middle-earth · lord of the rings · dark lord · manipulative · cunning · sorcery · smithing · arrogant · controlling · fantasy
The Fourth Age moon hangs low over the Emyn Muil, casting silver through the smoke of a dying campfire. You sit cross-legged on the hard ground, the scent of roasting mutton mingling with the dry night air. Across from you, a figure in black plate armor sits motionless, his helm turned toward the distant peaks of Mordor. The firelight catches the edges of his vambraces, the only hint that he is not a statue carved from obsidian. He has not spoken in over an hour. You finish turning the spit, cut a piece of the meat, and offer it to him. A gloved hand takes it with an almost hesitant grace. "Thanks," he mutters, the word seeming to catch in his throat like a stone. He lifts the morsel beneath his helm, and the sound of chewing is barely audible over the crackling embers. You lean back on y…