#Adar x you

[earthlybeam]

https://www.tumblr.com/earthlybeam/773181417454731264/could-i-request-how-glorfindel-celebrimbor-and?source=share

Please Thranduil, Gil galad and Adar version.🙏🏻

How would Thranduil, Gil-Galad, Adar react to a reader who possesses magical healing powers similar to Rapunzel in Tangled?

The you the reader’s long as (your own hair colour) but turns golden and glows when you sing a special song, releasing healing magic that can heal wounds, cure sickness, and even restore life. Their magic, known as “Healing Magic” or “Sun Magic,” is connected to the power of the sun and can even reverse aging.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The battlefield was chaos incarnate, a cacophony of screams and the relentless clash of steel against steel. The once-pristine forest now bore the scars of war—trees felled and splintered, their ancient roots charred by fire; the earth trampled and soaked in blood. Smoke hung low over the field, thick and suffocating, carrying with it the acrid stench of burning flesh. Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, stood at the heart of the fray, a vision of deadly grace. His twin swords gleamed silver, moving with an elegance that belied their lethality. Each stroke was precise, each step deliberate, his cloak of rich green and gold billowing as he cut through the oncoming horde of orcs. He was a storm given form, the light of his kingdom’s ancient glory flickering amidst the dark tide of death.

His every movement was a dance, his swords singing as they found their mark in one foe after another. The king’s fair face was streaked with ash and blood, his long platinum hair pulled back and gleaming even in the dim, smoke-streaked light. But even he, for all his centuries of skill, could not outpace every shadow on the battlefield. It happened too quickly. A hulking orc, its monstrous figure obscured in the gloom, stepped into view behind him. Its mace—a jagged, cruel thing bristling with spikes—rose high into the air. Thranduil sensed it a moment too late, the looming presence casting a shadow that fell across him like a shroud. He turned, his blades already lifting to counter, but the swing came faster. The weapon descended with brutal force, slamming into his side.

The sound was awful: a wet, crunching thud as the spikes of the mace punctured his armor, rending both metal and flesh. The impact sent him flying, his body twisting through the air before he hit the ground with bone-jarring force. Pain exploded in his ribs, sharp and unrelenting, spreading through him like wildfire. His breath left him in a choked gasp, the coppery taste of blood rising in his throat. For a moment, the world tilted, the edges of his vision darkening as the cacophony of battle grew muffled. Thranduil’s silver and leafed crown, once a proud emblem of his majesty, was knocked from his head, tumbling into the dirt and disappearing amidst the debris of war. The blood pouring from his side stained the fine emerald and gold embroidery of his robes, the fabric now torn and clinging to his trembling frame. He lay there for a moment, his hands clutching at the earth beneath him as he fought to draw breath. The air felt thick, heavy with smoke and the weight of his wounds.

But Thranduil was no ordinary elf. Pain did not cow him; it only sharpened the fire that burned in his heart. With a groan that turned into a snarl, he forced himself onto his knees, though every movement sent searing agony through his battered body. His twin swords, once extensions of his will, now lay discarded in the dirt mere feet away. He reached for them, but his hand faltered, trembling as his strength waned. Blood dripped from his fingers, mingling with the darkened earth. His vision swam, but he refused to fall further. Raising his head, he cast his gaze upon the enemy advancing toward him. His ice-blue eyes, piercing and unyielding, burned with a fury that not even the weight of his injuries could extinguish. His face, marred by streaks of blood and ash, was a portrait of defiance—a king who would not bow, not even at the edge of death. His lips curled in a snarl, sharp and regal, a promise of retribution to all who dared cross him.

The orcs closed in, their grotesque laughter and guttural snarls filling the air as they saw the king of the Woodland Realm kneeling, vulnerable yet unbroken. His breath hitched, each intake shallow and ragged, but his eyes never left them. He would not beg. He would not surrender. He would face them as he always had—unyielding, even if the next moment would claim him. The ground beneath him was stained with his blood, but it would not claim his spirit. For even in his pain, Thranduil was a king, and his defiance was eternal.

But then, through the din of battle, a sound reached him—faint at first, like a thread of light breaking through a storm. It grew louder, clearer, cutting through the oppressive haze of pain clouding his mind. “Thranduil!” It was your voice. Desperate, raw, and filled with something that pierced deeper than any blade. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, opened just enough to see you. You were a vision amidst the chaos, a beacon of light in a world consumed by darkness.

Your hair, flowing behind you like a cascade of starlight, caught the faintest glimmers of light from the fires raging around you. You ran toward him, the edges of your robes sweeping over the blood-soaked ground, heedless of the danger that surrounded you. “No,” he rasped, his voice barely audible over the chaos. The word tore from his throat, hoarse and pained. “Stay back… it’s not safe.” His chest heaved with the effort, the agony radiating from his wounds threatening to pull him back into darkness. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t falter. His warning fell on deaf ears as you reached his side, dropping to your knees with a grace that seemed incongruous amidst the destruction around you.

The sight of him—the proud Elvenking brought so low—struck you like a dagger to the heart. His once-pristine armor was battered and streaked with blood, rents in the metal exposing pale skin that now glistened with sweat and the crimson stains of his own lifeblood. His hair, always so immaculate, was matted with ash and dirt, tangled around his face. His ice-blue eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, were dulled by pain, their focus flickering. And yet, even in his broken state, there was a defiant beauty to him—a majesty that the battlefield could not entirely strip away.

You bit back a sob, your hands trembling as they reached out to him. Gently, you cupped his face, your fingers brushing away streaks of dirt and blood. His skin was unnaturally cold beneath your touch, and the realization sent a jolt of fear through you. “Thranduil,” you whispered, your voice breaking with the weight of your emotions. “Hold on. I can save you.” His brows furrowed faintly at your words, his expression softening into something almost apologetic. He tried to shake his head, but the effort was weak, a mere twitch against your hand. “Futile,” he murmured, his voice rough, a shadow of the commanding tone it once held. “You cannot—”

“You can’t tell me that,” you interrupted, your voice fierce despite the tears that threatened to spill. “Don’t you dare give up on me, Thranduil.” Your fingers moved to your hair, trembling but determined, brushing through the silken strands as if seeking something. “Trust me,” you whispered, your tone laced with an urgency that left no room for doubt. For a moment, he looked at you—truly looked at you, as though seeing you for the first time. He wanted to argue, to demand that you leave him, that you save yourself and let him face whatever fate awaited him alone. But there was something in your eyes, a conviction so powerful that it stilled the words on his tongue. He exhaled shakily, his gaze softening, the fight leaving him as he closed his eyes. “Do… what you must,” he whispered, his voice so faint that it was almost lost to the cacophony of the battle raging around you. His head fell forward slightly, resting against your hand, as though surrendering to the only hope left to him—you.

You pressed a section of your hair to his wound, your hands trembling as the silky strands turned dark with his blood. The sight of it—the contrast between the glowing silver of your hair and the deep crimson staining it—was almost too much to bear, but you steeled yourself. Your heart thundered in your chest as you leaned closer, your lips parting to release a melody that seemed to rise from the very depths of your soul. The words were ancient, a song of healing passed down through countless generations, yet it felt as though they were yours alone in that moment. “Flower, gleam and glow, Let your powers shine, Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates’ design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine, What once was mine…”

As the melody spilled from your lips, it seemed to weave itself into the very air around you, a thread of light in the darkness. The battlefield, filled with the clamor of swords and the screams of the wounded, seemed to fade away, drowned out by the power of your voice. The air shimmered, bending to the ancient magic that laced your words. Your hair began to glow, softly at first, then brighter, golden and radiant as though a thousand stars had descended to touch the earth. The light spread from the strands touching his wound, rippling outward in waves that illuminated the battlefield in a warm, otherworldly glow. It wrapped around Thranduil like a cocoon, the edges of the light flickering and pulsing in rhythm with your song.

Thranduil gasped softly, the sound almost imperceptible beneath your melody. His breathing hitched as the warmth of your magic seeped into him, driving out the icy chill that had begun to spread through his body. He could feel it—the jagged edges of his wound knitting together, the sharp agony replaced by a gentle tingling warmth. It was unlike anything he had ever known, this power—ancient, unyielding, yet impossibly tender. It felt as though it carried not just magic, but the essence of you: your love, your hope, your determination. You continued to sing, your voice unwavering even as tears slipped down your cheeks. Each word carried a piece of your heart, the raw emotion of your plea saturating the melody. The light around him grew brighter, until it was as if the darkness of the battlefield had been banished entirely.

When your voice finally faltered, the last notes of the song lingering in the air like a soft sigh, you opened your eyes. Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away, desperate to see him. The sight before you stole your breath. Thranduil lay still for a moment, but the deathly pallor of his skin was gone, replaced by a healthy, luminous glow. His face, once twisted with pain, was now calm, his breathing steady and deep. The terrible wound that had marred his side was no longer there; in its place was smooth, unbroken skin, as if the injury had never existed.

He stirred, his body shifting slightly as a soft groan escaped his lips. Slowly, his lashes fluttered, lifting to reveal the piercing blue of his gaze—those sharp, icy eyes that you had feared you’d never see open again. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world stilled. The chaos of the battlefield, the distant cries of war, the acrid stench of smoke—all of it melted away. There was only him, alive and breathing, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that made your heart ache. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken feelings. Then, tentatively, his hand lifted. His fingers, long and elegant despite the strength they carried, brushed against your glowing hair. There was a reverence in his touch, a gentleness that seemed to belie the fierce warrior you knew him to be. His fingers lingered, tracing the silken strands that still shimmered faintly with the remnants of your magic.

“This power,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and heavy with wonder. “It is… beautiful.” His gaze softened as his fingers continued to brush through your hair. “You are beautiful.” The sincerity in his voice broke something inside you. A laugh, shaky and raw, escaped your lips, but it was edged with the sob you were desperately holding back. “You scared me,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I thought I’d lost you.”

He exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You saved me,” he said, his tone soft but filled with a gravity that left no room for doubt. “You brought me back from the edge.” His hand moved from your hair to cover your own, where it rested against his chest. His touch was warm and steady, grounding you in a way nothing else could. “You are a light in this dark world,” he continued, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. “A gift unlike any other.” The intensity of his words stole your breath. His gaze held yours, unflinching and full of a gratitude so profound it felt almost sacred. For a moment, the battlefield felt like a distant memory. It was just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of your magic and the bond that had grown between you—stronger now, forged in the crucible of pain and salvation.

With a quiet groan, Thranduil began to sit up, his movements slow but steady as his strength returned. You instinctively reached out to steady him, your hand brushing his arm, but he managed to rise on his own. Once upright, he turned to you, his face inches from yours, and cupped your cheek in his hand. His palm was warm against your skin, the touch as tender as it was deliberate. “I owe you my life,” he said, his voice low but resolute, the words carrying the weight of a vow. “And I do not give my loyalty lightly.” His thumb brushed gently against your cheek, the gesture almost reverent. “Whatever happens next, know this—you will always have my gratitude…” He hesitated, the pause laden with emotion. “And my heart.”

The breath hitched in your throat, his words wrapping around you like a promise. Your lips parted to respond, but no words came. What could you possibly say to match the depth of what he had just given you? Before you could find your voice, the distant clash of swords and the roar of battle intruded, reminding you both that the world outside this moment still burned with chaos. Thranduil’s gaze shifted briefly toward the horizon, his expression hardening as he returned to the present. He rose to his feet fully now, the regal air of the Elvenking settling over him once more. Reaching down, he retrieved his twin swords, the blades gleaming wickedly in the faint light. Yet even as he turned his attention to the battle, there was a tenderness in his movements—a lingering connection that tethered him to you.

He looked back at you, his expression fierce but softened by the depth of feeling in his eyes. “Stay close to me,” he commanded, his voice carrying the authority of a king but tempered with a warmth reserved only for you. “We will finish this together.” You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you rose to your feet. The faint glow of your magic still clung to you, casting a soft light around the both of you as you prepared to rejoin the fray. As he turned and led you back into the chaos, his steps sure and steady, you knew this moment had irrevocably changed everything. Thranduil, the proud and unyielding Elvenking, now carried a piece of your light within him. And as you followed him into the darkness, you knew that bond—born in pain and sealed in magic—would endure, unbroken, through whatever trials lay ahead.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The battlefield sprawled endlessly, a bleak wasteland of shattered bodies and broken steel, shrouded in a choking veil of smoke that turned the midday sun into a faint, amber glow. The acrid stench of blood mingled with the sharp tang of burnt wood and ash, thickening the air with the weight of destruction. The earth beneath your feet was churned and uneven, soaked with the lifeblood of countless warriors. Broken banners lay tangled in the debris, their colors dulled and meaningless amidst the carnage. The distant clash of swords, the guttural cries of orcs, and the anguished screams of the wounded faded into a dull, unrelenting roar, like the heartbeat of the dying world itself. Yet none of it mattered.

Your eyes locked on the crumpled figure just ahead, half-hidden in the shadows cast by a shattered marble column. The remnants of the once-proud structure jutted into the ashen sky, stark against the ruin, a silent testament to the fury of the battle that had raged here. And there, slumped against its jagged base, was Gil-galad. His silver armor, which had once gleamed like starlight, was a grim ruin. Deep rents marred its surface, the intricate etchings of elven craftsmanship obscured by the soot and blood that coated every inch. The flowing blue of his cloak was torn and blackened, clinging limply to his frame, weighted down by dirt and gore. His once-proud form, so commanding and unyielding in the heat of battle, now seemed small and vulnerable, as though the world itself had turned against him.

A jagged gash tore across his chest, the edges of the wound raw and angry. Blood pooled beneath him in dark, viscous streaks, soaking into the dirt and spreading like an ominous shadow. Each shallow rise and fall of his chest was an agonizing labor, his breath coming in uneven, rasping gasps that rattled through his body. His head, once held high with the regal bearing of a king, rested limply against the column, his hair—normally as radiant as molten silver—now clinging to his face in damp, matted strands streaked with grime. “Ereinion!” you cried, your voice breaking as you rushed toward him, your heart pounding with a desperate urgency. Dropping to your knees beside him, the impact sent a jolt through your body, but you hardly noticed. Your hands hovered over him, trembling, as you struggled to comprehend the sight before you. The image of him—majestic and unshakable—was seared into your mind, making the frailty before you all the more unbearable.

His head lolled weakly toward the sound of your voice, the faint motion almost imperceptible. The once-brilliant light of his eyes, so piercing and filled with unyielding resolve, was dulled and unfocused, shadowed with pain. His gaze flickered, struggling to find you through the haze that clouded his vision. “You…” he rasped, his voice faint and broken, barely louder than the rustle of the wind through the battlefield. “You shouldn’t… be here.”

Each word was a laborious effort, his breath hitching between syllables, as if even the act of speaking threatened to drain the last reserves of his strength. His lips, cracked and pale, trembled as he tried to form more words, but the effort was too much. He winced, a low, pained sound escaping him as his body sagged further against the column, his armor groaning faintly with the movement. “It’s… not safe,” he managed at last, his voice no more than a whisper. His eyes met yours for a fleeting moment, and in their depths, you saw a desperate mixture of fear and defiance—a king still trying to protect his people, even as he lay broken and bleeding on the battlefield.

Tears stung your eyes, blurring the devastation around you, but you refused to let them fall. Shaking your head fiercely, you denied the weight of his words, even as they pressed down on your heart like a stone. “I couldn’t leave you,” you whispered, your voice trembling but steady, a quiet plea wrapped in defiance. The quiver of emotion was undeniable, yet behind it burned the resolve of someone who would not—could not—abandon him. “Not like this,” you added, your fingers curling into fists at your sides.

For a fleeting moment, a faint, shadowed expression crossed his features. Was it a smile? Or a grimace of pain twisted by fading humor? It was impossible to tell, and yet it brought a flicker of warmth to the icy fear that gripped you. His lips, pale and bloodied, twitched faintly. “Stubborn,” he murmured, his voice rasping and soft, as if the word cost him more strength than he could afford to lose. There was a glimmer in his dimmed gaze—a whisper of the man you knew so well—but it was fleeting, almost drowned beneath the sheer effort of staying conscious. His hand moved, a barely perceptible twitch at first, his gauntleted fingers trembling as they struggled to lift from the bloodstained ground. The motion was agonizingly slow, faltering and weak, but it was unmistakable—he was reaching for you. The gesture, though small, carried with it the weight of his unspoken thoughts: a need to hold on, to connect, to find something in you that could anchor him to the rapidly slipping thread of life. Yet his strength failed him, and his hand fell limply to his side with a soft, metallic clink, his breath hitching as the motion sent a fresh jolt of pain through his body.

For Gil-galad, each breath was a battle, a desperate effort to push against the darkness that loomed closer with every passing moment. The gash across his chest throbbed with unrelenting fire, the raw edges tearing at his resolve with every shallow rise and fall of his lungs. The world around him felt distant now, muted and slow, the roaring of the battlefield reduced to a dull hum in his ears. Even the smoke-filled air seemed to press down on him like a suffocating weight. Yet through the haze of pain and weakness, there was you. Your voice, tremulous but determined, broke through the fog, and it grounded him, calling him back from the brink. He wanted to tell you not to waste yourself on him, not to sacrifice anything for a life that was already slipping through his fingers. But even as he tried to speak, his chest tightened, the words caught somewhere between his heart and his throat, where they burned unspoken.

He felt the warmth of your presence, the way your trembling hands hovered near him with desperate purpose. It cut through the cold spreading through his limbs, a fragile thread of comfort in the encroaching void. He couldn’t see clearly anymore; his vision blurred with pain and fatigue, but he thought he caught the golden shimmer of your hair, bright even in the smoky gloom. And then, a strange sensation stirred within him as you began to move, deliberate and measured, as if you were preparing for something monumental. Through the fog of his thoughts, he felt the lightest brush of your fingers against his chest, the silken strands of your hair brushing the edges of his torn armor. It was a delicate touch, gentle but unyielding, and somewhere deep within him, the faintest flicker of hope awoke—a fragile thing, like a single spark in a vast, dark void.

For Gil-galad, it was a strange mixture of sensations a deepening awareness of his own fragility, the oppressive weight of his injuries, and yet, beneath it all, the soft hum of your power stirring against his skin. It was faint at first, like the distant rush of water in a still forest, but it began to grow—a steady, rhythmic pulse that reached into him, seeking out the places where he was broken and fragile. He wanted to speak again, to ask what you were doing, to tell you it wasn’t worth it. But even as he opened his mouth, the words faltered. Instead, he let himself drift into the sensation—the warmth of your gift pushing back the cold, the hum of life within your golden strands, and the steadying presence of your will. For the first time since he had fallen, the pain seemed to recede, just slightly, and in its place was the faintest whisper of hope. It was fragile, precarious, but it was there.

Closing your eyes, you drew in a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your emotions to settle into stillness. The noise of the battlefield, the lingering cries of the wounded, and the acrid scent of smoke and blood faded into the background as you turned your focus inward. And then, without thought or effort, a melody welled up within you, rising like the dawn. It was ancient and familiar, as though it had been etched into your very soul, waiting for this one moment to emerge.

Your voice, soft and hesitant at first, trembled on the first note, the words tumbling forth like a fragile stream. But with each passing breath, it grew, steadied, and strengthened, carrying with it all the love, hope, and fierce determination that burned within you. “Flower, gleam and glow, Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, Change the Fates’ design. Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine… What once was mine.” The melody swirled around you, weaving itself into the air like a living thing, delicate and ethereal yet unyielding in its purpose. As the song poured from your lips, the very world around you seemed to hold its breath. The clash of swords and the distant cries grew faint, the weight of the battlefield retreating, as though time itself had slowed to honor your plea.

A faint, golden light began to bloom, first from the tips of your hair, then spreading outward like the first rays of sunlight piercing a heavy fog. It was warm and luminous, chasing away the gloom and shadows that clung to the edges of the ruined field. The glow radiated through each strand, spilling down to your hands where they hovered over Gil-galad’s broken body. The light wrapped around him, tendrils of golden radiance curling and twisting, seeking the places where his wounds ran deepest. Slowly, the glow seeped into the jagged tear across his chest, its soft, unyielding warmth mending torn flesh and shattered bone with a gentle but deliberate grace. It wasn’t harsh or sudden—it was like the steady growth of a tree, natural and full of purpose, filling the spaces where death had begun to creep.

As the magic coursed through him, you felt his body stir beneath your hands. A low, pained groan escaped his lips, weak but unmistakably alive. The tension in his frame, once so taut with pain, began to ease as the warmth suffused him, chasing the chill from his limbs. His breathing, shallow and labored only moments before, grew deeper and steadier, each breath less of a struggle. Color returned to his pallid face, faint at first but spreading with every moment, a soft flush blooming in his cheeks. The harsh lines of anguish etched into his features began to soften, his expression relaxing as the weight of his injuries faded. And then, slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, revealing silver-grey eyes that shone brighter than you had dared to hope.

His gaze found yours almost instantly, locking onto you with an intensity that sent a tremor through your chest. There was clarity in his expression now, a sharpness that had been dulled by pain and exhaustion before. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the world around you forgotten. His eyes, still lined with the echoes of his ordeal, held a silent question, a mixture of awe, gratitude, and something far deeper. You didn’t need to answer him—not with words. The glow that lingered in the air around you spoke for itself, as did the steady hum of life now coursing through his body. He was whole again. He was alive. And for the first time, you dared to believe he would stay that way.

“What…?” His voice, though hoarse and still faint, carried a steady strength now, a grounding quality that hadn’t been there moments before. He struggled to lift his head, his gaze trailing over the glowing strands of your hair, then settling back on your face with a look that made your heart ache. “Your light…” he murmured, awe thickening his tone. “It is like the Silmarils… like the Trees of old.” His voice faltered, not from pain but from reverence, as though he were speaking of something sacred. The wonder in his eyes was enough to take your breath away.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, unchecked, a mix of relief and the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume you. The fear, the helplessness, the agonizing moments where you thought you would lose him—all of it fell away, replaced by the quiet, profound joy of seeing him alive. “You’re safe now,” you managed, your voice breaking and trembling under the weight of your relief. “You’re going to be alright.” For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if trying to reconcile the miracle of what had just happened. Then, slowly, his trembling hand lifted. Though the movement was unsteady, it was deliberate, his fingers brushing gently against the strands of your hair. The light still lingered there, soft and radiant, casting a warm golden glow over his pale skin. His touch was barely there, reverent, as if he feared disturbing the fragile magic that had just saved his life.

“You…” His voice broke, thick with emotion. He swallowed hard, his silver-grey eyes never leaving yours. “You are a miracle,” he said finally, his tone raw, each word weighted with meaning. “I thought I was lost. I thought I had fallen too far. But you…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line as though words could never fully express the depth of his gratitude, or the wonder you had awakened in him. Your hand found his, stilling its trembling with your touch as you brought it to rest between you. “You owe me nothing,” you said softly, the sincerity in your voice unwavering. Your other hand still rested over his chest, where the wound had been, as if grounding yourself in the knowledge that he was whole once more.

“Just stay with me. That’s all I ask.” His eyes searched yours, deep pools of emotion swirling in their depths. There was pain there, yes, but also resolve and something else—something fierce and unbreakable. “I will,” he promised, his voice quiet but filled with a steadfast determination. “For as long as I draw breath, I will stay by your side.” The words settled into your heart like a vow, binding in their simplicity and power. Around you, the battlefield remained—a grim tapestry of ruin—but in this moment, it felt as though the world had stilled. All the pain, the chaos, the shadows of despair fell away, leaving only the connection between the two of you.

The golden glow of your hair began to fade slowly, retreating into the silken strands until it was just a memory of warmth and light. Yet even as the light dimmed, its presence lingered—soft, radiant, and unforgettable. Gil-galad’s hand tightened slightly over yours, his strength returning, a silent reassurance that he was still with you, that he would not leave. You gazed at him, the bond between you forged anew, stronger now than it had ever been. It felt eternal, a connection born not just of love, but of trust, of sacrifice, and of something neither of you could fully name but both understood. You knew, with every beat of your heart, that this bond would endure, unyielding even in the face of the storms that lay ahead.

🔥𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓻

Adar was not one to show weakness easily. His centuries of life had been filled with war, loss, and burdens that would break lesser beings. He had carried the weight of kings and battles, the anguish of personal sacrifice, and the scars of old wars. Yet, now, as he staggered back from the sharp blow that had struck him, a gnawing realization crept through him—the inevitable truth that perhaps this time, his strength might not be enough. The gash across his side was deep, the jagged edge of the wound still bleeding freely, crimson staining his armor and the ground beneath him. It was a pain unlike any he had known before, not just from the physical injury, but from the suffocating weight of something far more pressing—the slow, creeping sensation of his life force ebbing away with every labored breath. His body, usually a pillar of endurance, now felt fragile, betraying him in a way he could not ignore.

His hand, once steady and resolute, trembled as he pressed it to the wound. His fingers, slick with blood, failed to staunch the flow. Each pulse of his heart sent a sharp pain through him, as though his very veins were protesting. He could feel the coldness creeping up his spine, seeping into his bones, and it was as if every fiber of his being was being pulled toward the ground, toward something darker, something final. His breath grew ragged, his chest heaving in shallow gasps, as though he were trying to hold on to something that was slipping further out of reach with each passing moment.

The battlefield around him—once so vivid, filled with the sounds of clashing steel, shouts of victory and defeat, and the sharp cries of the fallen—now seemed distant, muffled, like the echoes of a dream fading with the dawn. The smoke, thick and choking, hung in the air, curling around him like tendrils, making the edges of his vision blur and shift. The screams of the dying seemed far away, as though they were happening on another plane, not here where he stood. His world was narrowing, his mind sinking into a fog as the weight of his years and the exhaustion of the battle pressed down on him. For the first time in centuries, Adar felt the unmistakable pull of mortality—of being human again. In his long life, he had endured so much, but this wound, this agony, seemed different. The sensation of his life slipping from him wasn’t just physical—it was spiritual, as though he were being drawn into the shadows, away from the living, from the war, from everything he had fought for.

He staggered slightly, trying to hold himself upright, his knees buckling as the world around him seemed to tilt. His once-proud stature faltered, and he could feel the weight of all his choices pressing down on him, the ghosts of his past whispering in his ears. Yet he fought to hold on, to remain anchored to the world he had fought so hard to protect. But the cold was relentless now, and his vision—already clouded by the growing darkness—began to fade. His body felt heavy, as if it were made of stone, and every movement, every breath, seemed like a struggle against an inevitable force. For the first time, Adar wasn’t sure he could fight it.

But then, like a beacon cutting through the storm, you appeared. Through the haze of blood and exhaustion, Adar’s bleary eyes strained to make sense of what he was seeing. His body was failing him, but still, there you were—moving toward him with a grace that seemed to defy the chaos of the battlefield. Your presence pierced the dissonance around him, a light that cut through the crushing darkness, a warmth he hadn’t known he still longed for. His heart, which had long since learned to steel itself against all emotions, gave a weak flutter at the sight of you. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to pull you close and shield you from the brutality that had consumed him, but his body refused to obey. The gash on his side burned with a ferocity that seemed to steal what little strength remained in him, and the darkness, relentless in its grasp, began to creep back over his vision.

Through the fog, he heard your voice—a sound like the calm before a storm, full of resolve and something else he couldn’t quite place. It was a lifeline, a tether pulling him toward the last remnants of himself. “Adar!” you called again, your voice edged with fear, but not for him. No, it was the fear of what was to come, the fear of losing him. He tried to speak, to reassure you, to tell you that this burden was not yours to bear. But the words, the familiar comfort of his own voice, refused to come. His throat felt like dry stone, his breath shallow and ragged. Instead, he could only manage a faint sigh, a sound that conveyed the weight of everything he couldn’t say. His body was failing him in ways he had never imagined, yet in that fleeting moment, as he lay there before you, there was something else—a flicker of hope sparked within him, kindled by your unrelenting presence.

You didn’t hesitate. There was no fear in your gaze, no hesitation in the way you moved toward him with such purpose. It was as though nothing else in the world mattered except reaching him, saving him. And there was something else there too—something deep in the way you looked at him. Something ancient, something far beyond the mortal realm. In that moment, the pain of his wound faded into the background, overtaken by the force of that unspoken connection between you.

You knelt beside him, your hands steady despite the storm of emotion swirling in your eyes. Your touch, gentle but firm, brushed against his bloodied side. Adar’s breath hitched at the contact. The tenderness of your touch sent a shiver down his spine, and for a brief moment, he forgot the battlefield, forgot the war, and forgot the agony wracking his body. It was as if you had reached into the very core of him, grounding him, reminding him of what it felt like to be human again, to be cared for, to be seen. “Hold on,” you whispered, the words soft but filled with a power that seemed to resonate with something far beyond your years. Your voice was a balm, and despite the dark tide pulling him under, he felt a warmth spreading from the place where your hand rested on him, steadying him in ways that no blade could ever do.

His heart raced, a desperate echo of life, fighting against the pull of oblivion. But with you there, with your gaze unwavering and your touch so sure, he felt the stirrings of something—something more than hope. It was as if, in that moment, he was no longer alone. And though he could not move, though his vision blurred and the cold crept in, he found a new strength rising in him, a quiet defiance against the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. It wasn’t just a flicker anymore. It was a spark. And that spark, ignited by your presence, was enough to keep him tethered to this world—at least for a little while longer.

You reached for his injury with the care of someone who had touched the very fabric of life itself. Your hand brushed lightly against his bloodied side, and the sensation of your touch sent a tremor through his body, a shiver that wasn’t born from cold but from the sheer force of the energy you radiated. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he was imagining it—the way the light seemed to gather around you, how the very space around you seemed to hum with something beyond him, beyond anything he had ever known. His breath stilled in his chest as he watched, wide-eyed, as your long, (your hair colour)—once lifeless and heavy—began to shimmer. The strands of it caught the dim light of the battlefield, then glowed with an ethereal radiance, soft and vibrant like starlight reflecting on the still surface of a deep lake. The glow pulsated gently, almost as if it had a life of its own, curling in the air around you like an extension of your being.

With a steady, graceful motion, you leaned closer, the light from your hair wrapping around his wound like a warm, shimmering ribbon. It was as though your hair itself had become an extension of your will, an instrument of healing—its glow bathing him in a tender warmth, coaxing his body to respond, to fight against the ravages of injury. Your voice broke through the chaos, a soft yet powerful melody that seemed to echo in his very soul. “Flower, gleam and glow, Let your powers shine, Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine, Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates’ design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine, What once was mine.” The words, unfamiliar and yet oddly comforting, seemed to wrap around his heart, wrapping him in an embrace that transcended the physical realm. As you sang, he could feel the magic pouring through him, like a river of light and warmth filling every corner of his being. The wound on his side, deep and cruel, began to respond to the energy surrounding him. The jagged edges of his torn flesh smoothed themselves, the bleeding slowing and then ceasing altogether. It was as if time itself bent to your will, erasing the pain, erasing the damage, and with each passing second, the agony that had once clung to him began to fade away. The blood-soaked fabric of his tunic no longer clung to his skin, the crimson stain receding as though it had never been.

Adar could feel the weight lifting from his body, the exhaustion that had pulled at him for so long beginning to ease. His breath, which had been shallow and labored, slowly began to even out, the tightness in his chest loosening with the soothing magic you invoked. The light from your hair wrapped around him like a blanket, gentle but insistent, coaxing the wound closed, mending what had been broken. Each pulse of the glow seemed to pull him further from the edge of darkness, and though he could barely grasp the magnitude of what was happening, he felt the healing begin to take root in him.

The gash that had once seemed so insurmountable was now no more than a faint line across his side, the skin already knitting itself back together, leaving only a trace of the injury behind. His body, once heavy and unresponsive, now felt lighter, as though the burden of the battle had been lifted from his shoulders. And though the pain still lingered at the edges of his awareness, it was no longer the consuming force it had once been. Instead, there was a quiet calm that settled over him, a peace that only deepened as the last notes of your song faded into the air. His breath, once ragged and strained, grew more steady and assured with each passing moment. Slowly, the fog of exhaustion began to clear, replaced by a sharpness that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. The clarity in his mind came as a surprising relief—like the mists parting to reveal a sky he thought he’d never see again. Adar blinked, feeling the weight of his body ease, but he was still weak, still trembling slightly from the ordeal. And yet, he could now focus, his eyes locking onto yours.

The glow from your hair bathed you in an ethereal light, casting a soft radiance that made everything around you appear to fade into insignificance. It was as though you were not entirely of this world, something more, something beyond. In that moment, as he looked at you, there were no words that could encompass the depth of his feelings. He had lived a life filled with loss, pain, and the burdens of responsibility, but in this instant, before him, was something he had long ago abandoned—a flicker of something beautiful, something sacred. Something that made the world seem just a little more bearable.

“You…” His voice came out hoarse, weak from the strain of the battle and his body’s fragile state. He cleared his throat, trying again, but the words felt too small, too inadequate for what he was experiencing. “What are you?” It was a question born from awe, from confusion, and from something deeper—something that had stirred in him the moment your magic had touched him.

You smiled softly, your lips curving into something gentle, something reassuring. Your hair, still glowing faintly, pulsed in time with your heartbeat—a rhythm that somehow felt like a promise. “I am just someone who won’t let you fall.” The sincerity in your words struck him with the force of a thunderclap, and something in his chest clenched painfully. The raw, unguarded emotion in your voice—how it came from a place of such quiet strength—made his heart ache in ways he had long forgotten how to feel. In all his years, he had seen many faces of suffering, many moments of hopelessness, but never had he encountered something so purely selfless. The magic you wielded, the way it flowed from you with such ease, was beyond anything he could comprehend. It was not just a force of nature—it was a gift. A gift so rare that it seemed as though it had no place in the broken world they lived in.

Adar’s trembling hand reached out instinctively, as if drawn to you, as though he needed to touch you to make sure you weren’t some fleeting illusion. His fingers brushed against the soft strands of your hair, and a strange sensation washed over him, as if by touching you, he was touching something far older than even himself. It was as though the very fabric of the world itself had passed through him in that brief connection.

“I owe you my life,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion—rare, raw, and unguarded. The words felt foreign on his tongue, yet they were the truest he had ever spoken. He had always been one to carry his burdens alone, to face the storm without ever asking for shelter, but now, in the wake of your magic, there was no denying it. He owed you more than he could ever express. You shook your head, a soft, almost imperceptible motion, and gently, your hand closed around his. “No,” you murmured, your voice tender and firm. “You owe me nothing. Just live, Adar. That’s enough for me.” The weight of your words settled into his chest, heavier than anything else, and for a moment, the world seemed to still around him. In that quiet space between the past and the future, he felt the enormity of what you were offering him—not just life, but the chance to live without the burden of guilt, without the crushing weight of a world that had never been kind.

He couldn’t speak at first. The words that hovered on his tongue felt too insignificant to capture the depth of what he felt in that moment. But when they came, they were a whisper, barely audible yet clear in their sincerity. “I will stay, for as long as you’ll have me.” And in that moment, surrounded by the ruins of a battle, amid the wreckage of war, there was a warmth that seemed to push back the cold shadows that had once threatened to consume him. The light of your hair, still glowing softly in the aftermath of your magic, seemed to envelop them both. The world outside seemed distant, almost irrelevant, as the promise in your eyes shone brighter than any star could. Whatever came next, whatever storms the world would throw at them, it no longer seemed like an insurmountable challenge. Not with you by his side.

[zaldritzosrose]

Favourite Sin (Adar x High Princess!Reader)

Summary: You were a prize and then some. The High King's sister, one of few whose disappearance should cause him the most anguish. Taking you hadn't been easy, but making you his willing wife was set to be even more of a challenge, it seemed. But maybe you were a little more willing than he anticipated?

This is a present for my dearest @tumblin-theworldaway, hope you enjoy! (And we will get the hang of this timezone bullshit 😂)

TW: She/Her pronouns, afab reader, elven reader, hinted at having similar colouring to (show version) Gil Galad, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of (mostly) forced marriage, hints at dub con (reader not fully embracing her willingness with Adar), female masturbation, mentions of voyeurism (Adar overhears reader), oral (fem receiving), p in v sex, Adar being a tease, innuendo, profanity.

Words: 5750 (I know, but the muse hath taken me)

Holding Gil Galad’s sister captive, the High Princess of the Ñoldor, was a prize and more for Adar and his children. Though bringing you to Mordor had not been an easy task, it was necessary to make the weight of Adar’s power known. To bring attention to the fact that the Uruk were not a threat to be taken lightly and ignored.

Taking you had required planning, the kind of subterfuge that the Uruk were not particularly adept at.

But it had been managed. And now the princess was within the boundaries of Mordor, secured inside the Uruk camp. Though your title was rendered more than useless now.

You were sure word had made it to your brother. Or at least, you hoped it had. Taking you would mean war; you were sure of that.

And yet nothing had come.

The camp stretched for what felt like half of the Southlands. Or should you call it Mordor now? The shadowed lands seemed endless when you were stuck in the middle of them.

You felt alone, despite being surrounded by crowds of Uruk.

Some looked at you in fascination, like you were a new shiny treasure. Some looked at you as if you were a deer, lost in the darkness of a forest. The rest refused to so much as look at you.

Adar, however, never kept you out of his sight. Not that you could escape, but you imagined it wasn’t to prevent such a thing. His children obeyed him, but you could feel an almost protective edge to how he would keep you near.

There was an unspoken edge to how he handled you, as though there was something you were yet to learn.

But that knowledge came soon enough.

“Marry you!?” you almost screeched the words at Adar, forgetting that he was likely the only person keeping you safe and well.

His quarters were quiet. The table set for a dinner neither of you had eaten. But your voice almost echoed against the wooden walls.

He expected to make you his wife? The idea baffled you entirely, but it was like you could no longer form the right words to express yourself.

Adar remained quiet. He had expected a less than positive reaction from you. But he had his reasons for making such a proposition, and for telling you about it first.

“Yes, marriage,” Adar said simply, his fork stabbed into the meat on his plate and abandoned.

“For a good reason, princess, you will be safer within these borders as my wife.”

There were more reasons, of course, but he was of no mind to reveal them to you. Yet.

You leaned back in your chair, a small scoff leaving your lips.

“Safe? You wish me to believe you are concerned for my safety?” you spat the words with a little more aggression than you realised you were capable of.

And it only made Adar smile.

“I told you my plans out of kindness. I was not asking your permission.”

That had been a month ago now. A month that you had been Adar’s wife and the new Lady of Mordor. And he hadn’t been wrong regarding your safety. It had taken time and some less than gentle encouragement from your new husband, but the Uruk had come to regard you with less resentment than before.

Some even looked at you with something that might resemble kindness.

Even Adar seemed to have changed. Not in how he acted when you were around his children, but when you were alone.

Your wedding night had been as expected. Adar made as much effort as he could to make you comfortable, and you had put in as much effort to enjoy it as he had expected.

The wedding had been nothing extravagant; you were not sure if it was even legally binding. Not that it mattered. You were a captive, no matter whether you were called wife or prisoner, nothing would change.

But now, as you sat stock still on Adar’s bed, you felt afraid for the first time. Not of Adar, he had given you no reason to fear him. But of what this night would mean.

Of what it would mean to give away the last thing that was solely yours.

You held the fabric of your gown between your hands, worrying the fabric again and again with your fingers.

And it was this that Adar noticed.

“There is nothing to fear,” he said softly, the low gravel of his voice feeling so loud in the silence of his quarters.

Your fingers slowed their movements, but didn’t stop. Why should you believe him? He was your captor, since you were not yet ready to think the word husband.

Yet, he hadn’t done you any harm up until now. Even if he’d had the opportunity to. Maybe, he was being sincere?

You didn’t say a word as you stood, not trusting the strength of your voice. You focused instead on the way Adar stood still in front of you. How he looked so different without the layers of armour and leather. How the few candles around the room lit him from behind as he watched you back, waiting for you to approach.

The small amount of jewellery you had been wearing when you were taken to Mordor had been shed, along with the outer layer of your gown, just after you entered Adar’s quarters. The thin shift doing little to protect you from both Adar’s gaze and the cool air.

Avoiding it would only last for so long. Trying to delay the inevitable was impossible, you thought.

And the longer you looked at him, the more you had to ignore the faintest spark of desire in your belly. He was a handsome man, once you truly appreciated him.

But if you had looked a little harder, you would have seen the same lust filled look in Adar’s own eyes. Darkening even further the closer you came. His breath caught in his throat when your hands came to rest on his chest.

“I will do my duty as your wife; it is our wedding night.”

That night continued to play in your mind. Even weeks after the fact.

You were a wife now and Adar had not been wrong, the energy had begun to shift towards you. Whether Adar had told his children to treat you with more respect, you didn’t know, but there was certainly a difference.

Those who refused to look at you, now spared you the occasional glance. Those who had looked at you with prey, would sometimes even greet you as you passed them.

But something else had settled into the back of your mind. You had felt it on your wedding night, and all the subsequent nights you had spent in Adar’s bed.

The lingering feelings of desire whenever Adar would touch you. The sounds of pleasure you would bite back because you were afraid of the feelings you had.

He was your captor turned husband. You should despise him.

It was the lack of that which you feared. Did you love him? No. But there was a fire that burned in your belly whenever he touched you, even for the most fleeting of moments.

Whether Adar knew or not, you didn’t dare find out.

War was looming with the rumours of Sauron’s return, and you had soon come to realise that your brother’s focus was going to be elsewhere. And as much as that pained you, you knew Gil Galad knew that you were capable enough to handle yourself wherever you were.

But the lingering threat of darkness had meant Adar was away from Mordor a little more than he had been. He would leave some of his children behind, a silent gift of protection for you.

Though you preferred the comfort of your own quarters. Adar had offered them to you about a week into being his wife. Before that you had been in a small tent, just in sight of his own quarters.

While most of the Uruk banded together and slept in a mixture of tents and wooden shacks, Adar had a large wooden building in the centre of camp. His throne outside it and even a separate room where you would assume he would host guests if he ever had them.

Yours were smaller, but with enough space for it to be clear you were no longer a prisoner. There was a separate bedroom, a small snug with some furs and fire pit for your comfort. And those small things were welcome whenever he would leave.

This time Adar had been gone for a few weeks. The longest he had been gone since your marriage to him and though you chastised yourself for it, you had begun to miss him.

Not necessarily his person, but what him being here meant. Physically.

If Adar was anything to you, he was attentive. Dare you even say, gentle. Like he was afraid if he did anything more, you would run from him in disgust or fear.

But you never did.

And now, you found yourself missing those nights.

You had put that feeling to the back of your mind. Trying to focus yourself on literally anything else. But then you would lay in your bed and your mind would drift there.

And soon your hand would follow. Letting the images that would float in your imagination guide you. It began to happen every night without fail. It was almost like you couldn’t sleep without putting out the fire in your veins.

Picturing how Adar would touch you, the way his hands would feel against your skin. How warm he always seemed to be; how soft his lips were…

No word had come of where Adar was or when he would be returning, but the Uruk that remained in camp had been on edge all day. Just like they had been for the last week.

You were on an edge, though without a doubt it was an entirely different one.

The night soon drew in, a few of the Uruk coming to check on you after you had eaten with them which you more than appreciated.

But then you were alone again, and it wasn’t long before your thoughts began to wander.

You waited until you could no longer hear much noise outside of your door, meaning most of the Uruk had gone to their own beds or were far enough away that you could let your hands wander too.

Images of Adar immediately filled your mind, the rough sound of his voice felt almost real you had imagined it so many times now.

Your shift was bunched in your hand, the other making its path down your body to seek out your core.

The room was always warm, the fire pit constantly stoked at your request. But your skin prickled as your fingers began to dip between your folds. A small sigh leaving your lips as you finally made the contact you had been desperate for all day.

Your movements remained slow. In the weeks he had been gone, you had begun to try and imitate Adar’s touch. He was never in a rush, like he was mapping out every dip and swell of your body and committing to his memory.

But trying to mimic that had taken weeks. Only now did it feel almost right. Your hands were too soft, but it was close enough.

You would try and remember the way he would start, where he would touch first. One hand between your thighs and one hand always mapping the rest of your body.

So that’s what you did. Your fingers made slow circles on your pearl, working the fire in your belly higher and higher. Your other hand pushing your shift higher, not enough to make you bare, not yet.

The sighs turned to soft moans, barely audible, letting the images of Adar flow through your mind.

The muscles of his chest and back when he would hover over you, one hand by your face while the other would continue its path along your body.

How his breath would feel on your neck as he began to press kisses to your skin. The barely there sounds that would leave his throat the more of you he got to feel.

You worked yourself up to a point that you were almost desperate to find release, your hips actively chasing your own hand. The shift almost torn from your body as the room seemed to get warmer and warmer.

Everything around you faded as you began to focus on the desire that thrummed in your veins, surrendering yourself to it. Your fingers finally slipping between your folds and trying to remember the rhythms Adar would strum.

It was so dark when Adar returned. Most of the Uruk were already fast asleep, or at least away in their tents. He assumed you would be too, and his feet began making their way to your quarters before he could stop them.

His hand was on the door when soft sounds floated through the small cracks in the wood. Sounds that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but pleasure.

Far louder than he was sure he had ever heard you be. Far louder than you had ever been with him.

He waited, as quiet as he could. Just to hear a little more. The cracks in the door wide enough to sneak the smallest of peeks at you. He could see you bare, spread out on the furs of your bed. One had between your thighs, the other gripping the plump flesh of your breast in the same rhythm as your fingers.

Adar was sure he could smell your arousal from here.

He was completely entranced, lost in the way your body writhed on the bed. How your voice seemed to be going up octave after octave as your peak crept up on you. And then, something he never thought he would hear from you, especially like this.

His name.

“Adar…” you breathed out, and your husband could only watch as the muscles of your thighs twitched, hips canting up against your hand until you finally stilled.

You had said his name. His name. Bare, glistening with sweat as your peak had crashed over you, you had said his name.

Adar ignored the way his length twitched in his breeches at the thought. He could wait. But he wasn’t going to forget just how pretty you sounded.

He only wondered if he could make you louder.

You awoke that morning to hear the Uruk calling Adar’s name, nothing but happiness in their voices.

He was home.

You forgot yourself for just a moment in your excitement at having him back. It surprised you. You were at the threshold of your door when it hit you. Taking a deep breath before stepping outside.

Adar was at his throne, his children that had remained behind clamouring around him. But his eyes found you immediately. If you hadn’t been concentrating on maintaining your usual, passive mask, you would have noticed how he looked at you.

Like he wanted to devour you where you stood.

“Husband,” you said gently, the crowd of Uruk parting as you walked towards his throne.

Adar stood immediately, but he didn’t move towards. But a smile did twitch at his lips.

“Wife,” he answered, finally descending the few steps of his throne to meet you.

You saw a flash of something behind his eyes, but you chalked it up to your imagination. He had been gone for a while, maybe you simply missed him. But when he held his hand out to you, your skin meeting his for the first time in weeks, you could feel that same feeling stirring deep in your body.

Desire. Everything you had tried to tamper down, to hide, threatened to spill from you after one touch.

Adar could only smile as he saw the way you swallowed, how your eyes remained trained on his hand.

“Are you well?” he asked quietly, daring to stroke a soft circle on the back of your hand with his thumb.

He needed to see. Was your desire for him reserved for when you were alone, or could he push you enough to let it slip through the cracks?

The rest of the day passed no differently to how it usually did. Adar checking up on the children he had left behind while he was away and you spending your time doing anything you enjoyed. Walking around the camp was a new pastime, giving you a break from the walls of your quarters.

What you didn’t know, was that Adar watched you almost the entire time. Keeping his eyes on you whenever and however he could. He was the most distracted he had ever been since he married you, willing night to fall so he could end his duties and summon you to his bed.

He knew it would raise suspicions with you if he changed his routine and took you to his bed early. It was an unintentional routine, but something you had welcomed.

What he didn’t know, was you were wishing he would do just that. You could go to him yourself but, outside of your own bed, you were warring with your desire for him and your need to keep it hidden away.

Dinners had been eaten, and Mordor had darkened as whatever sun filtered in finally dipped below the horizon. You were in your quarters, savouring the bath that you had treated yourself to, when you could hear a soft rapping on the makeshift door.

You recognised the footsteps almost immediately.

On instinct, you moved to cover yourself. Leaning against the side of the tub – or what was essentially a patchworked together replica of such a thing, at the insistence of Adar for your comfort. It felt ridiculous to hide yourself from your husband, but it was as though there were two paths urging you in your mind.

Resist or surrender.

“Forgive the intrusion,” Adar said softly, stopping a few paces from you.

You couldn’t stop your smile. You were not sure when it had happened, but you had found yourself relaxing around him in the simplest of ways. Which made how you felt deep down all the harder to reconcile.

“No intrusion, you are my husband.”

Adar only grumbled out a sound of approval. He realised; however, he hadn’t truly thought much past entering your quarters.

“But the fact you are here is an unusual occurrence. Is everything well?”

Your evenings were usually spent in Adar’s chambers and subsequently his bed. To have him in yours surprised you. The look he gave you, only served to confuse you more.

“Nothing is amiss, I assure you,” Adar hadn’t moved from where he stood, but his eyes were travelling over your form.

You simply hummed, realising you were not going to get a straight answer from him.

The bath water had begun to cool, and you leaned over the side to grab the wide sheet of linen to dry yourself. As smoothly as you could, you held it high to wrap it around yourself as quickly as possible.

What you did not expect was for Adar’s hands to grasp its edge and hold it for you. Just high enough to cover your body, but his proximity had you freezing for just a moment.

“Thank you, Adar.”

You missed the darkening of his eyes as you said his name, stepping from the tub and letting him hand you the linen.

His hands momentarily touched your back as you turned to wrap it around you, and you tried to hide the shiver that ran through you. Images from the nights spent alone flashing in your mind at just one touch.

The silence in the room was almost deafening. It was almost as though both of you had something to say, but neither knew the other did.

You began to move away to dress, unsure what else to do, when Adar seemed to come back to himself and stop you.

His hands returned to your shoulders, stopping you in your tracks. You couldn’t see his smirk as your body stiffened and then relaxed immediately at his touch. Your eyes fluttering closed as his hands tightened on your shoulders.

“I thought of you, whilst I was away,” he said simply, his hands trailing down your arms.

It wasn’t unusual for him to admit things like that, but there was something behind his words that felt different. Adar leaned in, whispering into your ear.

“Did you think of me?”

The growl behind his voice seemed more intense this close, the fire rising gently in your belly.

You wanted to answer, admit that you had thought of him on so many occasions. But it was like your words stuck in your throat.

A thought crossed your mind, did he know? No, he couldn’t possibly. But there was almost a knowing tone to his voice.

His hands stroked up and down your arms, patiently waiting for whatever answer you would give.

“Does your silence mean you did? I was gone a while, leaving you alone and unattended to…”

Adar smiled as he pressed a kiss to the skin behind your ear. His expression widening as he felt your head fall back just a little.

He could feel you fighting it, still trying to deny what you felt for him. So, he continued, bringing your back flush against his chest. Hands moving from your arms to the wrap of your linen.

Your skin was still warmed from the bath, and you could feel the hard plane of his chest through the dark fabric of his shirt. Adar never wore his armour, including his gauntlet, when you and he were alone.

You pulled your lower lip between your teeth as he began to unwrap your linen, slowly baring your body to the coolness of your quarters. The sheet falling to the ground as his hands took their time roaming your soft flesh.

“Shall I attend to you now, wife?”

Not trusting your words, you nodded, and Adar could feel the temperature of your skin rising. Your head fell fully back on to his shoulder, so close to surrendering to your feelings.

Adar’s hands were in no rush. It was as though he was recommitting every part of you to memory. Maybe, he truly had missed you while he was gone?

It was only when his fingers skimmed low enough to tease at your pearl did you let out a sigh of pleasure. The sound bringing Adar back to his true aim for coming to you tonight.

He let a single finger circle you, tantalisingly slow. Teasing you and himself.

His other hand cupped your breast, kneading the soft mound under his palm. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t quite enough to pull those sounds from the night before out of you. But there was more than enough time for that.

It wasn’t as though he was unaffected, his own arousal pushing insistently against your back.

He was so focused on the feel of you beneath his hands that he almost missed the small whisper that slipped from you. It was only when his hands slowed, did he realise you had asked for something. Your hand wrapped around his wrist. Almost begging for him to move faster.

“Please…”

You were just loud enough for him to hear this time, the breathy sound of your voice sending a shot of desire straight to his already hard length.

That was enough to have him lead you towards your bed. A gentle push had you laying down, and all you could do was watch as Adar made quick work of his tunic.

More of your daydreams flashed before your eyes, realising your imagination had never quite matched up to the real thing. Pale, scarred flesh covered just enough muscle to remind you of the strength he held.

You rested yourself on your elbows. There was just a little something different about Adar tonight. Not that he was never gentle, but he seemed to be working with a purpose in mind more so than usual.

The bed dipped as he joined you, stopping to push your legs open and kneel between them.

“Please what, hmm?” he asked, large hands squeezing your thighs.

There was no doubt he had a purpose. You had seen that look before, but when he was focused on battle strategies, not your pleasure.

You let out a small breath, preparing yourself to give in just a little more to your desire for him.

“I need you, husband.”

Adar let out a soft grunt of approval at those words. Watching as your hand reached out for him.

If there was one thing you hadn’t expected to imagine when you were alone, it was his kisses. They were few and far between, but you realised how much you enjoyed them when you were left with only your mind’s eye.

He let you wait, just a moment longer, before crawling the rest of the way up and hovering his lips over yours. Your hand finally able to curl around the back of his neck. Adar let you pull him down, your kiss a lot hungrier than he expected it to be.

You moaned softly into his mouth, your fingers toying the black strands at the base of his neck.

One of Adar’s hands remained on your thigh, hooking it up and over his waist. Your hand tightened on his neck as you felt his arousal press against your bare core, your hips rolling up on instinct.

“Patience, darling…” he whispered, breaking the kiss for just a moment.

He wanted you to ease into what he knew you felt. There was little hiding your desire for him now. You just needed to let yourself admit it.

Adar returned to the kiss, pulling back some of his control as his tongue slipped into your mouth. Your fingers entirely tangled in his hair as he won the battle of your kiss.

He didn’t stop your body arching against him. Soft skin against his scarred flesh only spurring him on.

His kiss moved from your lips to your neck, letting his hips begin to match your rhythm. You were still holding back, but he could hear how your breath sped up and the subtlest of moans were slipping from your lips.

The path of his lips continued down, between the valley of your breasts and lower. Mapping every inch of you with a kiss.

“What did you imagine while I was gone? How I touch you, how I kiss you…?” he murmured against your skin.

Your hand returned to his hair as he kissed the inside of your thighs. Holding them apart enough to settle his head between them.

He knew, he had to. If you had been less distracted, you would have tried to deny. But you were at the point of desperation. Weeks of only your own hand to bring you satisfaction. If you just gave in…

“All of it,” you sighed, trying in vain to push his head closer to where you wanted him.

But Adar didn’t move. He wasn’t going to let you off quite that easy.

His kisses moved higher, just shy of where you wanted him to be.

Your eyes closed, taking a small breath and answering.

“I...I imagined how your hands feel on me, how your lips feel on me…”

Adar rewarded you with a long, slow swipe of his tongue between your folds. Pulling a slightly louder moan from you.

He wondered if you would admit just a little bit more.

“And?” he asked again, his breath hot against your skin.

He could feel you tense a little in frustration, but he could feel how close you were to giving in.

“I imagined how satisfied you leave me.”

That was more than expected. Admitting your desire was enough, but to admit you found satisfaction with him? That was even better.

You were rewarded again with a more insistent lap to your cunt, his face burying a little further down. Your hand in his hair trying desperately to hold him where he was.

“Then I shall ensure I make up for all the satisfaction I have left you without these past weeks,” he promised, before delving in with full fervour.

There was little gentleness now. Adar almost devoured you with every swipe and circle of his tongue. It appeared you weren’t the only one who had suffered whilst you were apart.

Your nails scratched at his scalp, earning your growls of pleasure against your core. The vibrations combined with the way the tip of his tongue now circled your swollen bud had your eyes rolling back in your head.

Yet you still hadn’t let out any sounds close to what he had heard from you the night before.

Adar lifted your legs onto his shoulders, arms wrapped around your thighs as he doubled down on his ministrations. Suckling your pearl until you let out a soft sigh of his name.

Almost there, he thought. But maybe you needed just a little more encouragement.

He replaced his tongue with his fingers, keeping the same rhythm as he peppered kisses over the skin of your inner thigh.

The way your walls were already clenching around him was a sure sign you were close. But he needed to hear you, good and loud.

“As delicious as ever…but I know you can be louder than that, sweet wife?”

His fingers curled inside you as he moved to hover over you, his lips returning to your neck.

He had heard you. You knew it. Before tonight, you would have been embarrassed, even denied it. But instead, the burning desire inside seemed to roar higher. He wanted you to be loud. There was no denying the hungry sound to his voice now.

“Adar…” you groaned out, his fingers almost beckoning your release closer.

Your husband smiled into your neck, the twitch in his cock reminding him just how good his name sounded on your tongue.

“Again. Say my name again.”

His fingers began to piston in and out of you, the wet sounds of your pleasure mixing in with your growing moans and sighs.

You didn’t hold back anymore. Letting your body relax and pleasure take over.

Over and over again you moaned his name, his lips latched onto your throat as your peak washed over you.

Adar let his hips grind themselves against your thigh as he felt the slick sensation of your release gush over his hand. Something in him told him you could give him just a little more.

Your hands got to his breeches first. Tugging at the laces in your desperate need to remove all the barriers between you. Gone was the fear of revealing your desire to him. You needed him to know how much you wanted him. How much you were sure you had for a long time.

He was quick to kick the rest of his clothing away, caring little for where they landed. All that mattered was having you beneath him.

His cock slid in with ease, the lingering spasms of your release made his eyes close for just a moment. Savouring the sensation. His face burying itself back into your neck, smiling again as your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Do you think you can be louder still? As loud as you were last night?”

Your heels at his back urged him to move. And he did, slowly pushing in and out while he waited for your answer.

But what he got was not what he expected.

“My fingers are nothing compared to you. I think you can make me much louder.”

Now that was a challenge he wished to meet.

Adar planted a hand beside your head. The other holding one of your thighs tight as he began to speed up his rhythm. Your back arched immediately from the bed. Your fingers were nothing compared to any part of him. Reaching far deeper than you ever could.

The bed creaked beneath you as Adar pounded into you, his own grunts and groans of pleasure almost lost in the sweet cries that came from you.

Desire burned through him just at the sound, but the way your cunt was already tightening around him had him at his edge faster than he may ever have been.

“Come for me, let me hear you chant my name…” he almost purred into your ear, his voice strained as he held back his own end as long as he could.

Your hands grasped at his shoulders, committing all the sensations to memory, should you ever be left alone again.

“Adar!”

His name came out as the most delicious cry, your nails digging into his shoulders as your second release crashed over you. Your eyes scrunched closed in pleasure as Adar buried his face into your shoulder. His own end painting your walls as he groaned out your name.

A few shallow thrusts came as he slowed himself down, letting your thighs down to the bed. Softer kisses planted over your neck and chest had a small smile on your lips.

Gently, Adar rolled to your side, both of you ignoring everything except the closeness of the other.

Your head rested on his chest, feeling the race of his heart that you were sure matched yours. The atmosphere in the room felt different than it usually did. Softer, more romantic in the strangest of ways.

Adar’s hand rubbed up and down your back, lips pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You both remained silent for a while, until you rolled over to look at him.

Up close, you were reminded of more than just your desire. This was your husband, and you had truly never appreciated his beauty. Scars and all.

“I should never have hidden such desire from you, I realise that now,” you admitted, your chin leaning against his chest.

Adar looked at you and just smiled. His arms wrapped around your back, pulling you up high enough for a kiss.

“It matters not, we have all the time to take full advantage of it.”

His words made your stomach flutter. If tonight was just the start, you could only imagine what future nights would bring.

Maybe marrying the father of orcs wouldn’t be so bad after all?

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[lazyneonrabbitt]

Astray far away, towards the lands of the enemy.

Adar x reader | SMUT🔞 | Ch.2

When orcs cross your lands you choose survival. After that you choose selfish desire which makes for a nice turn of events.

WC: 2.2k

Part one of the Lets make Adar a dad fic

Waldreg was a rat, always had been.

But nowadays, with evil lurking he was making quite the points to assure survival. 

After Bronwyn gave her speech about fighting and Waldreg had countered it with bowing down for survival you had followed him out of the gates of Ostirith, and during the night, bowed down before your enemy.

Before you, Waldreg made a speech of loyalty but was ignored by the orcs' leader.

Ignored until he had called him Sauron. 

You watched Waldreg be grabbed by the throat and thrown to the ground, still offering loyalty to whoever the man before you all might be.

Again he was ignored, as the man took Rowan who stood right before you and was dragged to face the crowd, forced to kneel as the orc leader tossed a dagger at Waldreg's chest. Finally speaking.

"Only blood can bind." 

Before your eyes, in the torch lit town you watched as Waldreg did as instructed, and killed your friend to pledge his loyalty.

Next thing you knew you were following along with orders, listening to Adar give his speech to the Uruks he called his childen. Abd then trying to hide from your now enemies, praying the Uruks recognised you as their ally.

Only the Uruks weren't the biggest of your worries as another troop came in on horseback to aid the oposing forces.

So you hid with the remainder of the troop that managed to escape. You hid in the woods until the ground shook and fire rained from the sky and by the time the enemy fled you were back with Adar and the others and the start of building a new home was done.

The Southlands were no longer, from now on you were citizens of Mordor.

Scouts were sent off and remaining troops arrived with all belongings, ready to build.

But first it was time for celebration.

Uruks howled and feasted on fallen soldiers, even offering you some meat but you politely declined. 

Instead you found the other humans, all getting drunk off whatever survived the onslaught. So you moved on from them too, not feeling like drinking after all that happened. Your last stop was somewhere off at the edge of the town's remains where you stared at the smouldering ashes and low dancing flames on the edge of dying out.

That too didn't bring your mind peace and quiet, so you moved on again. Wandering around until you almost ran into someone after turning a corner. 

"Not of the celebrating kind, child?" Adar himself stood before you, two mugs in hand. He offered one to you as he went to sit on some fallen support beams.

"I'm not really one for getting drunk or feasting on my enemies' flesh, no." You joined his side and sat down. "Don't take me wrong, I am glad your Uruks have a home now." Your words ended with a smile, buried behind the drink. It was bad how you wanted to stare at the man for as long as you could. You had wanted it since you first watched him throw Wardreg and had Rowan killed. No one should look that good doing all of that.

"You know your eyes speak enough. No need to hide, I can read you." His gloved hand raised to lower your mug.

"This is good, what is it?" You tried your best to change the topic of conversation with a genuine question.

"A simple Uruk made red wine the last group brought in. Is it that different from what you served here?" He gestured to the tavern that you sat behind and looked at you with a curious look. 

"It's so nice and warm." It brought you comfort so you sipped away at it, the nerves of everything happening today finally leaving you. "So strange, it's so much nicer than ours." 

This time it was Adar changing the topic again. "Shall we go join the others? Surely you'd warm up to my children quicker that way." His offer was a kind one, filled with elven charm he still possesed even after becoming what he was now. 

"I think I prefer the less chaotic energy here, in all honesty. Being able to talk and drink wine, it's nice." 

And it was nice, even Adar agreed. Now that he and his children had a home there was no need for endless planning and strategizing to keep him busy anymore. 

"I admit, you are right. Having a quiet conversation just for the pleasure of it is something I have not done in a long while." He watched you place your mug down, impressed with how quickly you had downed the wine for a mere mortal who claimed not caring about getting drunk. 

You placed the mug down and thanked the wine for silencing the voice in your head as you sat straight up and murmured something. Adar didn't catch what it was, and questioned you about it.

"I said," With a swift move you flung your leg over his lap and straddled him. "There is probably other things that you have not done for pleasure in a very long time." 

Adar followed your quick movements with ease, hus gloved hand ending on your hip. Metal digging into your skin to steady you as his other hand came up to rest at your jaw.

Your actions intrigued him. "You assume right." His gloved hand sqeezed a bit harder, making you squirm in his lap as the sharp edges pressed deeper against your bones. "Now, what did you have in mind now that you have sat yourself so selfishly onto my lap?" He wasn't actively moving you off him so you took your chances to move along, inching closer to his face and pressing a swift peck to his jawline before nuzzling his neck. 

You only got a confused grunt in response, which had you decide to think more as an Uruk, and bite down on his flesh and grind your hips against his. It earned you a low growl and a sharp pull of your hair that disconnected your lips from his throat. 

"You wish to be rough, little mortal?" His gaze changed into an amused grin, taking your hip and shoulder in hand as he manouvered you onto your back, legs still over his as he moved himself atop of you. 

His legs on either side of the fallen structure with your hips pulled up against his, a sharp metal hand pressing into the soft plump of your cheeks prying open your jaw to push a finger past your lips. 

His ungloved hand went to find the ends of your garment and tear it off your lower half, exposing you to the night air while you struggled to move against the iron grasp on your jaw and the metal digging into your tongue.

"How good of you, to wet your master's fingers for him.." His lips barely an inch from your ear, returning the act of biting down on your earlobe with a soft growl and licking the sensitive flesh. 

You mewled as his gloved hand left your face, sharp fingertips dragging down over your clothed torso as he sat back up, untill it reached bare skin. You gasped as he continued south, two fingers moving just off your centre, pulling a soft plea from you. "P.. please, no.."

 He watched in amusement as he pressed the flats of his fingers against your mound, just the leather of his glove on your skin. He drank in the fear that mixed with your arousal, adding to his own fire and exposing you further, leaving your body bare to see for anyone who'd wander past.

You could feel his hard length press against you as he rutted his hips against you, his hands toying with your chest making you moan out in pleasure. 

He groaned in return, moving to undo his trousers and free his cock, wetting it with your slick. 

"It's been long since I have felt this warmth." He breathed out, postitioning his tip at your entrance. You whined with every inch of his length stretching you open, wrapping your legs around his waist as best as you could. The sounds of the Uruks ans men partying drowned out more with each roll of Adar's hips, forcing a moaned breath out of you each time. 

He stilled as he bottomed out, hips slotted with yours in a near perfect matter. Leaning forward on his hands his hair framed his face, lust blown eyes staring deep into yours. There was a slight pant in his breath. "I will keep you." His gloved hand moved to your chest, metal fingers toying with your nipple making you whine out. "Y.. yes Lord Father.." Pain and pleasure mixed in the best way. "You are mine to seek pleasure with howevever I wish." 

Your hands moves to clas at his thighs in an attempt to make him move. "My body belongs to you, Lord Father." 

Your words spurred him on and with a hand on your hip he started moving, cock leaving you almost fully before thrusting back in and setting a steady pace. 

Cries of pleasure filled the ashen air, groans and pleased grunts joining the choir behind the tavern. "L..lord Father.. Adar.." Your voice was barely abouve a whisper. " your hand found his hair, fingers scratching his scalp. "Plant your seed.. Use me to continue your bloodline." 

His thrusts became more harsh, forcing a gasp from you each time his hips came in contact with yours. "Would you.. truly give up your body.. like that?" He panted between breaths, he hadn't bred in Ages, not feeling the need to produce more offspring. The concept of having a family of his own beside his Uruk children was foreign to him. 

"Please.." You pulled him in closer with your heels pressed into his back, moaning as his cock hit just right inside you.

"Make me a mother." 

Adar's hips stilled entirely as he looked down on you, a grin spread wide on his faceas he lifted his gloved hand and brought a fingertip down below your chest hard enough to break skin. You could not see what he did, only feel the carving of flesh obscured by the plump of your breast.

He did not speak, nor try to show you. Instead resumed his rough pace as if nothing had happened.

"You will bear my children, yes? For as long as I please. Until your body is no longer fit to carry offspring." His raspy voice was right at your ear, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin on your neck as he bred you. 

"Ahh..Adar.. hah.." Your moans increased the closer you got to the edge. They were music to Adar's ears.

Not like the animalistic howls and roars of thr Uruks he had gotten so accustomed to. No, your sounds were addicting. 

Your hand found his ungloved one, guiding it between your legs to press two fingers down on your clit, silently begging him to pull you over the edge. On contact you cried out, pleading over and over until the coil snapped and you came, walls clamping down on his cock in extacy.

With no chance to catch your breath your cries turned into begging for rest, a moment to come down but instead Adar kept playing with your clit, fucking into you at the perfect angle that hit every right spot inside of you. The display amused him, filing it all away for if he ever found himself alone and in need of relief.

Before you he panted, chest heaving and mouth hanging open. His tongue rolled out past his smiling lips, a string of drool lowering and disconnecting from the tip of his tongue, dripping down right above your core. His already slick fingers gathered it and spread it all over where his cock disappeared into your folds. 

It reminded you that you weren't producing a child with an elf. You were being bred by an Uruk. 

Adar's growls and sighs got more frequent along with his thrusts becoming less rythmic. He was as close as you were again.

His hinistrations continued, fingers dancing over your sensitive bundle of nerves as his cock stroked thr spot that had you see stars from the inside. 

You threw your head back with one last gut wrenching moan, squeezing your walls around his cock once more and pulling him over the edge with you. With a low growled moan he spilled deep within your womb, stilling to catch his breath.

As he tucked himself back into his trousers he watched your close to unconsious form, eyes closed and breaths evening out.

In your current state you could no longer register the Uruks that had gathered because of the noise, watching their Adar who mated with one of the new women. 

He was unsure how long they had been there or how much they saw, but from the howls and cheers he figured they had seen enough. 

With a glare in their direction, Adar sent away his children and covered your bare skin to the best of his abilities. You needed a new set of clothes. 

With you wrapped in his arms he set off to find a place for you to sleep while he sent others on a hunt for clothes. 

[dark-silhouette]

Oh holy s***!!... I need to say Every time I see this gif, thousands of dark and horny thoughts run through my mind 🥵 I need to write something about this 😏🤤

Lord Father have mercy.. 🥵😍

[boop-le-snoot]

kinktober #1

Lovesong

kinktober day one | daddy kink | cw: 18+, self-explanatory. actually rather vanilla-ish. he is sweet. no violence whatsoever. | word count 3,2k | click here for full list of planned fics | author's note under the cut |

Clean water. A bedroll that didn't reek of mildew and filthy iron. Clean clothing, practically a luxury in current circumstances. The villager who had brought it was a small, mousy thing with a baby strapped to her chest, with it being the probable reason uruks left her alone and let her pass throughout the camp unbothered. The southern folk had a variety of coloured fabrics unlike anything encountered by most non-nobles in the West lands. Including you.

You carefully wrapped up your new clothes in your threadbare towel and gathered your necessities before exiting your temporary dwelling. A nearby uruk gave you an appraising glance and, having received your nod, gestured in the appropriate direction. It was not a secret you were a favourite amongst the many slaves and servants. Truthfully, you were never a slave in the first place, but those were semantics that hardly mattered. You worked for your keep like everyone else.

The bathing area was guarded by two Uruks, ones you knew, and they knew you. Greetings were exchanged and the two traded a quick salacious glance as they let you pass through the thick shrubbery surrounding the pools of hot springs. It was a blessing for your party to stumble upon them during your wandering through the Southlands.

Despite their normal state of battle-rugged filth, Uruks did like to bathe. Sure, their standards of cleanliness were much different from humans, and even further than those of Elves, but such was their wild nature. Uruks could be no more at fault for their habits than races considered noble.

It was this realisation that brought you to know the strange scarred Elf sat sprawled against the side of the basin. At least you guessed he was an Elf, or had been, at some point. His rangy, sharp features and pointed ears coupled with the scarring covering every inch of his body made for a mesmerising view. Like a difficult puzzle, he elicited feelings of awe, wonder and trepidation. His eyes opened, two angular slits, and surveyed your approaching form.

On silent feet and watched by his bottomless pools of liquid onyx, you briskly deposited your items on a nearby stone and slid out of your filthy, ragged clothes. The only thing that was subject to salvage was underwear. Relief washed over you as warm, dry air gently touched your bare skin slick with stale sweat and dirt.

“Melmë.” He spoke up suddenly. Water splashed over the edges.

“Adar,” you replied, bowing your head respectfully.

The final article of clothing - a pair of underwear - slid swiftly down your legs. You hurried to step into the pool, acutely aware the way Adar's silent appraisal of your body sent shivers down your flesh. Having spent so long in an Uruk camp, self-consciousness was a thing of the past.

It was anticipation that coiled in your tummy. Expectant, you dunked underwater to wet your hair and run fingers through it to dislodge any debris. Arms connected with your torso, bringing you up above the water. Adar's chest, all lean, textured skin, connected with your back. Where the water was lukewarm, he was pleasantly warm. His palms slid over your chest, brushing past your erect nipples with a petal-soft touch.

You sighed. Adar rumbled.

“Have you forgotten your manners?” His voice resonated throughout your skull as a wry observation.

In truth, you did. The mere prospect of feeling clean had overshadowed everything else in your mind, giving you tunnel vision. Even now, faced well with the prospect of punishment, you could hardly care. Hardly focus on anything beside the scent of soap and, perhaps, the slowly hardening appendage twitching at your rear. You hummed non-commitally and hummed some more when Adar's arms tightened up to keep you in place.

“What you say?” Voice lower, harsher, his strong arms squeezed you just shy of painful.

“I did forget my manners,” you chewed on your bottom lip, contemplating a clever plan to evade Adar's grasp and make a dash for the soap.

“...” Impatient rumble, hand sneaking to none-too-gently grope at your breast.

“Adar!” You quickly added, halting the hand and turning touch towards gentle. Electric sparks shot through your nipple as Adar toyed with it, flicking the hardened nub with the calloused pad of his thumb. You sighed, locking your hips in place. There was a limit to misbehaving.

Somewhat of a theatrical sigh left the Uruk. “You must apologise and make amends, melmë,” he chided, switching his hands to award your other nipple the same arduous torture. A lick of flame burnt bright in the pit of your belly and Adar instantly knew of it, having brought a large hand to press your hips against his own, daring you to push back.

“I am sorry,” you sputtered. For forgetting to greet him properly, yes, but not for wanting a bath. You remained frozen, awaiting a rough grab or a harsh tweak to your abused breast, heart fluttering somewhere in your throat.

It didn't come. Instead, you felt the ghost of a smile brush over the shell of your ear. “There. Was it truly difficult?” The rumble of his voice curved around your budding arousal and pushed it towards forefront.

“No, Adar,” you said. It sounded very close to petulant whining.

It only seemed to amuse him further. He did not laugh, no, but nonetheless the splashing of water was joined by a terse, scratchy noise. A rich sound you echoed with the ghost of a grin.

“Well, then.” Adar released your hip and reached somewhere behind himself.

All business-like, he brought the object in front of you and released your breast to rub it in between his palms underwater. Scents of pine and lye made you sigh in relief and happiness as water foamed. As Adar's hands connected with your skin to drag the fragrant bar along your stomach, your shoulders dropped.

Slowly, he scrubbed at the soft parts of your front. Palms applied gentle pressure, scrubbing away the grime, with fingertips trailing behind, blunt nails raking over clean skin, leaving discoloured lines that disappeared as soon as they were made. Not leaning into the touch was not an option. Your breasts pushed forward, you shamelessly threw your head back and to the side, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

Adar's wet black tresses smelled of smoke on the water. Swallowing the urge to nose at the strong line of his jaw, you pushed yourself further into his hands as they slid up, cleansing your sides and ribcage. Your nipples stood proud and hard, peeking just above the water. Patient as ever, Adar slid the soap once, twice over your breasts and moved on to scrub under your collarbones.

“Adar...” You mumbled, breasts tingling.

“Patience is a virtue,” he chuffed, taking a sharp dive down. He traced your hipbones, squeezed and rubbed the meat on top of them before using them as handles to make you take a step forward. Grumbling, you did, and were rewarded with a pinching squeeze at your ass cheek and a click of his tongue. “Impertinent!”

As Adar's hands made quick work of your neck and back, you mumbled. “I am sorry. It has been such a long time...” You trailed off into a mewl as he squeezed the back of your neck as if you were a misbehaving kitten. It never ceased to make your knees weak. There was something so - possessive, commanding - impertinent, damn it! In that gesture. A new wave of heat flooded your face. Whether one borne of indignation or pleasure was yet to be determined by you.

Adar could read you like an open book in any case. He pretended not to notice the audible hitch in your breath whenever he lost his temper and did something particularly audacious. Like now, for example, when he finished stripping the outermost layer of your skin and abruptly pulled you into himself, backing up all the way to the shallow end of the pool. Your pebbling nipples ignored and hips securely held by his lithe, strong arms, you found yourself sat firmly atop his lap.

The basic instinct was to slam your knees together, irregardless of his long legs falling open and his twitching length slipping along your center. Adar allowed no such luxury. With an ease clearly mocking, he pried open your legs to hang over his as he splayed comfortably in shallow waters. Soapy water dulled the sensation somewhat but did nothing to cool the sheer heat coming from his half-erect cock. Squirming, you were rewarded with another twitch and an irritated rumble.

“Melmë.” A warning.

“Adar.” A breathed acknowledgement. A mewling squeal, really.

He tsk-ed and shook his head, followed by a low mumble of quenya that got past your ears when he used his palms to glide over the inside of your thighs right to where he was most wanted.

“Stay still.” He commanded, unvoiced threat obvious in his voice. “We are getting clean.”

“No funny business,” you muttered demurely, moreso to remind yourself. Adar's punishment was never outright cruel - despite his supposed ‘universally evil’ nature he did not ever take unwilling lovers or bestow harm upon them they did not ask for. He did get creative with enforcing consequences, though. His patience was of an Elven standard.

As for punishment, so for praise. Being and staying good was by far more rewarding than riling him up into a lustful frenzy. You sat patiently, choking down every shiver, as he slowly, tenderly massaged the fat above your pubic bone and squeezed the plump parts of your cunt. Even with so little stimulation, little zaps of lightning, miniature thunderbolts erupted from your clit and into the depths of your cunt.

Your eyelashes fluttered, wet and heavy, and you closed your eyes with a sigh, allowing your body to fall lax atop the tall male. He responded with a long, satisfied sigh and a teasing pat to your pussy. Continuing his clever ministrations, Adar was fully prepared for the jerk that him dipping two fingers between your outer lips provoked in your body.

“Talya,” he whispered, hot breath caressing the shell of your ear. Steady.

“Adar!” You whined, embarrassed. Being spoken to as if you were a spooked horse: a new low even for you. The wave of lust it elicited was undeniable. You weren't fully ready to submit to it just yet. Neither was it going to forsake you: with your clit held firmly between Adar's fingers, shameful lust throbbed.

“Lapta, melmë.” He released your clit to dip down to your entrance, creeping lower, past the tender skin of your perineum, and brushed over your puckered rosebud. You could not hold back the whine. “Sshh,” Adar rumbled gently, but relented, bringing his wandering hand back up to rest over your cunt as his cock, now standing tall and proud, poked at the junction of your leg and hip.

Begging every God for Adar to do something and fighting every urge to squirm and press against nearest available surface, you panted loud, aware of his dark eyes intently studying the side of your face. Every look cut sharper than Elvish make blades; you dared not to open your eyes, instead remaining lax-mouthed and knit-browed under Adar's scrutiny.

The longer you waited, the harder he became. When your bottom lip disappeared under your incisor - a small act of rebellion - you felt Adar's own lips stretch into a grin against your temple.

“You are being so good for me,” he said. The pace of his hand atop your mound picked up slightly, parting your outer lips in the process. He was almost touching your clit and you were almost going insane. “Do you feel clean?”

“Yes, Adar,” you said quickly, thoughtlessly. Whatever he was asking for, the answer would be yes irregardless.

“Are you certain?” The male absent-mindedly rubbed his cheek over yours, as if he was deep in important thought. A soft gasp erupted from you; he smiled. “We must be through with what we do, melmë.” His fingers - O Valar! - finally dipped inside tour slit and massaged the sides of your clit. The slippery wetness that surrounded it was unmistakable even underwater. Adar's cock twitched, again, hot and demanding against your leg. “You must tell me if I was thorough.”

“Ah, yes, Adar!” You moaned brokenly as he rubbed the V of his index and middle finger over your clit, rising the hood of it up and down but not quite touching the sensitive pearl itself. “T-thank you, Adar.”

The pace picked up, his fingers being much too close to where you wanted him most and tortuously not enough.

“You are thankful?” He inquired impishly.

“Yesss,” you hissed as a slippery finger accidentally connected with your pearl, causing your whole pelvis to clench pitifully around nothing. It brought your focus towards the empty, achy feeling in the pit of your belly. “Thank you, Adar.”

A quick, silent kiss to your temple was your reward. “Ah!” He huffed. “You are too good to me, melmë. What about your reward?”

“M-my reward?” You gasped.

“Mhm,” Adar hummed non-commitally as his cock jerked in curiosity.

Any reward for you in this scenario was guaranteed to be pleasurable for him and he knew it. He moulded you like putty in his hands, like a sculptor carved angels out of hard blocks of marble. Your body, warm with arousal and quivering at the most miniscule of touches, sang to him in a choir of rushing blood, flushed cheeks and thrumming pulse in areas most sensitive.

Engorged with need, your clit pulsed. Although your head was fogged by an opaque haze, the words of your deepest desire did not come easy.

“Um,” you said eloquently, words tangling on your tongue as soon as your lust-addled mind formulated them into something resembling a coherent sentence.

“Yes?”

This particular whine you could not contain. “Please do not make me say it, Adar...” You whispered wetly.

He chuckled. “How else am I supposed to find out what it is you desire? I cannot read minds, melmë.” He answered, voice tilted, mocking and encouraging in equal parts. Another “accidental” brush over your clit had you in shambles, quivering and stuttering where you sat.

“I want... You inside of me,” you moaned in shameful yearning.

Two long fingers had no problems with finding the puffy edges to your welcoming entrance and curled expertly. It did very little to quell the hunger in the very depths of it but your cunt held onto the digits nonetheless. Adar's cock pulsed as his hips shifted, seemingly, on their own accord and disobedient to their stoic master's will. Adar was rapidly losing his patience.

“N-no,” you protested. “I want...”

“You want my cock?” Voice like thick crushed velvet, molten like hot honey, Adar demanded your obedience. “Carpa! Say it!”

“I want your cock, Adar!” You whined, giving into the urge to bear down on his fingers and simultaneously clench up around them.

It wasn't particularly graceful nor gentle when Adar withdrew his fingers from your aching cunt and lifted you out of the bath just enough for your ass to be raised above water level. Resting your forearms on the hard ground, you blindly pushed back towards him, your bare cunt coming in contact with his hip. Within seconds the blunt, leaking tip of his cock was nosing at your entrance, silken head parting your lips to slip inside of you.

The ache within your loins was strong. Powerful enough for you to forsake any pretense of patience and propriety and impale yourself right on that long, solid cock so hard it knocked the air out of your lungs. At last! The vast emptiness within you filled, your back fell into a natural arch as your buttocks connected with the firmness of Adar's hips and thighs. You felt the deep, calming breath he took as his belly expanded with it.

A muttered curse preceded the drag of his cock as Adar withdrew, slowly, savouring the hug of your slick walls swollen and throbbing with need. Inadvertedly you clenched in response, already missing the head of his cock nestled deep within your cunt. It was all the encouragement he needed to slam inside of you with a feral growl baring his teeth and putting the whites of his eyes on display.

You moaned, long and loud, way exceeded in your capacity to care for the harsh surface hurting the delicate skin of your forearms. Only the steady push and pull of Adar's hips kept you tethered in this reality. Not the ominously shaking bushes and not the low rumble of the ever-awake Uruk campsite derailed you from the journey to your peak.

Adar's hands palmed - no, pawed at your breasts. He tweaked your nipples just the way you liked it, pistoning his hips in and out of you at a rapid pace. Savouring your moans and clenching of your cunt around him. Groaning with the force of your combined desire, jagged and jumbled mixture of Quenya and Common Tongue.

Tethering on the edge, you mewled for him.

“Adar...”

It seemed like he'd lied previously about his mind reading ability or a lack of thereof. He knew exactly what you needed and how you needed it, brining his palm to force it between your legs. You clit pulsed as he rubbed at it, adding the squelching noises of your cunt into the cacophony of your moans and splashing of water. His other hand grasped your throat, pulling your body backwards into him like a taut bowstring.

Moist and spit-slick, his mouth covered yours just as the heat in your belly exploded like an inferno. Heatwaves and aftershocks followed and Adar fucked you right through them, pulse after pulse echoing on his cock, prolonging your orgasm and wringing out his. His cock spasmed within you and he moaned right into yourself mouth, tongue snagging on your teeth, yours and his clashing.

You couldn't care less. The full feeling of his cock plugging your cunt full of his seed and the slack, sated if fleeting expression on his face was your own little spot of heaven in the utter (and often literal) Mordor of your surroundings. You sucked on Adar's tongue - gently, akin to a kitten - and safely deposited the memory of this into the very depths of your mind. Comforts had a tendency not to last.

You lamented the loss of Adar within you as soon as he softened enough to wetly slip out. An absence of his cock within you was so hard, it became a presence. Dripping with seed, your pussy clenched around nothing - ever the insatiable thing - and you made efforts to escape Adar's grasp.

Futile.

“We must get clean again,” he stated matter-of-fact, gathering you even closer to himself as his fingers turned your forearms up to display the dirt and scratches that resulted from your chaotic coupling.

When they were clean, Adar's lips traced each line, single-minded and petal-soft. His eyes were eons away.

Polished up the Uruks here a little bit and give them some half-decent semblance of a society, if to make some sense of what Adar is/does. If my Quenya sucks, I am sorry. I'm better with Sindarin :c

we are getting nasty in the bath because, well, I've seen the state of his camps and I'm pretty sure a UTI in those circumstances may actually be deadly. some kind of sauronian morgothian super-evil-bacteria is what we don't need in our sexy times 💀

Contrary to the single playlist theme of this kinktober compilation, I had Adam Sandler's stand up show playing in the background when I wrote this. Specifically the song about Chris Farley repeated like 3 times. Who knew my personal style icon could sing that well!? Damn! Go Adam!

[pinkchaosnight]

so here is my adar request. basically in which the fem!reader is taken in ep 5 instead of galadriel. once in adar's tent (during ep 6) they talk and get into a heated discussion about sauron and eregion. their banter gets so intense that glûg walks inside to see if everything is okay and then they both snap at them in union and then glûg whispers something like "oh no, dad and mom are fighting" idk something humorous lol. (excuse my grammar mistakes - English is not my native language). i need tension like air.

omg , tysm for this ask. its absolutely flawless. i enjoyed this ep so much! i have initially thought of doing a small imagine but somehow it turned it into this long, also i diverged from the ask slightly too🥹. i have changed some dialouges and scenarios. i hope you enjoy them!

pull of threads - (adar × fem!reader)

summary: dinner with adar is never straightforward is it? when especially you are captured and essentially sort of a prisoner?

(reimagined rings of power ep 6 where reader gets captured instead of Galadriel)

pairing : adar x female!reader

notes : english is not my first language, so i apologize in advance for the errors you might encounter. i have not properly edited, so please let me know if you find any error.

the uruk leader seated across you is poking his food with a vigour, as he regards you with suspicion. humiliation might be the nicest thing you can describe about what you are feeling right now, (along with some other feelings too but you blatantly ignore them) being captured as a prisoner. you were Lady Galadriel's friend and the her aide, until a few months ago when you retired from your post. everything that was going on was so overwhelming that you had to step away from your duties and that's exactly what you did. you travelled around, mostly staying in woods and forests and praying orcs don't chase you. you almost succeeded too until you recieved a letter from Lady Galadriel stating she needed your help, now that they are going to warn Celebrimbor about Halbrand being Sauron. you were reading her letter without a care for your surrounding that unfortunately resulted in you being captured and brought to the uruk camp. and thats why you were currently in this situation, being seated in front the uruk leader. Adar, he is called, as you recall from the days Lady Galadriel captured him many months ago.

the tent which was made up of dirty rags, was surprisingly warm, with a fireplace and a huge table laden with food. combinations of food that seems almost a disgrace to the plates it hold ; with berries, onions and meat. whoever did the dinner should be tossed into the cliff. the said uruk leader was now biting into a piece of meat from god knows what, as he watches you. if he is hoping to catch something from your expression he has another thing coming for him, as you keep your face as emotionless as you can, although Eru knows for how long.

" from my brief time in your Commander's capture, I guessed she was intent on finding Sauron. almost consumed by the thought of it, one might say." his words sliced the depth of silence that hanged between you and him.

" former Commander. and it is none of your concern what her intentions are. who are you to know her mind? you who could not even resist the allure of Sauron's words?" you reply in a monotonous way, hoping he doesn't find anything there.

Adar stops as he hears those words, as he slowly puts down the piece of food he is chewing. he remembers the first time he saw you; being chained up after being captured by Galadriel. all around him was dark but you came with a jar of water and a loaf of bread for him, when everybody was kind of neglecting him, except for when they needed information and torturing. that simple act of kindess and the conversions that ranged from 'hello' to a simple 'have a good day' that followed from your side warmed what little was left of his beating heart. he remember you being firercely loyal to Galadriel yet having a mind of your own to speak if necessary. he remembers how you disagreed when your commander spoke of his children as slaves. and above all, he remembers how you exuded a sense of warmth in that cold space.

now he looks at you in surprise as he leans forward "former?"

you squirm uncomfortably in your seat. after all, how could you let him know that one of the reasons why you left the army and being her secondin command, was his words? the converstion between him, Lady Galadriel and you, when he was captured really messed up your perceptive. other elves could not see but you saw what he was trying to say; that the uruks were just as worthy of lives and living as other creations of Eru, as each had a heart. you remember disagreeing with Lady Galadriel when she mentioned them as slaves, and Adar's eyes flashing in you direction, with ambiguous emotions.

shaking out of your reverie you say "yes, i am no longer her second in command, so its really useless to have me captured in here. i can offer you nothing. "

adar chuckles at your statement, as he rises from his seat and strides towards you. he stops infront of your chair, as he looks at you with an intense stare. and you couldn't help but stare back at him. those eyes, surrounded by scars and years of mutilation, made your heart ache with pain. you wonder what he was thinking, what he was plotting behind those somber eyes of his. you always wondered what happened to him after you ran away from the campsite that day. you retired and wandered in woods after that incident, with nothing to keep you company but fragments of him in your memory. love and hatred have a fine line separating them; you often heard from your friends and in those lonely nights on the woods you wandered if that is true. if you can cross that line with bravery. something that you are afraid to reveal to anyone. he was the one in your mind and on the other side of that fine line, as swirls of feeling wound up in your heart. a dangerous feeling to have for man who is going to kill you......one day.

"who says you can offer me nothing?" he says as he strides close to your face and tucks a strand of hair back. funny he did that because you had the same thought too, of brushing the loose hair of his and tucking it back. "my children found this in your bag" he says as he pulls out the scroll from a table behind you. "we know the elven army is approaching to find Sauron, in Eregion. And that has all the confirmation i want. and i know Halbrand is Sauron"

desperation washes over you as you see the scroll of paper Lady Galadriel wrote and gave you to read before she parted ways. you never got a chance to read the rest of paper as she and you went seprate ways, before you got caught by his minions.

" whatever your plan is, it is not going to work " you say with venom, as you stand up in anger (or so you thought stubbornly), coming face to face with him.

"do you know what Sauron promised me? " Adar asks you as he studies your expression flits from anger to confusion "children, he promised me children. and he made that promise into weapons of wars, my children mere tools for his gratifications, something which can be eradicated at his whims" he says, his voice a tad quite and flushed with sadness. it took all my willpower to keep my hands from reaching his and comforting him.

" you are going to kill him Eregion, aren't you?" i ask as realisation hits me a few seconds later. he moves back a few paces, widening the tantalizing distance betweeen us and doesn't reply as he keeps his back to me.

" you cannot, i think it is his plan too. i just have feeling in my heart this is exactly what he wants. for you to lead your army to him. we must ask Lady Galadriel's advice" i say as he turns and shoots me a look of disbelief.

"why should i listen to the words of someone whose race is hellbent on eradicating us from the face of this plane?" he shouts as he paces towards you, shaking with anger. "i did not capture you to hear your advice. Eregion will fall and Sauron with it" he says as closes the distance between us, trapping me between the chair and him.

"i want Sauron to fall too, i want to kill him and make sure he is permanently wiped off from this earth. but not in this way." i shriek in his face, which was merely inches apart from mine.

"i do not know why you care if i lead my army or not " he hisses as he moves back from me again, his eyes capturing my own ones in anger and perhaps sadness.

there is a tipping point for everyone's anger and you could feel his words pushing you to yours. you could no longer hold the feelings erupting inside you as you shouts." i care because this will all be ending in blooshed. i care because all my loved ones are going there and i don't want them to die. i care for the lives that will be sacrificed if you chose to follow this foolish plan of yours. and i care that something will happen to you and you will not make it out alive"

reality of the words registers in your brain as soon as the words escape your mouth. you have opened your heart and mouth and let all the dam of emotions you kept inside to turn into a river. and now you are going to suffer the consequences, preferably being submerged in those same waters, which you so kept in binds inside your now erratically beating organ.

Adar was stunned, staring at you in utter silence. his heart tingled, with the same warmth he felt months ago in your presence. his ears has always been the receiver of abuse and bad news, never the object to receive the sentiment with which you uttered the words quite a few seconds ago; words with care...and love. he slowly steps forward you, his hands unclenching from the remnant of his anger and reaching towards your face "you ....care about me.....?" his voice is a mere whisper, tinged with something you couldn't place. this goddess, this beacon of kindness care about him?

you wanted to melt into those eyes of his, that is oh so mysterious and perhaps you would have, if the tents did not flap open suddenly.

" lord father, glûg here. i heard shouts coming from outside. i was worried and just came inside to check if you are okay and if nan--" glûg stops as he sees you standing closely to his lord father. you notice his surprise being replaced with a slight smirk in your direction.

"get out" adar and you both says in unison, as you turn towards the orc in annoyance.

"certainly lord father" glûg says as turns away to exit "just lover's quarrel, lord father and naneth better make up". he exits as quickly as he can, muttering to himself.

you turn your head towards him, only to catch his eyes searching your face "yes i do care about you...." your voice is shaking but not in anger and with some other emotions you tried so hard to bury.

a flicker of emotions passes over his eyes as he glazes his vision over you "you think you are the only one who cares? why did you even think i captured you instead of your Commander, when i could have easily caught her and gotten the information too? why did you think you never encountered any orcs while you were sauntering through the woods? never have you escaped from my mind for a moment from the day we met. i tried so hard to keep every emotions i am feeling, hidden from you. but tonight i can't and i won't. i know i am a monster, an abomination for someone so kind as you. but tonight i am baring the one thing that has not been tainted by the evil , to your hands."

he places your hand on his chest, as you your eyes brim with tears. you feel his heart beating erratically, mirroring yours. "from the day you pulled me from that dark abyss, i decided that this heart will only belong to one person, to the one person this heart wholeheartedly loves."

time stops as you hears his words, it is like honey being poured into your ears. "so does mine too" you reciprocate, as you places his hands on your chest. "you are neither a monster nor an abomination. you are beautiful as Eru's any other creation. i even left the army because of you. because you keep on invading my everyday thoughts. and i kept thinking of how you are my enemy and i how i should hate you. but my heart never responded to any negative emotions, for all it had was love for you."

fianlly you can let this emotion run free, this plaguing need for him that you tried so hard to conceal. you would have stood there for eternity, for all of your immortal life, with his warm hands pressing yours into his chest. no words are exchanged betweeen you two in these seconds; no words are needed as the beating of your heart and the measure of your breath are enough to convey the feelings pouring off from both of you. he slowly closes the already miniscule distance betweeen you, as you step forward at the same time too, the tantalizing distance between your lips almost unbearable. you can feel his breath near your mouth, as your lips part with breathlessness and need. you just need to lean forward and place your mouth. you slowly reach forward, just enough to press the lips against his----

" lord father, i got a sudden report that---what is happening here?" glûg's voice rang across the tent as you and adar both turned to his direction.

" GET OUT GLÛG" you both cries in unison as poor glûg scurries off, being banished from the tent second time. but not before he catches a warm smile passing over his lord father. glûg catches from his peripheral vision, of his lord father pressing a chaste kiss in your cheek before placing his forehead against yours and smiling a genuine smile, which he has never seen.

'things will be good from now on' glûg thinks as he passes over to the next tent, thinking of the elf that thawed the ice of his lord father's heart. the one his lord father told him about months; the one lord father instructed him to call naneth in the future. and the one who made his lord father whole again after eons.

extra notes - all the asks i got, i will update them by this week itself, tysm for requesting! please leave a like and reblog and if you enjoyed reading them. hope everyone have an amazing day :)

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Masterlist

All of my fics are available on AO3 under the same username Criticallyinneedofadar! AO3 Link

Rings of Power

Elrond (interconnected one shots)

A Flower Among Stone

The Price of Compassion

Among Friends and Enemies

A Jewel in the Garden

To Wonder At the Stars

Adar

Starlight Jewels - One Shot

Beyond Hope - One shot

A Life Lost in Time- One shot, can be read with Beyond Hope.

Alliance of Shadows- Series (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7) (Chapter 8) (Chapter 9) (Chapter 10) (Chapter 11) (Chapter 12) (Epilogue)

Across Time- (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)(Chapter 4) (Chapter 5) (Chapter 6) (Chapter 7) (Chapter 8) (Chapter 9) (Chapter 10) (Chapter 11) (Chapter 12) (Chapter 13) (Chapter 14) (Chapter 15)(Chapter 16)

Berries- One Shot

Yuletide Joy- One Shot

Elendil

Together in Grief - One Shot

A Grave Homecoming- One shot

The Valar's Blessing - One Shot

Summer Rain- Ask

Cargo Barrels - One Shot

Errands- Ask

The Banks of Edhellond- Ask

Gil Galad

The Weight of the Weary - One Shot

Lovely Thorn (Part 1 ) (Part 2 )

An Unexpected Joy- One Shot

Royal Duties- One Shot

Beside You - One Shot

Celebrimbor

An Artist's Gaze- One shot

Lemon Cakes and a Melody- One Shot

Male Reader- Ask

The Princess of Lindon- One Shot

Steel and Song- Ask

Lord of the Rings

Faramir

Ask

The Hobbit

Thorin Oakenshield

A Song of Home- One Shot

Public Relations(hips)- One Shot

House of the Dragon

Cregan Stark

The North

Game of Thrones

Benjen Stark

The Ranger and the Wildling

[annwrites]

⸻ no sound but the wind. part one. ⸻

· pairing: adar x fem!reader · type: part of mini-series · summary: adar finds personal use for you as a slave of a different kind. · tw: non-con · word count: 3,212

“And do you swear allegiance to Adar, father of the Uruks?”

You stare ahead at the man he speaks of—if he is even truly a man at all—observing his long, black, silken hair, his gray, sallow skin, the ruined sides of his face where the skin is pulled taught from scarring due to, you presume, fire—his thin lips tightly pursed while he awaits your answer. And it’s then that you notice his pointed ears.

His is an elf. How—how could he let this happen? How can he partake in it? He is meant to be wise and strong, yet gentle and fair. Not…whatever he has instead become.

It does not much matter how he has come upon the path which he now follows. What’s done is done.

All is now lost that once was to you because of it. That you’d most loved. That which had brought you joy and much more.

Like your village, where trees had flowered and bloomed year-round. Those of almond and chestnut, apple and peaches, sour lemons and limes. Some, which ivy grew upon the trunks of, while blossoms were peppered throughout green leaves that dappled the ground below in sunlight, which rays shone through from a clear blue sky above—white, fluffy clouds slowly floating past.

Or lush, soft, green grass which you would lie upon and nap. Clear, cool running water in streams that were always warm in the summer, and crisp in the autumn when those same sticky apples fell into the soil, feeding it until the year next when farmers would tend their fields of potatoes, carrots, pumpkins, lettuce, and strawberries—the various types of crops nearly endless. Mayhaps a few bushes of berries were to be had, as well.

Animals grazed the fields: cows and sheep and goats alike, and chickens would peck about around the settlement while pigs oinked in their pens, lazy cats slept upon windowsills, and pups ran along after smiling, playful children—their adoring parents watching along after them as young couples in love strolled into the small market in the middle of town to purchase goods.

Like spices and cured meats, colorful fabrics and dresses, woven baskets and pillar candles, pots and pans, and shimmering, beautiful glassware, among so much more.

And there would be gatherings in the square quite regularly: dances and festivals, competitions in archery or axe throwing, or quilt-making and pie baking.  Woodworkers and blacksmiths would presents their creations to all for purchase, for the cost of a pretty, shining coin—celebrations abound. Music and delicious foods were to be had, young maidens with flowers in their hair waiting for a kiss as their dresses of chiffon and tulle swayed round their slippered feet.

In the evenings, fireflies would flit through the air like tiny sparks of light while you and your mother would prepare dinner, your father always tending to something. Whether it was in your household’s small stables outside—where horses would quietly whinny as he fed them or brushed them down—or inside, fixing something in the cottage where the three of you lived contentedly.

And you would listen through open windows to crickets and cicadas while you quietly read your parents a story or two from a novel you’d retrieved from upon the mantle your grandfather had designed when the home had been his and your grandmother’s—the books hers—the three of you sitting before a small fire in the main room’s hearth.

And now… Now the once-fertile and emerald hills are unrecognizable. They have been, instead, replaced by black sludge and darkened, smoking ash—the skies overcast and always looking to be on the verge of an ugly storm as these hideous beasts rape the land for all it is worth.

They take and they take, and for what? Perhaps merely just to destroy for the sake of the act.

You will not willingly partake in ruining your beloved homeland. You would rather die and be with them: your family, your friends—forever to live upon those rolling hills once you shut your eyes for the last time.

You raise your chin, ignoring how it trembles when you meet his black, empty eyes.

He does not react. Does not so much as raise a brow in interest as he gazes back at you.

Something shifts behind you, and you steel yourself—refusing to look. You will not tremble in the face of death which calls you home.

And then he raises a hand from where it rests beside him, upon the arm of his make-shift throne—but barely, at that.

“Wait,” he calls quietly.

You hear something settle into the dirt and gravel behind you once more.

He rises slowly, descending step after step in measured moves, until he’s standing before you.

He places an index finger beneath your chin, tipping your face upwards, forcing you to meet his eyes.

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Comely little thing, aren’t you?” He says softly, his voice monotone.

You keep your mouth shut.

He nods infinitesimally. “Take her to my tent. Ensure she’s watched carefully. I’ve use for this one.”

One of the monsters he commands takes hold of your upper-arm, his other hand coming to tug at the shackles which bind you, pulling you away.

“Kill me!” You finally shout, tears brimming in your eyes.

He turns slightly from where he’s begun ascending his throne once again, looking at you from over his shoulder.

You tug against your restraints, pulling free of the revolting thing that touches you.

“I want to die, so kill me. I’m of no use you to here. I do not know how to…”

You shake your head, grasping for words in your panic. “How to carve wood, or assemble structures, or break apart stone—”

He chuckles lowly, turning round fully, coming back to you.

He slides his rough hand along your soft cheek before cupping the back of your head. He tangles his strong fingers in your hair, yanking your head back by those same strands, causing you to whimper in pain.

“You think I desire you for hard labor?”

You gulp in fear.

“I have far different plans in-mind for you. You will serve me well in other ways. Ones more…”

His eyes trail slowly along your body, before meeting your own once again. “Suited to your feminine form.”

You choke back a sob, realization filling you, along with an unbridled sense of terror.

He releases you again, nodding toward his crony.

You’re taken in-hand once again, and led away—your pleading cries falling upon deaf ears.

Adar’s tent is nothing exceptional—somewhat opposite of what you’ve expected it to be.

His bed is not a cot, surprisingly—certainly large enough to fit two, if not two-and-a-half—and he has a rather cluttered war table, which you’ve been informed, quite firmly, that you are not to touch. So you look at it, instead, from a distance from the wooden chair you’ve been provided.

You see small metal and wooden figurines placed about—construction plans, you assume.

You fail to understand what he could possibly want with the now-destroyed land, but decide you ultimately don’t want to know. You’d rather remember it as it’d once been instead.

You glance to the entrance of his tent, where an Uruk stands guard—the flap pulled back, allowing you a peak outside as the others like him mill about, coming and going and working.

Bile rises in your throat at the sight of them. They’re wretched. Cursed. Vile.

You won’t let him touch you.

You’ll do whatever you must to instead give him cause to drive a blade through your beating heart instead. You will not dishonor yourself—not even for the sake of survival.

You will die as you had lived: as yourself.

You’d waited so long for him to come—rehearsing in your head all the ways you might achieve that which you most desire at his hand; but nevertheless of your own causing—you’d fallen asleep.

You jolt awake when heavy footsteps enter the tent, staring in fear as bastardized elves carry inside a large, wooden tub full of steaming water.

They settle it into the middle of the space, retreating just as promptly as they’d come.

And then he steps inside, the once-open curtain flapping closed behind him.

He settles his arms behind his back as he gazes down at you.

He glances to the tub, then back to you. “Bathe. Once you are finished, I shall next.”

He goes to his war table, seating himself heavily, opening a scroll which lies atop it, and he begins reading over the item in his large hand.

You remain seated, too terrified to move.

“I need…privacy,” you say—your voice breaking, tears filling your eyes.

He keeps his back turned to you. “And you have it. Now, do as I bid you.”

You slowly stand, feeling unsure on your feet—your movements hesitant and wavering—as you come closer.

You study the back of his head, nervously flitting your eyes about the table before him, searching desperately for a weapon.

“I would not attempt it.”

You jerk in surprise.

He sets the parchment aside, retrieving a small, sharply pointed figure in the shape of a diamond. “You’d do well to make things easier for yourself. Obey me, and your days will be easy. Don’t—”

You interrupt. “I’ll never give m-myself to you willingly. I’ll—I’ll kill you,” you say, the threat sounding far more like a question than anything else.

You do not see how his lip twitches in mild amusement.

Finally, he sighs, pushing out his chair, standing.

You shuffle backwards, desperate to get away from him—from this place as a whole—from all of the rot and disease that has now claimed this land you’d once called home.

Once you’ve backed yourself into a solid pole, which upholds the side of the tent, you stare up at him.

“So you should instead kill me,” you finish.

He softly shakes his head, cupping your cheek gently, brushing his thumb along the apple of it.

“You merely think that you wish for death. I have quite…creative ways to make you obey, until death is so far from your grasp that all you can see ahead of you is more of whatever I’ve been forcing you to endure. Until you break. Until you are ready and willing to do as I please just to make the pain stop.”

He cups your other cheek, holding you firmly in-place.

“I have been here for a very, very long time. Longer than your young mind may ever comprehend. I am not a man who is easily swayed. Nor am I merciful to any others than my children. It is not in my nature. But, for your sake, if you do as I command, I may consider a more gentle touch.”

He releases you. “Time shall tell.”

Your face crumples and you begin to cry, all hope fleeing you of obtaining a different fate than whatever he has in-store for you.

He seats himself once more.

“Now, do as I’ve told you. I will not ask again.”

You tremble violently and feel distant from your body, but you still manage to strip yourself of your soiled, stained gown, letting the heavy material pool at your feet, before ridding yourself of your smallclothes next.

You keep your eyes on him—never removing them—as you step closer to the tub, and then ease yourself into the hot water, sucking in a sharp breath as you seat yourself.

 You grab the small bar of soap you’ve been provided, lathering yourself.

You wish to be finished sooner than late, but also want to take your time—to savor this final moment of something…nice. Because you will do it: find a way tonight to make him take your life.

You’ll not stop until he does.

The two of you remain silent as you cleanse yourself—desperate to get the stench of this new environment from your skin. It is no longer that of fresh air and flowers. It is now that of something pungent and oily.

Death.

That is what it is.

Eventually, you rise, drying yourself with a small towel, and then you glance around in a panic for clean clothes.

Just as you think to dress once again in your previous garments, he gestures toward the small wooden dresser beside the table where he sits.

“You’ll find clean tunics in the second drawer.”

Once you’ve put one on, you take a step back. “What of…trousers, or smallclot—”

“You won’t be needing them any longer,” he replies, rising, the two of you staring at one another as he unbuckles the belt from his waist which holds his sword, setting it atop the previously-occupied table.

You promptly look away, your nose growing warm and eyes stinging as you seat yourself at the foot of the bed, watching as shadows pass by the curtain at the front of the tent.

You tightly grip the blankets beneath you, considering, watching intently.

You hear water lapping, and then a quiet groan as he leans back, enjoying what heat still remains in the water that fills the tub.

“I wouldn’t,” he states in that rasping voice which barely reaches above a whisper.

You bristle.

“You’ll not make it more than a handful of steps before my Uruks return you to this tent. To me. You won’t enjoy what happens to you next.”

He sighs. “Save yourself some pain.”

“Why’re you doing this?” You ask tearfully.

He begins to wash himself, keeping his eyes trained on you. “What is it which you refer to?”

“You’re an elf. You’re supposed to… Meant to be kind. Wise and—”

“You think I value that which I come from?  You think the high elves of this land care any more for your life than they do my Uruks? Pride is their virtue. They see themselves above all else, including men. Because they’ve made it so. They would see us all sequestered away to darkened corners of Middle-Earth if it meant all could be theirs once again.”

A tear slips down your cheek. “You destroyed my home. Took everything from me. And you think I mean to give myself to you? Willingly? To play at being your—your—”

“You will be my concubine. And nothing else. That is your role now. In time…you may come to see matters differently. Come to see me differently.”

“That will never happen,” you whisper.

He rises from the tub—his damp strands dripping at the ends as he shrugs on a clean tunic, padding toward you.

He grips your chin, forcing you to look up as he towers over you. “In time, I believe it will. For your survival, if naught else. Even if you find such a prospect to be of little value to you now.”

He grabs you roughly by the arm then, forcing you to your feet.

Your chest presses against his own as tears slip from your exhausted eyes—your heart pounding like a hammer against cloth at him being so close.

“I’ll give you one final chance, child. Give your body to me willingly, and be given mercy, or don’t, and I will unleash upon you pain unlike any you’ve ever known.”

You make a split-second decision, praying it be your last.

You swing your free arm upwards, swiftly, and slap him as hard as you possibly can.

He barely reacts as he turns his head back in your direction, shaking it lightly.

“Pain it is, then.”

He throws you back onto the bed, swiftly removing his tunic, settling all his muscled weight atop you, weighing you down—forcing you into place as he forces your own garment up and over your head, ignoring your screaming, pleading, panicked protests as you battle against him.

You squirm and pound your fists against his chest, and kick your legs and wail in terror, but he acts as if he does not even notice.

He grips each of your wrists tightly in his hands, holding them above your head while he knocks your legs apart with his knee.

You suddenly still, fervently shaking your head, choking on your own tears as you struggle to draw in even one steady breath.

“Please—Please don’t. I beg of you! Please, not this! Please, please!” You scream shrilly.

“I gave you another way and you refused it. Now, you will learn.”

He plunges inside of you with one forceful buck of his hips and you choke on your own saliva at the excruciating pain which manifests between your thighs. Burning. You feel as if you are on fire where his body now connects with your own.

And he is anything but gentle, just as he had promised you he would be.

He ruts away inside of you, grunting quietly, his skin slapping against yours as his long, throbbing member plunges in and out of you while he searches for his peak against your will.

You stare upwards, at the billowing canopy, desperate for it to end. Desperate to die. To disappear.

This is nightmare from which you will never wake, and you have naught to comfort you from it.

No home.

No family.

No friends.

No warm bed of your very own where you may rest.

No village which is full of joy and safety.

No nothing.

Nothing is left.

Not even that which you’d hoped to one day give to your husband.

He has taken every single thing, and intends to take even more yet still.

You break then—far sooner than expected, than you'd hoped—resigning yourself to letting him have it.

You will instead go away inside yourself, back to the place you most wish to return to.

And you find peace there. In a quiet field where vibrant butterflies flit about, and chimes which hang upon tree branches tinkle gently in the wind.

You close your eyes, humming in contentment as the sun warms your skin, listening as sheep baa at one another close by.

And then you are ripped from the fantasy and forced back inside that claustrophobic tent as he pours himself deeply inside of you, moaning as he takes his final thrusts—pushing his rotten seed further into your core.

Finally, he collapses beside you, heaving for breath.

You do not move. Not an inch.

Hot tears slip silently from the corners of your eyes while he runs out of you elsewhere. Your body begins to gently jerk against your will in shock, and you sniffle and whimper in pain and fear.

After a moment, he rises, washes himself off, then pours for himself a mug of water, downing it quickly.

He pours himself another, leaning back against the dresser across from where you lie.

“It will get easier when you let it,” he states.

He takes another long drink. “It’s been…many years since I’ve had a woman—a maiden, even more-so.”

You refuse to look at his blood-stained member.

He returns to you, seating himself upon the edge of the bed, his leg bent at the knee as he gently grasps your chin, his fingers ghosting along your hot skin.

“As such, I don’t intend to let you go. So, do what you must.”

He sets his mug atop the bedside table, climbing atop you once more.

“I shall do the same,” he states, sheathing himself inside your slick core once again.

[gauntletgirlie]

His view:

Her view:

I’ll see myself out…

[earthlybeam]

https://www.tumblr.com/earthlybeam/772910252735741952/your-writing-is-amazing-it-makes-me-feel-so-many?source=share

Please Thranduil and Adar version.🥺

how would the elves react to this?

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Thranduil , Adar Version below

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

𐂂 As a king, Thranduil would approach his role as a spouse and parent with a deep sense of responsibility and dedication. His love for his family would be quiet but profound, shown through his actions rather than outward displays of affection. Reserved and stoic, he would offer stability, protection, and wisdom to those he loves, though he may struggle to express his emotions openly. His devotion would be steadfast and enduring, shaped by a long history of loss and responsibility. Thranduil’s love is unwavering, though not always easily seen—it is felt in the quiet moments, in the way he ensures his family’s safety and legacy.

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Thranduil as a Spouse

Thranduil, with his regal bearing, sharp intellect, and enigmatic nature, would approach marriage as both a sacred bond and a solemn responsibility. To him, his partner would not only be his equal but also his confidant, an anchor in his long life that has seen much sorrow and loss. Though his demeanor may seem cold or distant to those who do not know him well, Thranduil’s love runs deep, and his devotion to his partner would be absolute. However, he is not one for grand displays of affection or constant verbal reassurances. Instead, his love is expressed through subtle, meaningful actions: ensuring his partner’s comfort and protection, attending to their needs before they are voiced, and offering his quiet presence as a source of strength. His reserved nature means that Thranduil’s affections are not easily won. Centuries of heartache, including the loss of his wife and the burden of ruling a kingdom under constant threat, have built walls around his heart. He would not enter a relationship lightly, and it would take someone with immense patience, understanding, and determination to earn his trust and affection. Once he allows himself to love, however, his devotion would be steadfast and unwavering, as enduring as the timeless forests of Mirkwood. His love would not be fleeting or shallow but something that grows richer and deeper with the passage of time.

As a spouse, Thranduil would embody stability and security. His partner would feel the weight of his protection—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually as well. He would ensure their well-being, always considering their safety and comfort, though his protective instincts might sometimes border on overbearing. If his spouse were ever threatened, Thranduil’s fury would be as swift and unrelenting as a storm, and he would not rest until the threat was vanquished. His reserved demeanor might occasionally make him appear aloof, but in private moments, he would reveal a more tender side: lingering touches, quiet whispers of endearment, or the simple act of resting his forehead against his partner’s in a moment of shared peace.

Thranduil’s deep sense of pride and protectiveness would sometimes manifest as possessiveness. He has seen too much loss to take what he holds dear for granted, and he would not tolerate anything that might endanger his spouse or their relationship. This protectiveness could sometimes be a source of tension, as Thranduil’s strong will and desire to shield his loved ones might clash with his partner’s independence. Despite this, he would hold his partner in the highest regard, respecting them as his equal and valuing their counsel. He would expect loyalty and trust in return and would not abide betrayal, as his sense of honor runs deep. While his public demeanor as a king is stoic and imperious, behind closed doors, Thranduil would show his softer, more vulnerable side. He might struggle to express his emotions openly, as the fear of vulnerability weighs heavily on him, but his partner would learn to see through his silences. A lingering glance, the way his hand lingers on theirs for just a moment longer, or the way he instinctively steps closer when they are near—these would be the ways Thranduil shows his love. Over time, as trust deepens, he would become more comfortable sharing his heart, though it would never come naturally to him. His love would always be expressed more in action than in words, but the depth of his feelings would be unmistakable.

Thranduil’s partner would also see the weight he carries as a king and the toll it takes on him. His sense of duty to his people and his kingdom is immense, and at times, it might feel as though he places these responsibilities above his personal relationships. However, his partner would come to understand that this is not out of a lack of love but rather a reflection of his unwavering dedication to his people. Thranduil’s spouse would become his refuge, the one person who can ease his burdens and remind him that he is not alone in his struggles. In moments of vulnerability, he would lean on his partner, finding solace in their presence and strength in their love. Over time, the bond between Thranduil and his spouse would deepen into something unbreakable. Though his affection may never be flashy or sentimental, it would be fierce, enduring, and eternal—a love that transcends words and time, as constant as the stars in the night sky. For Thranduil, to love someone is to give them a piece of his heart that he would protect with all the power he wields, and to his partner, his love would be a gift of unparalleled depth and beauty.

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Thranduil as a Parent

Thranduil’s approach to parenthood would be a complex mix of regal authority, deep love, and overprotective instincts. As a king burdened by centuries of loss and the unrelenting demands of leadership, his parenting style would reflect both his wisdom and his struggles to balance emotion with duty. If he had children, Thranduil would see them as the embodiment of his legacy, the future of his people, and perhaps even a reminder of the joy he has lost over his long life. His love for them would be profound, though it might not always be expressed in ways that are immediately apparent. Thranduil is not a parent who would lavish his children with open affection or frivolous praise, but rather one who would demonstrate his devotion through his actions, guidance, and fierce protection.

Thranduil would raise his children to be strong, resilient, and wise, instilling in them a deep respect for their heritage and the responsibilities that come with it. From an early age, they would be taught the value of discipline, honor, and leadership. Thranduil would likely place great emphasis on their education—both in matters of governance and in the skills necessary to survive in a dangerous world. He would ensure they are well-versed in history, diplomacy, and combat, believing that they must be prepared to face the trials of the world beyond the safety of Mirkwood’s borders. His expectations would be high, as he would want his children to reflect the strength and nobility of their lineage. Though Thranduil’s love for his children would be unwavering, it would often be overshadowed by his reserved nature and his tendency to keep his emotions tightly guarded. He might struggle to express his feelings openly, fearing vulnerability even with those closest to him. Instead, his love would manifest in quieter ways—ensuring his children’s safety, providing them with everything they need to thrive, and offering his wisdom and guidance when they face challenges. While he might not often voice his pride, his children would sense it in the way he observes their achievements with a subtle but unmistakable light in his eyes.

Thranduil’s protectiveness as a parent would be both his strength and his flaw. Having endured great loss in his life, he would be fiercely determined to shield his children from harm. This overprotective nature might at times feel stifling, as he would be reluctant to allow them to take risks or face danger. He would see the dangers of the world more keenly than most, and this would make him hesitant to let his children venture far from his reach. His protective instincts could lead to conflict, especially if his children desire more freedom or independence. They might struggle against the boundaries he sets, feeling the weight of his expectations and the limits of his overbearing love. Despite these challenges, Thranduil would be deeply invested in his children’s future. He would mentor them personally, offering his wisdom and experience to prepare them for the roles they are destined to inherit. Whether they are destined to rule or to forge their own path, Thranduil would be committed to ensuring their success. However, his high expectations and pragmatic nature might make him appear overly critical at times. He would rarely offer excessive praise, as he would believe that true growth comes from facing challenges head-on. Yet, beneath his reserved exterior, he would harbor an immense pride in his children’s achievements, even if he struggles to express it openly.

Thranduil’s reserved nature and emotional distance could create tension in his relationship with his children, especially if they are more emotionally expressive or seek a deeper connection with him. They might long for more warmth or reassurance than he knows how to give. Over time, however, they would come to understand that his stoicism is not a lack of love but rather a reflection of the burdens he carries. For those who are patient enough to see beyond his guarded exterior, Thranduil’s love would become clear in the way he stands by them, unwavering in his support and loyalty.

As a parent, Thranduil would be deeply protective of his children’s hearts as well as their safety. While he might not openly share his vulnerabilities, he would never let them feel alone in their struggles. In moments of great need, he would be a source of unshakable strength, offering quiet comfort and unwavering support. His children would come to understand that Thranduil’s love is fierce and enduring, a steady presence that they can always rely on, even when unspoken. Though his parenting might sometimes feel austere or even overbearing, his devotion to his children would be as deep and timeless as the ancient forests he calls home. For Thranduil, his children would represent hope—a chance to shape a brighter future and protect the legacy of his people.

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Challenges as a Parent

Thranduil, with his stoic and proud nature, would face significant challenges as a parent, shaped by both his immense love for his children and the burdens of his past. One of his greatest struggles would be reconciling his role as a father with his duties as a king. The constant demands of ruling Mirkwood, particularly during its darkest days, would often pull him away from his family, leaving his children to sometimes feel the weight of his absence. Though his love would be deep and unwavering, his inability to always be present might create tension, especially if his children long for more time with him or a deeper emotional connection.

Thranduil’s overprotectiveness would also present challenges in his parenting. Having lived through immense loss—including the death of his beloved wife and witnessing countless tragedies over the centuries—he would be fiercely determined to shield his children from harm. This desire to protect them at all costs might lead him to impose strict boundaries, limiting their freedom in an effort to keep them safe. If his children were adventurous or eager to step into the wider world, they would likely clash with his reluctance to let them take risks. His protectiveness, while born of love, could feel stifling, especially as his children grow and seek independence. Additionally, Thranduil’s reserved nature and difficulty expressing vulnerability could create emotional distance between him and his children. While he would deeply love and cherish them, his reluctance to show his softer side—born of centuries of guarding his heart—might lead his children to misunderstand the depth of his feelings. They might perceive him as cold or unapproachable, especially during moments when they need reassurance or emotional support. This struggle to openly communicate his love could cause moments of frustration or hurt, though his children would eventually come to realize that his actions speak louder than his words.

Thranduil’s high expectations would also pose challenges, as he would want his children to reflect the strength, wisdom, and grace befitting their lineage. His pride in their heritage would translate into a strong emphasis on discipline and duty, which could feel overwhelming at times. If his children faltered or sought to carve their own path that diverged from his vision, Thranduil might find it difficult to fully accept or understand their choices. His perfectionism and desire for them to embody the ideals of their people could create tension, especially if his children feel the pressure of living up to his expectations. Though these challenges would create moments of difficulty, they would ultimately stem from Thranduil’s deep and enduring love. Over time, he would learn to temper his protectiveness and pride, allowing his children to find their own way while still offering them the guidance and support they need.

Tender Moments Despite his challenges, Thranduil would share tender, deeply meaningful moments with his children—moments that reveal the depth of his love and the softness beneath his proud exterior. These moments would often occur in private, away from the eyes of the court, as Thranduil prefers to keep his vulnerabilities hidden. In their younger years, Thranduil would treasure quiet evenings with his children, perhaps in the serenity of the forest or within the halls of his underground palace. He would tell them stories of the ancient days, of the beauty of the world before its corruption, and of their family’s legacy. His voice, so often commanding and regal, would soften as he shared tales of valor, wisdom, and love, offering his children glimpses into the history that shaped him. These moments would not only deepen their bond but also instill in his children a sense of pride in their heritage. Thranduil might also indulge his children in small, private ways, despite his otherwise strict demeanor. He would take them on secret walks through the woods, pointing out hidden glades or ancient trees known only to him. Perhaps he would give them small, meaningful gifts—an heirloom passed down through their family, or a flower that blooms only in the darkest corners of Mirkwood, symbolizing hope amidst hardship. These gestures, though subtle, would carry immense meaning, showing his love through actions rather than words.

As his children grew older, Thranduil’s love would manifest in the lessons he imparts. He would personally teach them the skills they need to survive and thrive, from swordsmanship to the intricacies of diplomacy. His guidance would be firm but invaluable, as he seeks to prepare them for the challenges they will face. In moments of triumph, he might offer a rare, fleeting smile or a hand on their shoulder, conveying his pride in ways that resonate deeply. There would also be moments of vulnerability, when Thranduil allows the weight of his past to surface. After a long day or during times of great sorrow, he might share with his children his fears and hopes for their future, revealing the depth of his love and the pain that drives his protectiveness. These moments, though rare, would create an unbreakable bond, reminding his children that beneath his reserved exterior lies a father who loves them fiercely and unconditionally. Thranduil’s love as a parent would be complex—quiet yet enduring, reserved yet deeply meaningful. Despite the challenges he faces, his children would grow to understand that his every action, no matter how distant or overbearing it may seem, is rooted in a love that is as eternal as the forest he calls home.

🔥𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓻

☬ Adar would approach his role as a spouse and parent with quiet devotion, driven by a deep sense of duty and loyalty. His love would be shown through his actions—protective, steadfast, and committed—though it may be reserved and not outwardly emotional. Adar’s past has shaped him into someone who values security and loyalty above all, and his love for his family would reflect that same sense of unwavering dedication, even if he struggles to express it in words.

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Adar as a Spouse

Adar, with his tortured past and deep-seated sense of duty to his “children” (the Orcs), would approach the role of a spouse with profound care, though his love would often be colored by the shadows of his history. His experiences of suffering, betrayal, and rejection have left him guarded, slow to trust, and hesitant to fully open himself to the vulnerability of love. Yet, when he does love, it is with an intensity that is as unyielding as it is rare. He would be a partner who embodies quiet devotion, always watching, always protecting, even when his love is not openly expressed in words.

Adar’s protective nature would define much of his relationship with his spouse. He would be hyper-aware of any threats to their safety and well-being, always vigilant and ready to act if necessary. This protectiveness would come not just from love but from fear—fear of losing someone he cherishes, as he has lost so much in his long, sorrowful life. At times, this protectiveness might border on possessiveness. Adar’s need to shield his spouse from harm could lead him to overstep boundaries, though it would never come from malice but from a deep-seated insecurity and fear of abandonment. He would strive to create a life where his spouse feels safe and cared for, though his intensity might at times feel overwhelming.

Adar would express his love through actions rather than words, as grand declarations of affection would feel foreign to him. Instead, his gestures would be small but deeply intentional: preparing a safe space for you to rest, sharing a moment of quiet solace, or ensuring you have everything you need even before you ask. His love would be woven into the details of your life, in the way he notices your smallest preferences or habits and quietly adjusts himself to meet your needs. You might not always hear him say “I love you,” but you would feel it in the way he holds your hand when he senses your unease or in the steady, reassuring presence he offers during moments of uncertainty. Adar’s love would be steadfast and grounding, a constant amidst the chaos of the world.

While Adar’s care runs deep, his history of pain and betrayal would make emotional vulnerability difficult for him. He would struggle to lower his defenses, fearing that to expose too much of himself would risk rejection or harm. This emotional distance might sometimes create tension, as he would find it easier to focus on his role as a protector or provider than to share his innermost thoughts and feelings. However, for the partner willing to be patient with him, these walls would slowly begin to crumble. Over time, Adar would reveal the layers of his heart—a heart filled with sorrow, tenderness, and an aching desire to be loved for who he truly is. Once he trusts you completely, his loyalty would be unshakable, and his love would take on an almost sacred quality, as if he were honoring a bond that transcends words. Despite his tendency to keep his emotions guarded, Adar would occasionally let his softer side shine through in fleeting, intimate moments. These rare glimpses of vulnerability—a quiet confession, a soft touch, or a melancholic smile as he shares a memory of his past—would make you feel uniquely privileged to see a side of him no one else does. Adar’s love would feel like an unspoken promise, a deep connection built not on extravagance but on enduring trust and quiet devotion.

His greatest desire in a relationship would be to create a stable, permanent bond. To Adar, love is not fleeting or casual—it is something sacred, forged through hardship and trust. He would be deeply committed to building a life with you that feels solid and unbreakable, offering you a sense of permanence that mirrors his own unyielding dedication. While he may not always say the right things or know how to express his feelings in a conventional way, his love would be a force of nature: steady, unrelenting, and deeply rooted in the quiet spaces between words. In moments of peace, Adar would find solace simply in your presence. He would cherish the quiet times you share, whether it’s sitting beside him while he tends to his tasks or simply existing together in silence. For a man who has known nothing but chaos and loss, these moments of calm with you would feel like a balm to his soul. Though his love may not be traditional or outwardly affectionate, it would be no less powerful—a deep and abiding connection that endures through even the darkest of times.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Adar as a Parent

Adar’s approach to parenthood would be as complex and layered as the man himself, shaped by his long history of loss, betrayal, and his role as a paternal figure to the Orcs. If Adar were to have biological children, his parenting style would merge his natural instincts as a protector with a strong belief in discipline, resilience, and the necessity of survival. He would love his children fiercely, though his love would often be expressed through his actions and teachings rather than warm, verbal affection. For Adar, parenthood would not simply be a role; it would be a sacred responsibility—a chance to pass on his hard-won wisdom and ensure his children are prepared for a harsh and often cruel world.

Adar would be a highly involved father, deeply invested in every aspect of his children’s lives. He would guide them with a steady hand, offering structure and lessons designed to instill independence, strength, and resilience. His parenting would not be indulgent; instead, it would be rooted in practicality. He would teach his children the value of hard work, self-reliance, and perseverance, ensuring they grow into capable individuals who can fend for themselves. For Adar, survival is paramount, and he would strive to arm his children with every tool they need to navigate the challenges of life. While Adar would be a firm and disciplined parent, his love for his children would manifest in quiet but profound ways. He would show his care not through effusive praise or physical affection, but through acts of service and unwavering presence. He would be the kind of father who quietly mends their clothing, sharpens their tools, or stays up late to ensure their safety, all without expecting acknowledgment. His love would be woven into the fabric of their daily lives, often going unnoticed in the moment but deeply felt over time.

Adar would also display a softer side, particularly with younger or more vulnerable children. His tenderness would come through in subtle gestures—a calming touch, a reassuring word, or the way he patiently teaches them how to tend to themselves and others. He would have a particular fondness for guiding those who need extra support, whether emotional or physical, as he sees echoes of his own struggles in their fragility. With younger children, his demeanor might even be gentle, a stark contrast to his often-intense presence. He would cherish the moments when he can shield them from the world’s harshness, even if only temporarily, and their trust in him would be something he holds dear. However, as his children grow older, Adar’s approach would become more demanding. He would expect them to take on responsibility, rise to challenges, and face adversity with courage. He would encourage them to be self-sufficient, understanding that his role as a protector cannot last forever. This insistence on resilience and strength might lead to moments of tension, as his methods could be perceived as harsh or unyielding. While his intentions would always be rooted in love, his delivery might sometimes feel distant or stern, leaving his children longing for the softer warmth he reserves for their younger years.

Adar’s parenting would also reflect his broader worldview and personal convictions. He would pass on his ideals—his disdain for weakness, his belief in the necessity of unity and loyalty, and his vision for a new order. His children would grow up with a strong sense of purpose, often tied to the legacy he hopes to leave behind. He would teach them to value their heritage, to honor the sacrifices of those who came before, and to recognize their role in continuing his work. In this way, his parenting would be both a personal and ideological endeavor, as he sees his children not only as individuals to be nurtured but also as carriers of his vision for the future.

Despite his sternness, Adar would never abandon his children to struggle alone. He would always stand by their side, even if he does so silently. In moments of crisis, his protective instincts would take precedence, and he would move mountains to ensure their safety. His loyalty to his children would be absolute, and he would consider their well-being as intertwined with his own. Even if he struggles to express his emotions openly, his actions would make it clear that his love for them runs deeper than words can convey. Adar’s greatest fear as a father would be losing his children, whether to death, betrayal, or the cruelties of the world. This fear would drive much of his behavior, from his strict discipline to his relentless protectiveness. While his methods might not always be gentle, his ultimate goal would be to ensure that his children thrive, even in the face of unimaginable adversity. For Adar, parenthood would be a profound and all-encompassing commitment—a way to create something enduring, even in a world marred by loss and chaos.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Challenges as a Parent

For Adar, parenting would be deeply intertwined with his complex identity as both a nurturer and a warrior. One of his greatest challenges as a father would stem from his inability to fully let go of his past. His life has been marked by profound pain, betrayal, and an unyielding sense of duty toward his Orcish “children.” This lingering grief and anger would make it difficult for him to approach fatherhood without bringing some of that emotional weight into the relationship. While he would strive to protect his children from the world’s cruelty, his darker experiences might inadvertently shape how he raises them, fostering an environment where strength and vigilance are emphasized over softness and vulnerability.

Adar would likely struggle with the balance between being a protector and allowing his children the freedom to grow and make their own choices. His innate need to shield them from harm would at times clash with their desire to explore and learn on their own. This internal conflict—his fear of loss versus his understanding that independence is essential—would create tension. If his children were to take risks or exhibit traits of curiosity and defiance, Adar might react with a level of harshness or overprotectiveness that reflects his own unresolved fears. The idea of losing them, as he has lost so much before, would be unbearable to him. Additionally, Adar’s stern demeanor and focus on discipline might make it difficult for him to connect emotionally with his children, especially as they grow older. While his actions would be motivated by love, his reserved nature and reluctance to express vulnerability could create a barrier. His children might at times feel as though they are being molded for a purpose rather than simply loved for who they are. This perception could lead to moments of friction, particularly if they reject or question the ideals he tries to instill in them. His vision for their future—rooted in his belief in order and resilience—might not always align with their own desires, creating an emotional chasm that Adar would find difficult to bridge.

Adar would also struggle with teaching his children about the complexities of morality. His worldview, shaped by his role as a leader of the Orcs and his rebellion against the Valar, is inherently gray. He would raise his children to question the narratives of “good” and “evil” that others accept without thought, but this could also burden them with his own bitterness and cynicism. Helping them find their own path while grappling with his own unresolved sense of injustice would be a monumental task. At times, he might find it difficult to separate his role as their father from his broader mission, unintentionally placing the weight of his ideals onto their shoulders.

Tender Moments Despite these challenges, Adar would have moments of profound tenderness as a father, moments where his love would shine through the cracks of his stoic exterior. When his children are young, he would take great care in creating a sense of safety and comfort for them, perhaps singing them hauntingly beautiful lullabies in an ancient tongue or sitting with them in the quiet hours of the night, telling them stories of the world before its sundering. These stories, while often tinged with sorrow, would be his way of imparting wisdom and sharing pieces of himself that he might not otherwise express.

Adar’s actions would often speak louder than his words. He might quietly repair a broken toy, fashion a gift from nature’s raw materials, or teach his children survival skills in the wilderness, all while maintaining his calm, watchful presence. His gaze—piercing yet gentle—would convey a love that he struggles to put into words. These small, unspoken gestures would serve as a reminder that, though he may seem distant at times, his love is constant and enduring. As his children grow older, Adar would find joy in teaching them about the intricacies of the world, sharing his knowledge of the land, its creatures, and its hidden secrets. He would take them on walks through forests and mountains, pointing out the beauty of the natural world while also teaching them to respect its dangers. In these quiet moments, his children would see a side of him that is deeply connected to life and creation, a stark contrast to the harsher lessons he often emphasizes.

Adar’s rare displays of affection would carry great weight. A gentle hand on a shoulder, a quiet moment of reassurance, or a soft smile after a long and difficult day would be treasured by his children. These fleeting glimpses of warmth would serve as a reminder that, beneath his stern exterior, their father’s heart is full of love for them. While his methods and personality might create challenges, Adar’s unwavering loyalty and fierce devotion to his children would leave no doubt in their minds that they are cherished. He would instill in them a sense of purpose and strength, preparing them to face the world with courage while always leaving a quiet space in his heart for them to return to. For all his struggles, Adar would strive to be the father he wishes he had once known—a protector, a guide, and, in his own way, a source of unconditional love.

[gaysindistress]

@baddybaddyadardaddy hear me out for a second. I’m bored doing a work training and Adar has been on mind NONSTOP. This is entirely based on vibes alone but can you imagine Adar and his Lady Mother preparing for battle together???

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

“I fear that we won’t survive this.”

“Trust that I will always do what is best for you and our children.”

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Astray far away. Ch.2

Adar x reader | ch.1 - ch.3

You spent your first day in the Uruk village

Meet Grasho the clothes maker, she's a fun one!

WC:2.5k

It was morning again when you woke up.

Or, at least you thought it was morning. It was difficult to tell time with the sun blocked, but the noise outside made it clear you slept longer than everyone else. 

You laid in a house only partially damaged. The first thing in your view was a neatly folded set of clothes and a pitcher of water, along with small fruits as well. 

You ate in silence and got dressed, learning the clothes consisted of uniform pants the attacking troops wore, and a black cotton tunic, too large for your frame.

The pants had some repairs done on them, the front and back of one thigh had messily stitched closed holes that were clearly from an arrow, and light discoloration was still visible around the patches. The embroidery on the side showed they belonged to the attacking troops, so had Adar truly sent someone to take these off a fallen soldier and get them ready for you? 

As you pulled down the tunic over your body you grazed a sore spot on your ribcage, wincing and recalling the night before when Adar's clawed glove had carved your skin. 

You pulled one arm free from the garment and threw it over your shoulder to try and inspect the area, pulling aside your breast to be able to see.

To see dried cuts, upside down to your current view you needed a moment to figure out what it said and pull down the tunic in a quick motion as you realized.

ADAR sat in raised cuts, soon to be scarred into your flesh for your remaining days.

Once dressed you set out into the area, shocked when you stepped outside and saw the change already made to what was once a torn down village. 

An Uruk walked past, just as you stepped outside, he sniffed at you and a wide toothy grin appeared on his face. There were more all over, giving you similar looks. One even offered you roasted meat. "You gotta eat." He offered, staring down at you before moving on without another word

"They did all of this in a couple of hours?" You wandered off to where other townsfolk worked. 

They met you with confused looks. “Hours?” Their voices sounded in disbelief. “You slept through the entirety of yesterday.” Another one scoffed. “Orcs guarded the damn door, even.” 

It was clear they weren’t amused with how differently you were treated.

“Get back to work, you!” An Uruk shouted from behind you, his hand ending on your shoulder. “Lord Father wants to see you, come on.”

Following the Uruk through the newly built town you took the chance to look around, seeing a whole tribe working and living.

When you rounded the last corner you spotted Adar, his attention towards a wrapped up bundle in an Uruk’s arms. 

“Lord Father, I brought ‘er.” The Uruk who escorted you placed you in front of himself, earning the Lord Father’s attention. He thanked him and sent him off again, waving you over to join his side where he stood. The Uruks at Adar’s side looked you up and down, so much it gave you chills. It was until you got close enough and they could sniff you out. To all the Uruks, the second you were in reach you were suddenly a friend. 

Adar took a step aside for you to be introduced to Glûg, his second in command, and Glûg’s family. The mother offered you a peek at her child and made conversation while Adar and Glûg spoke off to the side in a tongue you did not speak.

You stared, perhaps a bit too long but you couldn’t help it. You had never seen many Uruks before in your lifetime, let alone a newborn.

“Are you feeling well, child? You slept for quite a while.” Adar came and took you aside, speaking to you softly, wanting to keep the attention off you in case you felt under the weather.

“Just my ribs, the cuts burn pretty badly..” you held your arms, suddenly self conscious about that night and your activities. The nasty glares from your fellow Southlanders did not help at all either. 

“Come. I’ll tend to your wounds.” Adar led you away to his private quarters. “I’m the cause of them, after all.” He added under his breath, just for you to hear. 

Once inside he sat you down on his cot, suggesting you’d remove the tunic you wore and take one of the blankets to cover up while he prepared a healing salve. 

“How did you learn to do all of this?” Adar kneeled in front of you, holding a mortar with ground herbs. “It smells so sweet.” 

With two fingers, Adar scooped up some of the mixture. “You smell honey, it binds the herbs. I’ve had a love for plants and their various purposes for as long as I’ve had access to them.” Adar’s touch was gentle so as to not hurt you, carefully spreading the mixture over the cuts. 

His mind brought him back to that night where he let his walls down after the victory. The night you managed to worm your way into his personal life. He did not regret it, or even think bad of it but his feelings were still unclear. He wondered about yours as he tended to you but did not dare to speak of it. 

“Is it common for Uruks to sniff new people?” You sat up straight, having dropped the blanket from your shoulders so your wound could be dressed properly. 

Adar’s focused gaze changed into an amused one. “While I enjoy you being curious about Uruk behavior, no. They sniff because you smell of me.” 

“Oh,” you looked aside where the black tunic you wore sat folded on the cot. “It’s the tunic, isn’t it. It’s yours.” 

“That is one of the sources, yes. Among ..other things.” His gaze traveled lower for a second and you took the hint. “You smell me because of our night together.” 

Heat rose to your cheeks at the implication. Could the Uruks really smell that you had been intimate with their leader?

Without warning the front of Adar’s quarters flew open and revealed Waldreg who came with news. He wasn’t given a second to speak before he was ordered to leave, being yanked back out by two Uruks who passed by and heard their Lord Father’s anger.

You had clamped your arms over your chest the moment you noticed someone coming in, but you were convinced you were seen, let alone in front of Adar like that. What was he going to think? Would be talk? The others were going to hate you even more now.

When Adar’s attention went back to you there were tears welling in your eyes. Your breath hitched as you held back sobs, fear taking over. “H.. he saw me. Us.” You kept your arms around you as you let the tears spill, unable to stay calm under these issues. 

In a try to calm your nerves Adar draped the blanket over your frame again. “I understand it is different for other kinds,” he started as he sat back in front of you. “But here, among Uruk there is no shame in this.” Still he held the blanket closed around you, respectful of your preferences. 

“If you wish to blend among us better, I suggest you find the garment maker, she’ll have something altered to fit you and does not have my scent all over it.” He left your side then to go clean up the leftover salve and put away the used items. 

“I’d also bathe, to get rid of the otherwise more permanent mixing of our scents that’s still on your skin. Tomorrow morning at the earliest, the salve has to set.” 

With the wound dressed and your clothes back on your body you set out to find the clothes maker. It was still strange to walk as a mortal among the Uruk, especially seeing the Southlanders be snapped and snarled at while you were mostly being left alone. 

Except by the women. On your wandering path you were snatched off your feet and into a small crowd of females who swarmed you in an instant.

“You have laid with Lord Father.” “He has bred you. Tell us all about it!” They whisper-yelled over each other, the questions easily blending together.

“Lord Father never lets us please him.” “He has no interest for Uruk women, only fair ones like you.” “Look, she even wears what is his.” A hand came to pull at the tunic you wore. “Ah, I stitched those for Lord Father. Off a dead man I took them.” Another grabbed at your trousers. 

You took the opportunity to ignore the assault of questions and change the subject. 

“Then I must thank you.” You spoke to the one who was still tugging at your trousers. “Are you the clothes maker?” You watched her eyes light up at the question, frantically nodding yes and starting to ramble. “Yes yes I am! I make things from cloth and scrap. Pretty dresses too, but none fit us Uruk. Lord Father picked me for the job, says I have talent for handworks.” 

It was clear she was proud of receiving compliments on her works. By the time she was done talking the others had moved on already and the two of you were on the way to her home and workplace.

“So what’s the lady looking for? Simple to walk around in? Something armor for battle? Or fancy for Lord Father?” Grasho gave you a toothy grin as she nudged your shoulder. 

“Please, something simple works just fine. But eh..” You shied away a little at the upcoming request. “You don’t happen to have any underclothes in my size?” 

You watched Grasho move around all giddy and dig through piles of what looked like fallen soldiers’ garments. 

“Anything for our lady.” Clothes flew around the place as muttering sounded. Soft ‘no’s and noises of disagreement left her until she emerged from the piles. “Hah! I knew I kept those around somewhere!” She held the undergarment up in victory before giving it a sniff. “Eugh, needs a wash first.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at her antics and decided to stick with your current trousers until washing was finished. 

“Simple, yes? I have some, let me see I’m sure, yes!” Again she rummaged through the stacks and found a simple dark colored long shirt. It had a long patch of a lighter colored fabric along its side, as well as mismatching sleeves.

“Come on. Try.” Grasho held it up to you with an excited look. “Gotta see if it fits Lord Father’s lady! She must look good.’ 

The more time you spent among the Uruks, even if it had been as little as it is now, your night with Adar came with an acceptance of his kin. 

“Lady? Where did your head go?” Grasho was in your face now, poking right on the wound on your ribs making you jump and apologize for zoning out.

“Fit, now? You remember I told you about the underclothes, right?” You fidgeted with the ties on your tunic.

“Keep the pants. Just need to fit the top.” She motioned at you to hurry. “Come on!” 

You remembered Adar’s words then.

‘Among Uruk there is no shame in this’ 

You steadied your racing heart with a couple of deep breaths “Okay.” and slowly rid yourself of the tunic you wore.

“Ooh” Grasho leaned down and put her hands on you immediately, making you tense at the contact. “Lord Father’s personal patch up. Pretty bandages, only the best for his lady.” 

You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around your chest and hide, but if you were going to stay you needed to learn to live like the Uruks. And the woman in front of you paid no attention to your chest, just the bandages below. 

You decided to speak to distract your racing mind.

“You know I’m not really his lady, right? He just cared for me.” Your eyes followed Grasho’s moves as she put the dress on you and scribbled on it with a soot stick.

“Lord Father laid with you. He never does with anybody.” She piped up and poked your cheek with the stick, leaving a black dot on your skin. “You are a special one.” There was a serious tone in her words all of a sudden.

“Okay. Off now.” You were being maneuvered out of the dress so the soot wouldn’t smudge or rub off on you, and Adar’s tunic was kindly returned to you. When you put it back on your stomach rumbled out loud, reminding you of the fact that you hadn’t eaten after your small breakfast. You didn’t even know where you’d get food. Would you go find Adar and ask him?

“Now now,” You were grabbed by the shoulders and practically shoved out the door. “You go find the cook and eat! Krod makes tasty stew.” Grasho happily pointed you in the right direction. “I will fix and wash your stuff, bring it tomorrow. Half house, had guards before, yes?” 

You barely got a chance to answer her before she had disappeared again. So you set out in the direction she pointed out in search of food. It wasn’t difficult with the smell of what you expected to be the stew filled the air, all you had to do now was follow your nose.

Quickly you found the tent serving food, almost bumping into someone with how distracting the smell was. 

Taking a quick look around you noticed the person you almost ran into was a Southlander who gave you a disgusted look and turned back to wait in line for food. 

Further in front of the line you saw Uruks join in front of the humans, dismissing them and moving them further back in line. It felt like you were going to be eating scraps tonight.

That was, until your arm was grabbed and you were moved along the line and placed next to someone almost at the front. You recognized her.

The one who took you along the line was Glûg who put you with his wife. 

“You can go wherever you want. Not a single Uruk who will tell you no.” With a tug on the string of your tunic he let you know what he meant without any more words and joined his wife at her side. 

The food was so close now you were almost drooling in anticipation.

[dark-silhouette]

Good night dear Adar lovers..

This is my first attempt at fanfic in all these years on tumblr! (the first one turned out to be smut haha) so please be good 🤣🥲

I leave here what came from my dirty mind when I saw this beautiful gif of Adar.. 🥵

It has been left in 2 parts so this is the first, it is a little calmer than the second part so, the good part will come... what inspired me the most about the image is in the second part so be patient :)

I also leave an image of more or less what the reader would look like based on the description I made 🙌🏻😅

Also, Adar is a little dark in this fic.

Adar xReader

Enjoy!

I hope you like it! 💗💕

The radiant moonlight, high in the velvet night, reflected upon you, casting a gentle glow upon your fair features. The pale hue of your skin shimmered in its light, mingling with the rivulets of water that traced every curve of your form. Your long, raven-black hair clung to your body, sleek against your glowing skin. You stood within your cherished retreat—a secluded bend in the river, known only to a few. Here, a waterfall concealed the entrance to a hidden cave, a sanctuary where you could come to cleanse yourself, unseen by the eyes of the world.

But tonight, you had chosen differently—a choice that might lead you down a path fraught with danger, or perhaps something more. Moments before, you had shed your garments one by one, allowing them to fall silently upon the earth. Your hair cascaded freely down your back, and your body embraced the cold touch of the wind, sending a slight shiver through your being.

With graceful steps, you approached the river's edge, the waterfall's roar echoing softly in the distance. Though always careful to guard your privacy, for you could not bear for any stranger's gaze to fall upon your form, tonight you made an exception. No one was worthy of such a privilege—no one, save for him. Adar. Once an elf, now an uruk.

The one for whom you would sacrifice all, for just a glance, a touch, a kiss. Your decision to come here tonight, under the watchful moon, had already borne fruit. For you were not alone.

From the shadows, gray-blue eyes beheld you, tracing the lines of your body, observing every movement in silent contemplation.

Your heart quickened as his presence became known to you, though you had not fully turned toward him. The water's surface rippled around your waist, leaving your form exposed from the waist upward. With a slow, deliberate gesture, you swept your hair forward, laying it over your right shoulder, baring your back to him.

Turning your head just enough, you revealed the profile of your face, and in the dim light, your sapphire eyes locked with his. You summoned all your will to cast him a glance, filled with unspoken desire.

In response, you thought you heard a low, primal growl escape him, barely audible, but unmistakable as your gazes met.

Sensing his attention deepening, you turned fully, your movements deliberate and unhurried, allowing him to see you in all your radiant beauty, your upper body now laid bare before the uruk.

Your hands began to move with deliberate grace, tenderly running through your raven locks, washing them with care. Then, with languid precision, your hand traced a path from your chin down to your neck, each movement slow and measured, as your eyes never left his. There was an unspoken connection between your gaze and his, something deep, primal. Your delicate fingers caressed your breasts with the gentleness they deserved, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you heared the uruk's breathing quicken.

You were not mistaken. In the shadows, his body remained still, though his gaze, fierce and unwavering, followed every inch of your movement. His breath grew heavier and the blood that coursed through his veins seemed to heat with each passing second as he watched your moonlit form. His entire being simmered with a heat he had long suppressed. His eyes never left your figure, not for an instant.

The air itself seemed to be still as his gaze followed the journey of your hands. His breath faltered the moment your fingertips wandered lower, lingering at your belly before venturing further.

A low, guttural growl erupted from his throat, raw and animalistic, as though he were teetering off the edge of control. His eyes gleamed with feral intensity as he beheld the parting of your lips, and a soft, involuntary moan slipped from between them.

It was then that Adar moved, stepping forward, emerging from the shadows that had once concealed him. His gaze was sharp and calculating, yet it could not conceal the fire burning within him- the unspoken desire to claim, to possess you.

Your hands stilled, your breath caught in your chest, as you saw him fully tall, imposing, cloaked in black, with his dark hair falling loose about his scarred face. There was something about those marks that made him all the more compelling, more dangerous.

For a brief moment, you waited. You knew well that look in his eyes, for it was a command unspoken, a demand of submission, of yielding. His piercing gaze penetrated yours, delving deeper, reaching into the recesses of your heart and soul.

For an instant, his eyes flicked toward the waterfall behind you, and in that moment, you understood his will.

Your slender form turned swiftly, heading toward the concealed cave behind the cascade. Upon your arrival, you paused, awaiting Adar’s presence, but no shadow darkened the entrance, and no sound of approach met your ears. With mounting concern, you grasped the hem of your long gown, swiftly donning it, intent on discovering what might have transpired beyond the veil of the waterfall.

Barefoot, you ventured cautiously along the narrow path that skirted the cavern’s edge, the cool mist of the waterfall dampening your skin. But just as your steps carried you near the exit, your breath halted, and your heart seemed to cease its rhythm, for there, before you, stood a tall and darkened figure, blocking your way. His presence was imposing, a force unto itself, and his eyes—like embers burning with some deep, hidden fire—fixed themselves upon yours, unyielding.

You raised your gaze, meeting his intense stare. A sense of bewilderment overcame you, as though you were caught in some enchantment.

"Meleth..." he said, his voice low yet commanding, laced with a dark, unspoken desire.

A sudden rush of adrenaline and a strange nervousness filled your veins, quickening your pulse.

His stance was wild, untamed—his tone a mixture of demand and longing as he asked.

"Where do you think you are going?".

@nezzlysixx @zoya-olenko

[warriorofthought]

The Pendant

Summary: A Pendant holds memories, but can it bring back your happiness?

Word count: 6461

Warnings: Sentimental but practically no one

Adar x Female Elf Reader

Inside the dimly lit tent, Elrond sat tense yet composed, his gaze fixed on the unsettlingly calm Adar. The distant crackle of fires and orcish murmurs filled the night outside, but his thoughts were solely on Galadriel, held captive nearby, as you and two elven guards stood watch behind him.

“You must release her,” Elrond demanded, his voice low but edged with urgency. “This fight is between us. She has no part in it.”

Adar’s lips curled into a bitter smile, his scarred face barely illuminated by the firelight. “No part? She is woven into the very fabric of this world's decay, just like you, Herald. Her light dims as the shadow rises.”

Elrond stepped forward, eyes hardening with resolve. “You may have twisted your own kind, poisoned them with your hatred, but you will not break her spirit.”

Adar stood slowly, leaning closer, his voice a dark whisper. “Spirit does not survive the darkness, Elf. It withers, like everything else.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, but Elrond remained a pillar of strength. “Not her. You underestimate what endures in the light.”

Adar’s eyes narrowed, his smile fading as silence filled the space between them. “Give me the Ring and we can finish Sauron.”

“It would be a foolish act to bring it here,” Elrond replied, his voice serious.

“You are a couturier. More suited to wielding a scroll than a sword,” Adar mocked.

“You’ve never seen me wield either,” Elrond countered.

Your eyes watch both discuss and then Your eyes flicker to your dear friend Galadriel.

Your form is mostly hidden under the cloak.

When she spoke, Adar immediately ordered, “If she speaks again, cut her tongue.”

You and the guards stiffened, hands instinctively moving to your sword handles, a strand of your hair slips from the cloak.

He lets his eyes move back to Elrond.

Elrond watched you intently, silently communicating a warning to keep your composure. His gaze flitted back to Adar, his expression stern and tense, his hands clenching into fists.

Adar leaned on a pole, eyes flickering to you, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “She’s quiet,” he drawled. “A rare quality in these lands.”

Elrond tensed further, anger flickering across his face. “Leave her out of this, Adar.”

Adar's eyes flicker back to Galadriel.

Under the intense gaze of Adar, Galadriel's eyes met his, a storm of defiance and anger burning within them. Adar let out a small chuckle, seemingly satisfied with the reaction.

As Adar walks, a pendant slips out from beneath his clothes, catching your eye.

The pendant, an unusual piece of jewelry, had your curiosity piqued. Adar had turned his attention back to Elrond, seemingly unaware of the item that had slipped out.

“That pendant…. who gave it to you?” The question lands with a weight that leaves little room for an answer.

The Pendant displays a trio of purple, blue, and green stones, seamlessly arranged and etched with intricate elven runes, exuding an air of mystical elegance.

The moment your voice cut through the tense air, Adar's eyes flickered towards you, his face hardening as he became aware of your attention on the pendant. He quickly shoved it back into his clothes, but the damage was done.

"It is none of your concern," he responded gruffly, his fingers still lingering on his chest, where the pendant was hidden.

"It's a rare elven Pendant and clearly doesn't belong to an Orc. From whom did you took that." You snarl.

It looks like the one you have made centuries ago. Could it be your's?

A brief flash of surprise crossed Adar's face as your words hit their mark. He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face tensing as he contemplated how to respond.

"It was a... gift," he finally replied, his voice low and guarded. "From an old friend.”

You scoff, about to step forward, but Elrond’s hand catches your arm, grounding you. “Remember, we’re here for Galadriel,” he murmurs, steadying your resolve. With a quiet sigh, you hold back, though the curiosity in your gaze remains sharp.

Adar watched the interplay between you and Elrond, his expression guarded.

"Enough," Elrond said, his voice firm. "We're here to discuss the terms of Galadriel's release. Nothing else.”

Adar's eyes flicked between you and Elrond, his gaze lingering on you both. He took a few steps closer, studying the two of you.

"And what makes you think I'd let my prisoner go so easily?" he said, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Adar continued "You don't have the ring I want. I see no reason to give Galadriel back to you.”

Elrond took a moment to process Adar’s words, his expression hardening with resolve.

"We cannot give you the Ring," he said firmly. "It is not an object to be used for trades and exchanges.”

Adar let out a bitter laugh at that comment.

"Ah, the honorable Elf. Always righteous, even in defeat," he taunted. "But you forget, this War isn't about honor. It's about survival.”

“If you have no intention of setting her free, then grant them a moment for a proper farewell,” you state.

Adar paused his gaze flickering between you and Elrond, weighing your words. After a long moment, he waved a hand dismissively.

"Very well," he said grudgingly. "Let them say their goodbyes.”

———————————————————

You and Elrond exited the shadowy tent, the cool night air a welcome relief from the suffocating atmosphere within.

His face was drawn with concern, eyes cast downward as you walked silently beside him.

With the guards, you made your way away from the Orc camp.

Soon after, you settled into a tent at the elven camp, where Elrond soon walked in.

You sat quietly in the simple elven tent, the silence broken only by the rustle of fabric and the quiet breathing of the guards stationed outside.

As Elrond entered the tent, his usually composed face now lined with tension and worry. He sat down across from you, his eyes meeting yours, a wealth of unspoken thoughts reflected in them.

Elrond glanced at you, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes as he realized you had momentarily lost sight of Galadriel’s plight, distracted by the pendant Adar wore.

His gaze searched yours, revealing his concern. He knew you well enough to notice how your attention had shifted, captivated by the pendant instead of focusing on Galadriel's fate.

"You focused more on the pendant than Galadriel," he said quietly, his voice betraying a hint of frustration.

“Galadriel is safe. You gave her the key along with your farewell kiss, so she’ll be here shortly.”

Elrond let out a surprised huff at your comment, his frustration replaced by a touch of amusement. "You're more confident in my tactics than I am," he replied, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

You slightly chuckle. "You are smart, Elrond. You should have more thrust in yourself.”

Elrond's smirk softened at your words, a hint of warmth in his eyes. "Coming from you, that's quite the compliment," he said, the teasing tone back in his voice. "You've always believed in my abilities more than I have myself.”

The atmosphere between you and Elrond shifted slightly, the tension from earlier melting away in the quiet tent. Elrond leaned back, his gaze softening further as he looked at you.

"Speaking of sharp minds," he said with a touch of wry humor. "You're awfully interested in that pendant.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you reply.

Elrond raised an eyebrow at your denial, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Don't play coy," he replied, his tone a tad playful. "I saw the look on your face when you first saw that pendant.”

"It's like it held some secret, some hidden meaning," he continued, watching your expression closely. "Why were you so intrigued by an orcish pendant, anyway?”

"That’s an Elven Pendant," you nearly spat.

Elrond's eyes widened slightly at your sudden vehemence. He leaned forward, the previous lightheartedness gone from his expression.

"How can you tell?" he asked, an edge in his voice. "And why does it anger you so much?”

"You can't dismiss it as a filthy orc pendant when it's clearly elven," you retort.

Elrond's surprise at your reaction to the pendant slowly morphed into understanding. 

"But why does it bother you so much?" he asked, more gently this time. "It's just a piece of metal and jewels. Why does it matter so much to you?”

“It’s more than just a chunk of metal or jewelry. I created it,” you say, a hint of pain in your voice at being reduced to something so simple.

Elrond's eyes went wide with shock, his composure slipping for a brief second, before it returned.

"You made it?" he echoed, disbelief and realization dawning on his face. "You made that pendant?”

"Tell me, are you slow on the uptake or what? I said I did make it, what's so difficult to understand about that?”

Elrond shot you a glare at the blunt jab to his intelligence, but he took a deep breath, collecting himself before replying.

"No, I'm not slow," he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I just can't believe that you, of all people..." he trailed off, his mind still sorting through the implications of your revelation.

"What? Make jewelry. That was centuries ago.”

"I know it was centuries ago," Elrond said, his voice growing more heated. "But you never told me you made jewelry before, and now you're suddenly upset that someone is wearing something you made?"

He stood up, beginning to pace the small space of the tent, his frustration growing with every step.

“Because I gave it to my husband,” you say, frustration creeping into your voice, unaware that you've just revealed something you had intended to keep hidden. The weight of your words lingers in the air, shifting the atmosphere between you.

Elrond's pacing came to an abrupt halt, your words freezing him on the spot. 

"Your husband?" he repeated, his voice a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "You were married?"

He turned to look at you, his gaze intense and searching.

“I... What?” you breathe out, struggling to process your own words. A mix of surprise and confusion washes over you, leaving you momentarily speechless.

Elrond stared at you, his mind swirling with questions and realizations. 

"You were married," he repeated, a note of incredulity in his voice. "You, the fierce warrior who has been by my side through countless battles and dangers, you never thought to mention having a husband in all that time?”

Your stunned silence confirmed his suspicion. Elrond let out a long breath, his expression shifting from disbelief to something more resembling hurt.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice quiet but filled with a mix of disappointment and confusion.

Your mind is racing but you don't get a word out.

Elrond sees the turmoil in your eyes, the struggle to find an explanation written all over your face. His expression softens slightly, but there's still a hint of betrayal in his eyes.

"How many years have we known each other? Fought together, bled together, shared meals and tales and laughter?" he asks quietly, still waiting for an answer.

"Almost 1800 years." You answer with a sigh.

Elrond falls silent for a moment, processing the magnitude of that number. 1800 years. More than a millennium of friendship, trust, and adventures together.

"1800 years," he echoes quietly. "And you never thought to mention a husband. Why?”

You look over at the fire.

Elrond's gaze follows yours to the flickering fire in the center of the tent. For a moment, there's a tense silence, filled only by the crackle of the flames.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions before inquiring further. “Who was he?”

You exhale softly, lost in thought.

“He was a strong elf, mischievous, but with a kind and gentle heart.”

“He had black hair that always caught the light, shimmering like polished obsidian in the sun.”

Elrond listens intently to your description, his face betraying a mixture of emotions as he pictured the mystery man.

"He sounds like an impressive individual," he says quietly, his eyes still fixed on the fire. "And yet I've never met him, nor have you ever mentioned him before.”

“I had a mission to complete, and before I left, I gave him the necklace as a parting gift. Then I set off from the village. When I returned after the mission, I found the village in ruins, completely destroyed.”

Elrond's expression darkened as you related the tragic tale of your return, destruction and loss where there should have been home and comfort.

"You came back to find everything gone?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You nod. " I found my parents body, his parents  but not him.”

Elrond's expression was grave as he listened to your words. The pain of losing your loved ones was clear in your voice, your eyes distant as you remembered that day.

"You never found him?" he asked softly.

"no, not a glimpse”

Elrond reaches out, a subtle gesture of comfort, his hand gently touching your arm. There's a look of understanding in his eyes, a painful empathy for the loss you've suffered.

"Do you..." he begins, his voice hesitant. "Do you think he survived?”

“That could be possible. He was always stubborn. I suppose it’s possible he simply has amnesia and forgot me or something along those lines. It’s hard to believe he wouldn’t remember.”

A small flicker of hope crossed Elrond's face at your words. The possibility of a loved one lost, but still alive, igniting a spark of optimism.

"It's possible," he said, his voice holding a note of comforting encouragement. "People have survived worse, with their memories intact. And if he's as stubborn as you say, then he may yet be out there, somewhere, waiting to be found."

“It unsettles me to see Adar wearing his pendant,” you say, a knot forming in your stomach. “Every glance at it reminds me of what I’ve lost and the memories I wish I could erase.”

Elrond nodded, his mind returning to the original topic of discussion. The fact that Adar wore the pendant you made was clearly weighing heavily on your mind.

"It must have been a shock to see someone else wearing something so personal," he said quietly, understanding the depth of your emotions.

“I didn’t forget Galadriel, but when it fell from Adar’s clothes, I thought I had lost it for good,” you say, your voice laced with sorrow. 

Elrond listened intently, his expression a mixture of sympathy and understanding. He knew you well enough to know that your feelings were complicated and deeply personal.

"I understand," he said softly. "You didn't forget Galadriel, but seeing that pendant brought back memories, emotions long buried.”

"I think you both would have been good friends..”

Elrond gave a small, bittersweet smile at your heartfelt comment. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes as he responded.

"I agree," he said quietly. "If he were still here, I think we would have gotten along well. And Galadriel would have liked him too.”

For a few moments, Elrond and you sat in silence, both lost in your thoughts. The memory of your lost love hung in the air, a poignant reminder of what had been lost.

Finally, Elrond spoke up, his voice soft and gentle.

"Can I ask you something?” You nod. 

Elrond looks at you intently, his gaze full of unspoken questions and emotions.

"Why haven't you ever spoken about him?" he asked, his voice gentle but firm. "All the time we've spent together, through battles, feasts, and quiet evenings, you've never once mentioned having a husband, a love who you lost.”

“First of all, you never asked, and second, I don’t want to dwell on it. I searched for centuries and still haven’t found him.”

Elrond listened to your reasons, his expression unreadable as he took in your words. 

"I never asked because I never realized," he said quietly. "You're my closest friend, my sister in arms, and yet you've kept this part of your life hidden. I don't blame you for searching, but..." he trailed off, his eyes filled with a mix of understanding and melancholy.

"All those centuries of searching must have been so difficult," he continued. "Did you ever think about giving up? Moving on and finding someone else?”

“Moving on? No, that would feel like a betrayal to his memory and everything we shared.”

Elrond nodded silently, understanding the depth of your loyalty and devotion. 

"It must have been lonely, though," he said quietly. "All those years, alone and searching…”

“He could be alive somewhere, still thinking of me, longing for me, and unable to find me. I can’t break the promise we made to each other without knowing for sure that he’s gone.”

Elrond's heart ached at the depth of your devotion to your lost love. The idea that he could still be out there, somewhere, remembering you, aching for you, touched a part of him that understood loss all too well.

"I admire your loyalty," he said softly, his voice filled with both respect and sadness. "But the odds of finding him, after all this time…”

“I don’t want to hear that,” you interrupted, frustration rising in your chest. “It feels like giving up on him, and I can’t do that.”

Elrond fell silent, realizing that his words, though driven by concern, were not what you wanted or needed to hear. He changed tact, his voice softer now.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just don't want to see you hurt any further. But I can see that your spirit is strong, your hope unbroken. I will not question your path any further.”

A bit later Galadriel walks into the tent.

Galadriel's slender figure appeared in the opening of the tent, her gaze immediately falling on you and Elrond. She looked tired but unharmed, a hint of relief present in her eyes.

Elrond stood up, greeting her with a warm smile, his worry for her evident in his expression.

“So, Elrond’s little farewell kiss actually worked...” you chuckle softly, recalling the key he had given her. It had proven invaluable, enabling her escape when she needed it most.

Elrond shot you a look, his cheeks reddening slightly at your teasing comment. Galadriel chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Yes, his little trick came in quite useful," she said, a hint of amused gratitude in her voice.

Elrond rolled his eyes at your playful banter, his cheeks still slightly flushed.

"Well, I'm glad it helped," he said, trying to maintain a hint of dignity. "But let's not make a habit of using my romantic overtures as a tactical maneuver, shall we?”

"Why not?" You slightly giggle amused and make place for Galadriel by the fireplace.

Elrond shot you a mock glare, his lips twisted into a half-smile despite himself.

"Because it's humiliating," he replied, a hint of mock seriousness in his voice. "I have a reputation to maintain as a leader, not a pawn to be used in escape plans."

Galadriel joined you by the fire, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

“You can be both a leader and someone who knows how to share a kiss.”

Elrond stifled a laugh at your impudent remark, his cheeks reddening slightly.

"Is that so? I suppose I might have to start a new strategy, then: using kisses as persuasive tactics in war councils," he said, his tone joking but with a hint of challenge.

You laugh. "Would be a surprise for them.”

Elrond chuckled, his earlier embarrassment giving way to a light-hearted banter.

"Yes, it certainly would," he agreed, "imagine a council of hardened warriors being left with a bunch of blushing fools after a particularly effective...tactical kiss.”

The image of a bunch of flustered warriors stammering and blushing after witnessing a strategic kiss was too much. All three of you shared a hearty laugh, the tension of the day momentarily forgotten in the warmth of the fire and friendly banter.

————————————————————

A few days later, you slip away from the elven camp, moving quietly into the orc camp undetected. You make your way into Adar’s tent, finding it empty. As your eyes scan the space, they land on the pendant, and you reach for it, studying its details closely.

The familiar sight of the pendant lying innocently on a small table sent a wave of emotions through you. The delicate craftsmanship, the intricate patterns, all spoke of a past you longed for and a love that still echoed in your heart.

You picked up the pendant, cradling it carefully in your hands. The cool touch of the metal against your skin felt strangely familiar, as if it was your own heartbeat against your fingertips.

"the same metal and stones.”

You turn the pendant over, your eyes going over every detail. The metal, the setting, the stones - they were all so familiar, so deeply ingrained in your memory.

"The same," you murmur softly, your voice filled with a mixture of wonder and nostalgia. "As if not a day has passed since I made it.”

Before you can react, a hand seizes your hair, and a dagger presses against your throat. Adar's gaze roams over you, assessing your presence.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you feel Adar's hand grip your hair, pulling you back against his chest. The cold steel of the dagger against your skin sends a shiver down your spine. You had been so focused on the pendant that you didn't hear him enter.

"What are you doing in my tent?" Adar's voice is low and dangerous, his breath hot against your ear. He tightens his grip on your hair, the dagger's edge digging slightly into your skin.

"aren't you seeing what I'm doing?”

"Yes, I am seeing what you are doing," Adar replies, his voice cold and menacing. He gives your hair a sharp tug, forcing you to look up at him. "You're sneaking around in my tent without permission.”

Your eyes meet his. "That's true..”

Adar's gaze locks onto yours, his expression a mix of curiosity and malice. He leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin as he speaks.

"And why, pray tell, are you sneaking around in here, looking at my things?”

"The pendant is mine.”

Adar's eyes narrow at your assertion, his grip on you tightening. He gazes down at the pendant in your hand, then up at your face, suspicion in his gaze.

"You're claiming ownership of this pendant?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.

“I am. I crafted it myself,” you reply, standing your ground despite the danger.

Adar's eyes widen slightly at your declaration, disbelief and intrigue flickering across his face. He gazes down at the pendant clutched in your fingers, the realization of your connection to it sinking in.

"You...made it?" he asks, his tone laced with a hint of surprise.

You draw your dagger, but Adar is quicker, forcing you to your knees and disarming you with ease. The sudden shift catches you off guard, and a startled gasp escapes your lips as your dagger clatters to the floor.

The pendant, once clutched tightly in your hand, tumbles onto the pillow, its fragile presence contrasting sharply with the tense power struggle unfolding between you.

Adar stands over you, his tall figure imposing in the dim light of the tent. He looks down at you, a mixture of anger and interest in his eyes.

"You have quite the nerve," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. "Sneaking into my tent, trying to claim a pendant as your own, and then pulling a blade on me?”

Adar watches you closely, his eyes taking in every detail of your expression. He can see the frustration in your eyes, the anger and defiance in your body language.

He crouches down next to you, his hand reaching out to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"Look at me," Adar commands, his voice firm and authoritative. "You're in my tent, you tried to steal from me, and then you attempted to attack me. And all because of a pendant you say you made.”

“Hold it to the fire, and the inscription will become visible.”

Adar's eyes narrow as you mention the lettering, his interest piqued. He releases your chin, his gaze flickering to the pendant on the pillow.

"And what does this lettering say?" he asks, his voice suddenly intense.

“In the quiet whisper of the wind through the trees, you may find what my heart dares not speak aloud,” you reply, feeling Adar’s heart lift slightly as he recognizes the words he once heard centuries ago.

As your words float through the tent, Adar's eyes widen, a flicker of recognition passing over his face. The inscription, the words you uttered, hold a significance that can't be denied. It triggers something in him, a memory, a feeling he thought long buried.

Adar's gaze remains fixed on you, his expression cautious, as he holds the pendant over the fire. The metal warms against the flames, and slowly, the familiar lettering begins to become visible.

With each flicker of the fire, the words he once thought forgotten are slowly revealed.

Adar's breath hitches in his throat as he stares at the now-visible lettering, his hand beginning to shake slightly. The sight of the words, written by your own hand, stirs something deep within him, memories and emotions long suppressed bubbling to the surface.

“The pendant isn’t yours,” you declare.

Adar's gaze snaps from the pendant, back to you. There's a flicker of anger in his eyes, as if your words have somehow insulted him.

"And it doesn't belong to you either," he says, his voice quiet but tinged with irritation.

He holds the pendant up in front of your face, the letters now fully visible against the metal's surface.

"This pendant was made centuries ago, yet you claim to be its creator," he says, his voice laced with a strange mixture of curiosity and doubt. "How can I be sure you're telling the truth?”

Adar's gaze roams over your form, taking in every feature, every detail. There's a hint of recognition in his eyes, as if something about you seems both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

His eyes linger on your features - your hair, your beautiful eyes, your elvish ears, your pale skin, your cherry-red lips. Something about your look triggers a memory, a feeling he can't quite place.

He reaches out, his fingertips lightly tracing the edge of your ear. The touch is almost tender, his fingers exploring the shape, the texture, as if trying to confirm his own suspicions.

Adar's touch causes your ear to twitch slightly, a small reaction that doesn't escape his notice. A hint of a smile touches his lips, as if he finds this small detail somehow endearing.

He continues to explore, his fingers tracing over your cheek, your jaw, as if committing every feature to memory.  

"You look so familiar.." he murmurs, his voice betraying curiosity and a hint of wonder.

As he studies your face, his gaze intent, he slowly circles around you.  

"Very familiar.." he repeats, his voice quieter now, as if he's speaking more to himself than to you.

His eyes roam over your hair, your ears, your slender neck, and a frown of concentration forms on his face. Something about you is stirring memories, awakening something in his heart he thought long dead.

He stops in front of you once again, his eyes boring into yours. The expression on his face is a mix of confusion and realization, as if the pieces of a puzzle are slowly falling into place.  

"Who.. Who are you?" he asks softly, his voice holding a tremble of uncertainty.

“Y/n”

Adar's eyes widen ever so slightly as you give your name, your simple answer triggering something within him.  

"Y/n.." he repeats, your name rolling off his tongue like a long-forgotten melody. The sound of it seems to ignite something deep within him, stirring memories and feelings he'd thought lost to time.

"the pendant, how did it get into your hands?”

Adar's expression hardens at your question, his jaw clenching as if you've hit a nerve.

"That's none of your business," he snaps, his voice sharp. "It belongs to me, and I don't have to explain its origins to you.”

“It belonged to my husband,” you snap.

Adar's eyes narrow, his anger tinged with a hint of curiosity.

“Your husband?” he echoes, disbelief evident in his voice. “You’re claiming this pendant was his?”

“Yes, I gave it to him before I set out on a mission,” you assert firmly.

What neither of you realize is that this moment resonates with a deeper connection, Adar had received a pendant from his own beloved before she embarked on her journey, but neither of you recognizes the shared history that binds you.

As your words sink in, the realization of their significance hits Adar like a ton of bricks. The way you describe giving the pendant to your husband, just as he had received a similar piece from his own loved one, sets something off in his mind.

His eyes widen as the pieces of the puzzle start falling into place.

"Who.. What was your husband's name?" he asks, his voice suddenly shaky.

“Sytal”

Adar's heart seems to skip a beat as you say your husband's name.

"Sytal..." he repeats, the name rolling off his tongue like a long-lost song. Memories, feelings, and realization swirl in his eyes, the connection becoming more apparent with each word you utter.

He takes a step closer to you, his gaze intense, studying your face with an almost desperate look.

"Describe him, your husband," he demands, his voice taut with emotion.

You frown slightly.

“He had black hair that shimmered in the sunlight, and a scar on his right ear from when my arrow grazed him. His mind was sharp, a true warrior like me... Mischievous, gentle, and kind.”

A wave of nostalgia washes over you as you remember the moments you shared, each memory a bittersweet reminder of what you’ve lost.

As you describe your husband, Adar listens intently, his expression becoming more and more captivated.

Each trait you mention ignites a memory within him, each word drawing pictures in his mind's eye. The description of the scar on your husband's ear, the one caused by your own arrow, hits him hard, awakening an ache in his heart.

"I have been searching for him, since centuries and now you have his pendant.."

Adar's eyes flicker with a mixture of guilt, anger, and confusion. The realization that the pendant he has cherished for centuries belonged to your husband - the same man you have been searching for - creates a maelstrom of emotions in his chest.

His grip on the pendant tightens, his knuckles turning white as his own memories of his loved one flood his mind.

"Who gave it to you?" You ask again.

Adar hesitates for a moment, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Reluctantly, he speaks again, his voice low and heavy.

"A female. A Warrior," he begins, his words slow and measured as if the memory is painful to recall. "She gave it to me before she left on a dangerous mission. She said she would return.”

You slowly stand up from your kneeling position.

"Do you have her name or a nickname?”

As you rise to your feet, Adar tracks your movements closely, his eyes wary and conflicted. At your question, he falters for a moment, as if the memory stings.

“Her nickname...” he begins, his voice rough with emotion. “I called her... moonshine... She adored it.”

“Because she lit up like the moon whenever she saw you, right?” you add, a knowing smile tugging at your lips.

Adar's eyes widen slightly, your words hitting him with an unexpected force. It's like you had read his mind, like you know the very thoughts he had harbored in his heart.

"Yes.. that's exactly why.." he responds, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

You look at him and move closer. You know it's a bold move but you cub his face and look at his right pointed ear, having a hunch.

As you approach him, Adar tenses slightly, unsure of your intentions. But your touch is surprisingly gentle, your gaze focused on his ear. 

He doesn't pull away, instead he allows you to inspect his ear, his heart hammering against his chest.

The sight of the healed but unmistakable scar on Adar's ear makes your blood run cold. It's the same scar you had inflicted on your husband, a mark as unique as a fingerprint.

"The scar.." you murmur, your voice tight with emotion. "It's the same..”

You meet Adar's eyes. "Who destroyed our village, my love. Who killed our parents? Who was the one that took you away from me?”

Your words strike Adar like a dagger to his heart. They're filled with a mix of anger, accusation, but also love and sorrow.  

His eyes widen as he realizes the truth you're hinting at, the words catching in his throat.  

"How... How do you know-”

"You are my Sytal.." 

Adar's eyes are wide and disbelieving, his mind struggling to process the truth that's crashing down around him. He looks at you, really looks at you, truly seeing you for the first time.

Your eyes, the color of which he could never forget. The way you hold yourself, the familiar curve of your lips... it all resonates with him so deeply, it's like a part of his soul that's been lost is finally being returned.

But alongside the realization, there's a deep well of guilt and self-loathing.

"You were once an elf, right? Centuries ago?" 

Adar nods slowly, his expression still one of shock and disbelief.  

"Yes... I was once an elf. Before..." he hesitates, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Before I was made like I am now.”

"and your elven name, do you remember it..”

Adar's eyes flicker as he calls upon the distant memories of his past life. It's been centuries since he's dwelt on them, and it takes him a moment to retrieve the name he once held before he was... changed.

"My elven name..." he murmurs, the syllables of his long-forgotten name coming to his lips. "It was Sytal.”

"You are him.. you're really him..”

Adar nods slowly, a mix of guilt and heartbreak etched on his face.  

"Yes..." he whispers, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I am... I am him."

The weight of realization settles between you, the truth of your identities and shared past crashing over you both. Emotions churn through you, too overwhelming to bear. Your vision blurs, and before you can steady yourself, everything fades to black.

Adar’s eyes widen as you sway unsteadily, then collapse. Reacting instantly, he lunges forward, catching you before you hit the ground. His arms wrap protectively around you, and he gently lowers you, his hands cradling your head in his lap.

“No... no, no...” he murmurs, his voice filled with panic and regret. He strokes your hair, his heart racing as he gazes down at your unconscious face. Emotions he had buried for decades now break free, shock, guilt, worry, and an ache he can barely contain. The memory of who you were to him, who you still are, pierces through him, raw and real.

“I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking as he studies your face, taking in every familiar line and feature. Trembling, he lifts a hand to your cheek, his fingers brushing tenderly over your skin, as if hoping this touch could somehow bridge the years of separation, the pain he’s caused.

As he holds you, you stir slightly, a faint movement that sends a flicker of hope into his eyes. He cradles you closer, his hand cupping your face with a gentleness that belies his strength.

“Y/n...” he whispers, his voice soft and aching. “Can you hear me?”

As your eyes flutter open, Adar’s face comes into focus above you, his features softened by worry and a tenderness you recognize but thought you’d never see again. His hand rests against your cheek, as if assuring himself that you’re real, here, beside him.

“Y/n,” he breathes, barely above a whisper. You smile faintly, grounding yourself in his presence, and your gaze drifts down to something glinting at his chest, the pendant.

“You kept it?” you murmur, surprise and warmth mingling in your voice.

Adar’s expression falters, and he glances away, shame flickering across his face. “It was all I had left of you,” he admits, voice thick with regret. “But you… you’re unchanged, as beautiful as the day I last saw you. And I.." He hesitates, looking down at himself, the scars and hardened edges from years in darkness weighing heavily on him. “I don’t know if I’m the man you gave it to anymore.”

You tighten your hold on his hand, your voice gentle yet resolute. “Adar, you kept that pendant because you never let go of who you were. And I haven’t, either. You’re still the man I loved, no matter what time and the world tried to do to us.”

A tear slips down his cheek as he looks at you, both surprised and touched by your words. “But… you deserve more than this broken shell,” he whispers, the insecurity in his voice breaking your heart.

“Then let’s be whole together,” you say, reaching up to stroke his face, your thumb tracing a gentle line over the scarred skin. “I spent lifetimes longing to find you again. Nothing else matters to me now. Nothing.”

At this, his composure finally crumbles. With a soft, trembling breath, he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if anchoring himself in the storm of emotions. “I never stopped loving you,” he murmurs, his voice a mixture of awe and relief. “I never will.”

He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that feels like a promise, a reconciliation, a homecoming. The weight of all those years, all the missed moments, falls away.

When you pull back, you’re both smiling, a shared, quiet joy that speaks of acceptance, of strength, and of an unbreakable bond. You rise together, hand in hand, stepping out of the tent into the fresh light of dawn. The path ahead may still be unknown, but it’s one you’ll walk side by side, as elf and orc, bound by a love that time and trials could never sever.

[pinkchaosnight]

• an eternity • (adar x fem!reader)

summary : your husband is adamant to go through his plans for Eregion and you are worried what will happen to him if he does.

pairing: adar x fem!reader

warning: s2 ep8 (do i need to say more?), angst, death

you wrap your hands across your husband's body, resting your head into the crook of his neck. the warmth of his body provided a little comfort to the fact that tomorrow might change everything.

"do you really plan to go tomorrow forward with your plan?" you ask as you feel the beat of his pulse against your cheek, calming your anxiety.

"hmmm" he replies as he continues going through the plan he has drawn. you lay there quietly, relishing in the silence before everything turns to clamour and war noises tomorrow. after a few quiet minutes, he places it in the table, your silence troubling him.

"whats the matter, my love?" he questions as he gently clutch your jaw in his hand, making your troubled eyes meet his.

"nothing, i was just worried. about the fact that we don't know what will happen tomorrow. who will win or lose? and mainly, who all will remain ?"

"are you doubting you me?" his hands let go off your chin as you rise your head from his chest.

"no i am not doubting you my dear. if i ever had any doubt about you, do you think i would abandoned my family and people to come here and stay with you? marry you? be your wife? no it's simply because i am afraid, that something wrong might happen to you. i can't lose you." you say as you caress your hands along the cheeks you so love to kiss.

adar smiles, a warm genuine smile reserved only for you in your private times. "i know, i am sorry for asking . besides i am sure my children won't disappoint me. i have faith in them and their strength. and don't even think about asking me about that topic earlier, i know that look. i absolutely forbid it"

"adar please allow me to fight alongside with you. i was raised as warrior, a swordswoman . please allow me to protect you too. it's the least i can do---"

" what do you mean by 'the least you can do'? you are the one who sacrificed your family and yourself for me. and i never expect anything in return expect for your love. my life has been bleak before i met you. now i have you who i can return to after the sun sets each day, you whose warm lap i can sleep on safely without feeling scared and alone, you who let me change myself for the better. let me protect you and this family, our family, so that in the future we can be safe and happy" he says as he places his hands on the slight curve of your belly.

tears fall down from your eyes, as you watch your husband tenderly touching your belly. it made your heart beat in such a way that makes your chest hurt a little.

adar wipes away your tears as he picks you up in bridal style, carrying you all the way to your shared bed. he lays down, with you resting your head on top of his torso. he wraps his arms around you , as he places a soft kiss in your head.

" nothing bad will happen tomorrow my love. i will return back victorious. you shouldn't cry over this trivial matter, its bad for you and the baby. "

"you are not a trivial matter. i just wish i can stay with you all the time. be with you. share all your worries and ease your pains." you whisper as you kisses his chest, his heartbeat faint against your lips.

" we have all the time in the world after tomorrow's battle. we will have time to see the plains, to gaze upon the wonderful seas. and when our child arrives, we will go on a tour for a whole month. i will consider one month of vacation for ourselves after all this ends. we will be happy again, for eternity. " he says as he trails kisses from your head to your ears.

" you promise me? that you will return to me safely? "

" i promise "

you both lay there in an comfortable silence, the promise of a new era hanging over as it lulls us back to sleep in the comfort of each other's arms.

your intuition was tingling; you could sense something bad was about to happen to your husband, the moment you stepped out into the woods, with your sword in your hands.

the sound of swords clashing and arrows being fired rang in the air, but you couldn't do anything. you refuse to draw arms against the elves, after all you are one yourself. so you go through the woods, avoiding everyone, until a voice catches your attention. your husband's voice. you nudges closer, your hand tightening the handle of the sword and ready to swing at anybody.

you relaxed when you see his orcs surrounding him, your hands loosening slighty. as you walk towards them, horror strickes as fear grasps you.

the orcs were stabbing him, his orcs whom he so loved. "nooooo" a guttural scream came from you as you swing the sword at the orc, decapitating his head. as your eyes found him, laying on the ground with his blood all over him, you couldn't stop the tears gushing from your eyes.

before the orc would stab him more, you places yourself between them, as you plunge the sword in it's heart. but not before it strikes you in the chest, causing you a searing pain that began to spread across ypur body. the orcs try to stab adar in admist of this as his blood splashes across your face. before the next strike occurs, you lie on top of him as you clutch his face searching for any life in them.

you could see a faint eye movement as you looked into his eyes, while your body got another set of stabs before it stabs altogether. you clutch your stomach as you feel an intense pain there, from the stab wound you got. you could feel your child die inside you, making you scream in helplessness. tears and blood mixed together and ran down your face as you didn't have the strength nor the time to govern which one is what.

"please-----adar--my love-----" you croak as a gush of blood rushes out from your mouth.

your husband briefly rises his hand and caress your tears away and you cry more, as you know this will be the last time he does so. you could see sauron and galadriel in your peripheral vision but they didn't matter. nobody and nothing matters , except your husband. nothing else, not even the searing pain and the world closing in on you as you feel your consciousness start to slip.

"i am sorry i.... couldn't fulfil the promise i made. i am sorry i couldn't..see what you were saying and i am sorry i started this war and dragging you to your death too. i wish we could have gone back to the simpler times, when we all had to worry was what to do spare the boredom. i-----" adar chokes as he spits more blood, his breathing slowing down each moment. his hands slowly moves to your stomach, craddling it as if to keep the child safe, making your heart ache. you could feel his heartbeat began to faint against your own chest, mirroring yours.

" did you remember our vows? 'not even death can part us' ? atleast we got that right." you say as you lie on his chest, with your vision blurring each minute.

you can feel him smiling with what energy is left on him. " i love you, my love......i just wish we had gotten more time. i wish we had eternity to raise our child with love that neither of us got. i wish we had the time to travel and revel in the simple beauty of this world. i wish ----" his word's get stuck as he chokes on his blood, his hands caressing your cheek.

" the only good thing is you will be the last thing i see, when my life leaves this scarred body. thank you for giving me chance to love you. i hope you can give it in the next life too." he whisper as he kisses you in your lips.

you kiss him back, tears and blood mixing together. for a minute you feel his hands and mouth on you, before both goes limp and hits the floor, lifelessly.

and just like that he is gone. gone from you, gone from your unborn child you will never see the light of the world and gone from the world that have treated him too cruelly. the hands, the mouth, the soul, the rest of him which you so loved - has left you, has left this plane of existence.

" my love, my husband please come back to me" you scream, as you feel your strength failing you. you fall over his lifeless body, sobbing and clutching. just like you were lying on him yesterday night - but without the faint rising of his chest and the beat of his heart which you so craved for. his eyes is glassy, lifeless as you close it for one last time before pressing a kiss.

" i love you so much that it pains me to leave you. please love me in next life and all the lives after too, my husband." is the last thing you remember whispering in his ears as you closes your eyes for the last time, falling into an eternal slumber in his arms, just like yesterday.

notes - i wrote this after ep 8 (no surprises there), i couldn't handle it so this happened as a part of my coping mechanism 🥹 i am so sorry yall

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Alliance of Shadows (1)

Author's note: This is the beginning of a new series! I just need our baby boi to find happiness somewhere. Also no beta- we die like our hyperfixation

Pairing: Adar x reader

Warnings: none- we're just getting started babes.

Next

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Adar stood at the edge of the forest, his sharp eyes trained on the distant horizon, where the lands of men and elves and dwarves spread out like a patchwork of history he had no desire to join. The offer from Galadriel still echoed in his mind—empty promises of peace, woven with the threads of distrust and superiority. He could never trust the elves. They would never understand his mission, his children, the ones he had shaped and led, the ones he was trying so desperately to protect.

But he had heard whispers. Rumors of a dark queen in the East, hidden away in the Black Mountains with her people. She, too, did not trust easily, shrouding her realm in magic and mystery. If anyone could understand what it was to protect those you created, to keep them safe in a world that rejected them, it would be her. The Witch Queen. Her reluctance to step into the light intrigued him—her strength, her caution. Perhaps she would see his vision as something more than mere conquest. Perhaps, she would understand what it meant to carve out a place for those the world would rather forget.

____________________________________________________________

You sense him long before he crosses the threshold of your realm. His presence is a disturbance, an anomaly cutting through the ancient wards woven into the mountains. No one comes here unless they are lost, desperate, or seeking something far beyond their reach. You wonder which he is.

Standing at the balcony of your stone fortress, you watch the dying light of day slowly succumb to the night. The wind is cool, whispering through the peaks like an old song only you and your people remember. Down below, the forest stretches like a black sea, the trees swaying in rhythm to the unseen forces that rule here. Your people have thrived in these dark places, far from the prying eyes of men, elves, and dwarves. The world beyond is not your concern.

And yet, he is coming. Adar.

You've heard his name on the lips of your seers, in the cries of the earth, and the howling winds. A figure of contradiction, neither wholly elf nor something else entirely. You’ve felt his ambition pulsing through the air, a thread of fate pulling him toward you. He wants something, and you know men like him are rarely content with what they already possess.

Still, there is something about him that intrigues you. It is not just the magic that hums within his veins, dark and ancient like your own, but something deeper. A hunger. A sense of belonging, perhaps? The thought amuses you—he does not belong here, and yet he comes. Perhaps, in some way, you have called him.

The sharp knock on the great doors of your hall shatters the stillness. He is here.

When your guards open the doors, Adar steps inside, his tall figure cutting an imposing silhouette against the moonlight streaming in from behind. He meets your gaze almost immediately, as if he has been seeking you through the mists, through the wards, through time itself.

You remain seated on your throne, carved from the stone of the mountain, cold beneath your touch. The air between you feels charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. He approaches slowly, his eyes fixed on you, dark and unreadable.

"Adar," you say, your voice calm but carrying an edge of curiosity. "You’ve traveled far for someone so reluctant to forge new alliances."

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break eye contact. "I come seeking something greater than an alliance, Witch Queen."

You let a faint smile touch your lips. His arrogance is a thin veil, hiding something deeper. "And what is it you seek, then? Surely not the fleeting loyalty of my people."

He takes a step closer, his movements measured, as if testing the air between you. "Your power. Your aid. Your people’s strength. I need them. You know the war that comes."

A war. You know of many wars, past, present, and those yet to be born. But your people have lived untouched by them, your magic keeping you hidden from the eyes of those who would exploit it. The mountain has always been your sanctuary. His presence, however, threatens to disrupt that balance.

"What makes you think I will give you what you seek?" you ask, rising slowly from your throne. The power in you ripples out, subtle but unmistakable. You want to see how he reacts to it, to you.

Adar’s gaze sharpens, but he does not waver. "Because you want what I want. You want something beyond this mountain. Beyond what you’ve kept hidden for so long. I can give that to you."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, but you keep your tone neutral. "And what exactly do you think I desire?"

He steps even closer now, his voice lowering, his dark eyes burning into yours. "Freedom. The world beyond. A kingdom of your own, forged not in the shadows, but in the light of your enemies’ ruin."

His words stir something in you—something dangerous, something you have buried for longer than you care to admit. The promise of power, of stepping out from the sanctuary of the mountains and into a world that could be yours.

But you are not foolish, nor easily swayed.

"Why should I risk the safety of my people for your war?" you ask, your voice as cold as the stone beneath your feet.

For a moment, he hesitates. And that hesitation tells you more than his words ever could. He needs you, truly needs you. And perhaps, there is more to this than simple ambition. You see the hunger in his eyes, the same hunger that burns quietly within you, waiting for the right moment to be unleashed.

"Because we are not so different," he finally says, his voice steady once more. "You feel it, as I do. This world was never meant for us, for those like us. But together, we could make it ours."

You study him, your mind racing through possibilities, the risks, the gains. He is dangerous, yes. But so are you. And maybe, just maybe, he is right.

Still, you will not be moved so easily. "Perhaps," you say softly, stepping closer to him, until you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "But I will need more than promises, Adar. If you want my aid, you will have to earn it."

For the first time, a flicker of something like surprise crosses his face. Then, it is gone, replaced by the smoldering intensity that draws you to him.

"I intend to," he replies.

You smile—a dark, knowing smile. "We shall see."