yours. ”

“ Let me admire you like the god/ess you are. ”

Part III An assortment of prompts taken from the show Castlevania: Nocturne on Netflix. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ I told you to bow. ”

“ Oh. You're back, are you? ”

“ I know you'd be back. ”

“ When I had nothing to hold onto, and everything was gone, I remembered the things that make me who I am. ”

“ We are afraid. It's not always bad. It just means we have something to lose. ”

“ What will you give up to prove your love for me? ”

“ Men, led by their balls. And now I have yours in my hands. ”

“ I'm ready for you now. ”

“ Just read the fucking book. ”

“ Now matter how complicated you make it, evil is still evil. ”

“ I'm not going without you, old man. ”

“ What could possibly go wrong? ”

“ Don't burn the place to the ground. ”

“ Why didn't god send the ram to die in her place? ”

“ You're safe. That's what matters. ”

“ It's you who should surrender. ”

“ There are powers at work here of which you can only dream. ”

“ When I sing, it touches souls. ”

“ What is this noise? ”

“ Are you a virgin? ”

“ I'm not going to kill her. I'm going to give her eternal life. ”

“ If you go back, she'll kill you. And I don't want you to die. ”

“ I promised her paradise. Not this. ”

“ Do you love her? ”

“ We have an alliance. You need me! ”

“ You're not going to let them go, are you? ”

“ I thought you were just a myth. ”

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄  𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒  𝐀𝐒  𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇  𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  𝐀𝐒  𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒,  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃  𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋  𝐀𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇  𝐈𝐒  𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐃  𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐄  𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌.  She  can  see  it  in  his  eyes,  how  something  claws  within  him,  warring  in  those  burning  pools  of  golden  fire  that  beg  to  consume.  But  fire  is  also a  thing  of  warmth,  and  she  had  missed  that  warmth  so  greatly.  She  will  never  forget  the  coldness  in  his  eyes  when  the  reunited  at  Eregion,  and  how  even  then  it  had  faltered  beneath  something  else  entirely,  if  only  for  the  smallest,  fractured  moment.  Something  not  even  the  great  deceiver  could  falsify.  How  damning  it  is,  to  feel  him  unravel  her  so  skillfully  with  every  stroke  of  his  fingers,  not  a  movement  wasted  as  even  the  brush  of  his  digits  against  her  ear  does  its  part  to  capture  her  senses.

ㅤㅤㅤGaladriel  never  knew  how  much  she  could  crave  affection  or touch until  now,  with  how  he  wields  it  as  a  master  of  his  craft.  She  can  hear  her  own  breaths  grow  sharper  with  every  delightful  pulse  he  commands  between  her  thighs,  but  the  song  of  Sauron's  voice  rises  above  her  gasps  and  sighs,  confronting  her  with  a truth she cannot escape.  The  palms  that  rest  aside  his  features  follow  when  he  leans  closer,  the  tension  of  her  hands  finally  released  as  she  allows  herself  to  caress  his  skin;  no  longer  as  an  uncertain  temptation,  but  with  the  welcoming  touch  of  a  lover,  tracing  along  the  lines  of  his  cheek  and  jaw,  finding  new  rest  at  the  junctions  of  his  neck  as  she  watches  him  with  anticipation.  Yet  despite  how  easily  enamored  she  is  by  his  touch,  she  never  lets  his  answer  slip  by  her,  taking  every  word  into  account  with  the  full  weight  of  what  he  says.

ㅤㅤㅤAnd  what  a  weight  it  is  indeed.  Everything  Sauron  has  worked  for,  every  dark  deed  and  measure  taken  to  achieve  his  goal,  he  risks  it  all  for  this.  For  her.  Galadriel's  eyes  betray  a  depth  of  emotion  for  which  she  has  no  word  grand enough to  describe,  her  ocean  of  blue  crashing  against  his  gold  with  the  tumultuous  embrace  of  a  summer  sea,  like  the  kiss  of  the  sun  upon  the  waters.  His  next  kiss  is  the  final  breaking,  the  last  of  her  defenses  discarded.  There  is  no  more  pleading  in  her  eyes,  no  more  guilt  as  she  meets  his  mouth  with  a  hunger  to  match  his  own,  only  an  acceptance.  He  has  just  shaken  her  to  her  core,  yet  there  is  a  new  certainty  in  her;  if  only  for  mutual  doom.  But  perhaps  they  are  capable  of  something  that  isn't  destruction.  Something  beautiful  and  good.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ I  believe  you,  ❞  Galadriel  at  last  speaks,  her  eyes  following  his  own  when  he  pulls  away.  What  a  relief  it  is  to  say  the  words  aloud,  to  be  able  to  mean  it  with  her  entire  being.  All  of  the  weight  tethered  to  her  feels  as  if  it  floats  away,  freed  by  the  decision  she  has  made  within,  even  as  she  knows  the  danger  of  what  she  has  wrought.  Has  she  not  denied  herself  enough  already  by  refusing  to  be  his  queen, knowing how badly she wanted it?  What  great  error  has  she  made  in  her  life  that  fate  has  decided  she  must  be  kept  apart  from  the  other  half  of  her  soul  for  as  long  as  they  both  live?  That  she  must  watch  him  sink  further  and  further  into  corruption  with  nothing  of  him  left  to  her?  If  there  is  any  true  justice  among  the  valar,  they  must  allow  her  this  one  concession,  else  she  will  claim  it  still  in  rebellion,  for  whatever  judgement  that  may  bring  upon  her.  Just  to  have  some  part  of  him  that  will  forever  be  hers.

Sauron’s   silence   lingered   like   an   unspoken   tempest,   the   golden   blaze   of   his   eyes   fixed   on   her   with   an   intensity   that   seemed   to   pierce   through   every   layer   of   her   defenses.   His   expression   was   a   portrait   of   contradiction,   his   features   smooth   and   composed,   yet   shadowed   by   something   that   quivered   on   the   edge   of   his   restraint.   When   he   finally   spoke,   his   voice   was   a   dark   melody,   tinged   with   the   weight   of   both   triumph   and   vulnerability—a   combination   that   only   he   could   wield   so   devastatingly.

His   hand,   long   and   graceful,   lifted   to   trace   the   curve   of   her   jaw,   his   touch   featherlight   yet   commanding.The   way   her   hips   push   against   his   own   should   not   ignite   such   desires   in   him.   It   is   not   in   his   nature   and   yet,   he   feels   them   regardless.   Is   this   not   how   he   was   designed   then?   To   forge,   to   create,   to   burn.   He   risks   a   mortal   body   with   her   and   the   risk   is   intoxicating.   ❝You   say   you   crave   my   fire,   but   you   must   know   that   once   it   takes   hold,   there   will   be   no   undoing   it.❞

His   fingers   continue   their   exploration,   adding   another   as   he   feels   her   around   him   and   his   body   wishes   to   claim   her.   His   lips   brushed   against   her   ear,   his   breath   molten   as   he   whispered,   ❝Is   it madness   that   claws   at   me   each   time   I   look   at   you?❞   It   must   be   and   yet,   he   cannot   leave   her   side.   His   clothes   are   all   removed   from   him,   leaving   the   mortal   coil   he   chose   to   show   himself   in   to   her.   The   closest   to   the   Maia   he   once   was.   He   let   the   hand   inside   her   be   removed,   to   guide   himself   to   her   entrance,   coaxing   himself   with   her   wetness.   Eyes   darken   at   the   feeling   she   ignites   inside   him.

❝You   ask   me   to   claim   what   is   mine,❞   he   said,   his   voice   dropping   to   a   near   growl,   each   word   laced   with   an   edge   of   danger.   ❝Do   you   not   realize   that   you   have   already   done   the   same   to   me?   You,   with   your   light,   your   defiance,   your   maddening   belief   in   something   better.   You   have   undone   me,   Galadriel.❞   He   kissed   her   then,   and   it   was   not   the   gentle   caress   of   a   lover   seeking   to   comfort   but   the   consuming   force   of   a   firestorm.   There   was   no   hesitation   when   he   pushes   in,   thrusting   upward   to   connect   them   both   in   the   most   delicious   mortal   way.   The   mask   is   gone   for   a   fleeting   moment,   desire   building   inside   him   as   he   begins   to   move,   almost   torturous   in   how   slow   he   is.

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐒𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃  𝐍𝐎𝐓  𝐁𝐄  𝐒𝐎  𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐃  𝐁𝐘  𝐀  𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄  𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄.  But  as  his  arm  tightens  around  her  waist,  he  reminds  her  who  is  truly  in  command  of  this  moment.  He  speaks  of  her  power,  but  power  is  a  dangerous  thing,  especially  when  turned  towards  war.  She  has  no  wish  for  devastation.  All  she  has  ever  wanted  has  been  peace.  An  end  to  all  of  this  fighting,  yet  the  world  feels  too  intent  on  tearing  itself  apart. But  while  his  words  are  hard  to  consider,  a  heavy  prospect  that  bears  the  weight  of  fate,  his  kisses  are  far  too  easy  to  melt  into,  to  be  drawn  in  by  every  stray  touch  and  press  of  his  lips  to  her  skin. If  only  she  had  any  heart  to  truly  resist,  she  would  pull  herself  away,  but  she  finds  no  such  will  within  herself,  only  leaning  more  into  the  comfort  of  his  frame.

ㅤㅤㅤHer  eyes  are  all  that  abstain,  yet  they,  too,  are  drawn  to  him  by  his  commanding  touch  upon  her  chin,  amethysts  opening  to  peer  into  the  burning  gold  of  his  own. ❝ I  do  not  want  greatness  nor  glory.  I  had  it  all  before,  and  it  was  hollow.  Fleeting.  All  I  want  is  to  keep  them  safe.  I  have  sacrificed  everything  to  make  it  so.  ❞  Her  conviction  shines  in  that  moment,  but  soon  enough  a  fracture  shows,  her  eyes  falling  as  she  considers  his  words.  Certainty  is  an  enticing  word  when  more  and  more  it  seems  her  days  have  been  filled  with  worry.  ❝  But  how  can  I  maintain  this  peace  if  peace  is  not  good  enough  to  save  them?  The  dragons  in  my  care  do  nothing  to  provoke  anyone,  yet  they  are  still  killed  for  what  they  are.  ❞

ㅤㅤㅤDaenerys  lifts  her  gaze  to  meet  his  again  as  she  feels  him  draw  nearer,  turning  until  she  faces  him  in  full.  Her  hands  tentatively  press  against  his  torso,  smoothing  over  the  fabric  of  his  robes  until  they  find  rest  atop  his  chest.  A  soft  exhale  parts  her  lips  as  he  draws  her  in  by  her  waist,  and  her  eyes  flicker  to  his  mouth  for  a  brief  moment.  So  near,  yet  still  so  far.  And  she  knows,  when  her  eyes  rush  back  to  his  own,  that  she  has  been  caught  in  her  lapse  of  restraint.  ❝ I'm  tired  of  watching  them  die,  ❞  Dany  whispers.  ❝ I  do  not  want  war.  I  do  not  want  bloodshed.  But  I  do  not  know  what  else  to  do.  ❞ Perhaps  there  is  truth  in  what  he  says,  after  all.  Never  once  has  she  retaliated  for  what  has  been  done  to  her  dragons.  She  thought  she  could  show  them  all  that  a  different  way  was  possible,  but  how  can  she  prove  such  a  thing  to  people  who  refuse  to  listen?  This  may  be  the  only  way  to  put  a  stop  to  it  once  and  for  all.

Sauron   observed   her   with   a   stillness   that   belied   the   inferno   simmering   just   beneath   the   surface.   Her   words—fragile,   fervent,   laced   with   desperation—were   a   melody   to   his   ears.   She   stood   before   him,   a   tempest   contained   within   porcelain   flesh,   her   amethyst   gaze   trembling   with   both   fire   and   doubt.   As   her   lips   brushed   his,   tentative   yet   yearning,   a   smirk   curled   the   corner   of   his   mouth.

He   let   her   linger,   savoring   the   fleeting   moment   of   surrender   she   offered   before   his   hand,   cold   as   obsidian   steel,   slid   upward   to   cradle   her   jaw.   His   golden   eyes   burned   with   ancient   power,   meeting   hers   unflinchingly.   He   tilted   her   chin,   commanding   her   focus.   His   voice,   when   it   came,   was   like   the   crackle   of   a   forge—low,   resonant,   and   inescapable.   “A   week,   you   say,”   he   mused,   his   words   winding   around   her   like   a   vice.   “Do   you   think   time   is   your   ally?”   His   thumb   grazed   her   cheek,   as   if   to   brush   away   her   trembling   resolve.   “Time   bends   to   those   with   the   will   to   seize   it,   not   those   who   wait   for   it   to   yield.”

He   leaned   closer,   his   lips   a   mere   breath   from   hers,   his   presence   both   intoxicating   and   oppressive.   “Peace,”   he   continued,   voice   dropping   to   a   whisper   that   carried   the   weight   of   centuries,   “is   a   fragile   lie   told   by   the   weak   to   the   broken.   You   say   you   wish   to   save   them,   yet   they   will   always   betray   you,   fear   you,   hunt   what   they   do   not   understand.   And   the   dragons?”   His   hand   fell   to   her   waist,   his   grip   firm,   unyielding,   flushing   her   body   against   his   own,   kepeing   her   steady   against   his   frame.   “They   are   the   fire   that   keeps   you   warm,   but   they   will   burn   you   if   you   let   them   grow   untamed.”

His   voice   grew   softer,   almost   coaxing,   as   his   free   hand   closed   over   hers   on   his   chest,   guiding   her   palm   to   feel   the   steady   rhythm   beneath   the   dark   fabric.   “But   this   decision,   will   not   be   made   in   the   luxury   of   peace.   You   are   already   at   war—whether   you   admit   it   or   not.   The   only   question   is   whether   you   will   stand   victorious   at   its   end.”   He   straightened,   releasing   her   chin   as   his   hand   travels   to   feel   her   pulse   under   her   neckline,   but   keeping   her   close,   his   gaze   smoldering   as   it   swept   over   her   face.   “I   will   grant   you   your   week,”   he   said   at   last,   his   tone   laced   with   dark   amusement.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ 𝐇𝐎𝐖  𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃  𝐈  𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄  𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄?  ❞  There  is  still  defiance  in  her  eyes  as  her  gaze  is  brought  to  meet  his  own,  despite  her  surrender.  The  sharp  sword  borne  in  his  smile  is  matched  by  her  furrowed  brows,  a  shield  against  his  taunting.  Yet  she,  too,  finds  herself  at  war  in  her  own  expressions;  a  tenderness  that  should  not  be  there  giving  no  place  for  any  anger  that  rises  within  to  stay.  Anger  is  too  simple  of  a  thing  to  fit  what  she  feels  when  he  speaks  as  if  he  can  win  her  to  his  side.  No,  not  anger.  A  much  deeper  heartache,  the  pain  of  knowing  that  even  now  he  aligns  her  in  his  plans  for  conquest.  And  the  pain  of  knowing  he  would  never  turn  away  from  it,  not  even  for  her  sake.  ❝ Perhaps  I  have  convinced  myself  of  more  palatable  lies,  but  you  lie  to  yourself  as  well  if  you  believe  this  will  end  any  other  way.  You  will  not  stay  with  me  if  it  means  surrendering  your  quest  for  dominion  over  this  world,  nor  will  I  join  myself  to  your  cause, thus we remain at an impasse.  Sooner  or  later,  you  are  going  to  leave  me  in  pieces,  as  you  do  every  time  we  part.  ❞

ㅤㅤㅤBut  he  is  right  about  a  great  many  things  nonetheless.  They  need  each  other  in  ways  that  go  far  beyond  carnality,  beyond  a  kiss  or  stolen  touches.  No  matter  how  or  when  or  if  they  part  again,  it  will  not  sever  this  binding  of  their  souls;  a  line  now  so  blurred  that  she  cannot  distinguish  where  he  ends  and  she  begins.  As  he  tightens  his  hand,  her  own  fingers  curl  in  return,  the  quietest  acceptance  as  the  ice  that  holds  her  blue  eyes  melts  away  into  warmth.  ❝ If  I  had  true  freedom,  I'd  have  chosen  a  different  life  for  us  both.  But  that  is  a  sweet  dream  that  can  never  be,  not  as  long  as  you  choose  to  embrace  only  darkness.  ❞  Her  other  hand  brings  fingertips  to  brush  lightly  over  the  line  of  his  jaw,  a  gentle  mirror  of  how  he  had  done  the  same  to  her.  ❝ And  yet  I  will  still  be  yours.  ❞

ㅤㅤㅤHer  eyes  fall  closed  briefly  as  she  feels  his  tongue  trail  along  her  skin,  her  neck  craning  in  invitation.  Already  she  misses  the  warmth  of  his  hand  as  he  releases  her  own,  her  empty  palm  reaching  for  whatever  contact  it  can  find,  satisfied  only  when  she  feels  his  kiss  press  against  it.  But  her  gaze  returns  to  his  swiftly  as  his  hand  traverses  her  thigh,  all  of  her  bare,  untouched  flesh  conquered  inch  by  inch.  It  never  ceases  to  surprise  her  how  easily  his  touch  can  be  both  cruel  and  tender.  Oh,  but  the  cruelest  thing  is  not  how  he  had  gripped  her  so  tightly,  nor  how  his  teeth  and  nails  have  bitten  her  flesh,  but  how  sweetly  his  hand  sinks  between  her  thighs,  how  he  does  not  need  to  speak  a  word  to  make  them  part  and  welcome  him  with  such  longing.  Fingers  sink  between  her  folds,  and  the  surprising  pleasure  of  their  touch  causes  her  mouth  to  fall  agape  in  a  gasp,  her  body  tensing  at  the  sensation.  She  has  not  felt  another's  touch  in  far  too  long.  Not  like  this.  But  even  then,  she's  not  sure  that  anyone  could  elicit  the  same  effect  that  he  does.

ㅤㅤㅤGaladriel  blinks,  her  eyes  fluttering  as  her  breaths  hitch  within  her  throat.  Her  own  hands  cling  more  tightly  to  Sauron,  grasping  at  his  body  as  if  there  could  be  any  way  to  steady  herself  against  the  tempest  he  commands  within  her.  ❝ This  is  different.  What  you  suggest  is  not  a  ring.  Not  an  object,  ❞  Galadriel  speaks,  but  once  again  her  protest  is  little  more  than  a  weak  whisper,  her  own  convictions  in  the  matter  fractured.  ❝ Am  I  to  trust  you  blindly  with  something  so  precious  when  you  have  deceived  me  before?  ❞  Every  word  is  strained,  caught  between  the  battle  of  what  little  rationality  she  has  left  against  the  most  deadly  joining  of  desire  with  the  pleasure  that  threatens  to  fulfill  it.  Her blues  are shadowed  heavily  by  pure  want,  a  flickering  within  them  as  if  something  long  dormant  has  just  awoken.  And  as  he  begins  to  move  his  fingers  with  deliberate  purpose,  her  hips  cannot  help  but  follow,  rocking  gently  into  his  motions  in  search  of  more.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ If  it  came  to  pass,  you  would  lose  power,  ❞  Galadriel  reasons,  holding  to  her  wits  as  best  she  can,  as  difficult  as  it  may  be  in  the  present  circumstances.  This  is  not  a  light  matter  to  be  taken  so  recklessly.  What  he  intends  is  an  affront  to  the  Valar.  It  could  ruin  them  both.  She  cannot  help  but  wonder  what  he  would  seek to  gain  from  this.  How  can  she  not  wonder,  when  he  speaks  of  things  that  go  against  his  very  nature?  ❝ You  would  be  trapped  in  this  mortal  form;  maybe  for  a  year,  maybe  for  a  hundred  years,  or  a  thousand,  or  possibly  forever.  All  of  your  plans  will  be  stalled  if  not  halted  entirely.  For  all  of  the  things  you've  said  to  me,  I  still  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  this  is  what  you  want.  Is  that  truly  worth  such  a  risk  to  you?  ❞

Sauron’s   answer   is   not   immediate.   It   never   is,   not   when   she   speaks   words   that   pierce   through   his   carefully   crafted   armor.   Her   defiance—sharp   and   glinting   like   a   sword   poised   at   his   throat—draws   the   edges   of   his   lips   upward   in   a   dark   smile.   Yet   it   is   her   vulnerability,   that   fleeting   softness   in   her   plea,   that   stirs   the   embers   of   something   far   more   dangerous   within   him. Her   question   lingers   in   the   stillness   between   them,   her   breath   a   tremor   against   his   lips.   His   hand   stills,   palm   pressed   against   the   silken   warmth   of   her   skin,   as   his   golden   eyes   narrow.   There   is   no   deception   in   his   gaze,   no   attempt   to   conceal   the   war   raging   within   him.   She   knows   him   too   well   to   be   fooled,   and   he   has   tired   of   spinning   half-truths   when   her   blade   of   perception   cuts   through   them   so   effortlessly.

“You   speak   of   risks   as   if   they   are   not   the   lifeblood   of   ambition,   Galadriel,”   he   murmurs   at   last,   his   voice   like   molten   gold—rich,   dangerous,   and   unyielding.   His   free   hand   rises,   brushing   an   errant   strand   of   her   hair   back,   fingers   lingering   against   the   curve   of   her   ear.,   as   the   hand   teasing   here   never   leaves,   as   he   commands   her   expressions   to   memory.   “The   Valar   would   see   me   broken   upon   the   wheel   for   lesser   transgressions,   and   yet   here   I   stand,   grasping   at   eternity   with   both   hands.   Do   you   truly   believe   I   would   shrink   from   this…   from   you?”

He   feels   the   pang   of   triumph,   sharp   and   intoxicating   with   every   shorten   breath   she   takes.   Yet   beneath   it   lies   something   far   more   sinister—a   pull,   a   craving   that   no   victory   has   ever   brought   him.   He   leans   closer,   his   lips   hovering   just   above   hers,   his   words   a   whispered   confession.   “If   I   must   trade   dominion   for   this,   then   so   be   it.   The   world   will   wait,   and   if   it   will   not,   then   I   will   rend   it   apart   with   my   bare   hands.   Do   not   mistake   me,   my   radiant   one.   You   are   not   a   detour.   You   are   the   precipice   itself.”

The   fingers   resting   on   her   thigh   tighten,   drawing   her   closer   as   he   studies   her,   searching   for   the   crack   where   her   light   begins   to   mingle   with   his   shadow.   He   silences   her   with   a   kiss   that   carries   no   cruelty,   no   mockery—only   a   consuming   hunger   that   leaves   them   both   unsteady.   When   he   pulls   away,   he   meets   her   gaze,   golden   fire   locking   with   blue   frost.   “You   are   worth   every   risk,   Galadriel,”   he   says   with   quiet   conviction,   his   voice   low   but   unshakable.   “But   do   not   ask   me   to   pretend   that   this   is   without   consequence.   We   will   not   leave   this   unchanged.   You   know   it   as   well   as   I.”Sauron   does   not   answer   immediately,   for   even   he   cannot   weave   the   future   in   certainty.