Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

And the only solution was to stand and fight
And my body was bruised and I was set alight
But you came over me like some holy rite
And although I was burning, you're the only light
Only if for a night

---

Galadriel shivered in the cold cell. She had lost track of how long she had been there but it couldn’t have been more than a week. One week in the darkest cell in Angband. She had been traveling with a small group of companions when they were ambushed. She had no idea what had become of the others. Perhaps they were also locked in their own cells. Or perhaps they lay dead on the forest floor. She tried not to think about that possibility too much. Instead, she tried to focus on making an escape plan. There was little opportunity to make a getaway. Her best chance was when the orc guard occasionally came in to give her food and water. But she was still chained to the wall. Even if she could manage to kill the orc, she would still be stuck in her cell. And she wasn’t certain she could kill anything in her weakened state.

Everything changed when a group of orcs came for her. Their torches were blinding after so long in the darkness. Galadriel was too stunned to resist as they dragged her out of the cell and up, out of the dungeons. She had prepared herself for death, now she was bracing for it.

To her surprise, Galadriel was brought to some sort of bathing chamber. The black marble floors were icey on her bare feet. In the center of the room, was a large pool cut into the stone. Two opposite walls were lined with mirrors. The other two were rough, black stone. Galadriel caught her reflection and quickly glanced away. She had become a frightening sight in her weeks of captivity. One of the orcs grabbed her arm and pulled off the tattered remains of her clothes. Galadriel protested weakly and the orc easily pulled the filthy fabric from her. Galadriel clutched her arms to her chest, trying to cover her bare breasts. It was unthinkable for an elf to be completely naked in front of another. Even husbands and wives retained some modesty during the act. The few times Galadriel had lain with her husband, they had each covered themselves with the traditional robes. Galadriel felt a wave of shame rising in her. It was truly the most humiliating thing she had ever experienced. This is when the real torture begins, she supposed.

The orc pulled on her arm. Galadriel was done being pliant. No! Why must these vile creatures seek to take everything from her? She yanked against the orc’s grasp and glared at it. And then, to her shock, Galadriel realized that the orc was a female. There was a baby in a sling strapped to her chest. She hadn’t ever considered the possibility of orc-women existing. She had assumed they were all male. Or perhaps they had no gender and reproduced in some other, unnatural way. Yet, here one was, standing before her. Galadriel heard a clatter behind her and turned to see more orc-women working on household tasks. There were other, smaller pools along the edges of the room where some of the orc-women washed clothes. Others washed dishes. Galadriel even saw one of them washing a large battle axe with blood smeared across the blade.

The orc-woman tugged on her arm and Galadriel allowed herself to be led into the pool. The water was warm and smelled of an evergreen forest. Despite everything, Galadriel quickly found herself relaxing. The orc-woman handed her a lump of soap and left her to work with the others. Galadriel quickly got to work cleaning her whole body. She had no idea when she would be afforded such a privilege again. She started with her face and shoulders, working her way down her body. Last of all, she cleaned her hair, working her soap-lathered fingers through her tresses. When she was finished, she took a great breath, dipped underwater, and stayed there for a long moment.

When she reemerged from the water, the chatter of the orc-women was gone. It was eerily quiet in the chamber and all Galadriel could hear was her own heart’s pounding. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she knew she wasn’t alone. She forced herself to turn around. Standing at the pool’s edge was Morgoth himself. She had never seen him before, but he was unmistakable. Galadriel took a sharp breath and couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her for his gaze, though burning red, was pure ice.

“Well,” He said in a deep, silvery voice, “We finally meet, Lady Galadriel of the House of Finarfin. Welcome to Angband!” he extended his arms as if he were a gracious host. “I trust your bath has been pleasant?” He paused, clearly waiting for her answer.

“Yes,” Galadriel finally managed to answer after a long pause. “Most pleasant.”

“Good!” Morgoth replied chipperly, “Time to get out.” He cocked his head and continued to stare at her.

Galadriel had never felt more exposed in her life. Even minutes before when her clothes had been pulled from her. Morgoth’s lecherous gaze seemed to seep down to the marrow in her bones. Unconsciously, she sank lower into the water.

Morgoth’s face changed. He sighed with an air of annoyance before turning back to her. “You needn’t have that sort of fear. I have no desire for the female form.”

Galadriel was confounded. She looked at Morgoth, giving him a proper once over. He was everything she had imagined him to be and so much more: tall, imposing, fair yet cruel features, and hair like silk. No desire for the female form? She flushed when she realized his meaning. Elves did not speak of such things. Carnal acts were a gift from Eru for the purpose of creating children. Any carnal acts outside of procreation were in defiance of Eru. It shouldn’t have surprised her that Morgoth of all people would disregard such basic laws of the One. But it did. The thought sent a quiver through her whole body down to her core. Galadriel’s face flushed a bright pink.

“Galadriel,” Morgoth chided, instantly pulling her from her thoughts, “I am waiting.”

Galadriel gulped. She didn’t need to be told that it was a very, very bad thing for the Dark Lord to become impatient. Slowly, she rose and waded through the water until she reached the steps. On the landing, Morgoth handed her a cloth to dry herself. She wrapped it around her body as quickly as she could. Morgoth chuckled, “Oh, the modesty of elves.” He ran his finger down her cheek. Galadriel gasped as his pointed thumbnail came to rest pressed against her lower lip. He appraised her for a moment, dwelling on her lips and neck. “Come now!” He pulled away from her suddenly, turning towards a set of great, double doors. He flung his hands at the doors and they instantly swung open. As he marched through the doors he ordered her again, “Come!”

Full of fear for what would happen if she disobeyed, she followed, naked except for the towel and still dripping wet.

She followed Morgoth down many twisting halls. At first, it looked as though they were in the palace part of the fortress. No doubt, where Morgoth spent most of his time. The floors and walls in the palace were all black marble. But they entered a different part of the fortress. Here the floors and walls were hewn of rough stone. It seemed to Galadriel that they had returned to the dungeons. But they were not underground like where she was held before her bath. They had not descended beneath the earth. It was harder for her to keep up on the rough stone. Her feet were endlessly poked and jabbed by the ill-cut stones and loose pebbles. And it seemed to her that Morgoth knew this and walked faster. He was pathetic and childish, she told herself.

Morgoth halted in front of a barred door. When Galadriel caught up to him, he grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall with one hand. She gasped in shock and grabbed at his arm. Even if she had been healthy and well-rested, he was infinitely stronger than her. She could never hope to resist him. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a glass vial. He popped the cork and forced the contents into Galadriel’s mouth. She gagged but Morgoth slapped his hand over her mouth. “Swallow it!” He hissed.

Galadriel obeyed, forcing down the strange liquid though it burned as it went. She was certain that whatever it was, it would be bad for her. She just didn’t know how or why. In the moments that followed, she felt a burning sensation spread down her chest to her loins and then into her whole body. She felt good. And then, blissfully good. Distractingly good. Each breath she took came with shuddering ecstasy that built upon the last. She had never felt anything like it in her whole life. While she was lost in the warmth of the strange potion, Morgoth lowered her to the ground and unbolted the door. Inside was completely dark but all it took to get Galadriel to enter was a gentle pull on her hand, guiding her in.

Galadriel came back to herself as she held Morgoth’s clammy hand. She shivered at the sensation of his claws digging into her palm. She could still feel the strong effects of the potion but she refused to get lost in it. She was still herself. She was still Galadriel of the Noldor. In the center of the room, he released her from his grip and walked off to one corner. She didn’t dare move. She couldn’t see a single thing, even with the keenness of her elf eyes. But she heard chains rattling. Morgoth was turning some sort of mechanism. Then, from above, came a great groaning of metal. Galadriel looked up and saw a circular window in the ceiling opening and letting in the light of the moon. It was nearly full and it cast a fair light about the cell. She heard another chain rattle, this time from the opposite side of the room. When Galadriel looked, she lept back in fright.

There was a man in the room with them. He crouched on the floor, bowing his head so his shoulder-length hair covered his face. Even so, Galadriel caught the glint of moonlight reflecting in his eye and she knew he was watching her. A long chain pooled at his feet and was attached to an iron collar around his neck.

Morgoth crossed the room and approached the beast of a man. Morgoth cooed at him as he extended his hand. The man instantly reacted to the affection, leaning into Morgoth’s touch, savoring every moment. Galadriel couldn’t help but watch in fascination. The man groveled at Morgoth’s feet, worshiping him. But there was no shame in him. There was only need and the means to have his need fulfilled. Galadriel felt her chest tighten and her legs begin to quiver. She knew she should look away but she couldn’t. Her mouth had gone very dry.

“Do not worry,” Morgoth said with an almost gentle whisper. “I haven’t forgotten about you.” He gave Galadriel a sickly sweet smile before turning back to the man. He pulled on the collar and the man followed, standing up to his full height. Galadriel took a small step back. It was impossible that the man before her could be an ordinary mortal. He was too tall. Too broad. Too imposing. As Galadriel took in his form, she couldn’t help but see all of him. He was completely naked except for the collar. Her eyes followed the hard lines of his muscles down to where his cock jutted out in front of him, hard and waiting. Galadriel gulped and pressed her thighs tightly together.

Morgoth spat into his hand and then wrapped his fingers around the man’s cock. The man’s head tilted back and he let out a low moan. Galadriel’s heartbeat quickened. The image of the two males in front of her was doing things to her body she did not expect. Such sinful acts should repulse her! But she couldn’t bring herself to turn away or even close her eyes. She watched the man grit his teeth, straining his jaw and his neck. He flexed his hands at his sides. Galadriel wondered why the man did not reach out and embrace… but then she remembered who it was who was stroking his cock. No wonder he kept his hands to himself.

The whole time, the potion worked in’s way through Galadriel’s veins. She knew she wasn’t herself. It felt disorienting. A little bit like being drunk. But where wine would dull her senses, this potion made every nerve in her body light up with stimulation. As she watched Morgoth toy with the man, she felt a wetness on her thighs that was not from her bath. Her cheeks instantly burned bright red when she realized what was happening. She dug her teeth into her tongue, trying to wake herself from whatever living nightmare this was.

Suddenly, Morgoth released his grip on the man’s cock. The man groaned in despair. “Now, now,” Morgoth chided as he ran one hand down the man’s face, the other hand still holding the chain. “You must be patient for your dinner.”

Galadriel felt her heart stop beating. Suddenly everything became clear. She glanced up above her at the moon. She had lost track of time in her cell underground. The moon was nearly full but she was almost certain it was waning. The full moon must have been yesterday. That could only mean one thing. She turned back to Morgoth and the… the werewolf. It was obvious to her now. It explained everything! His ginormous muscles. His thick hair. And his animal gaze. The moon wasn’t full anymore. His body had shifted back to that of a man. But his mind was clearly still that of the wolf’s. And Morgoth just said she was his dinner.

Without a word, Morgoth passed his hand over the collar and removed the chain. Morgoth tossed the chain aside and it collided against the stone floor with a sharp clang. The werewolf stood there obediently waiting for its master’s command. For all the great size of the werewolf, Morgoth was still bigger. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the werewolf’s lips. He pulled away just a fraction of an inch and said, “Breed her.”

Galadriel just barely heard the words as they fell from Morgoth’s lips. Before she could truly process them, the werewolf turned and fixed his gaze on her. He was on top of her in an instant, knocking her to the ground. She made hard contact with the stone beneath her. It took the wind from her and disoriented her further. She tried to strike the beast. But it was no use.

The werewolf gripped her hips firmly and leaned over her. She beat her fist against his chest but he barely moved. Unwittingly, she caught his eye. She drew back her fist to hit him again but she stopped herself at his look. There was no malice in his gaze but there was no reason either. There was only desperate need and hunger. In her moment of hesitation, he leaned down to her neck and breathed in her scent. After the deep inhale, came the long exhale. His hot breath lingered against her skin and warmed her in the cold cell. She had forgotten how cold she was; her skin was still damp from her bath. And suddenly she became deeply aware of how warm the werewolf was. He straddled her, pinning her to the floor with his cock pressing against her. And then she realized the only thing between their bodies was the thin cloth loosely wrapped around her, the hem inching up her thighs and towards her shamefully wet core.

The werewolf lifted one knee and brought it down again between her own, prying her legs open. She tried to struggle, she really did. But now, his thigh was pressed against her sex. Every movement she made sent a shiver down her spine and another pulse of heat and wetness between her legs. It is the potion, she reasoned to herself. She did not feel desire for the beast ravaging her. She couldn’t! She was a lady of the Noldor. It was impossible for her kind to feel such base desires without Morgoth’s medaling.

“No!” Morgoth hissed behind them. The werewolf stopped and held perfectly still while he listened to his master. “I want to see you mount her.”

The werewolf pulled his weight off her. Galadriel felt his loss as the cold air encircled her again. Goose bumps rose across her flesh and her nipples hardened. With one smooth motion, the werewolf grabbed her hips and flipped her over onto her stomach. And as he did, the cloth around her body slipped off and she was completely exposed. Galadriel’s head spun, disoriented again. She could barely think. She felt the werewolf sink his hands into her hips and pull them up. She cried out, afraid of what he was doing. When she had lain with Celeborn, they had faced each other. She could see his face and he hers. Having her face pressed to the ground and her ass forced into the air was humiliating. It was how animals mated, not intelligent beings! She couldn’t see the werewolf. She could only feel his hands as he pushed her into a position to his liking. Or rather, to Morgoth’s liking.

She was in a painful position on the stone floor. Loose pebbles and other debris dug into her skin but she didn’t have long to dwell on such trivial pain. Without warning she felt his cock slid along the seem between her legs. His cock easily glided between her wet folds. Her mind nearly went blank as the tip of his cock brushed against her bud. It was a sudden burst of pleasure that frightened her to her very core. This wasn’t supposed to feel good! She made one last attempt to get away from him. She lunged forward, the only direction away from him. But he was quicker. His hand came down on her neck and pushed her face to the floor. Galadriel cried out in despair as she felt his cock against her again. But when the sound left her mouth, it was wrong. It didn’t sound like a cry for help. It didn’t sound like her at all. It sounded lusty like she wanted more of what he was giving her. And he obliged.

The hand on her neck left her but the other stayed firmly planted on her hip, keeping her in place. He lined up his tip to her entrance and pushed in slowly. Galadriel gasped at the fullness of it. She was unprepared for how completely he filled her or how her mind seemed to explode with every sensation imaginable. She had seen his cock. She knew it was massive. But knowing is different than experiencing. It felt like he was stretching her body to its very limit. Carving out a place for himself where there shouldn’t have been any room. Galadriel gasped and pressed her cheek to the cool stone floor, suddenly grateful for a respite from burning heat pressing into her from behind.

She knew he had fit his full length inside of her when she felt his thighs on her ass and heard him let out a moan of ecstasy. There were only a few seconds for her to adjust to the feeling of him inside of her before he started to thrust. He pulled out to the tip and then plunged back in. He did it again and again, building momentum with each thrust into her waiting body. It was like nothing Galadriel had ever felt before. Each time he entered her, an undeniable wave of pleasure filled her. And each time he pulled back, her inner walls clenched down, trying to force him to stay where her body knew he belonged. The immediate way her body responded to the werewolf’s passion frightened her. But that was quickly replaced by the building need between her legs. She had a vague, distant thought that she should definitely not come on his cock. But another part of her realized that she might not have a choice. Her body was betraying her.

The werewolf slipped one hand from her hip to the apex of her thighs, rubbing her bud. It made something in her mind instantly snap. A jolt of euphoria washed through her entire body and made her clench down on his cock, which the werewolf clearly enjoyed. He let out a groan each time she pulsed around him. As soon as his fingers made contact with her bud, she opened to him completely, instinctually spreading her legs as far as she could. She would give him all the space he needed just as long as he kept going. Please don’t stop! His fingers stroked her bud, rubbing it gently even as he pounded into her with unimaginable force. Galadriel could no longer restrain herself. She could not conduct herself with the poise of a lady under such circumstances. As the pleasure built, she felt herself tightening, gripping his cock with even more fervor. It only seemed to spur the werewolf on, his hips snapping faster and faster against her. And then, without warning, she came undone, falling over the precipice. She let out a long moan, even more lusty than her first. She didn’t think her inner walls could clench him even tighter but she did. And all the while, he kept pumping in and out of her, prolonging her state of bliss.

Suddenly the werewolf stopped thrusting. He remained fully inside of her but it wasn’t enough. Galadriel was confused. She wasn’t ready for it to end. She wriggled her hips against him, seeking the delicious friction he had given her. His hands came back to her hips and held her still. Then, she heard a chuckle and she remembered who was in the room with them. “Who would have guessed, the Golden Lady of the Noldor would be such a whore?” Morgoth laughed to himself. Galadriel still felt the burning bliss of her orgasm but now it mixed with disgust. Morgoth was right, she was a whore. How could she have taken pleasure in what was done to her? How could she allow such a beast to bring her pleasure? She felt tears brimming in her eyes and she pressed her face to the stone to hide them. Then, she felt the werewolf moving his hand against the skin of her hip. It was so minute she barely perceived it. Slow circles, back and forth. It was comforting in some small way. And it was the only compassion she had received since arriving in Angband. She wondered if the werewolf behind her was a prisoner too. If he was also being forced. She didn’t have to wonder long.

She heard Morgoth walk toward them. He stood behind her, out of her sight. She had no idea what was going on until he said, “Lean forward.”

At first, Galadriel thought he was talking to her. But then, she felt the werewolf shift and she saw his hands brace the floor on either side of her head. He hovered over her, his chest just barely touching her back. She felt his hot breath on her neck again. It took everything in her to stay still and it was clearly difficult for the werewolf too. He was unmoving except for his twitching cock inside of her. His desperate need for release only served to tease her more. Yet he remained still as a statue. He must have learned to obey Morgoth’s commands instantly for the threat of punishment was evergreen.

She heard Morgoth move again and then she heard fabric shifting. She turned her head to one side and watched the werewolf’s hand in front of her face. The hand was unmoving as stone and Galadriel put all of her efforts into watching it. She had survived the first part of her trial though her dignity had not. She was certain that whatever Morgoth was about to do to them would be far, far worse. Without warning, she felt something moving between her legs. It was not the werewolf, he remained perfectly still. It was Morgoth. His hand fondled the place where they were joined, tracing his fingers over the base of the werewolf’s cock, gathering the slickness on his fingers. “You are deep within her, my pet,” Morgoth cooed into the werewolf’s ear. “Do you like it?”

For the first time, Galadriel heard the werewolf speak. “Yes, master,” he groaned. His voice was strained, clearly holding himself back with only the power of his will.

“Have you been satisfied?” Morgoth asked, his voice dripping with intent.

“No, master,” the werewolf replied. He was so close to Galadriel’s ear that she felt each word before she heard it.

Morgoth hummed, “Yes, the wolf has needs, does he not? A need to breed.”

“Yes, master,” the werewolf practically moaned the words.

With that, Galadriel’s blood ran cold. She had assumed this session was meant as nothing but torture. Just another way for Morgoth to display his cruelty. But this was far worse. He meant for the werewolf to get her with child. She dared not imagine what sort of horrible, twisted babe could come from such a union.

“Don’t worry, my pet,” Morgoth whispered, “You’ll have your release soon now.” Morgoth’s hand moved away from the place between their legs and Galadriel did not feel his touch again. But she felt the werewolf’s breath grow heavy on her neck. She watched intently as his hand began to strain and flex. She felt him rest his forehead on the curve of her spine, his long curls tickling her neck and his beard scratching her skin. He repositioned his hips, spreading his own legs wider. And then Galadriel realized what was happening.

With a single sudden thrust, Morgoth filled him. The werewolf gasped and groaned, taking his master’s cock inside of him with a troubling ease. As Morgoth thrust his hips, the werewolf was forced to do the same, penetrating Galadriel as he himself was penetrated.

Galadriel shivered as her body responded to the stimulation. Her earlier orgasm made it easy for the werewolf to impale her again and again. The horrible pleasure began to build. She still felt the potion flowing in her veins. But this time, she vowed to resist it with all of her will! No matter how good it felt.

Morgoth took a leisurely pleasure in torturing them. Galadriel occasionally thought she heard the Vala sigh briefly. But otherwise, he didn’t make a sound as he fucked them. The werewolf, on the other hand, moaned frequently right next to Galadriel’s ear. And when he wasn’t moaning, he was breathing hard and heavy against the delicate spot on her neck. His obvious pleasure made it difficult for Galadriel to ignore her own. She fought the burning ecstasy within her. She refused to allow it to master her again! As Morgoth gave several particularly harsh thrusts, she heard the werewolf groan deeply. Then, his cock felt different inside of her. Somehow, he felt even bigger than before. It kept getting bigger, stretching her terribly. Galadriel knew then she shouldn’t have worried about orgasming a second time. What a fool she was! She struggled, trying to break free. The werewolf, lost in his own ecstasy, barely noticed until Morgoth hissed at him, “Hold her still!”

The werewolf lowered his body so he pinned Galadriel in place with his weight. It wasn’t all of his weight; she could still breathe. But it was just enough to keep her trapped as the base of his cock continued to swell. Galadriel cried out. She sobbed as the pain became too much, “Please! Please stop! It hurts!”

Morgoth laughed, cold and cruel. “Poor little elf,” he said between thrusts, “You’ll have to teach her to take your knot.”

“Yes, master,” the werewolf murmured, low and rumbling in her ear. The werewolf pressed more of his weight against her and she saw his hand squeeze into a tight fist. His knot continued to swell until he was locked in place inside of her. He moaned more deeply than before and she felt his hips stutter against her, still trying to thrust, still seeking that glorious friction. And then she felt a strange warmth fill her. She knew instantly what it was. The werewolf let the weight of his head fall against her shoulder. He whimpered as he came inside of her. And she couldn’t help but shiver against him.

“That’s it, pet,” Morgoth cooed, “Come for me!” Morgoth’s thrusting continued as Galadriel felt the werewolf’s cock spasm inside of her. Each forced thrust brought forth another stream of his seed. All she could do was lay on the floor, still and quiet, while Morgoth sought his pleasure in the werewolf. Galadriel lost track of time as she waited for it to be over. The werewolf was still locked inside of her, trapping his seed within her womb. She prayed to Eru it would not take root.

Morgoth took his time building to his release. Galadriel thought he must like to make it as slow and drawn out as possible. Just another torment on top of everything else that he had done to her. With a contented sigh, Morgoth’s thrusting finally ceased. Galadriel listened as the Vala adjusted his clothes. She heard the smack of a hand against flesh and then she felt the werewolf jump in response. “Well, my pet,” Morgoth uttered, “Are you satisfied now?”

“Yes, master,” came the werewolf’s hoarse response. He sounded exhausted and broken down.

“Is your knot still locked in her?” Morgoth asked.

“Yes, master,” he replied again.

Morgoth let out a short, breathy sigh. To Galadriel, it sounded like he was annoyed. “Very well,” Morgoth announced, “I will collect you in the morning.” And with a swish of his robes, he walked to the door and exited. Galadriel heard the lock bolt from the outside and then his faint footsteps as he left them.

The werewolf remained still while they could hear Morgoth. And he stayed still for another minute for good measure. Only when he was certain Morgoth had truly left them did he lift his weight from Galadriel. She lunged forward, desperately trying to get away from the beast that raped her. But she couldn’t. He was still locked inside of her. As she lunged, she felt his cock strain inside of her. He yelped in pain and it startled her. He quickly snaked one arm under her and pinned her to his chest, holding up both of their weight with one arm. “Don’t do that,” he hissed into her ear.

Galadriel felt her rage boil over. “You do not command me!” She spat at him over her shoulder as she struggled against his grip. She couldn’t properly see him and that made the whole situation so much worse. He held all the power now that Morgoth had left them.

“Perhaps, so,” he replied, “But I would rather if you didn’t rip off my cock.”

Galadriel stilled. She had promised herself she wouldn’t submit; she would conduct herself as her station demanded. But he did have a point. She wasn’t familiar with werewolf anatomy but it seemed they were locked together for the time being. She stopped struggling and became still in his embrace. When he still didn’t move she quietly asked, “How long does it last?”

“A few hours,” he responded plainly.

Galadriel felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. A few hours? She could not survive a few hours of being trapped under him! She took a breath and buried her fear. She refused to let any servant of Morgoth see her so frightened. “Well,” she cleared her throat, “What do we do until then?”

The werewolf shifted, turning her body with his as he lay on his side with her back pressed to his chest. “Lie still and try to sleep,” he told her. The arm that had wrapped around her now lay over her. His thumb rested on the swell of her lower breast. How dare he? How dare he presume to touch her so intimately! “Get your hands off me,” she spat as she shoved his arm away.

The werewolf huffed into her ear and she jerked away from that too. “Stop fighting it, elf!” he commanded with authority. “Be still and I will not touch you more than I must!”

Galadriel settled as much as she could on the cold, stone floor. The werewolf was somewhat reasonable, at least. He kept his promise and didn’t wrap his arm around her again. She angled her upper body away from him so they only touched where they were joined.

As the night wore on, it only got colder. The window in the roof was still open and a frightful wind had picked up. Galadriel fought to control her shivering body and her trembling lip. Neither was an easy task. She had no idea if the werewolf had fallen asleep or if he still lay awake behind her. She wished for the sound of his snores so she might have a moment of privacy to cry like she wanted to. Against her will, her shivers turned into silent, shaking sobs. Tears streamed down her face.

“Are you cold?” the werewolf asked quietly.

Galadriel jumped at his voice. She hadn’t expected him to break the silence even if he was awake. “No!” she shot back harshly even as her body continued to shake.

The werewolf sighed heavily like he was annoyed with her. “You’re going to freeze to death if you don’t share heat with me.”

“Good!” she said stoically, “I would rather die than submit to Morgoth’s indignities again.”

“And I would rather not have my cock stuck inside of a corpse!” the werewolf shot back. When she didn’t reply, he softened his tone and said, “Please, it will be easier for us both if we share heat.”

Galadriel couldn’t ignore the sympathy that grew in her heart. As she had suspected before, the werewolf was a prisoner too. He didn’t choose to be here. He didn’t choose to rape her. It was all Morgoth’s doing. In a meek voice, she replied, “Alright.”

Slowly, the werewolf scooched toward her until they were pressed together again. He wrapped his arm around her but this time he was careful not to touch her breasts. He nuzzled his face in her hair and breathed out a sigh of contentment. His body heat was much more substantial than hers. She had heard that wolf blood ran hot but this werewolf was practically a furnace. She stopped shivering instantly as his heat enveloped her. The floor was still cold but now the contrast between the heat and cold felt nice. Despite everything that happened, she felt calm. Being wrapped in the arms of a strong man was comforting. She definitely didn’t feel safe with him. But it was enough for her to fall asleep.

---

She woke to the sound of the heavy bolt sliding through its brace. A dim daylight poured into the room from the open window. The werewolf was already awake and sat up behind her. She felt a wave of relief as she realized he was no longer inside of her. But it was quickly replaced by the painful ache that bloomed between her legs. The heavy door swung open with a long creak. On the other side were two orcs. Morgoth was nowhere to be seen, thankfully.

The werewolf said, “Time to get up,” as he stood, his naked body on full display.

Galadriel felt as though she had been run over by a stampede of elk. She sat up but it was with a great effort. She nearly retched as she felt something wet and sticky ooze out from between her legs and land on her thigh. She was certain it was the remnants of the werewolf’s spend, the bits of him that hadn’t managed to claw their way into her and find a home in her womb. She gathered her feet under her and stood only to topple to the floor a second later with a sharp cry.

The orcs jeered at her from the door. The werewolf turned and looked at her with a furrowed brow. “Hurry,” he told her sternly.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She shouldn’t have been ashamed. Obviously, she would be weak after what she had just endured. But her reasonable thoughts were drowned out in the fear and dread that had been growing within her since her capture. Her companions were likely dead. She was exposed and naked. She had been humiliated in the most vile way possible. And it was just this forever. It was just Morgoth, forever.

The werewolf knelt down in front of her. For the first time since he pounced on her, she looked him in the eye. His eyes were a soft green. At first glance, his face appeared neutral. But as she studied him, she saw just the slightest hint of concern.

In a quivering whisper, Galadriel said, “I can’t walk.”

Without a word, the werewolf leaned down and lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck. She did not like it! It was because she had nothing else to do with her arms. It was the only logical place for her to put them!

The werewolf carried her out of the cell and back down the long hall Morgoth had led her through. As they moved deeper into the castle, they came across other orcs more frequently. The werewolf walked through the castle naked as if he had no shame at all. Galadriel could barely stand to think about her own nudity let alone his. She was thankful her body was somewhat hidden. Her hair covered her breasts and her legs were pressed tightly together. And she could hide her face against the werewolf’s shoulder. She watched the iron collar shifting against his neck. The skin where it rested was chaffed and red. It looked like it had been there a long time. Her eyes traveled up further to look at his beard. Most elven men did not wear beards. It was something she hadn’t seen often and certainly not so close. She had to admit, it was an attractive feature. It was viscerally masculine in a way she wasn’t familiar with. As were his broad muscles. He had to be at least twice her size. She squeezed her thighs together at the thought and felt more of his seed drip out of her.

As they walked on, Galadriel caught herself nuzzling against him, pressing her nose to his skin and breathing deeply. When she realized what she was doing, she froze. She looked to see if the werewolf had noticed what she was doing. He never looked at her. Even when she was obviously looking up at him, he kept his eyes fixed on the hall ahead.

They re-entered the palace area of the fortress. The werewolf carried her through a grand hall filled with grotesque, onyx statues. Galadriel was quickly whisked past them but she noted the expressions of pain and horror on their faces. She was glad not to linger in such a place. At the end of the hall was a winding staircase and the werewolf carried her up several flights. It was then that Galadriel realized their orc guards were no longer with them. They were entirely alone. The werewolf openly walked through the most splendid parts of the palace as if he owned it. She looked up at his face again, trying to discern anything she could.

They walked down the upper hall until they reached a set of double doors. Without a touch or a word, the doors swung open. Galadriel barely had time to notice the subtle magic before she was enveloped in the darkness of the room. The werewolf strode boldly and confidently into the space as the doors closed behind them. He stopped and set her down on something soft, a bed she quickly realized. Her fingers brushed over the silk bedding until she found a pillow. She heard him walk to another side of the room. He snapped back a curtain and light suddenly filled the room. Galadriel glanced about her surroundings curiously. It seemed like any bedroom in any fine house she had stayed in. She sat, as she suspected, on a large bed in the center of one wall. On the other side of the room was a huge fireplace with a chair sitting before it. To the left was the door they had entered through. To the right was a wall of windows. The werewolf opened each set of curtains, five in total, snapping them back with enough force to send a shock of dust through the air.

As the werewolf busied himself, Galadriel studied the room more. There was another door on the wall next to the bed. There was also a desk piled high with scrolls and books as well as a great number of jars and bottles. On the other side of the bed was a wardrobe and next to it, a heap of dirty clothes tossed on the ground. This wasn’t just any bedroom. It was… his bedroom.

Galadriel felt the dread rise in her again. She had assumed that he was a prisoner of Morgoth too. That he was bound against his will. Maybe even turned by Morgoth’s hand. But that was clearly not the case. He snapped open the last curtain and he turned to look at her. He was magnificent in the warm light of morning. The dim sunshine highlighted the hard lines of his muscles and made his hair glow a warm auburn. But Galadriel was not swayed by his beauty. She recoiled in fear.

The werewolf sensed the change in her and cocked his head, “Are you afraid of me now?”

“Shouldn’t I be?” She replied quietly.

He smirked softly, “If you like.”

Galadriel’s eyes widened in terror, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He looked at her with that wolfish gleam he had when she first laid eyes on him. Like she was something for him to devour. “You elves are so quick to frighten,” he said with a smile. He put his hands up in a show of innocence, “It was only a jest.”

Galadriel felt her blood run hot despite her fear. She refused to let him make her feel small. “You think my terror is something to be laughed at?” she said with all the stoic grace she could muster.

The werewolf gave her an appraising look. His eyes danced up and down her body. She quickly crossed her arms. She disliked how all it took for him to make her uncomfortable was turning his eyes upon her. “I think,” he replied thoughtfully, “you should get used to making the best of the situation, whatever it may be.”

Galadriel huffed. What a fool! She would never allow herself to be broken.

The werewolf turned and walked to the door adjacent to the bed. “I don’t know about you,” he said leisurely, “but I’m going to have a bath.” As he opened the door, Galadriel saw his back. It was covered in scars new and old. Dozens of fine cuts from a whip marred his flesh. It sent a new pang of horror thought Galadriel. But it also confused her further. Who is he? Was he a captivate of Morgoth or his servant? He entered the other room and she heard water splash about as he filled a tub.

Galadriel didn’t know what to make of him. He was bold and irritating. But he had also been gentle and even chivalrous; gaining her permission before sharing his warmth. And there was also the fact that he had raped her. He held her down and forced himself inside of her again and again. Thinking about it sent an unbidden jolt of pleasure through her body down to her core. Galadriel’s cheeks turned bright red as she realized she had grown wet thinking about it. Eru forgive her! What would her mother think if she could see her now? Lusting for a man who had brutalized her?

She was taken from her thoughts when he called to her from the door, “Galadriel?”

She perked up and was instantly taken aback, “You know my name?”

His eyes softened as he replied, “Of course.” He walked to her. “Would you like me to carry you to the bath?”

Galadriel blushed slightly and then nodded. She hated to admit it, but she needed his help. And a bath sounded heavenly! He gently scooped her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck again. He carried her into the washroom. The whole room was covered in dark green tiles. A large window was draped in golden curtains letting in the dim, filtered sunlight. In the center of the room, was a large tub set into the floor. It was big enough for at least three people to bathe at once. On one end, three brass taps spewed steaming water into the tub. The werewolf descended the steps into the bath and sat down along a low bench within the tub. And he kept Galadriel on his lap where she could feel his erection growing. She tried to pull away from him but his arms pulled her back.

“Please,” Galadriel asked, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment, “Must we be so close?”

With amusement, he replied, “No. But why should we be far away? I’ve already had you.” The blush spread from Galadriel’s cheeks down her neck and chest. She looked away from him, staring at the taps instead. He was trying to get a rise out of her. That was his game. He reached for some soap and lathered it between his hands. “We’ve already spent the night keeping each other warm.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and spread the soap over her chest and back. Despite everything, it felt nice. Even when his hands dipped down to her breasts and then to her stomach, his touch was calming and reassuring. “And my seed has already taken root in you.”

That was something Galadriel could not ignore. She abruptly turned back to him and pushed his hands away. Water splashed about them. “You couldn’t possibly know that!” she spat with fury in her eyes.

He gazed at her with an intensity she wasn’t prepared for. He didn’t look like he was mocking her. He looked like he was worshiping her. Caring for her. Loving her. Gently, he told her, “I can smell it on you.”

Galadriel shivered involuntarily. She didn’t doubt him. That seemed like something a werewolf would be able to do: scent his own child growing inside of her. This man, this beast, had put a babe in her and it would bind her to Angband and to Morgoth’s world. A deep hopelessness settled over her. Even if she were to be rescued, she would be abandoned once her saviors realized what she had become. Her lip started to quiver and then her body shook as her tears fell.

The werewolf’s expression softened instantly. One hand rose to her cheek to brush the tears away. For a long moment, all Galadriel could do was sob. The werewolf’s hands stroked down her cheek, down her back, and even through her hair. His hand on her scalp felt so soothing. His hand guided her head to rest against his chest.

After what seemed like an age had passed, she felt herself calm. Tears were still fresh in her eyes but she knew she could not give up. For her child’s sake as well as her own. The gears in her head kept turning. There was one piece of information she still lacked. She pulled away from the wolf’s chest and looked up at him. He returned her gaze. He met her eyes with a soft but serious expression, waiting for her to initiate. She was terrified, but she needed answers. With a trembling lip, she asked, “What is your name?”

The werewolf flexed his jaw. Clearly, that was a question he did not want to hear.

Galadriel’s face twisted in determination. “What is your name?” she asked again, growing more impatient by the second.

The werewolf looked at her sternly for a moment and said, “I have many names.”

Galadriel took a shuddering breath of horror and recoiled. She should have known! Who else would be given such a splendid room in Morgoth’s palace? Who else would be permitted to freely roam his halls? “You are The Deceiver,” she whispered.

The werewolf, the Maia, looked at her as he straitened his back, making himself even bigger. “Yes,” he whispered back, “That is what some have called me.”

Galadriel’s frozen terror lasted only a few seconds before she remembered herself. Her face twisted in anger and she struck at him, screaming as she did. Quick as lightning, Sauron snatched her wrists up in his hands and held her firm. She struggled against him desperately trying to pull free from his grip. But she knew she would never beat him in a contest of strength. Instead, she slammed her heel down upon his toes. Sauron gritted his teeth and groaned in pain but held her fast. “Is that what you want this to be like?” he asked her. Before she could stop it, Sauron spun both of them around so she was pinned between the wall of the bath and his chest. He kept hold of her wrists and forced himself between her legs. She couldn’t strike or kick him in any meaningful way and she was completely at his mercy. She felt his cock pressed against her stomach. He was fully hard now. The thrill of her struggles excited him.

He looked at her with a needy expression and murmured, “Galadriel.”

“Do not dare to speak my name, beast,” Galadriel shot at him. “Unhand me, now!”

“And what will you do if I do release you?” he asked pensively. Before she could reply, he answered for her, “You’ll start hitting me again.”

Galadriel felt venom pouring from her soul. On top of everything he had done, everything he had taken from her, he was a condescending prick too. “I will kill you the first chance I get,” she hissed at him.

“There is no need for this, Galadriel,” he murmured low and gentle like he was trying to soothe a feral cat.

“No need for this?” She screamed back at him. “You, Sauron, murdered my brother! You destroyed my family! I hate you and I will never stop trying to kill you!”

For a moment, Galadriel’s heaving breaths were the only thing that filled the silence between them. Until another voice said, “Well, that was dramatic.”

Both of them snapped their attention to the door. Morgoth stood, leaning casually against the frame. How had they not heard him enter? She wondered. But it was his fortress. She didn’t doubt he could walk through the walls if he desired. Another terror for her to live in fear of.

“Is she giving you trouble, Mairon?” He asked almost passively.

“No, master,” he answered as he looked her in the eye.

“Let’s see about that,” Morgoth replied. “Release her. Let’s see what she does.”

Slowly, Sauron released his grip on her wrists and then lifted the rest of his weight from her body. He backed away from her in the pool, giving her space. Galadriel stayed put. She wanted to be as far away from him as possible. She knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to attack him in front of Morgoth. Nor even when she was so drained from her previous trials. She rubbed her wrists and sunk deeper into the water.

Morgoth laughed, “See! The she-elf does know how to behave! You must make her fear you, Mairon. Then she will remember her place.”

Sauron shifted his jaw and replied, “I believe her anger for me outweighs her fear.”

Galadriel glared at him as a conformation.

Morgoth sighed and answered, “Then you must make her realize what a foolish mistake that is.”

With that, Morgoth turned to leave. As he did, Sauron called to him, “Master.” Morgoth turned and looked over his shoulder with an annoyed curiosity. Sauron walked to the edge of the bath and said, “The collar.”

“Oh, yes,” Morgoth said languidly, “How could I forget? Come here.”

Sauron lept out of the bath. Water fell down his body in rivulets and splashed on the tile as he knelt in front of his master. Galadriel again saw the awful marks on his back and winced at the mere sight.

Morgoth lifted Sauron’s chin and passed his hand over the collar. Instantly, it clicked open and clattered to the floor. Sauron picked it up and handed it to him. “Very good, pet,” Morgoth whispered. It sent a shiver through Galadriel’s entire being. Seeing their relationship up close was more disturbing than she had ever conceived. She had imagined Sauron to be Morgoth’s most trusted general. And perhaps he was on the battlefield. But in the palace of Angband? It was as Morgoth said; he was a pet.

Without another word, Morgoth left them. He exited the washroom and disappeared out the bedroom door. Sauron kept kneeling there on the floor as if he was waiting for something. Galadriel kept very still. Despite her earlier declaration, she did not attempt to kill him. She could never achieve it in her vulnerable state, loathed as she was to admit it. If she wanted to best him, she would have to bide her time. Yes, she could wait. She made a vow to herself that she would never submit to him in her heart. She would wait until she regained her strength and had formed a plan. After a long moment, he turned to her and bitterly asked, “Can you walk yet?”

Galadriel nodded yes and quickly made her way to the steps of the bath. Walking in the water wasn’t so bad, but once she got to the steps and started to climb out, she felt wobbly and unsteady again. There was no rail for her to hold onto and nothing to balance herself with. Sauron stood to his feet and extended his hand toward her. She ignored his hand, trying to balance on her own. When she took another step and nearly toppled over, he said, “Just take it.” He sounded tired and annoyed.

Galadriel quickly complied, placing her slender hand into his much larger, calloused one. She might need to submit it him in her deeds but never in her heart. His hands were steady and firm as they guided her from the water. She hated to admit it, but she knew her spirit wouldn’t have endured the night or this morning without his physical support. If anyone knew how to survive in Angband, it was him. He was a rock in the middle of a violently stormy sea. And she was terrified by how desperately she clung to him. Her heart revolted against her actions as she leaned more of her weight on him. Water droplets skimmed down her body and made her shiver in the cool air of the washroom.

She continued to lean her weight on him as they left the washroom. In the bedroom, Sauron stopped in front of the wardrobe and removed a black, silk dressing robe. He handed it to Galadriel. It was the first article of clothing she had been offered since her own clothes had been taken the night before. She slipped it on. It was far too large for her; she was practically swimming in excess material. But it was better than nothing.

As Sauron dressed, she limped over to the bed and sat again. Her legs burned and she needed to sit, even if it was on his bed. He watched her as he pulled on his trousers and laced them up. He stared at her for a long while and seemed to be soaking her in, reveling in her presence. Finally, when she could take it no more, she asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” he cooly replied. His bad temperament seemed left behind in the washroom. “I was just enjoying the image of you wearing my robe.” He smirked as if he had said something extremely clever.

Galadriel fought the urge to punch him. She knew she shouldn’t antagonize him, no matter how much she wanted to. She needed to stick to her plan. She needed him to think she was compliant and maybe that she might even have soft feelings for him. He had already tricked her into thinking he was deserving of her sympathy. She would just have to make him believe that he had succeeded. Deciding there was no time like the present, Galadriel said, “Why has he made you a…”

“A werewolf?” He finished for her. He busied himself with choosing a shirt from the wardrobe.

Galadriel blushed a bit but nodded. “Yes, a werewolf.”

He replied cooly, “It is a punishment.”

“What for?” Galadriel asked. She was truly curious. When Morgoth was near, Sauron wouldn’t move without Morgoth’s approval. He maintained perfect control over himself. She couldn’t imagine him making any mistake let alone one that would require such an extreme punishment.

Sauron did not answer for a long while. He held a tunic in his hand, twisting the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. Eventually, he said, “Luthien.”

Galadriel was shocked. Luthien had stolen the Silmaril more than a hundred years ago. She and her love, Beren, were both long in the Halls of Mandos. Her eyes again fell to the cruel mark on his neck where the collar had lain and she thought too of the lashes on his back. “Still?” she asked in horror, “After all this time?”

He nodded solemnly, “That is Morgoth’s way.” He approached her, taking slow, cautious steps so as not to frighten her.

When he was only an arm’s length away she asked the question that had been weighing on her mind. She brought one shaking hand to rest over her womb and asked, “Will the child be a…” She trailed off. Unable to finish the thought out loud. She dared not speak it lest it become true.

Sauron tossed the tunic aside and closed the distance between them instantly. He sat next to her on the bed and gazed at her, clutching her free hand in his. “No, the child will not be a wolf, I swear it to you. This affliction Morgoth has forced upon me will not be passed down to the child.”

Galadriel nodded. She didn’t smile. There was nothing to smile about. But it was a relief. Her child would not be a monster, despite its father. Its father… She felt tears slip down her cheeks. She knew she had to escape. But she had no idea what would become of the child after she did. Her people would never accept a child of Sauron into their kingdoms. Nor would they accept her once it became clear how tainted she was.

Sauron placed his hand on her womb next to her own. His other hand made its way into her wet hair and rubbed slow circles on her scalp. Why was he so gentle? He seemed intent on comforting her. On making her feel safe. She hated it. At least, that was what she kept telling herself as his soft caresses soothed the pain within her. When she finally looked up at him, his eyes were filled with a strange sort of longing. One that she could not place.

Cautiously, she broke the silence with a whisper, “Why are you doing this?”

His eyes lit up when she spoke to him softly. “Doing what?” he asked in return.

Galadriel’s breath stuttered before she answered, “Being so gentle with me?”

His brow furrowed slightly before he answered, “Would you rather I was cruel? That I would treat you harshly and throw you back into a dungeon?”

Galadriel swallowed hard, “Maybe.”

He gave a soft laugh before he stilled himself. “I can feel your hate for me. It is well placed. But hate will not sustain you or the child in the coming months.”

Galadriel scoffed and turned away from him. His hand in her hair slipped around to her chin and pulled her face back to his. “Heed me when I say this, you and the child will not survive Angband without my protection.”

“What is the point?” she asked in increasing despair, “Why do this to me? Why force me to do this? Why not leave me in that dark cell?” She let out a sob as more tears fell. He gently moved her head so it rested upon his shoulder. She let him hold her as she sobbed. It was the cruelest comfort in the world, to be held so tenderly by the being she had sworn to hate.

“It is his way,” Sauron whispered once she had calmed and the sobs stopped. “He has a unique ability to find what will break someone’s very Fëa. For many, most even, it is torture, isolation, darkness. But he knows you are stronger than that. He knew you would never bend even after a thousand years in the dark. He had to be more creative with you. And that’s what he likes most of all.”

Galadriel shivered just at the thought of Morgoth. Sauron pulled her closer into his embrace, running his hand down her back over the silk robe. Even after the wolf had faded out of his system, his body radiated heat and warmth. In all the talk of punishments and torments, she couldn’t help but sense a dual purpose in her rape. It was to torment her, yes. But she felt that this was also, somehow, a punishment for Sauron. Slowly, she pulled away from his embrace to look him in the eye. “Has he,” he began with a shuddering breath, “made you do that before?”

Sauron raised an eyebrow, “It depends on what you mean by that. If you mean, choosing who I fuck and making me do it in front of him, then yes. Often.” He skimmed his knuckles over the delicate skin of her neck as his fingers wound through her hair. He didn’t grip her hair or pull it. But the action still felt possessive, like he was claiming her with his lecherous gaze. “But,” he continued, “If you mean siring a child, then no.”

A sharp pang shot through Galadriel’s heart. Unbidden, an image came into her mind. She saw Sauron in a hall filled with warm light. He was kneeling on the ground and extending his arms as a small child ran to him. He had a beautiful, joyous smile, one she had certainly never seen in reality. And then she saw herself. She was smiling happily and rubbed a hand over her belly, swollen with another child.

The vision ended as Galadriel gasped. Sauron looked at her with concern and confusion. “Galadriel?” he asked cautiously. “Did you hear me?”

She nodded, “Yes, I heard.” She brought her hand to her womb like she had in the vision. She wasn’t showing at all. Obviously, she chided herself. But she wanted to feel connected to the being that grew there. And she wanted to steady herself after what she had seen. She had no idea if it was real. If it was her future or if it was just a trick. She wasn’t sure which was worse. That every part of her experience in Angband was designed to be her torture, including these seemingly intimate moments. Or, that all of it was real.

“What I meant was,” she continued, “Does he make you… lie with him…often?”

Sauron gave her a strange look as though he was enjoying watching her struggle to say such crude things. “Yes,” he said with a smile on his lips.

Galadriel unconsciously squeezed her thighs together.

“Do you like hearing about that, little elf?” he asked in a low whisper.

It took everything in Galadriel not to attempt to hit him. She knew she wouldn’t land the blow. He was still watching her intently like she might try something stupid at any second. She sat up straight and glared at him, “No.”

“You ask many questions for someone so uninterested,” he remarked cooly.

He was infuriating! “I ask questions,” she said with dignified reproach, “because I am trying to understand.”

“What are you trying to understand?” he asked gently, all teasing gone.

“How do you do it?” She asked him. When he cocked his head in confusion, she clarified, “How do you put up with him? With everything? Every day! How do you keep going?”

Sauron became pensive. He considered his words carefully before he answered, “I keep going because I know the future I am building will be better than this.”

Galadriel wrinkled her face in disgust and despair. “Do you honestly believe Morgoth is building a bright future?”

“I didn’t say that,” he snapped.

Galadriel jumped a little at his harsh tone but she didn’t let her nerves deter her. “But you serve him,” she said softly. “How-”

He cut her off abruptly, “I won’t always.”

That gave her pause. He didn’t mean to overthrow Morgoth, did he? She gave him a long look which he readily returned. For what seemed like a century, they gazed into each other’s eyes. She contemplated all she knew about him. He was quick to bow and grovel before Morgoth. From the outside, he seemed a devoted servant of the Dark Lord. But that was no guarantee of what lay in his heart if he had one. Had she not just sworn to herself to submit in her actions but not her heart? It struck her then just how similar they were. It seemed her original assessment was not wrong. He was a prisoner of Morgoth as much as she was.