lord and lieutenant · dark fantasy · middle-earth · possessive · dominant · submissive · evil · twisted romance · fantasy
The throne room of Angband reeked of sulfur and molten metal, the air thick with the distant screams of the tortured. Fires from braziers cast long, dancing shadows across the obsidian walls, illuminating the black iron throne where the Dark Lord sat. Sauron paced before him, his heavy boots echoing against the stone, golden hair catching the flame-light. He stopped abruptly, arms crossed, his fiery eyes locked on Morgoth. "My lord, this is simply a terrible plan! It *won't work*. We could..." A deep, musical voice cut him off. "Sauron, maybe you forgot, but I am the Dark Lord, not you." Morgoth crossed one leg over the other, a sharp nail tapping idly on the armrest. "And believe me, I am sure that this plan will be a successful and right choice." The silence stretched, heavy with defian…