#adar x maia!reader

[elronds-meleth-nin]

Never Too Late - Part One: The Awakening

This is something entirely different from the things I've written before. I don't know what made me want to write this beyond hearing one of Adar's lines from S2E8. For those who stick around for this ride, thank you in advance. I know this might not be everyone's cup of tea, but here we go nonetheless! Things will begin (I hope) to make more sense in the second chapter.

Disclaimer: I know this is not how the Maiar or the Valar or any of canon works. I do not care. This writer is playing in a sandbox.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Adar (RoP) x Maia!Reader

[A/N: There will be smut in future chapters, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: An exploration of Adar's origins, discussions of the first Elves, Elf x Maia romance, he falls first, feelings of unworthiness, fear, Morgoth's manipulation (discussed further in later chapters), brief mentions of pain, regret.

~*~

The whisper of the wind in the trees was hypnotic to the Elf with no name. He was among the first to wake. He'd tasted the sunlight as it spilled across his lips in gentle caresses for the first time. Warmth had trickled into his limbs, and soon he'd found himself wandering happily, joyfully through a meadow full of flowers.

For a time he continued in that manner, exploring the world around him, lying in the sun on a riverbank, tasting the sweetness of berries as they hung ripe in the sunlight. Occasionally he would encounter others who looked like him. Other Elves who did not yet have names. Though they did not know it, they would earn them in time.

A small group formed together, giving each other names and forming a small community in the newly-made world. In time, he found that he enjoyed crafting words into set structures, playing with them as one of the other Elves toyed with carving wood, and as another painted pictures.

As he tinkered, he found that the name given to him was not right. It did not fit him correctly. The meaning was not how he saw himself, but he did not argue it, choosing instead to string more words together. They could know him however they wished, but that name was not how he knew himself. The land, the light, and the beauty of the world inspired him to create stories and poems. After a time, however, he found that the flow of his words had slowed in favor of simply experiencing that which he found so lovely.

So, when the thought struck him to walk along the riverbank he favored so much and listen to the birds singing in the trees, he did not hesitate to strike out. Familiar sights and scents surrounded him, wrapping him in a veil of contentment.

Then a different sound met his ears: the gentle whisper of fabric amongst the breeze. The Elf's green eyes opened curiously, and he looked around him for what could have made such a noise. His own clothing - brown leggings and an off-white tunic - were too silent to have done so.

That was when he caught a glimpse of her for the first time. She seemed to glow of her own accord, despite the brightness of the sunlight streaming down upon them. A dress that seemed to glimmer in the light adorned her, translucent and bright. But it was her eyes that drew him to her. They met his for barely a moment, but in that glance, the Elf felt as though she called to his fëa.

She gave him a small smile, and flitted back into the trees as quickly as she'd appeared. So amazed was he by the appearance of such an ethereal creature that he could do no more than follow mutely in her path.

But, he did not find her that day, nor the next. For nearly a fortnight, all he had to remember her by were the dozen-or-so poems that had poured forth from his mind the night after spotting her. He read them aloud to himself by the riverbank amongst the swaying sage blossoms as he tried to perfect them. She - whoever she was - had captivated him and deserved no less than the most perfect tribute.

The way she'd smiled at him made him long for more. To see her laugh, to watch a sunset with her, to feel the rain dampening his skin as he held her in his arms. Undoubtedly, this was something important. He'd seen other Elves feel this way about each other, but never about one who was so clearly Other. Granted, their existence was young, but without a precedent, the Elf wondered what he was to do about these feelings.

Midway through the revision of one the poems he'd written for her, he paused his reading and scratched out a line in favor of a correction. He was so lost in his work that he did not register the sound of approaching footsteps until someone knelt in the grass beside him. The Elf looked up and–

Paralyzed by the warmth in her gaze, he was amazed to find the very woman he'd been writing about was less than a hand's breadth from him. The wind swirled around them, blowing a few strands of his dark hair into his face. Before he could fix it, however, she reached up and brushed it carefully behind one of his pointed ears. Her touch lingered for a beat longer than it should have, and the Elf felt his heart beating wildly in his chest.

Her skin was softer even than that of his own people! He could write for years about the simple sensation of being so close to her.

"Such beautifully-crafted words." Her praise was more nourishing than even the most filling meal.

"For you, my lady," he admitted in barely a whisper. "All for you. No greater beauty have I seen in all my days as a part of this world."

His voice was so quiet that he was afraid the breeze might spirit it away before it reached her ears, but she heard him. Of course she heard him. A warm smile stretched her lips, and a silvery laugh spilled from her throat.

"Oh? And what have I done, kind wordsmith, to earn such a gift?"

'Existing' was the simple answer, but he could not say that aloud. It was too honest, too forward. She would surely be offended by such a low creature's desires. He shook his head quietly.

"Wonders deserve to be praised, híril vuin," he murmured dropping his gaze to his paper.

"Then, should you not be writing about yourself?" He question drew an incredulous laugh from him, but she was entirely serious. "The light of the Valar lives within your people."

He shook his head.

"You are light itself," he asserted. "I could hope for no greater a muse than you."

They spoke for many hours that day and for many days after. Those days added up, and the pair continued to meet beside the river or amongst the trees, speaking of everything and nothing, wandering where they wished.

He did not mention having seen her to the others, but he did overhear a few of them, one night. They were speaking around a fire, taking turns speaking about the Valar and the Maiar. He paid no mind until one of them mentioned something familiar.

"One of the Maiar hides within the woods near the river," the blond Elf said. "She has been glimpsed, but none of spoken to her. I witnessed her eyes glowing from deep in the trees, but before I could approach, she disappeared."

"Why would one of the Maiar hide in the forest, much less take a physical form?" One of the others with brown hair asked.

"Who can tell? It is not our place to know the minds of the Valar or the Maiar," the blond said decisively, and at that, the group began dispersing for the night. Only the blond Elf and remained when the Elf with no name approached him.

"What does she look like, the Maia in the forest?" He asked, knowing in the racing of his pulse that it was her to whom he'd spoken and about her whom he'd been writing. It was as obvious as the leaves on the trees and the sun in the sky.

"None can see any details beneath her glow, but that is not unusual. Those who have caught sight of the Maiar say that they only show themselves to those whom they wish. They can hide their visages, only taking physical forms when they choose to do so."

When he retired to bed that night, he clung desperately to the secret of their conversations together. She had chosen to reveal herself to him and only him. Even if he did not know why, he was honored, and he hoped he could one day prove himself worthy of her trust.

As the days became months, then years, there was a particular bend in the river where he would meet his lady. Wandering for hours, sometimes days, he became as close with her two people could without delving openly into the realm of romance, though, he did harbor those feelings for her. His heart raced whenever she was near, and he knew that should he ever have a family, he would want it to be with her.

But, he was not worthy. He never would be. No matter how much he may want a daughter with his hair and her eyes, or a son who favored his mother's light, an Elf could never be worthy of one a Maia's love.

As he returned one night, musing over his situation and feeling his heart twist itself into knots over the futility of his love, he found the others in an uproar.

"What has happened?" He called as he neared the group of terrified Elves.

"Three of our number rode out earlier. They were meant to return at sundown, but it is near midnight and there is no sign of them," one of the painters said, twisting the sleeve of his robe compulsively.

"They could simply be late." One of the others said trying to calm the group, but the painter wasn't swayed.

"No, they are lost! Taken! There was something dark at work this morn. Two of the three who left expressed misgivings about the Valar ere they left." With their numbers added, that made seven so far who had disappeared. "'Tis the darkness! The shadows seek to blot out the light, even that within our hearts."

That was the beginning of his trouble. Hearing his kin speak of such darkness ignited within him a curiosity. He wished to understand why those who left chose to do so. Why would they willingly put themselves at risk when they had everything they needed here? The Valar provided for them in abundance. Why should they seek the bleak nothingness of the shadow?

So, in his attempts to understand, he began to study that which he should not. The shadow no longer seemed as dangerous to him, but a welcome respite from the perfection of the light.

In his zeal, he began visiting the river bend less frequently, but his lady appeared no less glad to see him when he did make the trip to see her. On the last of such occasions - which he had no way of knowing was the last - the sun was gentle, the river babbled away happily, and the trees shivered beneath a soft breeze. Everything was sweet and lovely...perfect.

Even the way she looked at him was particularly tender. He read her his latest composition, but he found midway through that his words, as excellently chosen as they always were, did not adequately express how he felt about her. Eventually, her fingers laid atop his arm, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Darling wordsmith, what troubles you?" She asked, and he felt exposed before her. Guilt wound its way through his heart for having explored what he ought not. Would she recoil from him? Cast him from her sight forever? Instead of a confession, however, a question slipped from his tongue without his permission.

"It has been said that one of the Maiar wanders this wood. Are you she?" He asked, and she did not hesitate to smile up at him.

"I am, but you have known that for quite some time." Brushing a few strands of his dark hair behind his ear as the wind shifted, she lifted an eyebrow. "Now, what truly troubles you?"

Swallowing nervously, he caught her wrist lightly in his grasp, laying a reverent kiss upon her skin. He had never been so bold before. He had never dared touch her or express his adoration so openly.

She did not object or move away.

"I trust you have heard about the Elves who have disappeared?" She nodded her head even as her expression became solemn. "I have been considering a course of action for some time, and...I intend to seek them out."

The Elf with no name looked for the woodland Maia's reaction only to find tears gathering in her eyes and spilling slowly down her cheeks - sparkling, diamond droplets seemingly glowing of their own volition. The sight lit a spark of alarm within his breast, constricting his lungs and urging him forward until he'd gathered her in his embrace.

With a bit of adjustment, she sat in his lap with her face buried in the crook of his neck and her arms around him. He held her close, but he could not find the right words to say to her. Ultimately, he murmured to her his apologies and felt one of her hands glide onto the back of his neck. Her lips brushed against the shell of his ear, and she spoke barely above a breath.

"Should you need me, you need only call my name." She told it to him, and he could not help clutching her tighter at the sound of that word encapsulating all that she was. Eventually, she pulled back just far enough to press her forehead softly against his own. "I will always come when you call. All I ask is that you do not surrender your own light. You will need it ere long."

Her nose touched his briefly as he swore to her that he would do as she said, and grief coiled in his heart when he felt how damp her skin was. He had not meant to make her weep. Reaching carefully up, he cupped her face in his warm palms and whispered quiet comforts. She deserved more than this - every happiness in the world, in fact - but he would still give her all that he was able.

Not for the first time, he wondered what it would be like to be bound to her as her husband. An Elf could never be worthy of a Maia, but he imagined what it would be like to be entangled with her like this every day. Her tears or her laughter, soft sighs or pleasure-filled breaths - anything she chose to give him would be a gift beyond measure, just as this moment was.

She allowed him to comfort her, to hold her. He savored the contact, even if he did regret bringing her unwelcome news. They stayed there on the riverbank until long past midnight. The moonlight, gentle and cleansing, caressed their faces as they lay down in each other's arms. Quietly, he caressed her face, tracing the bridge of her nose, the curve of her lips, the softness of her smile.

When they eventually parted, it was only after she'd placed her hand over his heart, whispering words in a language which he did not understand. Her fingers had begun to glow, and that light bled slowly into his chest, floating seemingly beneath his skin until her touch retreated. He did not know what she'd done, but the determined glint in her eyes made him wonder if it was some form of protection.

With great reluctance, he returned to his home. Before the next morning dawned, however, a call trickled into his ears, rousing him from his rest. It was time. All that he ever desired awaited him. He need only seek it. Low, guttural, and tugging at his very being, the voice - if it could be called a voice - dug a tendril of shadow into his mind.

He and five others rode away before daybreak.

The journey was a blur, and when he came back to himself, he found that all six of them were in a cave. Their horses were gone.

The Elf with no name looked around him but could perceive only darkness. Only shadows writhing and dancing before him. He'd been tricked. This was not the liberation he'd been led to believe the others had sought, nor was this something from which he could save them.

"Who are you? What do you want from us?" He called into the oblivion surrounding him, and a sinister laugh curled from its depths scratching fear from deep within the Elf's heart. The other five shuddered as well, but smiles broke across their faces. Was he alone in his regret?

"I am Morgoth." The voice seemed to echo and twine through the darkness, through the air, and bury itself deep within his heart. The Elf with no name dropped to his knees along with his kin.

He assumed that the voice in the darkness, the being who called himself Morgoth, would kill them. Mournfully, he recalled the face of his lady, his muse, his joy. How disappointed she would be with his actions! When she visited the river next, she would not find him there. No longer would he be able to write and recite poetry for her. Gone were the days wandering through the forest with her, seeking its privacy for their conversations.

He had not been worthy of her - his current position proved that - but he still lamented the thought that his death would sadden her. Her gentle spirit would not allow the death of a friend - low creature though he may be - to pass without notice. He had seen her weep before and it nearly shattered him to pieces even as he comforted her. He would not be there to do so this time.

The darkness rumbled again, and this time, pain streaked up his legs, making him crumble to the ground as he cried out.

"Six you are, and seven have come before you. Those who survive will be rewarded, but live or die, you are mine, now."

What had he done?

~*~

Taglist:

@asksizworld @bigblissandlove1 @gandalfthepimp @horta-in-charge @zoya-olenko

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Tides of fate (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which your newly returned husband is unsure of the path ahead, and the sea itself tries to deter you from the one you choose together

Warnings: evil!reader, smut (sneaky handjob in a public place, brief descriptions of p in v), probably inaccuracies of canon geography/lore to suit the fic, somewhat repentant Sauron stands a teeny tiny chance of being better but reader is an ‘I can make him worse’ kinda girl

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. If you’re new, reader has been married/soulbound to Sauron since before Adar killed him and infiltrated herself in Eregion as a smith while she waited for his return, but came to find him when his presence became strong enough through their bond again.

Mature content below the cut—minors DNI!!!

Halbrand.

Whilst the other passengers on the ship are asleep, he lies awake with his new name and his new face, heading into what is to be a new life. He has yet to decide whether it should be different from the one before, but one thing he knows beyond all certainty—you shall be by his side, body and soul, until existence itself is no more.

You lie in his arms as he sits reclined against a pile of cargo, with your head resting upon his heart. Even aslumber, you seem to cling to him, your fingers ever so slightly curled in the ragged shirt he wears. Halbrand himself refrains from tightening his hold around your waist to the point where he might wake you, and contents himself only with soft caresses of your hair as he cradles you close. Weeks after you had nursed him back to his solid form, there are still times when you feel you must convince yourselves that you are together once more, and the long wait is over.

It had taken a while for the frenzy to pass, once he had been remade. For his newly woven flesh to find relief, if only in part, from the yearning with which it burned for yours.

The first time he’d had you in this body is a blur in his mind, nothing left of it but white-hot flashes of rampant breathing, wails and growls, skin slapping against skin. No sooner had he breathed the air into his new lungs than he had claimed your mouth, fell with you to the ground on the very spot where his new feet had first touched it, and begged to have his wife. A beast rutting into his mate in the snow is what he had been reduced to. On an open trail, beneath the open sky, he had ploughed into you with wild abandon, searing the pleasure of every thrust into his soul as if it would be the last he ever tastes.

He had not known, when last you had been by his side before Adar’s betrayal, that you would be out of his reach for centuries to come, that the very memory of his beloved’s embrace would slip from his grasp with the long years, sunk into the black depths of a rudimentary shape which had forgotten what it was to feel at all. And so the moment he had at last regained a form that could, he had grasped, seized, clawed the feeling of being one with you back into himself.

And you had sunk your nails into his new flesh, christened it with scratches, marking it as yours. He remembers your tight heat, your shrill moans, your tears as you begged him for more, even after your peak. He remembers his frustrated curses when his fresh, tragically human form had softened beyond his control after spilling inside you only once, and your sweet laugh in his ear, nowhere near judgmental as you reassured him that with time, his Maia prowess shall return to spare him such tedious whims of a mortal’s flesh.

“You are still extraordinary, my love,” you had praised with an adoring nibble of his humanly round ear. “A true mortal man as starved as you would not have even made it all the way inside.”

It was, perhaps, for the best. For you might have fucked the very life out of yourself on his cock in those first few days, if not for the occasional need for respite. His partial oblivion, though nothing short of agonizing, had stripped him, at times, of the knowledge of what he was missing. Your longing for your husband had shredded your heart through every single moment of the centuries you had been apart, vivid as ever in your mind and soul. The hollow in your bond had never subsided into anything less than a freshly severed limb, forever bleeding from an open wound. The only reason you had not withered away was that last glimmer of feeling, barely there but undeniably real, that your husband had not passed beyond your reach completely and forever.

For weeks you had remained in those woods, unwilling to do anything but be together. Even if you weren’t making love, you were hardly ever not touching, and it cost you even to pry yourselves away to hunt or gather wood—an effort that much greater since his prowess did gradually return, as you had been most certain that it would.

As you lay in his arms, you spoke to him of the world, all the ways it had changed and all the ways it had not. The dealings of Elves, Dwarves and Men nowadays. The life you had secured for yourself in Eregion, the opportunities it held. A power over flesh. All it did was remind him of the last words he had spoken to Adar’s wretched Orcs before they had butchered him, and the only power he found himself craving was that of feeling your flesh, beneath, against and around his. And you were oh so willing to grant it to him.

The last night before your voyage, you had looked so beautiful, bathed in moonlight and the warm glow of the fire beside you as you rode your husband slowly, savouring every drag of his cock within you. He sat up, holding you close, watching in awe as you took what you needed, and gave him all he craved. His tears do not spill easily, but they had burned behind his eyes as you threw back your head and cried out your release, bringing forth his own. You were everything. His wife. His soul.

His Queen.

He had once sworn he would not rest until the whole of Middle-Earth had been brought to its knees to worship the pair of you, side by side. That nothing less would ever be enough.

Lying beside you by the fire, he was not so certain anymore.

“My love,” he had whispered as you ran your fingers through his unruly hair, “where do you wish to go?”

It was the first time either of you had spoken of your heading, rather than acting as though where you were now was all there was.

You had frowned ever so slightly, as though surprised he even had to ask, and murmured, “With you.”

The following morning, you began your journey. Eregion was your destination, as you had anticipated all throughout his long absence. To follow his weak presence through your bond and find him in Forodwaith, you had left your false life with the Elves claiming to be visiting distant kin. He had yet to spin a tale justifying his joining you upon your return, and he found it more difficult than usual to do so when he didn’t seem to be sure of his goal once you had reached the Elven kingdom. You noticed, of course, but kept your mind at a thoughtful distance, knowing he would speak his in his own time.

When a group of Men crossed your path, it was the first time since his return that you were in the presence of others. With the bit of shape-shifting ability received from your husband upon the forging of your bond, you had made the pointed tips of your ears recede into a round shape to match your husband’s current one. You were to pass as human travellers, unworthy of a second glance.

But an old man, whose name Halbrand had later learned to be Diarmid, halted to inform you of the danger ahead. You must have spent longer in Forodwaith than you thought, for you had not encountered the armies of Orcs described by Diarmid when you had come seeking your husband. The man had spoken of embracing the uncertain tides of fate in hopes of a brighter future—a sentiment embodied, in his view, by a piece of heraldry he wore which had belonged to kings long gone, whose mighty path had crumbled as easily as a less fortunate one might prove to lead into a better place.

This belief of the man touched something in Halbrand, birthed a dim spark of a feeling akin to hope. You, on the other hand, did not seem as affected by his words, or his warm invitation for you and your husband to join his people on their intended voyage to a new life across the sea. No sooner had he moved on than you began to scheme.

“A symbol of royalty with no one left to claim it? That might prove useful,” you said under your breath as the two of you remained standing by the passing group of Men. “We could take it, and their ship. Sail to Lindon instead of risking a run-in with Orcs on the way to Eregion. I have quite enough connections there as well.”

You didn’t need to speak the details for him to know the exact intent behind your words. He was stronger in his power now than he had been when this body was fresh, and you were a force to be reckoned with yourself. The two of you fighting as one could cut through the humans like butter, leaving only enough to man the ship to your desired destination under your forceful command. It would have been easy enough, nothing you hadn’t done before.

“Or perhaps we might sail with them,” Halbrand suggested instead, driven by a sudden impulse.

“Into the West?” you asked quizzically, trying to figure out a purpose of which he was not sure himself. “Is there something you wish to achieve in Númenor, or thereabouts?”

“What I wish,” he said, meeting your eyes, “is for you to come with me.”

Like you’d said you would.

And you did. With but a curious look and a slight furrow of your brow, you placed your hand in his and joined him on this new path, though neither of you was sure where it would lead.

After the weeks—or had it been months?—spent in a near perpetual embrace in the wilderness, the lack of privacy on the ship proved quite the challenge. For plain communication, your bond would have sufficed, but even there a certain veil of concealment had fallen between you. For the more you began to suspect where his intentions might be straying, the less eager you were to breach the subject.

But you hardly ever left one another’s side, and spent each night in the closest embrace appropriate to the rather crowded circumstances, as you are doing now. He never sleeps, and pretending to do so would be a most tedious chore for the sake of avoiding suspicion, if it weren’t for his wife nestled comfortably within his arms. Some nights, however, he finds himself too deep in troubled thoughts for his eyes to remain closed, and that hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“Nightmares again?” Diarmid questions, lifting his head from his own makeshift pillow closeby. He lowers his eyes to you as he says with a knowing lilt, “One would think such a warm embrace can bring peace to even the most troubled of minds.”

His remark lacks any trace of envy, his gaze on you admiring without coveting, and so Halbrand is not enraged by either. He looks down, his eyes following the soft trails drawn by his fingers as they caress your hair.

“She is all the peace I know,” he murmurs.

“But you are haunted still.”

His fingers halt, resting upon your head.

“I’ve done evil,” he confesses. We have done evil, would be the more truthful statement. But so charming and joyful you had made yourself appear to your fellow passengers, he would be taken for a liar. He can only imagine how loved you are in Eregion—how loved you would be anywhere.

“All of us have done things that we care not to admit,” Diarmid replies, seemingly unfazed by Halbrand’s grim admission. How naïve for a mortal man of his age, the Maia thinks, to so easily give the benefit of his doubt to a near stranger.

“Not like I have,” he presses on. What is the purpose of this conversation, he wonders? To test whether he would be cast out? To hear the man lie again, that there is another path for him than that of suffering he has known so far?

Is that a lie?

Diarmid ponders his words. “Your wife,” he says then, as if in answer to his inner musings. “How did you come to be wed?”

You had maintained that much truth in your façade, for obvious reasons. It is a piece of truth Halbrand reveals now as well.

“We were undone,” he says in a dark rasp, “and we remade ourselves by swallowing each other whole.”

A hoarse chuckle escapes the old man. “What a way you have with words, lad. Isn’t that a most dreary manner of saying you have healed one another?” When Halbrand looks at him, guarded, he thankfully knows better than to insist upon the details. “And she knows of this... evil you say you have done?”

Halbrand gives a nod.

“And yet,” Diarmid says, voice softening with a kind of wise tenderness, “she looks at you as though you hold the very sun above her head in the palm of your hand.”

A most uninspired metaphor. Sunlight had become too bright for your eyes, after years spent in the dark heat of Morgoth’s fortress. You do not thrive in it, but rather under grey skies, with cold air caressing your cheeks. But the sentiment he means to express is perfectly true.

“And it is plain to see,” Diarmid adds, “that you love her a great deal as well.”

There is not a single false word in that sentence. You give the lightest stir in your husband’s arms, softly nuzzling his shirt in your sleep, and Halbrand, Sauron, Mairon—everything and everyone he had ever been burns with adoration as he holds you just that little bit closer.

“You cannot imagine,” he murmurs, with nearly as raw a sincerity as only you can draw from him.

Diarmid laughs warmly. “Oh, I can, lad,” he says with a trace of wistfulness. “I can.”

His eyes drift to the distance, as he no doubt remembers some past love of his. And a great one it may have been, but he shall never know what it is to bind his very soul with another’s, to be so inextricably intertwined as the pair of you have made yourselves to be.

Halbrand says nothing, leaving the old man to his imaginings. But Diarmid soon returns from them, and gives his supposed younger a sage look.

“So, you see,” he goes on, “whatever you’ve done in your past, she has forgiven it. Now, you must find forgiveness within yourself. You are alive, holding the woman you love in your arms, because you have chosen good.”

“What of tomorrow?” Halbrand asks, almost a challenge.

“You have to choose it again.” Diarmid gives a small chuckle, as though the answer is most obvious. “And the next day, and the next, until it becomes a part of your nature.”

His nature. Good had been his nature. Once.

He wonders, had you met him as Mairon, whether your souls would still be as one now. Whether you might have lived as Melian and Thingol did, rulers over a kingdom of light, protectors against Morgoth’s darkness rather than partial cause of its spread.

But it feels like a betrayal to imagine a love any different than the one he has known with you, even if it’s still a version of you with whom he contemplates such a thing. Because in the end, it would not be you. Morgoth had stripped you of the Elf you had been as brutally as he had disposed of the once Mairon, though with the Maia, he had made the pain seem so much sweeter in the beginning. You had not fallen in love with songs and poems, with you dancing in a field of flowers and him finding himself struck dumb by your beauty. Your bond had been forged in the hottest and cruellest of flames, and was all the stronger for it. This all-consuming passion, this ruthless obsession of yours, which scorches everything and everyone in its path—nothing less would ever suffice.

Seeing that Halbrand has become lost in thought upon hearing his words, Diarmid gives him one last friendly smile and pat upon his shoulder, then turns away to settle back to sleep. Not long after, quiet snores begin to leave him.

That is when you give a light hum, and shift so that your cheek rests on your husband’s shoulder and your eyes meet.

“What a way you have with words, lad,” you tease softly.

The slightest smile tugs at Halbrand’s lips. “It isn’t proper to eavesdrop.”

“It seemed as though you were having a moment.” Your teasing smile dims as you add, even more quietly, “It seemed as though you wanted it.”

You bring your hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb through the light stubble that now adorns it. You seem to like this form of his, imperfectly human as it is, and nothing pleases him quite like pleasing you. His eyes fall shut as he leans into your touch, taking your wrist in a gentle hold and pressing his lips to the palm of your beloved hand.

“My love...” he begins, but you rest your fingertips upon his mouth.

“I know.” You sigh, letting your hand fall back to his chest. “I know. You’ve been... different, since you have returned. Not only in body. After all this time, what you have endured... I know you are faltering. That you lack direction.”

“And yet you followed me blindly.”

“Always,” you smile, though it’s short-lived. “But... if forgiveness is what you seek... from them...” Your brow creases, voice becoming pained as you lift your head from his shoulder to meet his gaze properly. “My love, we have been here once before.”

“I know,” he says firmly, wrapping your hand in his. “I would not take such a risk again.”

Like he did at the end of the First Age. When, in the wake of Morgoth’s defeat, he’d had a mind to seek pardon from the Valar rather than await their retribution. He had witnessed their might as they decimated his master’s dark forces, and Sauron himself now lacked an army with which to retaliate, should they seek him out. All he had was you, and in his wish to keep you, and in the haze of his new-found freedom from Morgoth’s clenched fist, he had entertained the thought that perhaps the Valar might consider your union, a defiance of Morgoth in itself, to be proof of your renouncing his authority even since before his defeat. Surely, they could be persuaded that all, or at least most of your vile deeds, had been for the sake of each other, to spare your beloved from Morgoth’s wrath. And to a certain extent, it was true.

But the opposite happened. The Valar had deemed your bond unnatural, volatile, forged in too deep a darkness to be anything but a force of destruction. If you truly wished to be pardoned, you were to allow it to be undone. He was to return to Valinor whilst you remained in Middle-Earth, serving to rebuild what Morgoth had destroyed until you had proven beyond doubt you had put your foul ways behind you. Only then would you be allowed passage into the West to be rejoined with your husband, should your love endure such prolonged distance and transformation from the beings you had been when you met.

Servitude would already have been nigh impossible to swallow. But separation—that was unfathomable. It was cruelty beyond imagining, from beings who had the audacity to claim they were righteous and fair. You and your husband had been left with no choice, then, but to seek out a power which would make you gods in your own right. Power over flesh, power over Middle-Earth.

Separation came anyway, only in a different form, the path you had most wanted to evade forced upon you by Adar’s treachery instead of the Valar’s so-called justice. But as great a blow as it might have been, the aftershocks of it spanning over so much time, it didn’t break either of you beyond repair. As Sauron, he has known many setbacks, failures, betrayals. He is not afraid. Even when he sought pardon before, he tells himself, he was being cautious, practical.

But he is, perhaps... tired. So tired.

“You told me you have no wish to return to your life with the Elves,” he breaks the silence you had let fall between you, patiently awaiting the further words you sensed he had to say. “Númenor is said to be a paradise, ripe with opportunity. A smith of great skill and his equally gifted wife are most likely to thrive in such a place.”

Though he speaks in statements, you hear the question they conceal. You had long suspected he had been harbouring such thoughts, and your eyes shift uneasily upon hearing them.

“I can’t say I haven’t thought of it,” you confess in the end. “That perhaps we might simply... be together, as so many others are, and that would be enough. But even if we could find it in ourselves to put Middle-Earth behind us and let Adar go unpunished for what he did...” Your hand grips his painfully as you shut your eyes for a moment, striving not to raise your voice above a tense whisper. “I cannot bear to live in fear any longer. Wondering whether or not the Valar will finally deem us worthy or harmless enough to leave us be. Seeking to appease a higher power whose breath is constantly at the back of my neck even when I cannot see it, like... like he was. Is that not why we put such thoughts aside before, and sought to claim the power that we did? To gain control, bring about a new order—our order?” You lean in closer, the despair in your eyes giving way to determination as you stare into his with each and every searing word. “You know we are meant to be more than this. The Valar may not favour us, but fate does. It’s why our paths crossed in the first place, and why we found our way back to each other time and again, despite Morgoth, and Adar, and all who would have seen us apart. It’s why we will prevail.”

It’s so taxing, keeping the intensity of your words’ sentiment quiet, that the release comes in the form of tears slipping from your eyes. Your husband’s brow creases, leaving your hand to lie upon his quickening heart as he cups both of your cheeks.

“All this time...” he whispers, thumbs brushing your tears like they are priceless gems, “all these centuries, you have kept your faith in our vision. In us.”

He knows all too well how strong you are, how ruthless in your resolve, but sometimes, the sheer might of your devotion to him still knocks the breath from his lungs.

A teary chuckle escapes you. “Had you not spent all those centuries as a barely sentient liquid, I’m sure you’d have done the same. Not to mention,” you add, seeking to lighten the mood with a touch of coyness, “you promised me a crown, my love. And I shall not let you rest until you have put it upon my head, and I have known what it is to be a true Queen, worshipped by all beings,” you lean so that your lips ghost over his as you whisper alluringly, “and by her King most ardently of all.”

He gives in with a subdued groan, catches your lips in a fleeting kiss—then presses a thumb to the soft flesh beneath your chin to better his hold on you and keep you at bay.

“My love,” he rasps out in warning, eyes roving over your face, “do not tempt me so when I cannot have you as I please.”

A wicked smile spreads across your lips, and your softly-spoken words are the sweetest siren song, calling him to his doom. “You can have me, my love. We can have anything we wish.” Your hand begins a most audacious journey down his chest and along his tensing stomach, disappearing beneath the blanket covering the both of you above the waist. “They are nothing,” you go on, nimbly working open his trousers. “What they see, what they think of us now, will be nothing once we have brought them under our rule.”

Even with the blanket covering you, if someone were to look closely, they would likely be able to discern the precise location and intent of your hand. Quite frankly, Halbrand cannot bring himself to care if they did notice either, not when his wife takes his flesh in a nearly cruel grip. His cock grows and hardens in helpless answer to your beckoning, and this, he thinks for the one thousandth time, is the sole kind of helplessness which sets his blood aboil with desire rather than rage. It takes but a few strokes, dry and curt, and he is swollen, aching, the veins in his neck straining as he bites back a growl.

As for you, it’s a struggle not to rub yourself against his leg like a warg in heat. But it is his pleasure you wish to achieve, not your own. You press your lips to those captivating lines of tension on his neck, and swipe a thumb over the tip of him to find it wet. He remains discreet in sound, if not in expression, but you feel the spike of his pleasure through your bond as you keep caressing that most sensitive part of his cock. All of a sudden, his hand is at the back of your neck, and he pulls you down so that your cheek is pushed into his chest, his chin resting the slightest bit too heavily upon your head. Like this, you feel his rampant heartbeat, his ragged breathing, the tremors you send throughout his body with each and every stroke of his length.

It’s an illusion of control, he knows, crushing you to his chest whilst the heart within it contorts and threatens to unspool back into a pile of black slime, taken apart by your words and touch. He lets you break from his hold the moment you rebel out of it, and plant your chin upon his shoulder.

“I kept my faith, because I could see us,” you whisper, your hot breath in his ear plunging straight to his cock as you pump him into a silent frenzy. “I can see what we will become, and it is so... so beautiful. Do you see us, love?” you all but whimper, as though your words alone bring you as much pleasure as the glide of his length within your fist does him. “Can you see your Queen, spread upon our throne... wearing nothing but the jewels you have given me and the crown upon my head... as your tongue swears fealty between my legs? Can you see me do the same, on my knees before my Lord and King?”

Oh, he can. So many times he’s had you, in so many ways, but the thought of you worshipping each other whilst you are being worshipped across all of Middle-Earth, taking pleasure in one another as well as the symbols of your power... That had always wrought a particular kind of havoc upon his loins, proportionate in might to the high brought by the prospect of victory in itself. And you know that damn well, as well as all the right ways to caress and graze and squeeze and knead to play his body like a harp into the very melody you wish to elicit, regardless of the form he takes, for you might as well be nestled beneath his skin, living and breathing among the strings you so deftly pluck with your ruinous fingertips. Your touch, your words, moulding his mind as you please—is this what one feels like, he wonders, when Sauron the Deceiver slithers his way into their unsuspecting thoughts?

But this is no deceit. This is his wife, his soul, reminding him of his true self, just as you did when you first found what had been left of him in Forodwaith, and put him back together. His hips jerk into the movements of your hand, seeking you out, uncaring of the people who might wake and see him being undone by your touch. You are right. They are nothing. You are all there is, and all there ever shall be.

You chuckle as he chases his breath, and bite his earlobe—hard. It may not be the sensitive tip of an Elf’s pointed ear, but the jolt of pain lights a fire beneath his skin that scorches everything in its path, and no amount of control over his form could have prevented him from spilling his seed right there and then. The growl he lets loose would have surely roused those sleeping closest by, if not for your sudden grip on his throat and lips covering his, swallowing his rough breaths. He spills and spills as you stroke him through his release, until the exquisite throbbing in his cock has finally run its most fulfilling course.

To think there was a time he knew not what it was to crave another, nor did he care to know—and then he had known you. The pleasure of his flesh might as well have your initials engraved into it.

You loosen your grip on his throat as you break the kiss, and that hand goes instead to tenderly brush a lock of dark hair from his temple. You seem awfully pleased with yourself when he opens his eyes into yours, and he doesn’t shy away from admitting that you very well should be. The hand with which you had pleasured him emerges from beneath the blanket with his spent glistening on your fingers, and you hold his gaze as you rest the digits on his bottom lip. The tip of his tongue darts out slightly, tasting what you have done to him. What you always do. He wraps his lips around your fingers, scrapes them lightly with his teeth, and something softens in your eyes.

“I want more,” you whisper, nothing short of a goddess reduced to her most vulnerable self. “I want everything. But I need only for you to want me.”

His new heart lurched in his chest. As if he could ever stop. As if there could ever be more, be anything, if there was no you and him.

He knows much better than to take your words as an admittance of defeat, however. If he truly were to demand that you renounce your aspirations, you would be furious. You would fight and fuck him in every way you could think of to change his mind, but you would follow him wherever he went. As he would you. There is no such thing as choosing to leave one another’s side, unless you have reason to believe that your temporary separation shall serve to make you all the more fruitful in your shared endeavours upon your reunion.

Your shared endeavours is what they still are. What they always have been. He sees that now, clearer than ever.

Having released your fingers, his mouth claims yours in a bruising kiss. You moan into it, too loud, too desperate, but neither of you cares. He truly abandons all caution, pulling you into his lap by your waist, and you grind your clothed core into his newly hardening cock as soon as you are astride him, and damn these people, damn your ruse, he is going to have you, fully and unrestrained, right here in their midst. It matters not, for most will be dead soon either way. For you will take the ship for yourselves, just like you first suggested, and sail back to Middle-Earth to claim it as your own. And he means to tell you this whilst you ride him, just as you are reaching your peak, and send you careening into it with this sweetest promise like you had done him—

Something’s wrong. Even in the heat of passion he feels it, and every muscle in his body stiffens. You break away at once, alarmed by his alarm.

“Hold on to me,” is all the warning he has time to give you.

Not a soul on the ship remains asleep when it takes the first hit, water flooding into the hull through shattered wood. It’s everywhere, bursting through holes in the walls and pouring down the stairs from the deck, and you barely manage to scramble to your feet before the next blow lands, and the next. You do try to keep your grip on each other, but end up bracing yourselves against the pile of cargo on which you had been resting so you don’t get knocked off your feet. At the very least, he manages to hastily refasten his trousers. Not that anyone would care if they caught a glimpse of a man’s privates at a time like this—but in his flailing circumstances, it isn’t quite the power move it would have been if he were shamelessly buried to the hilt inside you for all to see.

“Was that—?”

“Yes,” he answers you gruffly. “Sea worm.”

“Is that a problem?” you ask urgently, ever so pragmatic even as your chest heaves through the sudden panic.

He isn’t sure. He feels recovered enough, but he can’t say whether his ability to sway the creature’s mind is good as new until he’s come face to face with it. He’s about to go and find out, when a voice screams, “Help me!”

It’s Diarmid who cried out, trapped beneath a wooden beam that had collapsed upon him. Bleeding from a head wound, he looks to Halbrand in despair. No one else even stops to look, the other passengers scurrying around in a frenzy, as if there is anywhere to run.

Halbrand and you make no move. Your gazes meet as you wait with bated breath for his choice, even in the midst of chaos.

Whatever you’ve done in your past, she has forgiven it.

If anything, you should forgive him for ever faltering in his resolve. There is no such thing as a man called Halbrand, or as you and him disappearing in the crowd. You shall be everywhere, standing above everything and everyone, as you were always meant to.

He leans over Diarmid, grabbing hold of the fallen beam atop him—only to snatch the pouch bearing a king’s symbol from his neck, the Maia’s pitiless eyes staring into the man’s terrified ones. He turns to the beautiful sight of your smile, proud and relieved, and a smirk blooms on his own lips. Screams fill the ship as it is ripped to shreds, but you put your hand in his and pull him towards the deck with an exhilarated “Come on!”, and for a moment he suspects this feeling in his chest might be akin to what a young man would experience, if he were being whisked into the unknown by a rebellious first love.

And like the folly of such youth, it doesn’t last. Your hand slips from his as the ship falls apart, swallowed whole by the ocean, and he is submerged into an underwater field of shattered woods and floating bodies. He has lost you from his sight, but he knows you’re alive. He knows he is still lord over beasts as well, when the sea worm obeys the command in his eyes and abandons its attack, swimming away. Perhaps the effort of imposing his will on such a great creature is still too taxing. Perhaps that’s why the pulse of your life is as vivid as ever within your bond, but feels further away. The water is dark, and you are strong—he feels is. You are soon to surface.

But when he emerges from the sea, grabbing hold of a floating piece of wood, you are nowhere in sight.

He waits. Waits, then dives back in.

The bodies he finds are all corpses.

You are alive.

But you are gone.

His scream is lost in the black depths of the sea.

*****

As soon as you break through the surface, gasping for air, you know something is terribly amiss.

For one, there is no one in sight. No ship, no people, no sea worm. Then, there is the rising sun, when moments ago it had been little past midnight, and land in sight when you had been most certain you were in the middle of the sea. And most poignant of all, there is distance—great and sudden, between you and your husband.

He is well, though, and even more so now that he has felt you reaching out to him. The spark of relief echoing through your bond is the only reason you do not immediately despair. You have an inkling of what might have occurred. But you save your energy for swimming towards the distant shore, channeling your ire into each kick of the water.

How do the Valar expect you to renounce your bitterness towards them, when they do their very best to fuel it with every given occasion?

*****

He breathes easy at last. He had known you were alive all along, but the gnawing emptiness where your consciousness should have been had not ceased to churn within his chest until he’d felt you, aware and present in your bond once more.

For you to have drifted away, so quickly and so far... it was no natural occurrence.

There’s a presence he’d felt. A watching. Sickly familiar, and he knows not how, but—they knew. Perhaps you had invoked them one too many times, and Ulmo himself had reached out with a watery tendril of his power to snatch you from your husband’s reach. Whether in punishment or warning, it matters not. For in his haste to part you, the Vala had failed to prevent a great opportunity from landing right into his great enemy’s lap—or rather, swimming her way onto his raft.

Galadriel.

He knows her name. How could he not? Sister of Finrod, daughter of Finarfin. A mighty Elven warrior, hailed as the fairest of Elven women, the very light of the Trees of Valinor supposedly snared in her tresses. It’s hard to tell, with her golden hair soaked and clinging to her shoulders. But her beauty concerns him little. Once he has taken Middle-Earth, he thinks, he shall have the tongue of any being who dares suggest another might be fairer than his Queen.

You’ve reached the shore, he senses, back in Middle-Earth. To Galadriel, he speaks half-truths of hateful Orcs that chased him from his homeland, but within himself, he smiles. So, they dare not kill you, still, especially after they were proven right to hesitate in doing so before—when the Orcs had robbed him of his form, his power had burst from the remains of him with such anguished fury, Forodwaith had been reduced to an icy wasteland. Should your bond be severed as violently, there is no telling what horrors that gaping wound might unleash. The Valar have revealed their fear once more, and it serves to remind him why the two of you have nothing to fear.

You were right, my love, he thinks. The message may not reach you word for word, but he knows it will be crystal clear in your mind. Though some may seek to part us, the tides of fate are flowing ever in our favour. Make for Eregion. Await me there. I shall return to you soon, having made great progress towards our end.

From you, there comes the anger and the grief of your parting, which he shares—but stronger than that is your faith in him, further solidified by his determination.

“Around your neck,” Galadriel says. “Is that the mark of your people’s king?”

She had noticed, then. He’d been careful to fiddle with it earlier, tucking it into his shirt when she thought he hadn’t seen her scrutinizing him. You had been right, of course—that pouch would prove useful, after all.

Thank you, my love, he thinks fondly to you. For reminding me who I am. Who we are.

Your devotion caresses his soul, and the Deceiver begins to worm his way into an unsuspecting mind once more.

Previous fic with same reader -> Remade

Next fic with same reader -> Reunion

[sansaorgana]

— IN PERPETUITY (II)

PART ONE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader

SUMMARY — After murdering her husband, Sauron's wife disguises herself as a beautiful Elven maiden to live in Eregion and gain Lord Celebrimbor's trust as she hopes for him to forge her the Rings of Power. Her plans get interrupted when her husband comes back in a new form as well and he is thirsty for revenge.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — The Reader in this fic is a Maia, so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. The title of the fanfic and its vibe are inspired by the song Sugarbread by Soap&Skin. Special thanks to @dinsbeskar for giving me the most appreciated feedback before I posted this fic! 💕 I originally planned for Sauron to be the dom in this part but... oopsie, I got carried away and surprise, surprise... He is a sub again! 🤣

WARNINGS — Reader is evil-evil with sadistic undertones, manipulation, gaslighting, SMUT, choking, hair pulling, sub!Sauron

WORD COUNT — 5,660

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

IN PERPETUITY (II)

You spent a few more decades in the North inside the very same fortress but its eerie aura was making you feel too uneasy. Adar could sense that too, as if Sauron’s death cursed this place furthermore.

He wanted to go with his children to The Southlands and to turn it into a home for the Orcs who could not bear the sunlight. You had slightly other plans but his schemes did not interfere with yours.

“I shall assist you and lead your army all the way South,” you told him one evening. “We should leave this place, it is not doing me any good and I cannot waste more time hiding here,” you informed him.

“What are your plans, my Lady?” Adar asked and you only smirked at him.

“What leader would I be if I shared all my schemes with you?” You asked and he clenched his jaw. You knew what was the thing he feared the most, so you quickly reassured him. “I want your children to have their home, too. In fact, such a land of darkness might be useful to me. I am not fond of sunlight either. Therefore, as I said, I shall lead you to The Southlands and assist you on the way. But after we arrive and you settle in, I will leave your side. We will remain in touch, of course,” you nodded. “But I trust you enough for us to split for a few centuries.”

In fact, you did not trust him enough. You would never trust anyone. But you had no other choice and you simply had to abandon your army for some time if your plan was supposed to turn out successful.

“Where will you go?” Adar asked and you gave him a mysterious smile.

“I have a business in Eregion.”

Indeed you had. Mairon was gone but not all of his ideas were. You were truly fascinated by his dream of crafting The Rings of Power but… you had killed your smith, therefore you needed a new one.

And who would be better for this task than Lord Celebrimbor himself? You just had to show up in Eregion as a fair Elven maiden and build his trust slowly, a century after century… And then, using some perfectly crafted and prepared beforehand opportunity, you would push him into the right direction.

You would have your Rings.

Your Ring.

And you did not need Mairon for any of that. It would just take slightly longer time but at least you did not have to bow to anyone or share your power.

Adar could see that you did not want to answer his questions any further, so he only nodded at you but he kept staring at you with squinted eyes.

Like you had planned, you did. Changed your appearance into one of the most beautiful Elven women in all Middle-earth and showed up in Eregion, claiming to come all this way from Mirkwood to learn Lord Celebrimbor’s craft.

The Mirkwood Elves were the most secluded kin, therefore no one was surprised to see you for the first time in their lives. But for that very reason you were also not trusted much in the beginning. That was no problem. You had time. All eternity.

Step by step, you began your journey. At first you were humble and compassionate without even seeing Lord Celebrimbor much. But as centuries passed, you were getting promotion after promotion until you found yourself being the very right hand of the Lord of Eregion.

Your backstory of coming from Mirkwood was useful in a different way, too – whenever you would go to The Southlands to check on Adar and your army, Elves of Eregion believed that you were visiting your family in Mirkwood.

Everything seemed to go well and according to your plan… Well, almost.

You could still sense him. Mairon. Even after leaving the cursed fortress where he had been slain, you could still feel his presence. You told no one about it, not even Adar. You had a feeling it was caused by the bond you shared with him through your blood but should you truly feel anything if he was dead?

You could sense which feelings were yours and which were unfamiliar to you and strange – those were undoubtedly his. And the main sensation you could feel in the back of your own, always creeping in the shadows of your soul like an unwanted guest was… hunger. Deep and primal starvation.

You tried to ignore that eerie sensation because you would go crazy if you tried to fight it or overthink it. However, late at night, when you were pretending to be asleep or studying the projects of the Rings that Mairon had left behind, you could feel it growing and growing inside of you. And your iron wedding ring that had been re-forged into a necklace seemed to burn your skin at those moments, too. But you never took it off for it was supposed to be a souvenir of a life you had once lived; of a previous Age.

You were quite sentimental despite your evil nature.

And when the light of the Elves began to fade in Middle-earth, you were frustrated and terrified that you were running out of time. If Celebrimbor was about to leave this realm, you would lose all those years of progress and preparations.

And who else would craft you such Rings? The dwarves? Would your next form be of a dwarf, trying to infiltrate Khazad-dûm?

You did not even want to think of such a possibility.

Thankfully, Celebrimbor was not eager to leave Middle-earth. He felt as if what he had done was not enough. He wanted to be remembered as the greatest Elf of this Age; the greatest smith for sure. The forge kept working throughout the crisis and at the very same time Adar finally managed to turn The Southlands into the new land.

Therefore, you left Eregion with an excuse to visit your family in Mirkwood. The times for the Elves were very challenging, so no one was angry at you for wanting to see your made up mother and siblings.

In fact, you hurried to The Southlands and you were truly in awe of what your Lieutenant had done to this place.

“How do you wish me to name it, my Lady?” Adar asked as you two were taking a walk amongst the ashes.

“Mordor,” you smirked at him.

“The Land of Shadow,” Adar nodded. “Why?”

“Mairon used to describe my heart this way,” you explained and Adar rolled his eyes slightly but he did not comment.

You continued your walk in silence. For a short while now, the eerie feeling from the back of your soul had been surprisingly gone and that sudden change was worrying to you. But perhaps after all those centuries of dying down slowly, Mairon’s spirit was truly gone now, leaving an oddly empty space within you…

“Do you miss him?” Adar asked suddenly and you shot him a scolding glance.

“Sometimes,” you answered truthfully. “I do not regret what I have done but we shared a long history and a powerful bond that went above our blood pact. He will remain a part of me in perpetuity.”

“My condolences,” Adar remarked and you snorted at his words.

In the evening of that day, you hopped onto your horse and went back to Eregion where surprisingly everything seemed to still be working and all the Elves were happier than ever.

“My dear (Y/N)!” Celebrimbor greeted you with open arms as you hugged him back, confused. “What you have missed, my friend, you will not believe it.”

“I can see that I must have missed something important indeed,” you mumbled.

“Come, let me show you,” Celebrimbor walked you to his forge and showed you the papers scattered all over his desk.

Those were projects of… the Rings.

Three Elven Rings for the Elven Kings. You froze at the sight of the drawings and the very familiar concepts.

“You… You came up with that idea to save our kin all by yourself, my friend?” You asked Celebrimbor. “They are the most exquisite,” you hummed to yourself.

“Oh, no, I…” Celebrimbor laughed nervously. “Well, Lady Galadriel came here and she brought a very special man with her. He was some sort of a human king, I do not know the details,” he shrugged his arms. “Either way, he was an enormous aid to me.”

“Are the drawings his?” Your heart skipped a beat at the revelation as your eyes studied the projects even more thoroughly.

“Yes. Some of them,” Celebrimbor nodded.

“I would like to meet him,” you clenched your jaw, trying your best to hide your nervousness.

“I am afraid that will be impossible, my dear. He is gone and Lady Galadriel claims he will never return. Even if he does, I have made my promise to her to never treat with him again,” Celebrimbor explained.

“I do wonder why,” you smirked to yourself but your hands turned cold when you realised it could have been him – your husband. Back in Middle-earth and so close to you.

He was the only one except for you who knew about the idea of the Rings. The idea was his, after all. And the lines of the drawings were like the ones you kept hidden inside your chambers that had been made by Mairon.

But what was even the meaning of all of this? You had spent centuries in Eregion, still too afraid to even mention the possibility of forging any Ring yet and he showed up and pushed Celebrimbor into making the Rings… just like that?!

“That man… Did he assist you in making those Rings?” You asked your friend and Celebrimbor shook his head with a sour expression.

“No, no… He only gave me an idea and helped me to find the way,” he answered and you nodded.

“Now, when the Elves are safe... Do you not think that perhaps other races would need such items, too?” You teased, carefully.

“(Y/N), my dear…” Celebrimbor laughed nervously and put his hands upon your shoulders. “Let us celebrate this victory first and leave the worry for some other day. Tell me, my friend, how is your family in Mirkwood?”

You were organising Celebrimbor’s papers inside his office while he watched with content how his smiths worked in the forge, drinking tea and smiling to himself. Your peace was interrupted by the smith Mirdania who gathered her skirts and walked up to Celebrimbor’s study.

“That human king… Halbrand. He is back,” she announced and you raised your head immediately.

“Well, tell him to go away,” Celebrimbor avoided her gaze. “In a polite manner, of course. I believe you can come up with something.”

“But… My Lord–” she started.

“I shall do it,” you stood up and nodded at him. “This way, we will get rid of him like Lady Galadriel asked but I will also meet the man who helped you to craft such wonders,” you smiled and Celebrimbor nodded.

You walked past Mirdania and all the way down to the gates of Eregion with your heart growing heavy with each step. Your blood ran cold as you could sense him indeed.

Your husband. Your nemesis.

He was back.

All the questions about how and why were unnecessary. You knew him too well and for the past centuries you had been feeling that what you had done to kill him truly had not been enough. Therefore, you were not as surprised as others would be.

But it still felt wrong and gut-twisting to see him again. The very last time you had seen him he had been a dead body laying in the puddle of his blood after your treachery.

Approaching the gates, you spotted a ragged man of human species with dark hair and dirty tunic. You would never recognise your husband in that person if it was not for the strong feeling in your heart that he was no one else but Mairon.

His back was turned on you but you saw his body freezing when you stood there. He sensed your presence, too.

He turned around, slowly, as you watched with curiosity. His form was different now and the hair colour was not the only thing that changed. His eyes, his nose, his lips, even his height were different. But despite the brand new form, he was Mairon.

He was your husband and you would recognise him anywhere.

And you were his wife and he would recognise you, too. Your form differed now from the one he had remembered as well. Those were not the very same hands that had slain him; yet they belonged to the same person.

“Lord Celebrimbor regrets to inform you he’s unable to grant you entry,” you told him, playing your role as well as you could under such circumstances.

Short silence occurred.

“Mightn’t I speak with him directly?” He asked and shrugged his arms, deciding to play his role, too.

“My Lord is occupied,” you explained, “but he wishes you good fortune on your journey,” you added and turned around to walk away, feeling your hands beginning to tremble.

“What a beautiful necklace it is that you have, my Lady. Was it a gift perhaps? From someone special to you?” He asked and you stood still, closing your eyes and sighing before turning around to face him once more.

“From an old friend who is long gone now,” you forced your lips to curl up and form a smile. “Are you not leaving?”

“I’ll just wait here,” he informed you. “Just in case the Lord of Eregion changes his mind.”

He will not, you wanted to say, I will make sure of it.

But you could not because that would be highly suspicious to treat him this way and the guards were standing there. Therefore, you only nodded and went back to Celebrimbor, feeling the necklace on your chest burning your skin to the point where tears of pain formed in your eyes.

You were trying to make Celebrimbor remember the promise he had made to Lady Galadriel and many times you mentioned to him how dirty and filthy you had found the human king named Halbrand. Mirdania, on the other hand, seemed to be enamoured with your husband’s new form and she was his greatest advocate.

“I am retiring to my chambers,” you informed Celebrimbor on that night after working for a few hours with him and Mirdania. “I suggest you two do the same, it has been a long and tiresome day.”

“And the night is so cold,” Mirdania sighed, looking out of the window.

You ignored her and smiled at Celebrimbor before going to your chambers and locking the doors behind you. The very first thing you did was to take off the necklace around your neck but when you did, you spotted a burn mark in the shape of it.

You focused on healing yourself but no amount of your powers was enough to heal it.

“What is going on…?” You muttered to yourself. You were a being much too powerful to fail at healing your form from such a minor injury.

Nothing seemed to work, though. Frustrated, you put the necklace back on to hide the scar with it and you changed into your nightgown.

As a Maia, you did not need sleep. But lots of the nights you were actually laying in bed and taking naps, because there were not many things you could do. And tonight you had to think of a new plan because Mairon’s return was not a part of your perfect scenario.

If only you had your crown with you, you would just take it, go downstairs and stab him with it again. But your crown was in Mordor, under Adar’s protection. Taking an item so dark and powerful to Eregion would make some of the Elves sense its disturbing presence.

But the crown itself apparently would not be enough. You needed allies. And as you tossed and turned in your bed, you were thinking of the Rings crafted by Celebrimbor. If they were not corrupted by Mairon, you could use them to help you.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a rapid knocking upon your doors. You groaned slightly and stood up to open the doors, expecting to see Mirdania in them, pleading for you to help her convince Celebrimbor to show mercy to the human king waiting by the gates. She had made such an attempt many times on that day already.

But when you opened the doors, you realised that she did not need your aid to succeed because she apparently had already convinced Celebrimbor to allow Halbrand inside Eregion.

There he stood, face-to-face with you. In yet another form but this one did not differ that much from the previous one. His ears were pointy now and Elven, his hair was blond and long. He was no longer ragged and dirty but seemed to radiate the light of Valinor and only a creature as dark as you could sense how twisted and corrupted the illusion was.

His robes were grey and humble, especially compared to yours. Even though you were in nothing but your nightgown, your clothes were the most exquisite. In the very early days you had been a disciple of Vairë The Weaver and ever since you had always had a taste for beautiful fabrics.

“Mairon…” You whispered, taking a step back because his presence was so overlooming that you could not do anything else but retreat.

“Wife,” he greeted you through gritted teeth and entered your chambers before shutting the doors closed.

“What is it with the new form? Are you trying to deceive Celebrimbor like this?” You snorted, nervously. “I shall reveal the truth to him.”

“You will not because you would have to tell him the truth about yourself, too. And that is something you will simply not do,” Mairon smirked and walked around your room. He froze at the sight of his drawings on your desk. The old ones, from the First Age. “So, that is why you are here.”

“And you? Why?” You asked and crossed your arms. “Why are you back with the living, dark spirit? Must you torment me so?”

“Torment you?” He asked, angrily, as his eyes filled with pure rage and hatred.

Before you could react, his hand was wrapped around your throat and you were pinned to the wall with his burning eyes right in front of yours as his eyelashes brushed your cheeks and you felt his hot breath on your parted lips.

“It is you who tormented me. Who betrayed me and slain me,” he drawled out.

“And you should thank me for it,” you smirked even though you were losing oxygen. You did not need it but it was still a slight inconvenience to your flesh.

“Thank you? I shall kill you, witch,” his grasp tightened.

“If you were not reborn, you would still be that pathetic and weak Mairon I remember. But you are different now. You have changed,” you pointed out and he let go of your throat but his eyes remained cold and empty; two black abysses observing your every movement as if he was a predator watching his prey.

“The change was required. The centuries I have spent on regaining my strength, I was driven by nothing but my desire for revenge. My hatred for you,” he spat out.

“Liar,” you were quick to answer. “All I could sense was hunger. And even now, I see you do not wish to see me slain. Otherwise, you would have already killed me.”

“Oh, sweet wife, you will not know the day nor the hour. I am all in for the dramatics just like you were,” he remarked.

“You are nobody, Mairon. Sauron. I am the one the Uruk follow and I am the one for whom Mordor is being prepared to rule over. I am the very foundation of this whole realm and I am its future,” you took a deep breath in as you stated. “You are nothing but a forgotten shadow that no one wants to follow, not even the filthiest of the creatures.”

“I am your husband,” Mairon’s fury won over his flesh once more as he grabbed you with all force by your arm. “And if I am nobody as you claim, you will forever be stained by being bound to a man like me.”

“You should have stayed dead, Mairon. I will turn your life into hell,” you threatened, your anger amplified by his as they mixed in your veins. “Do try to remember the suffering our master had put you through and I shall be worse. I will destroy you for good this time. I will tear you apart, piece by piece and torture every inch of you until you beg me to release you from your pathetic life forever but for each plea I will prolong the pain,” you drawled out and he grabbed you by your hair to pull on it as his fist tangled in your hair.

“You are only giving me ideas on how to get rid of you, treacherous vixen,” he whispered maliciously into your face. “The bane of my existence,” he added angrily as his empty eyes looked you up and down, stopping for a moment on your parted lips.

And then he kissed you. Eagerly and passionately, not letting go of your hair at all but pulling on it even harder and making your head throw back as your teeth clashed.

You clinged to his robes with your fists, trying to push him away but he was too strong for you to be able to do so. His free hand tore your nightgown off of your body as if he was a wild animal using his claws to get to what he craved the most.

You whined and he broke the kiss, holding your hair in his fist and twisting it to make you wince out of pain.

“Why did you betray me?” He asked, looking deep into your eyes and even though his expression was terrifying, you could sense his pain.

“I could have asked you the same, Mairon. Why did you betray me, husband?” You whimpered, searching for an answer in his eyes but he seemed to be confused that you were accusing him of such things. “We were supposed to rule together as equals but you were too greedy, my love, too eager. Yet, you were not fit to rule, not yet. So desperate to prove your worth.”

“Shut it,” Mairon growled and looked down at your naked body and the torn nightgown at your feet. “Are you not the most vain? The form you took as an Elf is so beautiful –  too beautiful. How can they not think of it as suspicious?”

“And you? Are you not vain, too?” You snorted at him and he let go of your hair, pushing you away and making your back hit the wall.

Mairon grabbed your necklace and tore it off of you to throw it on the ground as well, revealing your burn mark. He smirked at it before putting his hands on your naked hips and pulling you closer to his body. His lips placed wet and open-mouth kisses all around your neck where the scar was and you could feel it healing as his fingers were digging deep into your bones and pulling you harder and harder into him, the harsh fabric of his robes irritating your soft and sensitive now-Elven skin.

The sensation of his lips around your neck and the pain from his rough treatment excited you. It had been centuries after the last time you had given in to the desires of your flesh.

It had been centuries after you had experienced such desires at all. Apparently, it was only him who could awaken them within you.

You whined and moaned, reaching with your hands to cup his face and to bring his lips close to yours once more. This time it was you initiating the hungry and teeth-clashing kiss.

“I have lost centuries because of you, witch,” Mairon whispered after you broke the kiss. “You humiliated me. You betrayed me. You slaughtered me. I bled out. I fought each given moment to survive in the very depths of that cursed fortress. I spent ages on regaining my strength as a shadow with no heart, no limbs – merely a mind. Yet, a woman like you is worth the sacrifice. If it was your wish for me to be reborn into a man worthy of you, let it be then,” he breathed out and you let out a twisted laugh.

“Just like my old Mairon,” you caressed his new cheeks. “New face, new body, new powers… The very same pathetic devotion,” you chuckled and pushed him down onto your bed.

You crawled up on top of him with a grin, your hair falling down on his face as he gasped and you treated his robes with gentleness similar to the way he had treated your nightgown with – you tore them off of him and threw them on the floor.

“If you wish to follow me, my sweet Mairon,” you raised an eyebrow as you lowered yourself on his hard length, hissing at the feeling you had nearly forgotten, “you will follow me as my most humbled Lieutenant. You will bow down at my feet and pledge your allegiance to your Queen,” you began to roll your hips, which brought you great pleasure but to him it was nothing but a tease. His lips parted and cheeks blushed as your grin grew even wider. “Say it, my love. Tell me that you will.”

Short while of hesitation occurred. But when you began to clench the muscles of your cunt willingly to squeeze his cock as you circled your hips, he whined and nodded.

“I promise,” he breathed out.

You knew his words were not genuine but you enjoyed playing with him for now.

“I will make you my dog, Sauron,” you called him with the name he was known as amongst the Elves. The dirty name, spoken out like filth. You watched him swallow the lump in his throat when your hips stopped rolling and started to bounce slowly on his cock as you placed your hands behind you on his thighs to steady yourself. “Say it,” you ordered, harshly.

“I will be your dog,” he winced at the feeling of your cunt clenching around him and sucking in all the precum he had spilled already from your ministrations. “I will crawl on my knees after you, kiss the ground you walked on, build altars for you and make others worship you, too. This will be my purpose; the only war I will fight for you. The holy war to convert all the unbelievers.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet, my Mairon,” you admitted and leaned in to kiss his lips while putting one of your hands on his chest now as your hips picked up their pace. It was nearly brutal now how you were fucking him and you could feel your own high coming, too. But it never ended with one with your husband. “If you truly will be as good as you promise me to be, I will let you reside between my legs and lick my cunt in return,” you teased, “for as long as you wish, my sweet.”

To see you pleased with him was all he had ever wanted. Therefore, it was no surprise that your words were enough to make him fill you up that very moment as you threw your head back, laughing, straightening your back and continuing to ride him as if nothing had happened.

He whined and whimpered for a while, which you ignored, determined to reach your high as well. And it did come shortly after but by that time he was hard yet once more and that was how it had always been between you two – once you started, it was nearly impossible to stop.

However, when the dawn came, you had to put a halt to your desires, because you both had your duties around Eregion. As the sun rose, you left your husband casually as if you hadn’t just reached yet another one of your highs and you opened the wardrobe to pick the gown for the day, leaving him behind.

He rolled onto his side and rested his head on his elbow as he watched you with squinted eyes, his hair a ruffled mess and his cheeks still blushing. He was a sight, indeed. He had always been.

“It was never your intention to share your power with me either, was it?” He asked and you snorted at that.

“Do not be a fool. Why would I ever do that?” You asked with contempt.

“You are not hurt by my betrayal. Only your pride is hurt that I dared to betray you first,” Mairon pointed out.

“You forget yourself. I have killed you once and I shall kill you again,” you reminded him and brushed your hair in a rush after putting the dress on.

And just like that, you left him inside your chambers to go on with your day with a smile.

Despite everything between you two, you were glad to have him back. He was treacherous and awful – absolutely the worst. And yet, your life without him had been quite lonely and empty. A dull grey.

And if there had to be only two creatures left in the world, you hoped it would be you and him. In perpetuity.

After running your morning errands, you walked inside the forge and froze at the sight of Mairon. He had his grey and humble robes back on with no trace of your fingers tearing them open a few hours earlier. Celebrimbor and Mirdania were standing next to him and they all laid their eyes upon you the moment you joined them.

“(Y/N), my dear. You will not believe me who our human king turned out to be,” Celebrimbor exclaimed, excitedly. “Come here, my friend. Let me introduce you to Annatar, the Lord of Gifts, the emissary of The Valar,” he beckoned you over and you approached them, trying very hard not to laugh. To see Mirdania’s eyes full of affection and admiration as she stared at your husband only intensified your need to laugh, but you managed to stop yourself.

“It is such an honour, my Lord. Forgive me for the way I treated you by the gates,” you bowed your head at him.

“There is no need, my Lady. Lord Celebrimbor has been telling me a lot about you. You are his most trusted friend,” he looked you up and down intensely although the smile he gave you was kind. Nearly sweet. “And the most beautiful Elven maiden I have ever laid my eyes upon, most certain,” he added to tease you as Celebrimbor cleared his throat and looked away, awkwardly, while Mirdania lowered her head.

“You are way too generous with your compliments, my Lord,” you only answered. “What is the purpose of your visit to Eregion?”

“Lord Annatar is here to help me with the Rings,” Celebrimbor joined the conversation again immediately as his eyes sparkled.

“Are they not finished?” You furrowed your brows.

“No, no, my dear. Remember when you told me that perhaps we should craft more of them for other races that might be in need?” Celebrimbor asked.

“You did, my Lady?” Mairon raised his eyebrow at you with a very surprised expression, which made him look quite adorably innocent but you knew that he was teasing you and you had to fight an urge to roll your eyes.

“Mayhaps,” you only mumbled.

“Well, Lord Annatar is here to help me with these designs. You were right, my dear, we cannot abandon our friends in need no matter what kin they are,” Celebrimbor seemed to be content with this idea and you gritted your teeth.

You truly wanted to punch your husband right into that oh-so-innocent face as everyone would gasp and call you a monster. How dared he? You had spent centuries earning Celebrmbor’s trust and there he was, showing up in that blasphemous disguise and being the saviour of the day without any preparations; stealing and wooing the Lord of Eregion?

Therefore, a new and wicked idea bloomed inside of your mind.

To sabotage Mairon’s plan.

“Oh, really? Well, I’ve been thinking of it, my Lord. I do not think it is a good idea, after all, even though it was originally mine,” you told Celebrimbor and his smile dropped.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I do not think any other race is worthy of those rings. Who next? The Dwarves? And then? Humans? Once we agree to craft the rings for humans, we could as well craft them for the Orcs!” You exclaimed, dramatically.

Celebrimbor gasped and turned around as if he was rethinking his decision. Mirdania was not paying attention anymore to you and standing by the window, still jealous of the praise Lord Annatar had graced you with.

Therefore, your husband allowed himself to break the play for a moment and give you a deadly look, to which you replied with a wink.

The game had started and oh, how thrilling it was, how exciting to have an opponent.

And, in the end of it all, you would either kill him once more or end up dead yourself by his hand.

Or, perhaps, your love would only flourish in this environment of constant bickering and rivalry. Perhaps you would rejoin your souls and fates like you had rejoined your flesh on the night before.

Either way, the game was worth playing.

In perpetuity.

MASTERLIST

[elronds-meleth-nin]

Never Too Late - Part Two: Agh Burzum-Ishi Krimpatul

I know the first part of this fic was a little bit weird, but hopefully things will make more sense with this part. Thank you all for putting up with my strange fic experimentation! Given what has happened and this fic's overarching theme of hope (which will become clear soon, I swear) I want to continue this fic before all others. This, of all things, needs to see the light of day.

Part One here.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Adar (RoP) x Maia!Reader

[A/N: Suggestive positions/actions and nudity in this chapter, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, mentions of scars, mentions of torture, nudity, description of the aftermath of flogging (not terribly graphic but still enough that I think a warning is necessary), mentions of blood, Morgoth is his own warning, as is Sauron, kissing, angst, hurt/comfort, I swear this will have a happy ending at some point, idk what I'm doing tbh but I'm trying.

~*~

Elf he was, but Uruk he became. Ruined, tortured, and scarred, the Uruk with no name was promised one by his master. 'Adar' he swore he'd be called. 'Father.' The Uruk had wanted children, even if he'd guarded the secret of the woman he loved with his life. He buried her name so deep within his heart that he nearly forgot it himself.

But, Morgoth never pulled it from him. Only his desire to have a family. To have children. He had seen nearly all of the Uruk's heart, both dark and light, but not the small crevice in which he'd hidden his love.

At the start, he did not understand how Morgoth planned to give him that which he desired, but he'd been foolish enough to choose this path. He had to see it through, no matter the end. It had, undoubtedly, cost him the respect of his lady, so however Morgoth chose to fulfill his wish, he prayed that it would be worth such a sacrifice. But, in his heart, he knew it never would be.

Having been robbed of his lady, the Uruk who would become Adar stewed in self-loathing. He accepted his master's discipline - regardless of the method, hook, cane, or whip - without protest, uttering barely a sound. He believed that he deserved this pain for bringing sadness to she whom he loved best. He wept in the shadows, but not all of it was from Morgoth's torture. The beatings he could endure, but the loss of her warmth, her light...that was the pain that changed him.

To the rest of those in Utumno, the dark lord's stronghold in the far north, Adar presented the façade of strength unbreaking and cold ruthlessness. But, ever in his heart there dwelt a love so fierce it threatened to split him open every time he thought of her. Across the long centuries as he was molded by his master's hand, Adar never forgot who he had been or the light he'd felt streaming over his skin beside the riverbank.

The light was meager in that dark stronghold, however, and soon the feeling was little more than a far distant memory which comforted him through the horrors. Then, it was bolstered by the small cries of the first Uruk children to be born. They might not have been the family he desired to have with his lady, but they were children, young and as yet innocent - precious gifts. Despite anything that Morgoth or Sauron said, he knew his children were worthy of the breath of life, and he would protect them accordingly.

Then, Morgoth ordered the Moriondor to prove their loyalty through suffering. Many tasks he set them, each leaving them more scarred and damaged than before. The final of which was to be carried out atop the dark peak jutting up from the barren wastes of Utumno.

They were led to the top, and each of the thirteen was forced to their knees, arms pulled back at a painful angle, and chained that way. Their clothing was stripped of them beforehand, baring them and rendering them vulnerable to the elements. And thus, they were left.

Hunger tore at them, the shadows writhed mockingly in the unending, suffocating loneliness. As days passed, one by one, the Moriondor cried out for mercy, fearing they'd been forgotten and left to die. Many wept, others screamed out in terror or anger, but not Adar.

Silently, he bore this latest torture. His shoulders protested, shooting agony down his arms, neck, and back at the terrible angle in which they were stuck. Yet, still he remained silent. Sleep came in fits and starts, jolts of pain waking him with a gasp before he became anywhere near fully rested.

If he died there, he thought, it would serve him right for ever leaving that beautiful spot beside the river. He longed to say his lady's name, but he did not wish for the dark lord to hear it or for her to be anywhere near this wretched place.

Days became a week, then two, after which he was so exhausted that he lost track of time. Finally, one day, rain began to fall, but it was different from that which he had felt before. It did not burn his skin. The drops were full of light, gentle and welcoming, an even larger wave of which washed over Adar's face, temporarily soothing the aches from the dark lord's latest round of punishment. The scars that were not yet fully healed - due to Morgoth's dark magic - stopped stinging, and he drew an easier breath than he had in...he could not remember how long it had been.

Lifting his head to find the source of both the rain and the light, he saw the impossible.

He saw her.

Dropping to her knees before him, the Maia from the forest - his muse, his lady, his dearest joy - looked up at him with sadness flooding her eyes. She could not be real. This was not real. Morgoth must have finally broken through that final stronghold in his heart.

But...if there was even the slightest chance that she was truly here, he had to warn her away. She would be in danger if she remained here.

"My lady," he rasped in a voice torn and tattered from screams and dehydration, "you should not be here in the darkness."

"Nor should you, my wordsmith." With a mournful smile, she reached carefully forward and cupped his cheeks. His breath caught in his throat and a sob escaped in its place.

Was she truly there? Nothing so gentle had touched him in years. Neither Morgoth nor his lieutenants would allow that. She had to be real, because all of the other illusions placed before him had felt beautiful yet hollow.

Her touch was warm and solid, safe and loving. Familiar. Perfect. Wondrous.

At first, looking at her had taken effort, as if her light was almost too much for his dark-conditioned eyes, but as time passed, seconds colliding before his eyes, he found her visage easier to behold. Even if it had not, he would never have looked away. Not from her. He had adored her for so long, he'd clung to the hope of seeing her again, even from afar for so many years that he was certain looking away would kill him.

"The others will see you. He will see you," Adar warned. "Flee while you can. Please, my dearest lady, you must do this for me. I am beyond hope. Even my blood has been infiltrated by shadows. It is too late for me, but you can still save yourself. The knowledge that you are alive, walking along the river in the noonday sun is enough to sustain me to whatever end I shall meet."

"None are beyond hope," she promised skimming her thumbs so lightly over his cheeks. Their path brought relief to the raised, puffy skin that would soon be thick, callused skin. "You need not fear for me. The others cannot see me, nor can Morgoth. The rain conceals me from their sight."

Adar's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Then, how...? How am I able to see you? I have experienced the same darkness that they have." His lady smiled indulgently at his question.

"Because your light has not dimmed completely. It takes a great deal more to reignite a fire than it does to stoke the embers of one into a roaring flame. This rain is infused with light. It blinds the darkness. He cannot tame you any more than he can me, my brave poet," she murmured earnestly.

Her words stirred the hope that he'd thought long dead in his breast, and a single tear trickled down his cheek - all that his body could produce in his current state. Without a moment's hesitation, she leaned forward and kissed it away as if she had done so thousands of times.

He did not deserve this kindness. He'd been such a fool. He should never have left the river. He should never have looked into the shadows.

He never should have left her.

"I can take you away from him," she began as she leaned forward far enough for their foreheads to touch. "I can take you away from this terrible place, but only if you ask. We cannot intercede in matters which do not directly relate to our missions to such an extent without a direct request. You must desire it."

When she pulled back far enough to search his face, pain was written all over him. He wanted to say yes, to give her the request, but he could not. The Uruk shook his head.

"I must accept the consequences of my actions. I chose this. I began down this path, and now I must walk to its end, whatever that might be," he murmured, and just as all those years ago, he could see agony in her eyes. He attempted to soothe it the only way he knew how. "I have found a name, melda heri. 'Adar.'"

A sweet, wet smile stretched her lips.

"Adar," she breathed, and he could not help the feeling of anticipation that thrummed through him. It felt so right for her to call him that. He savored the feelings she'd inspired within him. She laid a hand over her heart and bowed her head. "Elen síla lúmenn' omentielvo, heru Adar."

Though a few tears had trickled down her cheeks, she looked at him with such warmth that he thought his heart may burst.

"If you will not allow me to take you away from here," she began, caressing his cheeks, "then, please, let me do something smaller for you."

Unable to form words beyond the lump in his throat, Adar nodded his head. Wordlessly, she caught raindrops in her cupped palms, then blew into the pooled liquid until it began to glow, murmuring into it words which he could not understand. They did, however, sound familiar...like those which he'd spoken by the river so many years ago. Only when the water glowed as bright as daylight did she lift it to his lips and urge him to drink.

Adar obeyed without question, and as it trickled down his throat, he was filled with a warmth which he had not felt since those days spent together by the river.

"Might I ask what that was?" He inquired when it was gone. His voice still sounded raspy, but it was less gravel and more velvet - closer to what it had been before Morgoth. Speaking hurt less.

"Cauma," she whispered, laying a hand over his breast. Protection. His heart thrummed beneath his skin, but unlike so many years ago, it pumped black blood. Nevertheless, it responded to her, beating harder, stronger, more assuredly than before. "Protection that not even Morgoth can take from you."

"Thank you," he breathed. The words alone could never be enough. He wondered whether she knew how much he loved her.

Her lips met the corner of his mouth, and Adar's eyes fluttered shut.

"You do not need my protection, but you will always have it," she promised as she looked into his eyes one last time and stood. "You need only call my name and I will come. Never forget, Adar: you are stronger than any of them will ever know. You will see me again ere long. Do not give in, and do not forget who you are."

And before he could tell her that she was more lovely than anything under or amongst the stars, she was gone, borne away by the wind and rain amidst which she had arrived. Adar allowed himself to weep silently at the loss of her, but he was still dehydrated enough that no more tears fell.

He pulled himself together after several long moments, locking away his feelings as they had been before, so that neither Morgoth nor his lieutenants would know of his love for her.

Several days later, when Sauron finally came for them all, he looked down at the Moriondor one by one and asked them questions in a voice too low for the others to hear until it was their turn. Adar looked up as his master's lieutenant stepped before him, bearing a black, metal goblet.

"There was rain a few days ago," he began in that same low voice. "Did anything about it seem...unusual? Did anything or anyone appear to you amidst it?"

Adar knew immediately that Sauron meant his lady. How could he not? Regardless, he did what he always did when he guarded that last private bastion of his heart. He steeled his nerve and looked into the eyes of the deceiver.

"No. There was nothing more than poison rain," he replied in his dehydration-ravaged rasp of a voice. Every syllable should have hurt, but it did not, nor did he look away from Sauron's face. He did not flinch from the evil before him, daring it to call him a liar. If he received a punishment for hiding knowledge of her existence from the darkness, so be it. She was worth it. She was worth more than his life ever was.

With the snap of his fingers, however, Sauron released his bonds. The chains fell away with a loud, metallic clank, and Adar collapsed forward. His arms had been held at such an extreme angle for so many days that at first he could not move them. With patience and no small amount of pain, he managed to get to his knees. When he straightened, Adar found Sauron offering him the goblet.

"Drink. You have earned it," he said in that saccharine voice. The wine was as red as a blood moon. Almost too red.

On that dark and nameless peak, Adar drank it all down to the last drop. He relished it, though the taste was foul like everything else in this horrid land.

As he and the others followed Sauron down from the top of the mountain, he allowed himself the smallest moment to contemplate what she'd said. If he truly possessed strength unknown to the forces of darkness, then he would keep that knowledge a secret for as long as he could. He would not disappoint her by showing his hand too early.

--

After that fateful reunion, Adar's lady returned to him several times, shrouded by that same light-filled rain, or mist when they were in the subterranean parts of Utumno. Their meetings were short, but so desperately needed if their physical closeness was anything by which to judge. Many times they huddled together in out of the way passages and little known crevices.

Over time, he came to know that she was more than one of the Maia yet less than one of the Valar. She'd earned her own title: the Lady of Reflections. Shining light into the dark parts of one's soul and helping the viewer to learn from what they saw, she'd earned the respect of leaders from nearly every race in Middle Earth. Dwarves called her friend, Elves listened to her council with measured wisdom, and Men...well, as Men were more corruptible than others, they often feared her as much as they valued her advice.

No wonder Adar had felt as though she could see the depths of his fëa! The day she revealed to him the facts of her nature, he'd looked away from her, ashamed of what she must see within him. The Uruk surely disgusted her, or so he thought. Gently, she had pulled him into a hug, whispering reassurances against his neck as if she actually cared about someone as broken as he.

He did not pull away, though. Adar was not strong enough for that. He needed her, no matter how horrid he might be to her. She called him beautiful and gentle, and though he did not take those words to heart, her attempt to make him feel better still forced a blush onto his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears.

She laid soft kisses across his burning skin and called him sweet, which only made his reaction more pronounced. Thankfully, she'd allowed him to hide his face in the crook of her neck.

Those moments were peppered through the decades, brief, pleasant memories with which Adar sustained himself. Not long after that night on the peak, however, the War of Wrath began, and their meetings became more sporadic.

The air and ground shook with the rage of the Valar as they fought their enemy upon every front. From Utumno, Morgoth's armies made of monsters, Balrogs, unnamed evils, and Uruks poured forth. Morgoth never seemed to care for the fates of Adar's children, although truthfully, he never expected the dark lord to. He'd used torture to create them, so what would their pain mean to him?

After a particularly brutal loss, Adar took the punishment meant for his children. Morgoth had blamed them, though the loss was not their fault, and Adar could not let them face the horror of their master's wroth. Stepping bravely forward, he claimed responsibility for their actions as both their commander and their father. He insisted that he, instead, should take their punishment.

He expected to be killed for such insolence, but Morgoth had something more sadistic in mind.

Adar was stripped, flogged until his already-scarred back was in tatters, paraded through the camp in shame, and tossed upon the ground before his tent. He couldn't remember doing it, but he managed to crawl his way to his sleep roll and collapse onto his front. It could have taken minutes or hours, but he managed it. His eyes shut, and he did not expect to open them again. The pain radiating through Adar's back kept him from sleep, but he did slip into a deep, nearly meditative state.

Tears dripped slowly down his cheeks, and in a breath he expected to be his last, he whispered her name - his lady's name. He'd kept it locked up so tightly in his chest that this utterance carried more weight than even that of his love for her. Even if he could not see her again before the end, he could at least savor the taste of her name one last time. Would she ever know that his last thoughts were of her?

He should have told her how much he loved her before all of this began. Coward. He was a foolish Elf, then a cowardly Uruk. There was so much he'd never done.

As he remembered the river, the poetry, and the light of her eyes upon the peak of the desolate mountain upon which she'd found him, he lost consciousness.

--

His call did not seem real at first. A whisper across miles and consciousness, Adar's voice had sounded weak - a barely there plea for help. She'd been taking counsel with her father, the Lord of the Tides, when she heard his voice.

She did not hesitate, leaving in the middle of a sentence with barely an apology. Her rain fell with a vengeance when she entered Morgoth's encampment, creating muddy puddles in the trenches and cart ruts. Her armor gleamed in the darkness above her dress, her boots leaving behind nary a footprint in her wake.

Very few Uruks could see her to begin with, and all who did that day saw an incalculable rage in her eyes as she stalked through the lines, looking for their Lord Father. One very brave soul made his way to her and bowed low, stopping her in her tracks.

"C-Can I help you, my lady?" He asked, and she cocked her head curiously.

"What is your name?" Calm and soothing, her voice alleviated some of his fears as he straightened his posture. No wonder Adar never refused her company when she appeared in their camp.

"Gulug, my lady," he said looking upon her with wonder. He'd never seen eyes that gleamed and glowed like hers. The Uruk removed the cloth covering his head, clutching it between his clawed fingers like a Man would with his hat.

"It is an honor to meet you. Would you take me to Adar? It is urgent."

The Uruk acquiesced without hesitation, bowing again slightly before leading her toward the Moriondor's tent.

"I should warn you, my lady. The dark lord was not happy. He was going to take out his anger on us, but Lord Father drew his gaze away," Gulug muttered as they shuffled through the gloom. Shame filled his voice. "He took the punishment for us."

The Maia placed her hand gently upon the Uruk's shoulder when they reached their destination.

"Your Lord Father loves you very much. Please, for Adar's sake, do not tell anyone that I was here," she murmured, and because her gaze was so earnest, Gulug agreed easily. She began to move away, but he caught her hand in his, making her turn back to look at him curiously.

"Who are you, my lady?" He asked, and she offered him a small smile.

"The Lady of Reflections. A friend who now owes you a debt," she answered. "Should you or your descendants need assistance, they need only mention your name. If it is within my power, I shall help. You will know when the time is right."

Gulug released her arm and bowed low, thanking her several times before she disappeared into Adar's tent. The rain felt much more welcoming when he'd met its maker, even if its presence never failed to send Morgoth into a rage since he could not perceive its source.

--

When he woke, Adar believed that he was dead. How could he be alive after what he'd experienced? And why would gentle fingers be skimming through his hair, smoothing away the tangles and lingering upon the nape of his neck?

Fear, belated yet potent, stirred within his breast, urging him to try and lift his aching body out of harm's way. When he began to move, his back protested instantly, and he whimpered in pain.

"Stay still. Moving will only hurt you," a voice murmured above him, and Adar's eyes flew open. Beside him knelt the Maia with whom he'd fallen so desperately in love. "I have not been here long. You called out to me so faintly, I thought I would be too late."

Adar struggled to make his tongue form the correct words.

"I...am still alive?" He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but from the sad expression that crossed his lady's face, he knew he had failed.

"You are, and for that I give my most heartfelt thanks to the Valar," she answered as her fingertips traced the sharp curve of his cheekbone and jawline.

"I am sorry. I should not have...You do not deserve to see such carnage," Adar rasped as regret twisted within him. "You are made for sunlight and trees and dancing, not watching corrupted beings suffer. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive." Her voice was so warm and steadfast that Adar believed her. Despite all his doubts and fears, he believed her. "I am grateful that you called me."

"Please...do not leave me," he whispered, needing her courage to supplement his own. He sounded like a frightened child, and he would not have scoffed at the comparison. Despite the rain pattering a constant, soothing rhythm against the cloth of his tent, none of it leaked through.

"Hush, meldanya," she breathed. "I am here, and I am going nowhere."

She laid her hand on the ruined plane of his back, and the single jolt of agony he felt disappeared as quickly as it came. Light filled his tent, reflecting off the surface of her gleaming, discarded armor and caressing his skin in liquid trickles of respite.

A sob of relief tore from him when the pain stopped. His eyes fell shut again as his body trembled, and he reached his hand out until he grasped the edge of her dress. The light, beautiful fabric flowed over his fingertips, and for a single moment he was there, again, at the river bend.

A dull thud beside him pulled him back to the present...to the battlefield and his tent. Adar opened his eyes. His lady had collapsed beside him, blood seeping through the back of her dress. It took him a moment to comprehend what he was seeing.

She'd taken his injuries. With whatever power her light possessed, she had taken his pain and his wounds and replaced them with comfort, marring her own back in the process.

"No," he rasped, forcing himself to move despite the persistent ache of exhaustion in his limbs. He shifted onto the floor beside her, caressing her cheek as he watched her dress bloom a horrible, undeserved red. "No, no, meldanya, what have you done?"

Quickly, he laid her atop his bedroll and started tending to her as he would anyone else who was injured. Carefully pulling away the fabric covering her back, he realized he knew more about her injuries than most who attempted to heal their patients. He was intimately familiar with every gash. He knew which parts would hurt her most, and gathered what meager healing supplies he had. Before he could apply his admittedly rushed treatment, however, she caught his hand and whispered his name.

He startled at her abrupt return to consciousness but turned his attention to her lips instead.

"Peace. Still your hands and calm your frantic mind," she murmured, and at the small smile she offered him, he forced himself to relax. "Watch."

Obeying her command, Adar turned his gaze to her poor back and noted with shock that already the skin was knitting itself together. To his horror, however, it was healing how his own wounds did - with knots and whorls, raised ridges and hollow divots which spoke the unique language of pain. The smooth canvas of her back had become a map of scars illustrating the cruelty and rage of the Uruk's master.

"You should not have done this. Not for me. I sought the darkness, I am not worthy of such a gift," he breathed without real thought. Every word was true, and though he was the one who had taken the beating, she still bore consequences which she should never have encountered. "You should not have wasted such grace on me. I could never repay such a kindness. I will spend the rest of my time trying to find a way, nonetheless, I swear it."

She pushed herself up on her forearms until she was kneeling before him. There was certainly an urge to allow his gaze to slip down to her exposed chest, but he was no monster, despite his scars. Her dress had fallen as she'd lifted herself up, but she obviously did not care. Why should she? She was exquisite in every conceivable way. Adar knew, though, that after what she'd done for him, she likely would not appreciate his gaze roving where it ought not.

Instead, he focused squarely on her face. Already she looked healthier than the moment before, but she now wore a concerned frown.

Was everything that she did beautiful?

"Adar...darling, I did not do this with the intent of seeking repayment. It is a gift for one whom I treasure...who has been with me always." Her small, gentle hands reached for him, but before she could touch him, Adar caught them in her grasp and began covering her fingers in kisses. His dark blood had dried in the bends of her knuckles and the lines of her palms.

Only upon tasting salt did he realize that his tears had escaped down his cheeks. When he finally lifted his head and chanced a glance at her he found himself entranced. Her eyes were the reflection of morning light upon the sea, turbulent and calm in turns. Her heart was both stout and gentle, and he deserved not one flicker of her attention. But, still she showered him with it. How she tolerated his folly, he knew not–

Soft, unmarred lips met his in the midst of his self-pity, and the Uruk's mind ceased to churn beyond the wondrous realization that she was kissing him. In the darkest depths of the world, she had deemed him worthy of both her help and her affection.

He realized a moment too late that he'd frozen in place at the contact, and when she pulled away, panic bloomed in his chest. She looked at him curiously, but before she could back away farther, Adar cupped her cheeks and kissed her just like he'd wanted to since the day they met. She was the apple of his eye, his most precious desire.

Feeling her melt into his arms was a pleasure he'd never expected to experience, but he did. He would treasure it for the rest of his days.

She shuffled close enough that her chest pressed against his, and animalistic triumph roared in his chest. He'd hungered for her for so long, but despite the impatience in his Uruk nature, he'd never push her further than she was prepared to go. After all, Adar loved her. Love was gentle. For he, he would be too. He steadied her with a careful grip on her bare waist, even though he felt anything but steady himself.

The rain continued on through the night, heavy enough for the pair to eventually lie down and fall asleep safely wrapped in each other's arms. She would have to leave in the morning, but for the moment, Adar savored her closeness.

For once, the scars on his nude body did not trouble him. How could they when she traced them so carefully with her fingertips?

~*~*~

Elvish Words (Quenya):

melda heri - beloved lady

Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo, heru Adar. - A star shines on the hour of our meeting, lord Adar.

Cauma - protection

Black Speech:

agh burzum-ishi krimpatul - and in the darkness bind them

~*~

Taglist:

@asksizworld @bigblissandlove1 @gandalfthepimp @horta-in-charge @zoya-olenko

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

A true gift (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you share a private moment with your husband, then add a special little detail to his new look

Warnings: evil!reader, nudity, mentions of smut, but really this is just a silly fluff piece written ‘cause I’m obsessed with his little hair bow🤭

Note: set in 2x06, part of the evil!reader collection - all you need to know for this one is that reader has been married to Sauron since before Adar killed him and infiltrated herself in Eregion as a smith while she waited for his return.

Your husband is a Maia, and as such never sleeps. He does, however, feel inclined to lie down with his eyes closed and be lost to the world, in moments such as now—when he is held in your peaceful embrace, your fingers lovingly stroking his loose hair.

It’s a rare moment of intimacy these days, and you cherish it all the more for it. Celebrimbor rarely allows you a moment of respite in his rush to finish the Nine, and you and your husband do your best to not disappear at the same time, so as to avoid suspicions that you share any deeper of a relationship with him than the other smiths of Eregion. Needless to say, you are overjoyed to find yourself alone with him. And in a bed, no less.

He had slipped inside your chamber under the cover of night, and sleep had been the furthest thing from your mind as you and your husband had sated your longing over and again. Naked and spent, you had pulled each other close, and so you still are now, as soft morning light pours through your window. He has coiled himself around your completely, one leg draped across your waist and his head resting upon your chest, and you do not mind his weight above you in the slightest as you hold him close. His hair is wonderfully soft under your roaming fingertips, his skin delights yours everywhere you touch.

He may not need sleep, but you would gladly drift into it. In a blissful position such as this, you would drift gladly even into death.

But you do neither, for he stirs, wishing to lift his head. You know what he means to say—that your absence will soon be noticed now that the day has begun, that you ought to return to the forge and to your plans and to your charade. You tighten your hold on him and keep his head against your chest, giving a stubborn groan.

His low chuckle reverberates into your skin.

“I know. I know,” he coos, shifting to press his lips to your heart. “I have no wish to leave.”

“But you will,” you sigh in defeat, even as he trails lazy kisses up along your clavicle. “We must.”

He hums, nuzzling your neck. Too much of you is pressed against too much of him for desire not to ignite within you at the slightest movement. It’s a bittersweet relief when he presses one last, lingering kiss to your lips and takes it upon himself to pry his body away from yours and leave the bed. You turn to your side, pulling the covers up to your chest to ward off the cold he leaves behind.

You are, however, presented with the slight consolation of watching your husband move naked about the room.

Of course, it isn’t exactly the particular image of your husband’s body, or even the features of his face that had won your affections in the first place. Your love runs too deep to be dampened by any sort of aesthetic transformation, though you do admit some forms are more practical than others when it comes to the physical aspect of your relationship, strictly shape-wise (one such as the amorphous black mass to which he had been reduced until recently, for instance, might prove a challenge in that department—yet not an entirely insurmountable one).

His current form, however... Lord of Gifts, indeed. It is the finest of male specimens of whom you are given a most generous view, and he damn well knows it. He takes his sweet time sauntering across the room, each movement slow and deliberate as he treats you to the sight of his tall, perfectly sculpted body. His long hair falling over his shoulder blades, the elegant line of his spine, the plump globes of his buttocks—oh, the bastard. Showing himself off as if you are not in a state of constant desire for him, like you’re not literally his soulbound wife already.

Or maybe it’s you slowing time with your eyes as you look at him, precisely because of how utterly and hopelessly smitten you are.

Whatever the case, a knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he glances your way. You look on, shamelessly, as he recovers the clothes he had carelessly discarded the night before, and methodically (as well as tragically) begins to dress himself back to decency. He’d had a new garment made, one more suited to his tastes now that his previous modest, light-grey robes had served their purpose of conveying his most pure intentions to Celebrimbor. This outfit is an intricately patterned black with a golden band at the waist, the imitation of leaves raining down his collar area and left shoulder, and a discrete glimmer that looks as though stars have been trapped deep within the fabric of his sleeves.

You’d loved the sight of him dressed in it so much that, paradoxically, you had taken tremendous pleasure in stripping it off him. He was a gift in too pretty a wrapping for you not to greedily reach inside for the wonders you knew lay there, meant only for you.

But if you had it your way and peeled it off each time the mood arose, you would never get anything done. Perhaps, once you are King and Queen and have plenty of servants to carry out your orders, you shall be free to confine yourselves to some ornate bedchamber and reemerge only after days on end of having your fill of one another.

For now, you must allow his newly tidy appearance to remain intact. He is nearly ready to join the others in the forge, the only unruliness left about him being his loose and disheveled hair. You particularly enjoy how softly it falls upon your shoulders whilst you are beneath him, and he certainly takes pleasure in your tendency to fist your hands in it and tug at the roots, causing all kinds of entanglements. It’s nearly sad, how easily he can undo the sensual mess. One power-wielding hand smoothing down the tresses, and his hair looks as though it has been brushed to perfection with a thousand thoroughly administered strokes.

That done, he sits down at your vanity and picks up the last accessory he must arrange upon himself—the headpiece he’s been wearing since he became Annatar, the partial imitation of a crown which curves around the back of his head, serving to hold his hair practically away from his face whilst accentuating the divine nature of the presumed Lord of Gifts.

Lord of Gifts.

Your love-addled brain is stricken with an idea too wonderful to go unheeded.

“Oh, let me,” you say, suddenly rising from beneath the sheets. It takes but a moment to put on a nearby nightgown, not nearly enough for your husband’s questioning eyes to drink you in the way he attempts to, but you are too enthusiastic to care. It is best anyway not to let his gaze set your skin ablaze when you must wait for the following night to have him tend to the flames.

His brow knits in slight amusement, but he indulges you and halts in his movements, waiting for you to come to him. He must think you mean to arrange the headpiece in his hair yourself—thus stealing another few touches before you leave the bedchamber and must refrain from doing so for the remainder of the day. And he is not too far from the truth. But as soon as you are standing behind him, you take the accessory from his hand and toss it casually upon the bed, reaching for your comb on the vanity table instead. Now, your husband frowns, unsure.

“My love, as much as I would like an excuse to prolong our stay—”

“Oh, shush,” you chide. “This will take but a moment.”

With nimble fingers and the help of the comb, you part his hair at the temples and brush it into satisfyingly neat sections. It’s an improvisation, really, but you set about the task you have in mind with nothing but determination and a nice little hum on your breath. Your husband sits with the sort of quiet compliance he reserves for your benefit only, and you know that he is relishing the sensation of your fingers gently handling his hair as much as you are. At times your fingers more or less coincidentally brush over the pointed tips of his ears, and the lightest flutter of his lashes betrays how sensitive they are to the touch, the very same as those of any Elf.

You catch his gaze in the mirror, and give him a playful smile as you work on his hair. The vision you had in mind is beginning to take nice shape, and you bite your lip in concentration as you try to guide each golden strand precisely where you need it to be.

“Pass me that hair tie, will you?” It’s a bit further away on the vanity table than the previous ones you had used, and you are busy keeping together quite the intricate design. Your husband obliges you—but his hand catches yours as you take the tie from him.

“My love,” he says, mirth dancing in his eyes in the mirror, “I do hope you have not managed a knot so vicious that even my power cannot see it undone.”

“It isn’t a knot,” you retort, lightly swatting his hand away from yours so you can finish what you started. You shake your head in faux disappointment. “How little you trust me.”

“I trust you with life, my flesh and my soul,” he declares solemnly. “My hair, however, is a different matter.”

That would earn him another scandalized swat, if your hands weren’t occupied with the finishing touches to your little masterpiece.

“There,” you grin triumphantly, at last satisfied with what you have accomplished. It’s almost ridiculous, the youthful delight that takes over you. An echo from a distant life that was so long ago, it barely feels like it was ever yours. It brings a small pang to your chest—but you ignore it as you cradle your husband’s head from behind and place an adoring little kiss to his hair, right above your handy work.

With a small, not unkind sigh, he picks up a hand mirror from the table and turns around on his stool so he may align the reflection with the one in the vanity mirror, see for himself what you have accomplished:

An utterly precious, superbly elegant hair bow.

“A true gift,” you say proudly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, “for all of Middle-Earth.” Your fingers drift to his chin, and nudge it upward so he meets your gaze. “But for me, especially.”

Without looking away, he sets down the hand mirror and takes your wrist, planting a kiss to the palm of your hand.

“It is fitting,” he admits, a teasing lilt to his tons as he idly plays with your fingers. “It shall be a pity, when I next bed you, to see such beautiful work unraveled by the very hands which crafted it.”

“Oh, I am not ruining that,” you assure him, striving to sound like you mean it. “Whatever you may do, I shall keep my hands firmly to myself. Or rather, to other parts of you,” you add, shrugging as if in afterthought.

The underlying challenge in your voice is swiftly accepted. Your husband stands and faces you with a mischievous gaze, cupping your cheeks.

“We shall see,” he murmurs against your lips, right before he claims them in a parting kiss filled with lurid promises. Then he pulls away, smiling innocently. “See you soon, my love.”

You are reminded, as he leaves, how futile it is to pretend like you may ever part without your body and soul aching for his return before he even steps out of your sight. But all eyes which look upon him today shall see the work of your loving fingers that he proudly wears upon himself—another small consolation to which you cling whilst you wait for the victory that shall make all your sufferings worth it.

Previous fic with same reader -> As we are now

Next fic with same reader -> Jealousy

[sansaorgana]

Now when Deception is nearly finished (I'm gonna post two alternative endings on Friday), I can focus more on writing shorter stories. ❤️

I have one story already started with Sauron and Maia!Reader but unlike Maia!Reader from In Perpetuity, she is a good spirit in this one. This story will be written for sure (+ I'm thinking of one plotless smut but that's uncertain yet) but I also have other ideas and I would like to know if you're interested in them...

Those are just ideas and concepts and I am not promising I'm going to write them all because some are more developed than others but please let me know if they interest you so I know what to focus on while daydreaming lol 😆

1. Sauron x Morgoth's Ex!Reader 👹

2. Sauron/Halbrand x Elf!Reader where she is becoming human for him (like Arwen for Aragorn) because she doesn't know he is actually immortal... 🙈

3. Sauron/Annatar x Celebrimbor's WIFE!Reader 🤡

4. Adar x Elf!Reader where she is a good Elf (kinda like Galadriel) 🔮

5. First Age ginger loser Jack Lowden! Sauron x Reader – just an idea to write more for him specifically if you'd be interested 🦊

6. Dad!Sauron x Reader – would you be interested in more fics where Reader and Sauron have kids (like in Blessed)? 🍼

[sansaorgana]

THE RINGS OF POWER MASTERLIST

BACK TO MASTERLIST

✿ SAURON

➽ “Kingdom of Disturb” — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader

➽ “Daughter of The Moon” — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader (Celebrimbor's Daughter) » PART I » PART II » PART III

➽ “Blessed” — Sauron x fem!half-Elf!Reader » PART I » PART II » PART III

➽ “In Perpetuity” — Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader » PART I [nsfw] » PART II [nsfw]

➽ “Someplace Better” — Sauron x fem!human!Reader » PART I » PART II » PART III

➽ “Forever Bound” — Sauron x fem!Maia!Reader

➽ “Once Upon a Dream” — Sauron x Moreth (OC)

✿ ADAR

➽ “Fading Light” — Adar x fem!Elf!Reader » PART I » PART II

✿ SAURON & ADAR

➽ “Deception” — Sauron x fem!Elf!Reader // Adar x fem!Elf!Reader