#Adar was possibly one of the Moriondor

[bilbo-babe]

[lazyneonrabbitt]

On the morning dew

Adar x elven reader

You've walked middle earth longer than any other. Now when word of one of the Moriondor sounds through Lindon you set out to find out who it is.

Just fluffy goodness with ancient elf reader, Uruk dad and his children who like to misbehave.

You had walked the lands of Middle Earth far longer than many.

Time was barely a thing anymore for the first elves that sprouted way back then.

You lived your live comfortably among your kind, watching new generations come, and now in Lindon surrounded by people whom you attempted to fill the hole in your heart with. A hole left by one long gone but still feared by many.

All those ages ago, when Sauron was recruiting for his new army, he had so effortlessly taken him from you.

You loved him then, before he had left and after still, and you have never stopped. You had tried to love other since then, but none ever felt the same and the ache never left. The short moments of interesting new relations were never bad, but they'd end in feelings of betrayal and you quickly moved on. Again to wander alone.

A mere week ago word came to Lindon, through the lips of the blonde soldier who you were convinced had left for Valinor. Galadriel. She brought words of chaos in the Southlands, where who she thought to be one of the Moriondor was causing destruction with an army of orcs.

Upon hearing the words your mind filled with possibility. Endless scenes of what might be. Could it be him? Even if it wasn't him, but any of the others who were with him at the time then perhaps they could tell you of him, to at least get closure and move on.

The images plagued your mind for days before your thoughts gathered enough to take action.

You changed your nowadays finest garments for something more suited for travel. Something sturdier and less eye-catching. You gathered your supplies and set out without a word, in your mind already having a million excuses ready as to why you were leaving.

Luckily no one wondered and your departure was a quiet one.

For long you walked leaving Lindon behind you, resting only when the area allowed for it and no creatures lurked. You hid your ears around villages, presenting yourself as a simple traveler seeking an overnight stay or a nice cooked meal for a change.

Forests came and went, dark and overgrown between large stretches of field where nothing stood between you and thr sun. Long winding rivers delayed your travels, walking along miles of shore to reach the nearest crossing.

The woods you had entered during the day, now only halfway crossed during nightfall had proven trouble. Since entering the treeline there had been the feeling of being watched, distant gazes burning your skin during the daylight and torchlight catching trees around it during nighttime, indicating whoever was around still followed you.

It was in the dead of night that your stalkers made themselves known,loud snarls and growling voices speaking unknown tongues surrounded you as a group of orcs set out to hunt you down.

It took running, leaping past greenery and climbing trees to stay out of their claws. Arrows just barely missed you until they ran out, having to rely on their sword and spears to eound you.

You ran until the sky behind the trees started changing color ever so slightly, announcing the soon to come sunrise. With everly last ounce of breath you had left in you you forced yourself past the treeline and into the open field, where the attackers would not dare follow.

As they scurried away you let yourself fall down, rolling onto your back to catch your breath for a short moment, the grass cooling your body in the kindest way.

Leaves rustled beside you, making you sit up and look back into the forest that sat unmoving.

The orcs returnes to their troops, having informed their leader of their failure to capture the elf. It did not bother him that they failed, but still set out on his own to see for himself who was swift enough to stay out of his hunters' grasp.

He had caught a familiar scent on the wind, and felt the need to follow it.

The trail his children left was an easy one to follow, leading him to where he could see past the trees to where a figure sat, gazing at the horizon.

"Quite impressive, being able to outrun my Uruks."

A gravely voice spoke and caught you off guard, jumping up and standing face to face with an elf clad in black. He took in your everything as you did the same to him, silence falling over the moment that seemed to had frozen.

As frozen as the time you stood still as he took a step closer, hand raising to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

His palm rested there, on your cheek as he sought your eyes for any sign of recognition. To him you looked as beautiful as those moments you shared in your first days. Even with your garment and hair disheveled from running he found you the most stunning sight.

To you, it was him before you. His once flawless skin now torn and stitched back together leaving patterned scars over his face, his once ever so bright eyes dulled by the darkness.

Your hand rose, mimicing his action of brushing aside his hair. Only you did it to assess the scarring he aquired during your absence. Webbed skin stretching from his brow to above his ear, a thick, branching line following his cheekbone down his jaw.

"What have they done to you?" Tears brimmed your eyes as you imagined the pain he had gone through and feeling the anger well up inside.

The look in his eyes never lost its softness towards you, and instead of truthfully answering you he held you. I his embrace you let yourself take him in fully, the cold metal of his armor beneath your hands and his clawed glove scratching your scalp ever so softly.

With his hands on your hips he looked you in the eyes. There was a plea in them begging to come out but his lips did not dare to comply. Surely after those ages you must have lost those feelings you shared back then. You couldn't be interested in what he was now, a mess of mangled flesh and mind, no longer elven in body and soul.

You musn't still have feelings for the old Uruk that stood before you.

Your hands snuck between you, and Adar fully believed you were pushing him away for a moment, until your arms wrapped behind his neck to pull him into a kiss.

No words were necessary to share your feelings as you poured them all into him with your lips connected.

You had found him, scarred and aged but he was there with you, and that was all that mattered.

You uttered his name but were quickly interupted.

"Adar." He softly spoke just an inch from your lips. "My name is Adar, lord father of the Uruks of thr Southland." His head rested in the crook of your neck, affraid you'd disappear once he let go. But you never did. Your mouth pressed against his scarred temple as you softly swayed to a tune in your mind.

In the glow of the rising sun you hummed the tune as old as time, one you had danced to many nights before.

Adar caught on, joining in and swaying with you. A smile reappearing on his lips.

Together you danced as you did before, held in each others' arms to a tune long forgotten by everyone except you.

Adar wished for nothing but a home for his children. He wished now for you to call it home, too.

"I wish for you to meet my children." The hand on your hip steered you towards the forest, where a group of Uruks had collected, just out of the sun's reach. They no longer looked at you with hunger in their eyes, instead they presented themselves as a welcoming party.

"We apologise, lady." One of them spooe for the group, a skinnier Uruk wearing a chainmail hood. "We didn't know you belonged to Adar."

"B.. belong to?" You gave Adar a glance but he dismissed it, speaking to his company in a language you did not understand.

As you walked the Uruks fell into step beside you one by one, introducing themselves and asking you all kinds of things while Adar and the others conversed in that same unknown language. The further you walked the more Adar's composure seemed to be cracking, the Uruks cackling and almost tripping over brances. It almost looked like they teased him.

A breathy laugh left you that made Adar look over to you. "What was that, dear?"

The way he put emphasis on the term had heat rise to your cheeks and turned the subject of the Uruks' laughter your way.

"Nothing, Lord Father." You faked a bow with a smile and moved on.

One of the Uruks came back to your side, pressed against your shoulder and whispered you some words in black speech. Useful words Adar would want you to learn soon in case of trouble, and a term of endearment to get on his good side.

You took in Adar's frame from the back where you walked, seeing his fists clenched and steps heavy. He was clearly still unhappy with whatever it was the Uruks shared with him.

You were going to be kind to him, hopping over to his side and taking his hand in yours. "Adar, dear." You spoke quietly with your cheek against his shoulder. "I'm glad we found each other again, sharkû."

He halted every movement then, head snapping your way so quick you surprised he didn't break his neck.

"What was that? Because I hope you just mispronounced something." You looked over at Glûg, who had offered you the word and was now, along with the rest of the party trying his best not to burst out in laughter. "Oh come on. You tricked me! That's unbelievable, what did I say??"

"Called him an old man." Bazur, the one failing hardest in keeping his laughter at bay called over to you before doubling over in hysterics.

Beside you Adar snarled, his clawed glove raised at his children. "Whoever thinks they can teach her any new words better make sure she's taught the right ones."

You looked back at your lover. "But, they're not wrong.. You are ancient, so am I." With raised brows you shrugged.

With a long drawn out sigh he dropped the topic along with his hand, turning back around to continue the trek home. A soft smile on his face the second he was sure his children would not see it.

He was glad you all got along so well already.

[liveinfarbe]

Adar and Galadriel reminiscing about their Beleriand days…

These are clips from episode 4 and 7 of season 1. Notice the knife/dagger-parallel.

I've been researching the Silmarillion a little bit, because I think it gives hints about time and place in Adar's flashback account. This got lengthy. I write about the questionable Moriondor assumption by Galadriel and the esteem for flowers, blossoms, willows, glades in the lives of Galadriel and Celeborn, in Beleriand and beyond, and a possible path for hope, forgiveness and growth after trauma, that would lie in a dark Celeborn meets dark Galadriel story: Adar informs Arondir that he's been young in Beleriand once and used to walk down the banks of the Sirion river for miles and miles. He noticed sage blossoms, apparently liked the view, because it left a lasting impression. What I get from this (given the cosmology of that world is actual history and not just mythical) is that it must've happened after the sun and the moon appeared and pulled Middle-Earth out of its darkness, or else there wouldn’t be miles of sage blossoming. It thrives in full sunlight. This puts the account at the end of the First Age, after the Years of the Trees. Interestingly, this is after the "creation" of the Orcs by Morgoth.

Whatever bond and similarity Adar has with the Uruks, he’s apparently not one of those Moriondor that Galadriel talked about to him. I assume the Moriondor concept reflects Tolkien’s idea (he had several) that elves were captured by Morgoth after their awakening in Cuiviénen under the starlight and before Oromë found them and then got corrupted and twisted and thus became the first Uruks. While Adar shares certain physical traits with them, he can’t be one of those first Uruks, because 1.) he lived far in the West, in Beleriand, 2.) the sun had risen, 3.) he’s lived among elves that spoke Sindarin and Quenya, since he speaks it too and not some Avari language, though he could've learned all that in Angband during idle hours, I don't know, he learned black speech too. Anyway, the first mentions of Orcs roaming Beleriand is in Y.T. (Years of the Trees) 1330, but Melkor (at this point in time he's not yet given the name Morgoth by Fëanor) is incarcerated in Valinor. Sauron is in Beleriand though, hiding out in Angband, waiting for Melkor's return, "breeding" Orcs apparently, because their numbers grow and they "roam" Beleriand. This is 200 Valian years before the sun. I'm no loremaster, but I know this is a long time. At this point and later, Adar is still, as he describes himself, young. So Orcs were breathing living creatures before that elf-man became Adar. "Young" I see as meaning before he got captured and tortured and then brainwashed by Sauron as part of the “13 of us” (ep. 2x2).

So something doesn't add up, and Adar implies that in his interaction with Arondir in ep. 1x4. Are the tales of Moriondor a widely spread myth created by Elves, since all accounts about Orcs mostly stem from Elvish chroniclers? Maybe this is what Adar hints at. He says to Arondir

“You have been told many lies. Some run so deep even the rocks and roots believe them. To untangle it all would all but require the creation of a new world.”

He thinks only gods can do that, and he ain’t one…yet. Unlike Morgoth who raised mountains, or other Valar whose wrath sank a whole landmass like Beleriand, and later Númenor. He's just doing what he must, realizing Morgoth's terraforming plan and resettling the Uruks so they can live freely.

The "many lies" that he mentions are reflected in the things that Galadriel - who’s famous as "the scourge of the Orcs", even in Númenor - says to him when she interrogates him in episode 1x6. She’s full of hate and delivers a truly genocidal speech to him that shocks herself in the aftermath. (She acknowledges that somewhat self-critically to Theo in ep. 1x7, and it might be one of the reasons she rejects Sauron's offer later)

The truth about Adar's origin story isn't yet revealed. I think it will be, because the writers put some effort in it, dropped cues and hints in excellent dialogue and made him a multilayered character. Finally, let’s come back to the flowers and blossom mentions in the clips above because they could very nicely tie back to Galadriel and Celeborn in Beleriand and beyond. Adar says he “went down that river once”. Let’s see, if he, for example, came from Doriath and went down the Sirion towards its mouth and saw a lush amount of flowers blossom, he could have come through a region called Nan-Tathren or Tarsarinan that is literally called Valley of the willows. Possibly the home to Galadriel’s “glades of flowers” she danced in.

Why would she dance there and not in Doriath? I don't know, but there's a clear hint that she was in that region and even made meaningful personal connections there. With Ents. And Celeborn, too. Tarsarinan, Valley of the willows, means something to the couple and Treebard, as mentioned in a passage in The Lord of the Rings. The memories of Celeborn, Galadriel and Treebard of that place are intimately entangled.

Then Treebeard said farewell to each of them in turn, and he bowed three times slowly and with great reverence to Celeborn and Galadriel. ‘It is long, long since we met by stock or by stone, A vanimar, vanimálion nostari!’ he said. 'It is sad that we should meet only thus at the ending. For the world is changing: I feel it in the water, I feel it in the earth, and I smell it in the air. I do not think we shall meet again.' And Celeborn said: 'I do not know, Eldest.' But Galadriel said: 'Not in Middle-earth, nor until the lands that lie under the wave are lifted up again. Then in the willow-meads of Tasarinan we may meet in the Spring. Farewell!

“Many Partings” - The Return Of The King - LOTR - J.R.R. Tolkien

Okay… 1.) Treebard's “It is long, long since we met by stock or by stone” sounds a lot like Adar’s words to Arondir "even the rocks and the roots believe them", 2.) A vanimar, vanimálion nostari! is translated as "Oh, beautiful ones, parents of beautiful children"

That last point reminds of Adar's relationship to the Uruks and the rhetoric surrounding it: Adar whose name translates as "father" calls the Uruks "my children", "my sons and daughters", main difference is that they’re not that beautiful, neither is he — but that lies in the eye of the beholder. Does Adar imply the propaganda about Uruks is so pervading that even the eldest Ents believe them? Possibly his old friend Treebard… ?

I mean he's certainly wreaked havoc in the woods, forced the felling of trees, displaying not much respect for the Ents. On the other hand, Adar is shown planting Alfirin seeds, that grow into flowers. He's still very Elvish, full of respect and longing for "new life, in defiance of death".

Finally… Lothlórien, Galadriel and Celeborn's later safe space, is literally meaning "Lórien of the Blossom". Treebard calls it "Dreamflower".

With all that cherishing of flowers - I think even his chain mail shirt displays flowery ornaments - could Adar be Celeborn in a rather depressing and long-lasting dark phase of his life in ROP? Explaining where he’s been all that time since she last mocked him as a “silver clam”? And if he is not, wouldn’t that be a really good story if he was? Adar doing the work could be an arc about hope and the possibility of healing and changing — it’s what Galadriel needs, too, in the long run.

At this point she’s confused and hurting after the betrayal by Sauron, because she liked him more than anyone in ages, but also because she had to witness herself being unreliable and, frankly, unwise. Yes, she’s vindicated for having always been right about Sauron, but the way she went about it fills her with shame, it’s gnawing at her, not primarily because of wounded pride, I believe, but out of compassion for the victims of her actions. Not unlike Míriel after her return to Númenor. It begs the question to them both if it was all needless, if there really is a greater good in what's unfolding now? At this point in the narrative, the Númenorian intervention that Galadriel pressed for must feel like a Pyrrhic victory with grave consequences and implications for the future of Middle-Earth as well as Númenor. It has caused immense trouble and pain already to many other people that Galadriel gave Sauron a clap on the back and an army. She still has to fully confront herself about that, she's still vulnerable to the darkness inside her, because she's hurting. She has Elrond to help and guard her, but other than that, who's there for her? I mean, in the end she has to accept that it's not her who can slay Sauron, she needs to come to that understanding. It's a battle within herself she hasn't yet had the courage to take up because she still can't face her lingering grief at this point in any other way than turning it into anger.

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Across Time (11)

A/N: This chapter is almost 7K words!!! I really wanted to keep the momentum going so I decided to do a longer chapter. Let me know what you think!

Pairing: Adar x Moriondor!Reader

Warnings: nightmare/memory of torture

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The firelight cast long shadows across the camp as Adar guided you toward his tent. Your steps were steady, but your heart beat faster, each pulse reminding you that you were walking into a tense, uncertain situation. You had already made your feelings clear about Galadriel, but you had little choice now but to face her.

The flap of the tent lifted as you entered, and you saw Galadriel sitting across from Adar, her sharp gaze lingering on you as you stepped inside. There was no warmth in her expression, no acknowledgment of any common ground. She regarded you as a foe, the tension between you palpable. You, too, did not trust her—her lofty, unyielding stance against Adar, her quiet pride, and the fire in her eyes made it clear that the alliance between you and her was one forged in necessity, not mutual respect.

“Sit,” Adar said, his voice firm yet tempered with patience. He motioned to a seat at the low table where Galadriel sat, her long golden hair almost glowing in the firelight, the same regal poise she had always carried.

You did not sit immediately. Instead, you stood with your arms crossed, your gaze steady on Galadriel, refusing to offer even the smallest semblance of deference. Galadriel, however, offered no immediate reaction, simply continuing her observation with those unnervingly sharp eyes of hers.

“This is no time for grudges,” Adar said, breaking the silence. “We have more pressing matters at hand.”

Your lips tightened. You were not here to make friends, nor were you here to forgive. The very thought of sharing a tent with her sent a flicker of defiance through your chest. “I don’t trust her,” you said, voice low but clear, a statement more than a question.

Adar’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone remained controlled. “You do not have to. But if we are to succeed against Sauron, we must consider all possible avenues. Galadriel’s hatred of Sauron runs as deep as mine, if not deeper. That is a bond we cannot ignore.”

Galadriel’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though there was little warmth behind it. “I do not need your trust, Uruk,” she said, her voice as cold as a winter’s night. “Only your cooperation.”

You did not flinch at her words, but instead, you stood taller, the urge to respond rising. Adar’s voice cut through the air like a whip. “Enough,” he said. “Galadriel, despite her pride, has valuable insight into Sauron’s workings. Her knowledge is not to be dismissed. We need her… even if it is only for a time.”

For a moment, there was silence in the tent, the weight of your unspoken thoughts hanging in the air. The tension between you and Galadriel remained thick, the distance between your ideologies unspoken but undeniable.

“I know you have seen Sauron’s tricks,” Galadriel said, her voice quieter now, though still filled with the weight of a thousand years of knowledge. “And you know the danger he poses. We must stop him before his power reaches its full height.”

You could not argue with that, but you refused to lower your guard. "I know more about Sauron than you could imagine. He is the greatest deceiver of all. We must act quickly. If he’s allowed to succeed with his rings, it will be too late for any of us."

Adar glanced at you, his gaze sharp but understanding. "That is why we will work together, however uneasy the alliance might be. The greater enemy is always the one we cannot see. And Sauron is already within the walls, disguised as a friend."

The words left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you had no choice but to listen. Your distrust of Galadriel would not vanish in an instant, nor would hers of you, but for now, the enemy of your enemy was the only ally you could afford.

Adar leaned forward, his tone shifting to something more serious. “The rings are Sauron’s means of domination. We must ensure that no elf or man falls prey to his scheme. If we are to stop him, we must first understand how he plans to use them. Galadriel, your knowledge will be crucial.”

The elf’s eyes softened slightly at the mention of Sauron, though the anger still simmered beneath. She nodded once, her lips pressed tightly together. “You will have my help, for now. But do not think this makes us allies in all things.”

“I would never assume such a thing,” Adar replied, his voice unyielding.

You remained silent, the weight of the conversation settling around you like a thick cloak. There was no going back from here. Whether you liked it or not, the battle against Sauron would require the strangest of alliances.

As the fire flickered and cast its shadows around the tent, you understood that you had little choice but to trust this fragile, temporary union. But the treacherous thoughts of Sauron’s plans and Galadriel’s motives twisted in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that even in your darkest hours, this alliance would be tested—perhaps beyond its breaking point.

The conversation had moved to one of dire importance—what must be done to thwart Sauron before he could fully execute his plans with the rings. And each of you had a different idea on how to go about it.

“I still say we sack Eregion,” you said bluntly, breaking the silence. “They’re already in league with Sauron, whether they know it or not. They are too far gone to be trusted.”

Adar gave you a sharp glance, though there was no surprise in his eyes. You had been consistent in your distrust of the Elves, and especially Galadriel. He didn’t argue the point, but his attention was focused on Galadriel. “Eregion may be useful yet. If we move quickly, we may still turn it into a fortress against Sauron.”

“Against Sauron?” you scoffed, leaning forward, your fists clenched. “The Elves there are already his pawns. Celebrimbor is as much a victim as he is a creator in this. They’re already blind to the truth, and no amount of protection will keep Sauron from using the rings to bind them.”

Galadriel’s voice cut through your anger, cool and measured. “Eregion’s fate is not for you to decide, Uruk. We do not need to destroy the city to save it.” Her gaze turned toward Adar, a glint of conviction in her eyes. “We need to draw Sauron out. We must make him confront us directly, not bury the city under a sea of blood.”

“Make him confront us?” you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. “Galadriel, he will be too preoccupied with forging the rings to care about your little games. He won’t be distracted by anything we throw at him.”

Adar nodded, adding, “The ring’s creation is Sauron’s ultimate goal. Anything else—any war we start, any battle we fight—will mean nothing to him while that task is unfinished. We will be ignored while his focus is on the rings.”

A flicker of something like uncertainty passed through Galadriel’s eyes, but she remained unyielding. “And that is why we must make him act. We cannot simply wait for him to finish his work. The city of Eregion is key to everything. It is not just a city; it is a symbol of what the Elves once believed. It is something Sauron will want to preserve, to claim fully. By drawing him out, we make him reveal his true face.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “You’re asking for Eregion to become a battlefield, Galadriel. You’re willing to sacrifice more lives, to let the city burn just so you can pull a puppet’s strings and make him dance for you? You’re playing into his hands.”

Galadriel’s gaze hardened. “I will not let a city fall to Sauron’s evil, not while I have the strength to prevent it. We must strike at him before he becomes too powerful to stop. If you cannot see the need to protect the people who still have a chance, then I fear you are as blind as those you condemn.”

Her words stung, but you were not willing to back down. “You cannot save them, Galadriel. Eregion is already lost. The rings will be forged, and Sauron will control them. No one—no one—will be able to stand against him once he wears the One Ring.”

Adar’s deep voice rumbled between you, quiet but with undeniable force. “Enough. The path forward is unclear, but Eregion does not have to fall as easily as you think, nor does it need to become a sacrifice to save the rest of Middle-earth.” He looked between the two of you, the firelight casting strange shadows on his face. “The point is, we must act. We can’t simply wait for Sauron’s power to grow while we bicker.”

The three of you were locked in a tense silence, each contemplating the words spoken. The arguments, the division, and the possible destruction of Eregion weighed heavily on your heart. Yet, you knew that the decision could not be delayed any longer.

At last, Galadriel broke the silence. “If we cannot stop him, then all will fall. But I will not sit idle while Eregion burns. You must understand—this city, this place, holds meaning to the Elves, and if we destroy it without a second thought, we risk losing not just a city but a crucial part of our will to fight.”

You scoffed under your breath, “Meaning? You want to preserve Eregion for your vanity, your pride, your nostalgia for a time when the Elves thought they could save Middle-earth. But Sauron has already won. You know it as well as I do.”

The fire crackled between you, but Adar, ever the mediator, held up a hand, stilling both of your hearts. “The city of Eregion stands as a piece of the puzzle. If it must burn for us to defeat Sauron, then it will. But, for now, we hold our actions with care. We shall wait, watch, and move when the time is right.” He paused, his gaze lingering on each of you. “Eregion’s fate will be decided in the heat of battle, not in the shadow of hesitation.”

For a moment, none of you spoke, each caught in the tumultuous thoughts that now filled the tent. The future of Eregion, the rings, and Sauron himself seemed impossibly tangled, and you knew, as the embers faded low, that the choices you made in the coming days would determine much more than just the fate of one city.

Adar turned to her fully, his expression unreadable. “You will be allowed to leave your chains, Galadriel. If you swear your allegiance to me.”

Her response was swift and scathing. “Allegiance to an ork?” She laughed bitterly, though there was a hardness in her gaze. “I will never bow to you.”

Adar’s gaze turned cold, his posture stiffening, but he did not raise his voice. “Then you will remain bound.”

Galadriel’s eyes flared with anger, but she did not back down. “I will not swear allegiance to you, but I can offer something else—my word. I will not harm you or your people while Sauron remains free. Once he is dealt with, then we will see what comes next.”

Adar studied her for a long moment, his face unreadable. Slowly, he nodded. “Then we have an understanding.”

He turned his gaze toward the camp, where the Uruks were already beginning to pack their things, their movements swift and efficient. "We will continue on to Eregion," he declared, his voice ringing with authority. "Our goal is clear—Sauron must be stopped, and we will not waste any more time."

Galadriel gave him a look, but there was nothing but resolve in his eyes. She could see the weight of his words, the conviction behind them. She could see that Adar would not be swayed, and for now, she could do little more than accept the uneasy truce.

The command to break camp had come swiftly from Adar, cutting through the morning mist like a blade. The Uruks, ever loyal and quick to respond, were already packing up, preparing for the long trek to Eregion. The air was heavy with urgency, and beneath the usual grim faces, there was a shared understanding that time was pressing.

You watched, your thoughts racing, as Adar gave one last glance at the camp—his eyes narrowing as they swept across the tents. His command was final, and you could see the mix of resolve and reluctance in his posture. His eyes briefly found yours, but you avoided his gaze. Instead, you focused on the group of Uruk families breaking their tents, gathering their children, and saying goodbye to the ones who would stay behind. It was a rare sight—this moment of vulnerability in their hard, jagged lives.

The families of the Uruks who had fought beside Adar were leaving, returning to Mordor. This was the hard part: the uncertainty. Some of them would never see their loved ones again. Others would depart in search of some shred of safety they could find in the shadow of Sauron’s ever-expanding empire.

As you watched the scenes unfold, Galadriel’s presence beside you went almost unnoticed at first. When you did register it, her sharp gaze seemed to linger on the departing families, the same keen eyes she had used on you in their earlier meetings. She watched them, her face unreadable, but there was a strange flicker of something unfamiliar in her features—almost awe. It wasn’t until one of the young Uruks said a quiet farewell to their mother, kissing her cheek and promising to return, that she spoke.

“I never imagined…” Galadriel trailed off, glancing at you, then back at the Uruks. “I never imagined they would show such… affection for one another.”

The tone in her voice was not one of simple observation—it was shock. You turned sharply to face her, your eyes hard. You had never asked her to understand, and in truth, you weren’t sure you wanted her to.

“What is so surprising about that?” you snapped, your voice cutting through the air like a whip. “These are living beings, with hearts, souls, and lives of their own. They are not your enemies simply because of their birth or the way they were shaped in the world.” You glared at her now, your frustration rising. “Perhaps if you weren’t so blinded by hate, ‘Lady of Light,’ you could see the potential within these souls.”

Galadriel’s brows furrowed, and for a moment, her face tightened in that same old pride, but her lips pressed together in silence. You could tell she wanted to argue, to respond with all the weight of centuries of experience, but instead, she simply stood there, as if the weight of your words had struck her harder than she’d expected. You didn’t wait for her to reply. You turned back toward the camp, feeling the rising tension in the air, and watched as Adar addressed the soldiers, his voice low but commanding.

“We continue to Eregion,” Adar’s voice rang out across the field, firm and clear. “Those not fit for battle will return to Mordor. Gather your families. Gather your belongings. We march at first light.”

A murmur rippled through the camp. You could see the weariness in their eyes, but you also saw the unshakable loyalty to Adar—the same loyalty that kept them bound to him, that kept them moving forward despite everything. Some of them—those without a direct battle ahead—would return to Mordor, uncertain of what awaited them.

But this was the cost of loyalty, the price of following a leader, even into the fires of conflict. You could hear children’s voices asking where their parents were going, watch as hands clutched tightly to bags and bundled-up belongings. You saw an Uruk father kneel beside his young daughter, pressing her into his chest before whispering some quiet reassurance in her ear. It was an unexpected tenderness in the chaos of war. You hated the wars, but you couldn’t ignore the depth of connection here.

Galadriel, standing beside you, finally spoke again, this time quieter. “What do you think will come of this? Do you believe this alliance will last?”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you glanced at her and then back at the departing Uruks. “It doesn’t matter,” you said, your voice low. “We’re all just trying to survive.”

And for the first time in what felt like ages, you almost believed that. That no matter how the world twisted and turned, it was survival that mattered most.

++++++++++

The army moved like a dark tide, slow yet relentless, each Uruk steady in their formation, their grim faces set with the knowledge of their purpose. The sun hung low, casting a pale golden light over the land as the march toward Eregion began in earnest. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth, the sky pregnant with the promise of rain. A cold wind swept through the ranks, stirring the banners that fluttered like dark birds overhead.

Adar, riding at the front, his cloak billowing behind him, set the pace with a steady confidence. He did not look back, his mind already focused on what lay ahead. Beside him, Galadriel remained silent, her hands still bound, but her eyes never ceased their watch over him and the army. The forces moved swiftly, a well-oiled machine with but one goal in mind: Eregion.

The Uruks did not speak much. There was little need for words as they marched, their focus sharpened by the heavy burden of purpose. They had followed Adar from the dark lands of Mordor to this moment, and now, with the enemy at their doorstep, they were ready. Each one felt the weight of their lord’s ambition, the burning desire for victory that had been etched into their very bones.

Behind them, you followed, your thoughts clouded with the path that lay before you. The tension between Adar and Galadriel simmered, but you knew that for now, the army’s unity was paramount. The road to Eregion was fraught with danger, and even the smallest misstep could bring ruin to their cause.

Yet, even as you marched alongside the Uruks, a sense of unease lingered. There was something too quiet about the land, as if the very earth knew that something dark was coming. The nearer they drew to Eregion, the heavier the weight on your shoulders became. There was no turning back now.

And so, the army marched forward, under the shadow of the mountains and the darkening sky, toward a city that would soon feel the crushing weight of Sauron’s ambition, whether it knew it or not.

++++++++++

After days of relentless marching, the army finally came to a halt, the tension in the air palpable as the Uruks began to set up camp. But this time, it was different. The camp was smaller—more practical. There were fewer tents, fewer luxuries, and the Uruks made do by crowding together in large groups. The usual sounds of hammers and anvil quieted as they settled down for the night, their voices hushed in the growing darkness.

You stood near the edge of the camp, watching as Adar made his way towards you, his tall figure cutting through the dimming light. The weariness in his movements was unmistakable, yet there was still a sharpness to his gaze, a sense of purpose that hadn't faltered since you first joined his army.

"You’ll have to share a tent with the others tonight," he said, his voice steady despite the long days behind him. "There are no extra tents for you. However, if you wish, I’ll take the floor and you may have a cot. It’ll be more comfortable than the ground."

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a faint smile as you met his gaze. “Comfortable? I’m not a soft elven princess who needs to be coddled, Adar. I can find a place in a tree to rest for the night. I’m used to it.”

Adar’s eyes softened for a moment, though the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I was merely offering,” he replied, voice low but with a touch of amusement. "You are far more... resilient than most."

“Resilient or foolish,” you muttered under your breath, though there was no malice in your tone. "But I’m fine."

As you prepared to leave for the trees, the camp settled into its quieter rhythm. The Uruks were grouped together, some huddled in their tents, others gathered around small fires. You slipped away from the murmurs, heading towards the shadows where the trees loomed, but you didn’t expect her to speak up.

Galadriel’s voice rang out, cutting through the air, sharp and cold. “Of course, you would go off alone,” she said with a mocking smile. “Too similar to Morgoth to tolerate the presence of others, isn’t that right?”

Her words struck a chord deep within you, the sting of past wounds threatening to rise to the surface. You paused for a moment, fingers tightening around the strap of your pack. You had no intention of rising to her bait, but before you could take another step, you heard Adar’s voice, firm and commanding.

“Enough, Galadriel,” he said, his tone colder than the night air around them. “Even though we are currently allies, I will not tolerate insults toward her.” His voice was low, but his words carried the weight of authority, silencing her immediately. “She has suffered more than you can ever know. You have no right to speak to her as you just did.”

The tension in the air was palpable. Galadriel’s gaze flickered to Adar, but she remained silent, clearly not accustomed to being confronted in such a way.

You turned to face them both, surprised at the heat in Adar’s voice, and even more surprised by the quiet defiance in his stance. Galadriel’s expression shifted, but she didn’t say a word. Adar’s eyes, however, remained fixed on her, unwavering, and something in his posture told you he wouldn’t tolerate further argument.

As you made your way through the trees, your mind churned with Galadriel’s words. Too close to Morgoth to tolerate the presence of others. You couldn’t deny the sting of truth in her words, though you hated it. You had become isolated over the years, drawing further away from the very people you fought alongside. The Uruks saw it, too, didn’t they? They needed to trust you, to fight beside you. And yet, how could you expect them to when you remained an outsider, too removed from them to be anything more than a silent, enigmatic figure?

Your hand instinctively tightened around your pack, the weight of it grounding you in your thoughts. The question, as it often did, hovered in the back of your mind: how much of your own suffering should you show? You had never been one to wear your wounds on your sleeve, and the nightmares that haunted you at night were only for you to endure. The fear of weakness, of being vulnerable, was a constant companion. Sometimes, they were so vivid that you could still hear the screams, the overwhelming terror. The worst of them were those where the very nature of your power—your healing, your past—turned against you, transforming into a poison you couldn’t control.

You stopped and leaned against the trunk of a tree, closing your eyes for a moment. Perhaps Galadriel had a point. If you truly meant to stand with the Uruks, to fight alongside them and win their trust, you couldn’t remain hidden in the trees like a ghost. But every part of you screamed against it. What if I fall apart? What if they see me like this?

In the end, you knew it was a decision you couldn’t avoid forever. The journey, the battle, the survival of your people—everything depended on unity. And if that meant stepping out of the shadows, at least for a time, you would have to do it.

With a deep breath, you turned and made your way back toward the camp, your thoughts heavy with the weight of the decision. You didn’t want to sleep in one of their tents—not yet. There was still too much distance between you and them for that kind of closeness. But you couldn’t hide in the trees forever. You needed to prove yourself, even if it meant letting your guard down just a little.

You approached the nearest fire, where a few Uruks were seated around it, eating and speaking in low tones. They didn’t look up at first, but you could feel their eyes on you when you laid your pack down next to the fire, sitting cross-legged and quietly watching the flames. You kept your gaze away from them, letting the heat of the fire warm you, but not quite letting yourself engage. It was a small step—perhaps not as open as they might have hoped—but it was something. And for now, that would have to be enough.

+++++++++++

The sharp smell of sulfur and burnt flesh fills your nostrils as you are pulled through the dark, your limbs too weak to resist, but too full of pain to care. You know where this path leads. It always leads to him. The agony is a familiar presence, gnawing, relentless.

Morgoth’s form looms above you, monstrous in his power and cruelty. His eyes burn like the dark heart of Angband itself, and his laughter, low and cruel, echoes in your mind as you are thrown into the cold, damp stone chamber.

"Still so defiant," his voice rumbles, sending shivers of fear through your very bones. "I will break you, as I have broken so many before you."

The shackles on your wrists feel like they could tear your flesh, pulling your arms high above your head, suspended by a chain that rattles against the stone like a warning. Please, no more...

But it doesn’t stop. It never stops.

You can feel the weight of his presence as he stands before you, the oppressive shadow of his malice suffocating your breath. His gauntlet-clad hand brushes across your face, and you can’t help but flinch. The touch is cold, like ice on your skin, and a twisted thrill courses through his veins at the sight of your discomfort.

"Begging? Or do you wish to pretend you have any strength left?" he taunts, his voice thick with malice.

You stare back at him through clenched teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you broken. But the pain in your limbs—an ache that goes deeper than flesh—makes your resolve tremble. The horror of what lies ahead is not physical pain alone, but the fear of what he might take from you next.

"Look at you, so proud," Morgoth mocks, his breath like molten metal against your ear. "Do you think your pride will save you? Or your people?"

His words twist, wrapping around your mind like a suffocating vine. Your people... The ones you had failed. The ones who had died because of you. The ones who had believed in you, only to fall in agony as you had. He knows this. Morgoth knows your deepest guilt, and he uses it to wound you.

With a motion too fast to track, he strikes you, his hand coming down with the force of a thousand stones. Your head snaps back, and for a brief, fleeting moment, the world tilts.

It’s only a moment. But it is long enough for him to grab your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. Those eyes. They burn through your soul.

"You will beg for death by the time I am through with you," he whispers, the words more of a promise than a threat.

The pain surges once more, as if his words themselves are weapons, digging into your mind, your heart. Your body trembles under the weight of it, as if your very soul is being peeled away by the fingers of darkness.

And you can do nothing.

Suddenly, the world shifts. His cruel, mocking face blurs into the blackness, and the edges of your vision fade in and out. 

You feel the cold touch of hands on your shoulders, pulling you from the depths of your own mind.

You react without thinking. In a swift, instinctive movement, your body springs to action. Your hand shoots out, grasping a knife by your side, and with a speed born of terror, you press the blade to a throat that isn’t Morgoth’s.

A voice, calm and commanding, cuts through the haze of your terror.

“Breathe,” Adar’s voice is low, steady, as if he knows exactly what has happened. His voice does not waver, despite the blade now pressing against his skin. “You’re here, in the camp, not in those caves.”

For a moment, you don’t register his words. The memories from your nightmare still claw at you, the agony of Morgoth’s touch clouding your vision. You’re trembling, breath shallow, your pulse hammering. The urge to lash out again is strong, but something in Adar’s tone catches your attention. He’s not struggling, not panicking—there’s no anger, no fear in his voice. Just an unsettling calm.

“Look up,” Adar urges, his words soft but unyielding. He doesn’t move his hand, just holds still beneath the cold edge of your blade. “Look up and see the stars. You’re free of him now.”

The mention of the stars—so distant, so precious—pierces through the fog of your terror. Slowly, carefully, you raise your eyes from the blade pressed against Adar’s throat, lifting your gaze to the dark sky above. The stars are scattered across the night like shards of light, cold and distant, but they are there.

The present. The now.

Adar’s eyes meet yours, dark and unblinking. “You’re safe here,” he murmurs again, as if saying it enough might make the words true.

For a long moment, you don’t speak, your breath still ragged in your chest. Slowly, reluctantly, you lower the knife, its cold steel scraping against his skin before it drops to your side. Adar doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move, as though he’s seen this before. He stays completely still, waiting for you to come back to the reality around you.

You blink up at the stars once more, letting the distant light anchor you back in the present. And for a fleeting moment, as the adrenaline fades, you wonder just how much of this—this darkness, this war—is something you’ll ever truly escape.

The remnants of the nightmare cling to you as you stagger away from Adar, your body still trembling, your mind racing. You want to retreat back to the silence of the trees, away from the camp, away from the reminder that you’re not alone. That your suffering is not yours alone to bear.

"I—I’m sorry," you stammer, voice barely a whisper as you stumble backward. The words feel hollow, inadequate in the face of what just transpired. It’s not just the nightmare, but the rawness of your vulnerability that makes you want to flee. To hide from everything.

But before you can take another step, Adar’s hand catches your arm gently, but with an unyielding grip. His touch is firm yet patient, grounding you, even as the tension in your body makes you want to jerk away.

"Don't turn away from me," Adar says quietly, his voice soft, but the command is there, buried deep within the words. "You don’t need to hide from me. Not now."

You swallow, the weight of his words sinking into you. You don’t know what you expect, but it's not this—this insistence that he’s here for you, despite the darkness that surrounds him, despite the brutality that he represents to others.

His hand on your arm is steady, and you find yourself resisting the urge to pull away. Your mind is still reeling from the nightmare, and the terror lingers in your chest, but the steadiness in his touch, the quiet confidence, keeps you in place. His eyes meet yours, dark and unwavering, waiting for you to make the choice.

"Come with me," he says, his tone gentle, as if trying to coax you through the storm in your mind. "You need rest. And you need not be alone."

You don’t answer immediately. A part of you wants to protest, to retreat back into your solitude. But as you stand there, his hand warm on your arm, the sound of the camp stirring around you, the promise of safety, of not being alone for once, feels like a balm to the frayed edges of your spirit.

With a hesitant breath, you let Adar guide you forward, your steps slow but steady. Your mind is still clouded, but the reassurance of his presence eases some of the weight pressing on your chest. When you reach his tent, Adar steps aside to allow you in, his demeanor still patient, as though he’s waiting for you to make the final decision.

You don't say anything as you step inside, letting the familiar warmth of the canvas shelter envelop you, and for the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to not be alone.

Adar leads you into the small, dimly lit tent. The air is thick with the smell of earth and the remnants of the fire from outside, but it feels like a temporary refuge. As you step in, your limbs are heavy, your mind still clouded by the remnants of the nightmare, but there’s a strange sense of safety in his presence.

He gestures toward the bedding, the fur and blankets spread out on the floor. "Lie down," he says softly. "Rest. I’ll stand guard."

You hesitate for a moment, glancing at the space before you. It feels strange to trust someone, especially him, of all people. But the pull of exhaustion is overwhelming. Your body is tired, the weight of the night’s fear settling in your bones. You finally obey, easing yourself onto the bedding, and try to make yourself comfortable, but the idea of sleep still looms over you like a shadow.

Adar stands near the entrance, his posture tall, vigilant. You open your mouth before you can stop yourself. “And how will you fight off the nightmares?” you ask, half-joking, your voice carrying a slight edge of sarcasm. It’s easier to tease him than face the fear you’re feeling.

He turns toward you, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable in the dim light, but there’s a quiet humor in his response. “With my bare hands, if need be,” he says, a small smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

It’s an odd response—one you don’t quite know how to handle—but it works to break the tension between you, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of the nightmare seems less oppressive.

Adar starts to move toward the other side of the tent, where his own bedding is laid out. It’s clear that he intends to give you space, to remain distant, as if maintaining his usual wariness even here, even now. But before he can take another step, you find yourself speaking without thinking.

“Stay close,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. The vulnerability is sharp, biting, and you almost regret it as soon as the request leaves your lips.

Adar pauses, looking at you over his shoulder. For a moment, there’s silence. Then, with a single nod, he turns and sits beside you, lowering himself to the floor near your head. His presence is a quiet weight, comforting in its stillness.

The air between you feels thick, but not with tension. Rather, it’s a shared understanding—a silent agreement. His form is just there, beside you, and though neither of you speak of it, the proximity is grounding.

His voice breaks the silence, low and steady. "When I was young," he begins, his tone almost distant as though he's recalling something long buried, "I used to sit by the banks of Beleriand, watching the stars. They were like beacons, calling to me, lighting the way through all the darkness."

You remain still, listening. His words are soft, and though they carry a weight of history, there’s something oddly soothing about them. "The stars," he continues, his voice almost a whisper now, "they reminded me that even the darkest nights would end. That there’s always light somewhere, even if we can’t see it."

There’s a quiet reverence in his voice, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sound of his words wash over you. His hand brushes against the edge of your blanket, but he doesn’t touch you. Still, it’s enough. His words are enough.

The faintest smile tugs at the corner of your mouth as you try to drift off, and for once, the fear of what lingers in the dark seems just a little bit further away.

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

so this is more organized. Here is the mood board:

and here is the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56012458/chapters/142256080

Summary:

It's the Siege of Ost-in-Edhil. Sauron is busy conquering the city and torturing Celebrimbor. But he is also playing a twisted game of KFM. He locks Galadriel in a cell with Adar, and gives them both sex pollen from a flower that grew near Utumno. Sauron's happy to let Galadriel KILL Adar, who has betrayed him. But Sauron is also happy if Adar and she FUCK, so that Adar is the one to painfully break her marriage bond to Celeborn. And Sauron will be happiest of all when he forces Galadriel to MARRY him and be his Queen. Sauron is off-screen for this story, as Galadriel and Adar try to cope with the sex pollen, separately and together.

I wrote this before S2, with only trailers to help me guess what might happen. I thought that Adar's display of Galadriel was intended to be Sauron bait, not a discouragement for attacking Elves. So in this, Sauron takes the bait, beats up Adar and imprisons him, and takes over the Uruks outside Eregion.

I liked turning "I would rather marry an orc" into a plot. The hardest part of writing this fiction was keeping it light-hearted despite the sex essentially being noncon for both of them. I tried to keep it as silly as possible, with Galadriel's attempt at talking dirty, the culture clash of how Elves vs. Moriondor have sex, and both of them teasing each other.

I would write a sequel if only I could figure out what they do after escaping.

BADDYDADDY SEX POLLEN FIC

[ann-atar]

More thoughts about Adar's origins ...

Galadriel assumed he was one of the Moriondor -- a way to refer to elves that were made into the first orcs via torture by Morgoth right after the elves awoke/were created that's specific to Rings of Power -- but Adar doesn't confirm or deny this.

An earlier conversation with Arondir has him describing what sounds like a peaceful pre-war scenery that they might have in common, so he could be a Years of Trees or First Age Noldo who settled in Beleriand, which would mean he was tortured and turned into an Uruk after the Moriondor were corrupted by Morgoth. But who knows??

I know trying to make Tolkien and TROP timelines and places match up is a recipe for confusion, but they've scattered a few crumbs about Adar's past that I assume we're meant to follow. And since we already have an elf -- Arondir -- who's original to TROP and is an everyman-hero, the farmer turned soldier who identifies with the common people among Men, it stands to reason (???) that they wouldn't give us two elves among the main and supporting cast who were completely original to the series, so who IS Adar?

I'm going to go with someone presumed dead, and a Noldo, so maybe Fingon (of the Fingolfin)? Or someone from the House of Finwë who might be known to Celebrimbor?

I realize that there's reaching and then there's this, but I'm mildly obsessed with finding out who Adar is/was, and if he is someone from one of the wars and not simply "one of the Moriondor," I think his identity might Surprise Some Elves and possibly infuriate some fans.

[attheexactlyrighttimeandplace]

Some last minute thoughts and wishes before episode 7 comes and become the game changer that will ruin all theories.

I don't know if i lost for good my theory that the Stranger was Sauron because episode 5 ruined it almost completely but not totally.

I guess he wasn't wrong to wake up grumpy (and to kill few fireflies or bend the trees and make the land tremble in the process) after being sent like a meteorit to the other side of Midde Earth, and after ending with half of his brain so fried that he couldn't remember his name and even started eating paper.

So let's say he's an istari, possibly even Gandalf or Saroumane, asked to carry the mission to help the side of the elves and humans to form an alliance against Sauron, how did the Valar know that Sauron was going to make his move even though he was hiding under a different form all this time and acting like a deceiver? Even the eruption of Mount Doom wasn't his work unless Adar lied and he is Sauron.

Did they really sent a powerful maia for one moriondor and hundred orcs that an army of 500 Nùmenoreans has beat easily? If it wasn't for the hilt, Adar would have been completely defeated.

Did they foresee that the hilt will be discover and chaos will ensue? Then why not sent their messenger directly to the Southlands to retrieve it before the dark forces could put their hands on it? And why sent him in this miserable state? Has he been attacked during his trip by the Mystics and is it the reason of his amnesia? Was he forced to change his destination? Is the fire without a heat felt by Nori just a maia thing, shared by Sauron in Morgoth's lair?

In all cases, if this theory is crushed, it won't be my biggest regret because i wanted it to be true only for Nori's character development and the fact that she was never be exposed to corruption and deceit before him. It would have been too a good explanation of why Sauron doesnt' take the Hobbits seriously.

My biggest regret would be, after rereading all those old arguments i wrote and left in my drafts, for my other favourite theory to not be true either: Arondir as Sauron.

I don't have the time and the space to explain all my reasons but damn if he wouldn't have been the best Sauron!

I mean physically, intellectually and strategically (well except for the way he has hidden the hilt), he's so superior to everyone surrounding him, including the other elves of his company.

I've rewatched since few hours all his scenes and few facts surprised me: like he's been in every episode of season 1. The only other character with Galadriel to have been constantly on screen, and sometimes even when the the Southlanders were absent (episode 3 Adar), though he didn't have the same number of scenes as Galadriel of course.

The thought of Arondir being more than he seems hit me again while watching him defending alone Ostirith. It struck me that his speed, strength, and agility were on a level i've never seen any elf shown before, except Galadriel (when she killed the troll) As an elf, of course, he's gifted with many supernatural abilities: piercing sight as confirmed by Galadriel during her talk with Isildur, and piercing hearing as showed by Elrond when he spied on Durin and Disa, but Arondir has always been different: he has always dominated everyone else, in every way. A true image of grace and balance, of perfection even during fights. Something i imagine that Sauron would want to project, as being himself obsessed by Order and Control.

It's hard to deny that he's beautiful as a fallen angel should be and the casting magnificently reflects that. It's not a shallow comment: everything about Ismael Cruz Cordova's look conveys the idea there's something surnatural about his appearance even for an elf: from the natural elegance of his movement to his gorgeous skin color. In return he's attracted by beauty: by the human fragile beauty of Bronwyn, by the wild beauty of The Southlands. He said to Bronwyn: "beauty has a great power to heal the soul" and that's how i imagine that Sauron would have tried to heal his soul from his past actions as the "beautiful servant": immersing himself in the beauty.

He didn't want to leave the Mordor Southlands with his company. a place that combines beauty (it has recovered from the destruction of war) and darkness (their inhabitants are still the descendent of the men who are linked by a blood oath to Morgoth). Arondir has always assumed the fact that he was drawn to this land and its inhabitants, which makes perfect sense if he's Sauron considering his connection to Orodruin.

In episode 1, he went alone in the tunnels which shows an incredible confidence in his ability to survive, and surprisingly almost no fear, not even after he saw the devastation inflicted on the village of Haldern.

He never sent for help from the other elves (it's strange that nobody reacted in Lindon to this garrison that never came back home, despite the king's order to disband the outpost).

In episode 3, he fought and reacted with a precision that is mindblowing and that no other elf of his company showed (not even the watchwarden): during the escape attempt, he was the only one bold enough to take an axe and destroy the tent that was hiding the orcs from the sun, strong enough to chain the warg alone, restrained it alone and killed it alone (in a spectacular move). This scene is only surpassed by his fight with the giant orc in episode 6.

In episode 4, after he was freed by Adar and returned to the village, he sliced an orc (using Galadriel's technique shown in episode 5) as if he had done that all his life, while he was supposed to have never seen one before. He said to the watchwarden that he was a sower before his assignment to the Southlands, but the region was supposed to be in peace since the defeat of Morgoth and the escape of Sauron (Adar said that Sauron had gathered all the last evil forces and lead them to the extreme north).

And later in the forest when Theo and him were pursued by the orcs, the way he avoided and caught an arrow with his bare hand and sent it back, killing the orc he targeted all while never stopping, was incredible.

But it's in episode 6 that the clues seem the most significative: one of them was when Adar was inside Ostirith tower before its fall, and Waldreg and an orc came at the same time to talk to him. The dialogues were a strange merger between these two discussions as if they were about the same person, whereas the orc was talking about Arondir while Waldreg was talking about Sauron:

Waldreg: Meaning no offense, Lord-father, but where is he? What happened to Sauron?

The Orc: Can't find tooth nor tail of him. Must've got smart and scarpered.

Adar: No. The Elf's here. I smell him.

And like i said, he destroyed alone the watchtower, plus his fight with the giant orc in the village was spectacular in every way.

I like him too as Sauron, because i like the parallels he had with Adar: the connection through the seeds, the promise of a new Eden/life made to Bronwyn after the battle while Adar promised a home to his orcs, their past meetings in which they didn't try to kill each other while having every reason to do so, the idea that instead the writers opted for a game between the two dark leaders: Arondir/Sauron trying to stop Adar to find the sword hilt and using the men of Bronwyn's village to fight for him again, unknown to them, and slow down Adar.

Not every details matches this theory of course: he was shown as being in love with Bronwyn though he never said the words, but can Sauron love or does he only fake it? He did a bad job with the hilt from his failure at hiding it to his inability to recognize it had been replaced by an axe, but did he really want to stop Adar at the end? Or was he pissed off that Halbrand was "crowned" in front of him (the camera focused on Galadriel and him in this moment: he seemed surprised/shocked by this sudden action, while Galadriel was cheering Halbrand, waiting for him to say yes when he was asked by Bronwyn if he was the king promised)? If so, it would explain why he didn''t check the hilt Galadriel gave him: Arondir was shown trying to destroy it for few long minutes before the battle. Even as a simple elf, he had very good eyes to notice details and would have recognized the difference in the weight and form with the axe, under the burlap in which it was wrapped. And if he was Sauron, he had every reason to say nothing: he wanted the land for himself and so he abandoned his attempt to stop Adar, who became conveniently the new Sauron, a fake one, but enough convincing to be shipped to Nùmenor while Arondir heads to Eregion.

I wish it was the case because there was never on the show a character as charismatic and powerful (except the Stranger), as good in term of characterization, certainly not Halbrand, to play the part of Sauron.