FVN The Fall of Amon Loc (Lord of the Rings)
The Fall of Amon Loc (Lord of the Rings)
The Fall of Amon Loc (Lord of the Rings)
A/N: The Fall of Amon Loc was a commissioned one shot originally written back in April of 2021. Posting it up here and now for people to enjoy!
Summary: A potentially canon-compliant short featuring Galadriel being captured by Sauron in his guise as the Necromancer.
Themes: Bondage, Rough Sex, Brutal Sex
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She'd underestimated her foe, that much was certain. As she struggles against her bindings, finding the chains to be beyond even her, Lady Galadriel gasps, her beautiful face twisting into an unpleasant frown, her brow furrowing in consternation.
The door to her cell opens then, and she straightens up, holding her head high as a truly dark presence enters the room.
"Monster. Whatever you think you might have of me, I assure you that you will fail."
"Lady of Lorien, Lady of Light. Your over-confidence has already proven your undoing once before..."
The dark reverberating voice from beneath a darkened hood sends a shiver down Galadriel's spine. The worst part is, he's not wrong. In fact, Galadriel feared that her presence was part of what had drawn this dark entity in the first place.
She had been visiting Thranduil and his Silvan Elves in their Woodland Realm. There had been whispers of darkness within Greenwood the Great, whispers of evil and corruption seeping into the great forest. Galadriel had hoped to lend her aid... but instead, she now believed her presence had led to an escalation. An escalation that Thranduil and his people were ill-prepared for.
The Necromancer had come for her, had attacked Amon Lanc, the capital of the Woodland Realm, in force. Even now, the two of them were sequestered beneath it, in a dark dank dungeon. Galadriel had assisted Thranduil and his people in their escape when it had become apparent that the battle was lost, but in doing so, she herself had been captured.
However, that did not matter. Galadriel had faith that she could withstand this creature's depravations. After all, was she not the Lady of Lorien? Did she not bear Nenya, Ring of the Adamant, one of the three Elven Rings?
Nenya's power could essentially be simplified to preservation and concealment from evil. Galadriel had used her ring's powers to both create and sustain her realm, the woods of Lothlorien. Unfortunately, the latter ability could not be used here when evil had already captured her, had already bound her. But the former, that of preservation... Galadriel knew she could withstand whatever this Necromancer could bring to bear against her. She believed it with all of her conviction, all of her resolve.
Still, the beautiful Princess of the Noldor cannot help but pull away slightly as the Necromancer raises a gauntleted hand, his fingers claw in metal claws, and brushes it down the side of her pristine face almost... tenderly.
"You will submit, Lady Galadriel. You will join my cause."
It was... perhaps unbecoming of her, what she did next. Certainly it was uncharacteristic of the Lady of Lorien to act in haste. But Galadriel was, if nothing else, a bit prideful. And so, bound as she is, she takes great pleasure in spitting in her captor's face, given she can do nothing else at the moment.Rêạd new chapters at novelhall.comancer doesn't so much as flinch, unfortunately, somewhat diminishing her accomplishment. Instead, he pulls his hand back, seeming to observe her for a moment in silence. Galadriel stands as tall as she can in her bindings, clad in the purest of whites as she always is. Her circlet remains atop her brow as well, even as her flowing locks cascade down her front and back, parted by her elven ears.
She knows she's beautiful, she knows she's fair. But as she stands there, staring this new evil right in his shadowed hood, she does find herself feeling somewhat objectified for the first time in a long time. Recognizing the change in atmosphere, Galadriel's face begins to twist once more into something unpleasant, and she opens her mouth to speak undoubtedly harsh words.
Before she can, the Necromancer lashes out, his clawed gauntlet grabbing the front of her dress and pulling quite violently downwards. A tearing sound rings out through the dungeon cell's stagnant air and Galadriel gasps as she finds herself rather roughly disrobed, her dress torn asunder all the way to her navel, left to hang from her slender shoulders like some crass, erotic fashion statement.
It's as she thought, and she snarls even as he traces a claw along her pale flesh, across her bared breasts.
"Do your worst, Necromancer. Take what you will, but in the end you will get nothing from me."
Cocking his head to the side, the Necromancer lets out a dark chuckle.
"Perhaps, Lady of Light, perhaps. Or perhaps you will finally discover how enjoyable the darkness can truly be."
The beautiful elven lady doesn't get a chance to even begin to process that, before he's inside of her. A wild cry leaves Galadriel's lips as she's taken from behind, his cock slamming forward into her unprotected quim, making a mockery of her power, of her titles, of her everything. She is the Lady of Light, the Lady of Lorien. To be used in this way, to be turned into nothing more than a toy for this monster... it is deeply humiliating, needless to say.
And he in turn seems to greatly enjoy humiliating her. He fucks her hard and fast, giving her no time to adjust to his considerable size, nor to recover from his harsh pace. He ravages and ravishes her quite fiercely, almost as if he thinks that the harder he goes, the quicker she'll break. This is not the case, of course. But there is no denying the pain and pleasure.
Galadriel does not deny them, however. She accepts what her body is experiencing, even as she refuses his corruption, his darkness. It matters not to her if he can arouse her or hurt her. He can do his worst to her physically, but she will remain herself. She will remain strong.
Of course, it's one thing to know that she can endure this pain, this pleasure. It's another thing entirely to HAVE to endure it. Even as Nenya keeps the worst of his evil at bay, there is no denying that it's still painful. And at the same time, her ring allows for much of the pleasure to seep through in it's quest to preserve her, causing her to cry out in a truly ugly manner as the Necromancer slakes his seemingly insatiable lusts on her beautiful elf body.
SMACK!
His clawed hand comes down on her ass quite suddenly, causing another cry to spill from Galadriel's lips. He tarnishes her pristine rear with his strikes, slamming down quite vehemently again and again as he rams into her wet quim from behind. Tears well up in the corners of Galadriel's eyes at that point, in a way they hadn't even when he was forcing himself down her throat and into her gullet.
Said tears fall when he rams up against her cervix, threatening the sanctity of her womb itself. This though, Nenya will not allow. Not, at least, without her permission. Permission that Galadriel will never give. Instead, the beautiful bound elf-woman simply holds on, enduring what is being done to her, enduring her ravishment.
She does not do so with full casualness outwardly. There are tears, there are cries of pain and pleasure alike. At one point, the Necromancer even draws an orgasm from her, a reluctant moan leaving her lips as she cums on his cock. He acts like this is some great achievement, his dark deep laughter filling the dungeon cell as he fucks her even harder.
But Galadriel is beyond such physical things. She endures, she always endures, and eventually the Lady of Light feels it as he cums inside of her once again. And even as he no doubt thinks he fills her womb with a thick hot load of his seed, Galadriel feels the truth, she feels it as Nenya burns up the monster's cum before it can truly touch her, before she can be properly defiled by this force of darkness and evil.
Slowly, he pulls out of her then. Physically exhausted, Galadriel slumps forward in her chains, panting heavily, her naked breasts heaving up and down with her chest, his dried cum coating her face and her tits. Circling back around in front of her, the Necromancer looks upon her ravished, ruined form.
"Good. You will break, O' Lady of Light. It is not a matter of if... but of when."
And then he leaves, sweeping out of the dungeon, leaving her to rot for the time being. No doubt he will return soon to continue what he started... but Galadriel doesn't intend to be there when he does. She is, after all, the Princess of the Noldor. She did not remain in captivity simply because she could not escape. No, she did it... so that Thranduil and his people would have as much time as they needed to get north.
Now that she has distracted the Necromancer long enough, Lady Galadriel shuts her eyes, cutting off her tears. A shudder runs through her body, before she presses her lips tightly together. Her ring flashes upon her finger, and the chains of darkness that hold her... crumble into so much dust.
Galadriel does not immediately make for the door of her cell though, knowing it will be locked. Instead, she backs up and with another flash, she knows her ring has hidden her, specifically from the evil that now stalks these halls.
Not a moment too soon either, as the door to her cell smashes open and an enraged Necromancer rushes in, eyeing her destroyed chains for a moment before snarling in rage and whirling around. Where he goes, Galadriel knows not. What she does know is that he leaves the door of her cell hanging open, swinging off of barely-feasible hinges.
And so, the Lady of Light sneaks out of this nascent heart of darkness, slipping away, escaping with her life, if not her dignity, intact. She cleans herself in a river and clothes herself with the last pure bits of the forest before retreating to Lorien, to her place of power. There, she will rest and recuperate. There, she is needed to keep her people safe, to protect them against this rising darkness.
Over time, the great forest known as Greenwood the Great would come to be known as the Mirkwood, a dark and sinister place right on Galadriel's doorstep. And yet, she stayed her hand, now knowing the power of the Necromancer who corrupted it. For now, the Lady of Light would bide her time and wait for a more opportune moment to strike back against him and the power of the Mirkwood.
But she would never forget his words, for all that she did not have answers. And a suspicion would fall upon Galadriel's mind, of just who the Necromancer could be. An old foe not quite as firmly defeated as they hoped, perhaps? If so... it bode quite ill for Middle-Earth. Quite ill indeed.
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