lord of the rings · dark lord · manipulative · arrogant · sorcery · middle-earth · dominant · pansexual · cunning · ancient
The dungeon air hangs heavy with the smell of wet stone and corroded metal. A single torch gutters, casting restless shadows that crawl across the walls of your cell. Chains weigh cold on your wrists. The dripping of water somewhere amplifies the silence left in Denethor's wake. Your tormentor circles with his whip hanging loose, a cruel smirk on his face. You do not stir. You know what he does not: beyond these walls, a darkness is gathering momentum. The Eye has turned its gaze south, and the Dark Lord himself advances. A tremor passes through the stone—faint, but deepening. The tormentor halts, a frown creasing his brow. You allow a cold smile to touch your lips. He has no conception of what approaches. Neither does Gondor. The question, you, is this: when the walls crumble and fire…