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permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 · 2 months ago

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The Abhorred | Adar/OC (part 1)

Summary: It is a moment Maethoriel never imagined, but the empty raiment at her feet proves that it had, indeed, come to pass. Sauron is dead. She should feel relief, but all that she knows instead is a sense of fear over a world that will see not only herself, but her companions as monsters to be eradicated at any cost. It is a fear that will pull her away from the only one who ever kept her safe. And she is hardly blind to how holding on to that fear almost certainly risks keeping her forever adrift from the one that she loves.

Warnings: angst, some hints of Stockholm syndrome, references to torture, it's gonna get pretty dark in here, folks. Warnings will be updated as the series goes on.

Tag-list: please let me know if you would like to be tagged for future updates!

A/N: Whelp...I've gone and done it. And I am freaking terrified that I will somehow mess this up! The vision in my head is something I am so, so very excited about, but imposter syndrome is a thing, and I'm not 100% confident I can pull it off. I suppose only time will tell?

Either way, though, this one is for all of my fellow Adar-girlies! He deserves all of the attention and love he can get, and I really hope that the demented little plot gremlins running amok in my mind have created something that at least some of you will enjoy!

It was not supposed to end like this.

That is the only thought the woman seems capable of as she stares down at the place where he once was. Where the one who had caused her so much pain had rested, dead. Gone. No more. Some small part of her knows that she should feel relief. That she should be pleased at his demise.

Now, though, all that she can seem to understand is the bone deep feeling of regret.

"I am your only future!"

The words ring inside her mind like the clamor of bells, a warning against any thought of breaking free. Of even attempting to seek another path that did not align with his plans. His plans, that only ever brought dissent and terror and pain. Still, she stares at the emptiness of the fabrics at her feet, shallow breaths rattling inside of her chest as her mind recalls that those fabrics once held his form. Sauron's form.

She cannot move. Cannot tear her eyes from the ground. She can barely even breathe, and the walls seem to close in from all sides. Silence surrounds her as all those that had been in the hall from the start take in what has just transpired, though they can hardly believe it to be true. It isn't until she feels the presence of another, moving to stand beside her, that she begins to return to herself, but when a hand rests upon her shoulders, everything within her is suddenly possessed by a desire to wrench herself away.

"Maethoriel—"

"What have you done?"

Muted though it may be, the inquiry lands like a blow upon the person standing beside her. Someone she once trusted, but the one who had now blown apart every last bit of the world she once knew. Her eyes search his face, desperate. Pleading for some sign that this was not, in fact, his plan all along, but she finds nothing. Nothing to indicate her wild hope is warranted. Nothing, save for the vindication of one who has, at long last, achieved a goal.

"What have you done?"

"I have done what was necessary to secure our freedom."

"Freedom," The woman scoffs, another step creating still more distance between herself and the one who stands beside her, something not all that far from pity more than apparent within his gaze, "What you have done is cast us out into the world to live in exile."

"We will survive, Maethoriel."

"As beings who are to be turned away by everyone we meet? As those who would be hunted for crimes that are unforgivable?"

"The true mind behind those crimes is dead."

"And we are the poorer for it!"

Bile rises to the back of the woman's throat as soon as the words are spoken, because even though a part of her believes them, there is another, private part of her mind that wishes with everything she has that she did not. She would be a fool to deny that acting in league with Sauron had brought them nothing but misery. That he had been a terror, holding everything he touched in thrall with an iron fist.

Still, after everything, there had been a sense of—if not belonging, then at least one of temporary respite. They had a home, even if it were not the most desirable.

Hardly able to stand those thoughts as they rise to the forefront of her mind, Maethoriel attempts to rebel against them. She tries with all her might to understand that what her companion has just done was exactly what was needed all along.

Silent, he watches her carefully. An expression that she cannot decipher appears in familiar features, and cuts through her, down to her very bones. Mere moments ago, the two of them had been standing, united, or so she had believed at the time, and now?

Now, it is as though a chasm exists between them. One it seems nothing can bridge.

It was not supposed to end like this.

"I am your only future! And my path, your only path."

The man standing before her had all but destroyed that future with a single blow.

Confusion flares within her as Maethoriel continues to stand rooted to the spot, chest heaving with the effort of continuing to breathe. With the effort of forcing herself to recall every moment of torment—every scar earned—the longer she had remained at Sauron's side. She reminds herself of each day spent hunting. Spent killing. Nights, consumed with another sort of conflict best left unspoken.

Every last one of them in the hall with her had suffered the same, and the prospect of freedom from such pain seemed far too alluring to be real. It was too alluring to be real, given the reality of facing judgment from those who had once flocked to their side.

Men, and elves, and dwarves alike would look upon them with nothing shy of hatred. She knows this as surely as anything else she has seen in her lifetime. But in spite of it, she also knows that she should feel relief that Sauron is gone. She should feel relief that the one who would see them all enslaved will never be able to harm any one of them ever again.

The regret she feels over her inability to genuinely give in to such a thing is nearly enough to bring her to her knees.

"...my path, your only path."

All of the deception—the betrayal at Sauron's hands—and even still, Maethoriel cannot seem to rid herself of the notion that this coup had been folly. That it would serve to do all of them far more harm than good. She cannot help but feel the flames of a dull sort of anger towards the one still standing beside her, and that more than anything else feels like the serrated edge of a knife slicing against her heart.

"What—what am I to do?"

Her voice cracks over the words, and the sting of unshed tears burns at her eyes, forcing Maethoriel to avert her gaze, rather than continuing to look the man beside her in the eye any longer. The idea of facing the betrayal he likely feels over her outburst is simply too much for her to bear.

Already, her heart yearns for forgiveness, though she begins to suspect that is a thing that will not come easily. Not when this apparent victory had been so hard-won. And even when she feels the warmth of fingertips not encased in a gauntlet's cold grip come to rest beneath her chin, turning her face upward once more, Maethoriel hardly dares to breathe.

"I will not force your allegiance, Maethoriel. Not as he did."

The fingers beneath her chin move, for a moment, so that the warm callouses of a familiar palm come to rest against her cheek in their stead, and Maethoriel wants to lean into that touch. She wants to savor that small bit of gentleness, and keep it close, forever.

Before she can make any move at doing so, however, the sensation is gone. Pulled from her at such speed she can hardly reconcile herself with its loss. Again, she averts her gaze, this time to avoid looking directly at the sight of her companion turning to depart. A low chant begins to echo around the hall while she struggles to choose. Stay with the empty raiment resting at her feet, or follow after one who, in spite of recent acts, she has come to love beyond reason.

Her thoughts are an amalgamation of pain, and regret, and confusion, but even then, she does not miss the words spoken to her, and clearly intended to be said in parting, spoken so lowly that even she nearly struggles to hear.

"I cannot choose your path for you. You must do that for yourself."

"I am your only future!"

A sob works its way up Maethoriel's throat whether she wishes it to or not, the sound drowned out amongst the tramp of feet as those who had waited in the rapidly emptying hall move to depart. A singular glance shows her that her companion is now entirely gone from her sight, his tall frame swallowed completely by the throng of those he called his children.

Slowly, she turns to depart as well, though her path leads in the opposite direction from the rest. She steels herself against the pain that winds its way like a vice around her heart.

Knowing that at least one of them would not be alone serves as meager reassurance when compared to the cost of her own choices. The cost of her own inability to free herself from Sauon's hold, even now. Now that he is gone.

The strange sense of grief that she feels over his passing only adds fuel to the fire that is now lending speed to her movements as she makes her way through darkened hallways. As she begins to consider the reality of an eternity spent in the shadows. And even if she knows not where she should go, or how she will spend that eternity now that it is staring her in the face, Maethoriel does know one simple thing.

Of the two of them, she is abundantly grateful that it will be her, and not Adar, that must endure it alone.

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