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thephoenixandthecrocodile · 2 months ago

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A Light in Dark Places - Chapter Two: Adar Meets Sauron’s Other Ex

Alternate Title: We Really Need to Get Adar A Boyfriend

Summary: Adar wasn’t expecting his son, Glug, to bring him the fallen lord of Eregion. Now he must decide how best to use Celebrimbor to his advantage while ignoring the rush of long suppressed memories and forgotten emotions triggered by the Elf Lord’s own relationship with Sauron.

EDIT: Here's a link to chapter 1:

Tagging: @adventurepunks @angel-astre @eowyn7023 @plotdesigner @illegalcerebral

Adar forced himself to remain an unbending, unaffected fixture on the front line. His children needed to see him as they marched to their deaths and he needed to acknowledge the ones he sacrificed for Sauron’s downfall. He knew the name of every Uruk as they marched by, remembered their first steps, their first set of armor, their endless cries of pain as Morgoth and Mairon shaped them into unloved but not unloving creatures. No, despite the worst of Morgoth’s designs, love still existed in their shattered hearts, even if it was a love unrecognized by Elf, Dwarf, Man, or Valar. The world’s disdain for the familial love that bound every Uruk in this camp made it all the more precious. Maybe the most precious thing in all of Middle-Earth.

He was willing to sacrifice it all to end the last remaining architect of their fallen condition. Better to kill all his children by himself than see them enslaved to Sauron once more. Was that not true love?

He inhaled and forced his face to adopt his determined facade. His children trusted him to do what was best for them. He could not shatter their trust with even a hint of doubt. He had always been the battered but unbreakable defensive wall they could shelter behind as the world threw its worst at them. A being that did not doubt, that did not hesitate, that did not mourn what had to be sacrificed for his children’s safety and happiness.

“Lord Father?”

Adar glanced at Uzog, the cautious archer with a metal prosthetic hand like their father.

“Yes, my child?”

“Glug brought back a prisoner when he shouldn’t have. A golden haired elf.”

Lady Galadriel.

Galadriel had escaped only a day ago and, while he assumed she would remain near the battlefield, he had not expected her to be recaptured so easily. Then again, Glug was growing into a capable Uruk commander.

“The Elf is as bloody as a warg’s breakfast, Adar. He is as dark as the one you hunt.”

This did not sound like Galadriel, unless Sauron found her first, although Adar doubted he would let her go if that was true. Galadriel was many things, but she wasn’t stealthy enough to escape Sauron’s grasp unless he willed it. Nor could Sauron expect Galadriel to return to Adar considering the last time Sauron saw them together, Galadriel had threatened to kill all of his children in front of him.

“What game are you playing, Gorthaur,” Adar muttered to himself in Black Speech.

He commanded Uzog to take him to Glug and this strange prisoner. They rushed through marching ranks of proud and shouting Uruks. War was the one thing they knew how to do better than anyone. War was the one thing Adar swore they would never have to indulge in again, once they created their homeland. Was it not Morgoth’s and Sauron’s nature to twist and break all promises and was he not their child?

Uzog led Adar to the clearing in front of his own tent where several Uruks gathered together around Glug and his prisoner. Before he could properly identify the elf, they ran straight into him. Adar grabbed the Elf’s arms to prevent them from falling and he was bewildered to see that not only were they not Galadriel, but for a moment he thought he was looking into the face of Feanor himself.

Bloody, defiant, on the verge of losing his mind, but also warmer, older, handsomer, and wilder. Not the wilderness of a trapped and starving wolf. No, it was one of a trained falcon. Domesticated and loyal until someone awoke its deepest instincts and then it became overwhelmed by its desire to fly, hunt, and kill.

There was a familiar darkness to this Elf. One that passed by unnoticed until it was already worming its way into his mind and soul. A darkness and eternal fire that led to the Oath of Feanor and to the rise of Morgoth and Sauron. But it was not of the Elf, this bloody and battered Elf who even now seemed on the verge of running away. It was around the Elf, a part of the Elf, but not an integral part, not a natural part given by the Valar. A part that had consumed Adar and his children whole except for the faint, struggling spark that kept them united. He knew this was the work of Sauron, but he could not call this Elf a servant of Sauron nor a servant of the Valar. More like Galadriel, a being caught between the two. An almost kindred spirit if Adar dared to call an Elf this beautiful kin.

The Elf was filthy and bloody, hardly something he expected from a citizen of Eregion, which he was judging from the holly designs on his robes. Tear streaks cut through the dirt on his round cheeks and his wrinkles, not common for Elves, betrayed a life of unrecoverable sorrow and pain. His curly golden hair did not shine like Galadriel’s nor was it combed in any manner expected from an Elf, even one in combat, but Adar liked this Elf’s stronger tones of gold and undertones of brown better. Adar met the startled Elf’s gaze and caught the light of the two trees in his hazel eyes. Galadriel was the only other Elf familiar to Adar who carried their light and Adar found this Elf’s eyes as enchanting as hers.

“Who is he and why did you bring him here?” Adar asked Glug in Black Speech.

Logic caught up with memory and he knew this couldn’t be Feanor, so who was he? All of Feanor’s sons were dead or missing. Although didn’t one have a son? It wasn’t easy nor desirable to purposely recall memories from the First Age. Yes, there was a son. So similar and yet so different from the father and the grandfather.

“This elf has something of Sauron’s,” Glug explained. “I felt a dark presence.”

At this, the Elf broke down sobbing, catching Adar off guard, a strange feeling of discomfort creeping up his spine. Even the other Uruks shifted uncomfortably and some half glanced away. How long had it been since any of them had shed a tear? Even Uruk babies stopped crying after their first year.

“Strange is the servant of Sauron who remembers how to cry,” Adar gently reproached the Elf.

It was as if he had slapped the Elf back to his senses. He stepped from Adar’s grasp and stubbornly wiped his tears away, spreading blood across his cheeks in the process and Adar noticed a missing thumb. The Elf stood tall, like Feanor himself stood when insulted and he snapped back, “I may have been a willing fool for the Great Deceiver once, but no more! Unlike you, I have escaped from his grasp.”

“Not very far, if we willingly served Sauron,” Adar replied and the Elf’s face twitched in confusion. “I assure you, you won’t find a single friend of Sauron’s in our company for we are his greatest foes.”

“Then why serve his purposes by attacking Eregion?”

The Uruks grumbled and shifted threateningly, but Adar gestured for restraint.

“We serve no one’s purpose, but our own,” Adar growled, noticing Glug’s shifting expression.

His son never believed in the assault on Eregion and Adar knew others agreed with him.

“We attack Eregion because they warmly welcomed Sauron into their city and set him up as a king. The people of Eregion are nothing more than his slaves who willingly protect him from my children.”

The Feanorian fire flashed in the Elf’s eyes and he puffed his chest as he stood eye to eye with Adar, pointing at the Uruk Lord.

“You are as great a deceiver as your former master. You murder the innocent and call them guilty to justify your actions. The people of Eregion did not welcome nor do they serve the Dark Lord. They were betrayed, betrayed by their lord who should have known better.”

The Elf’s anger grew, but his stature diminished.

“By their lord who knew better, but wanted what he wanted, even if it was something he never deserved,” the Elf continued, his own bitterness and hatred sharp enough to wound Sauron himself. “And so he accepted a poisoned gift and loved a being incapable of anything but malice and deceit and in doing so, condemned his people.”

The Elf defiantly and desperately met Adar’s gaze and said, “The fault is mine for I am Celebrimbor, the former lord of Eregion, fallen consort of the Great Deceiver, and the only servant who must pay for the Dark Lord’s crimes.”

Adar’s face softened and he was once more chained to a mountain cliff, abandoned and forgotten, the pouring rain chilling his very bone marrow, and he called into the wind and rain for death. Instead, a golden light that burnt his very skin appeared and took the face of a fiery haired Elf with cheekbones as sharp as Caradhras and flaming eyes that promised to consume one’s fea in the utmost pleasurable ways. Promises of children, of power, and of wine were exchanged and Adar drank them all, deeply, fervently, deliriously.

He instinctively rested a hand on Celebrimbor’s shoulder, and softly said in Quenya, “He is terrible in his beauty, isn’t he?”

“The most terrible and the most beautiful,” Celebrimbor replied in Quenya, his harsh features softening as well.

“Lord Father,” Glug urgently interrupted and Adar remembered his place.

He stepped back and ordered a pair of Uruks to take Celebrimbor to the tent they prepared for Galadriel and ensure he couldn’t escape. The fallen Elf argued and resisted, but it was obvious he was exhausted from his escape and Adar’s children were bred for kidnapping and war.

This would be the second Feanor to escape Sauron’s grasp. The Dark Lord’s wrath would be swift and severe.

“Lord Father, should we not call back the assault?” Glug said.

“Sauron is still in the city.”

“Yes, but we do not have the Elven rings and if the strange Elf contains something Sauron wants–”

“Continues the assault as planned,” Adar snapped, Glug flinching at his tone. “I must question the Elf further.”

“But the Elf said Sauron wants–”

“Continue the assault, Glug,” Adar commanded and marched to his tent, despite feeling unprepared to face Sauron’s latest victim.

Adar entered his tent and ordered his guards to leave him alone with Celebrimbor. They hesitated, but knew not to question him in his current mood. The golden haired Elf was chained to the same chair Galadriel used only a day ago, the dinner table void of any food.

“Please, you must call off the assault,” Celebrimbor begged. “You cannot defeat the Great Deceiver through strength alone. Surely, you know this.”

“I know Sauron has many needs, the first of which is allies,” said Adar. “Was that why he came to you? To spread his influence?”

“What does it matter if you can’t defeat him?”

“Sauron is weakest when he’s isolated. We’ve neutralized whatever following he gained in Eregion,” said Adar and Celebrimbor’s face flinched with rage and sorrow. “But he’s like a rat. He always looks for a new place and people he can infest.”

Celebrimbor hesitated before admitting, “He briefly treated with the dwarves in Khazad-dum through me, but I doubt he will flee there.”

The Elf squeezed the pouch clenched in his right hand and Adar demanded, “Give it to me.”

Celebrimbor struggled against his bonds, almost tipping over his chair in the process. Adar caught him by the chin and said, “I’d rather avoid further damage to your handsome features.”

Celebrimbor stiffened at his touch, a mix of terror and surprise crossed his dirt and blood smeared face. The blood dashed across his cheek bones was reminiscent of war paint favored by some of his children. His skin was hot to the touch, as if the fires of Eregion’s furnace formed his core. Even with the dirt and the blood and the sweat and tears, he was beautiful. The light of Valinor still within him, like all Elves who crossed the sea.

Adar’s hand traveled up his cheek, caressing the weathered skin, a thumb tracing the wrinkles that branched from the corner of his eyeas. Celebrimbor inhaled sharply and pulled his head away and Adar dropped his hand at the same rate his face fell. Marion used to comfort him the same way after the worst of Morgoth’s punishments. Of course he would use the same trick for his latest toy.

Adar turned away sharply and took two steps towards the barren table, his hand finding his hilt and squeezing it to soothe his fluttering nerves. Not even Galadriel with her own special relationship with Sauron and her own embodiment of Valinor brought back so many memories and long lost emotions.

“Does it surprise you that a Uruk would mimic his former master’s acts of false affection?” He demanded, although he wasn’t sure the true target of his sudden rage and embarrassment.

“He spoke to me,” Celebrimbor softly began, wrestling with each word as if Adar was dragging each syllable out from him. “He spoke of Morgoth and their…their “game” is what he called it.”

Adar barked a laugh and glanced at Celebrimbor with dark amusement.

“I’m sure he spared no details, reveling in his ability to withstand the worst of Morgoth’s tortures and humiliations.”

“For a moment, I…I pitied him.”

Adar whirled around and Celebrimbor shot him a desperate and despairing half grimace.

“Pitied Sauron?”

“For a moment he was just another victim of Morgoth’s, no different from my own uncle, Maedhros. Often I would look into my uncle’s eyes and see nothing but hollowness. He had the same look, only for a flicker of a second, and then it was gone, replaced by the same ravenous hunger that drove Morgoth’s darkness. All the pity in the world cannot call him back.”

“Would you?” Adar asked softly in Quenya.

“Wouldn’t you?” Celebrimbor replied.

Adar had not known fear like this since he held Morgoth’s crown in his hand, about to kill Sauron with it. He recognized Sauron’s hold on Galadriel and used it to his advantage, but that had been different from this. Galadriel was still fighting the depth of Sauron’s hold over her. Still stubbornly believing she had a choice when around him, but Celebrimbor…Sauron shattered him from the inside out. Whatever Sauron needed Galadriel for, he needed her still whole but cracking, but Celebrimbor had to be broken and mended and broken and mended over and over and over again. As if Sauron wanted no one to benefit from his abilities after he was done with the Elf. Maybe Sauron even meant to keep him, a pet to honor the start of his new reign as dark lord of Middle-Earth.

“What did he offer you?” Adar asked, still speaking in Quenya.

Another painful half grimace and Celebrimbor said, “The opportunity to create a legacy that would overshadow my grandfather’s.”

“You do not need him for that.”

Celebrimbor’s face twitched and it took several seconds before he seemingly regained control over his voice, “What did he offer you?”

“Children,” said Adar with a half smile of his own.

Celebrimbor glanced towards the entrance of the tent.

“Then for the sake of your children, you must let me go. He will come for me and will slay any who stand in his way.”

Yes, the pouch. The very thing that brought Sauron’s dark presence into his tent. Something solid to focus on instead of whatever had passed between him and Celebrimbor during the last few minutes.

“What is in the pouch?”

Celebrimbor hung his head in shame, once more wrestling for words, but Adar didn’t have time or patience or ability to wait. Better to act out on his sudden confusion and anxiety, even though he often scolded his children for such behavior.

He wrestled the pouch from Celebrimbor’s clenched fist and Sauron’s flaming, burning, gorgeous form surrounded him, his soft, coaxing voice promising power renewed, the entirety of Middle-Earth for his beloved children, and Mairon’s love regained. Flames licked at his scarred and beaten skin once more and Adar closed his eyes to hold back his tears. How he missed this incredible, painful glory and love.

Pain. Something heavy landed on his chest. Was he on the ground? Adar blinked and stiffened as he realized his own lips were mere inches away from Celebrimbor’s, who seemed as startled as he was. The Elf must have tried to take the pouch back. His hand with the missing thumb had slipped out of his chains and Adar mentally scolded him for not noticing that. However, it must have been too painful for Celebrimbor to use or rest on for it laid sprawled out above Adar’s head. The Elf’s other hand was still chained to the chair, which was lying across Celebrimbor’s legs. Yes, it must have tripped him and now he pinned Adar down with nothing more than the weight of his own body, the Elf’s chest pressed against his own armored chest.

The Elf’s weight was strangely soothing. The same kind of soothing he felt when Galadriel held him while pointing a knife to his throat. How long had it been since he felt another’s touch? Surely before Morgoth’s fall. How long had he hungered for something that could never be found until this very moment revealed it was nothing more than knowing someone else truly existed in a physical form he could touch and feel. That the world was more than a non-existent grey, full of sacrifice and loss and even his children were nothing but specters in a dying world.

How expressive Celebrimbor was. Something he had not expected from Feanor’s heirs. His round and handsome face revealed the clashing thoughts that raced through his mind: confusion, uncertainty, embarrassment, fear, planning a new escape attempt. How Adar wanted to run his thumb across Celebrimor’s chapped and split lips before pulling him into a kiss to quiet his mind.

“Adar!” “Lord Father!”

Celebrimbor yelped as Glug grabbed his curls and ripped the Elf off of Adar. Uzog scrunched their nose nervously as they offered their own hand to their father.

“Glug!” Adar snapped, rising by himself in an attempt to overcome his own shame and embarrassment. “Do not harm him.”

Glug, his knife already drawing a trickle of blood from Celebrimbor’s throat,opened his mouth to argue, “But Adar–”

“Fetch me chains, Glug,” Adar commanded.

A half sneer half pout crossed Glug’s young face, the knife defiantly drawing one last drop of blood before he rose and stomped out of the tent. Uzog ran their hand across their twitching nose, another nervous tic that meant they had thoughts they would not dare share, and followed Glug. Adar grabbed Celebrimbor by the front of his robes and arranged him back into his chair as if he weighed no more than a hollow, wooden puppet. Blood pooled along the back of Celebrimbor’s robe and matted the curls in the back of his head. How was he still resisting, let alone standing and talking?

Adar pinned his hands on Celebrimbor’s shoulders to ensure he would stay still, the Elf hissing and wincing in the process.

“Stop fighting,” Adar commanded, embarrassing himself by using his exasperated father's voice instead of the Lord of the Uruk’s voice. “You are injured far more than you wish to admit. You cannot undo your crimes by leaping into Death’s arms.”

If it had been that easy, Adar would have done it long ago.

Blood rolled down the side of Celebrimbor’s face and Adar gently swept back his curls to identify the deep gash that ran across the Elf’s forehead. Celebrimbor stiffened as expected, but only half pulled away, as if catching himself in the middle of the act and forcing himself to remain still. A part of Adar wanted to run his matted, but still soft, still perfumed and pampered curls through his fingers. How happy his children would be when they could care for their own bodies with the same love and attention as that of the Elves.

Glug and Uzog returned with heavy black chains and Adar pulled away from the Elf. Celebrimbor winced every time a length of chain wrapped around his chest and pinned him to the chair, but he had left Adar with no other option.

“Not so tight, Glug,” Adar said in Black Speech and his son spitefully tightened the chains wrap around the Elf, causing Celebrimbor to moan and wheeze. “He is our guest, Glug.”

Uzog wiped their nose once more and Adar internally sighed. Children.

As Glug circled him one final time, Celebrimbor gestured to grab him and he said, “That’s Elrond’s brooch.”

Glug sheepishly turned to look at Adar and, yes, the Elf was right. Glug was wearing the very pin Elrond gave to Galadriel to make her escape. When Adar asked him why in Black Speech, Glug looked down and muttered, “It’s shiny.”

“Was it taken or was it given?” asked Celebrimbor, desperately wiggling to escape his bonds despite the obvious agony it caused him. “Show me his body, if taken.”

“Leave us!” Adar snapped at his children before they could confirm one way or another.

Glug tied off the chain and left with a huff as Uzog shot Adar one last concern glanced before following their brother. Strange that life had been easier when they were simply looking for a homeland. Now that Sauron had dragged they back into the conflicts and contradicts of Middle-Earth everything was on the verge of falling apart.

“How did he get that brooch?” Celebrimbor pressed.

“It was a gift.”

“From Elrond?” asked Celebrimbor, tears forming in his eyes.

Adar nodded and Celebrimbor swallowed.

“I saw,” he sputtered, his voice hitching as he struggled to control what could not be controlled in his condition. “Elves wearing Lindon’s armor. I thought they were rescuing the city, but why would they?”

Again, that painful half grimace crossed his chapped lips and bitter resignation darkened his face, as if some brutal understanding had finally been accepted.

“They, too, think my people willingly betrayed them. That I dedicated myself to the Great Deceiver and his desire to dominate all life on Middle-Earth. How can they think otherwise? After I ignored Lady Galadriel’s warning, after I lied to the High King, after–”

He choked back another sob and hung his head. Adar slowly bent before the broken Elf and gently raised his chin.

“What did Sauron ask of you?”

Celebrimbor inhaled a few times to calm his nerves and regain control over his voice.

“Rings,” he half cried, half laughed. “Rings like the Elven three. Rings for Dwarves…Rings for Men…”

Celebrimbor trailed off and his gaze traveled over Adar’s shoulder. He glanced behind him and saw the pouch lying underneath the barren table.

“For Men?” Adar asked, unable to hide the incredulousness from his voice. “Men would never be able to withstand their power.”

“No,” Celebrimbor said pitifully. “That is why they must never return to Sauron. That is why you must release me and let me escape while I still can.”

“You will not make it far, not with your wounds and even if you did, you won’t be able to avoid Sauron forever.”

Celebrimbor’s jaw tensed in Adar’s grasp and then a spark burst in his eyes.

“You take the nine to Elrond.”

“What?”

“You take the nine to Elrond who will ensure they reach our High King. He will know how to use them to destroy Sauron’s plans. Release me and I will return to Eregion to buy you and Elrond time.”

“To return to Eregion would be mean endless torture and death.”

“It is my city and I failed her in life. Maybe I can redeem myself in her eyes in death.”

Adar withdrew from the Elf, half tempted to believe this was the talk of blood loss and pain and, yet, he also sensed opportunity in Celebrimbor’s words. He crossed the tent and using his prosthetic hand, he retrieved the pouch, Sauron’s influence flaring across his metal fingers. He hesitated for a moment before turning to Celebrimbor and unbuttoned the top three clasps of his robes. Celebrimbor sputtered objection after objection, twisting and turning the best he could, until Adar slipped the pouch into the secret inner pocket all Feanorians sewed into their outfits. That paranoid family made it a habit of having multiple hidden pockets and compartments in all of their clothes and furniture and traveling tools. Thieves and murderers knew better than to trust other thieves and murderers.

Celebrimbor shot him a look that was a mixture of outrage, confusion, and something Adar refused to name for his own sake.

“I will send a healer to you,” said Adar. “Do not attempt to resist or escape while under her care, otherwise she’ll make you wish you were back in Sauron’s hands.”

“You can’t keep me here!” Celebrimbor called to his retreating back.

Adar left the tent and saw Glug, arms folded across his chest, and Uzog, wiping his nose vigorously, waiting for him.

“Uzog,” Adar cut in before either child could speak. “Send for Shazzash. Tell her she is to care for the Elf as one of our own.”

“One of our own, all father?” Uzog could not help himself but ask.

Adar sighed as he heard his own phrasing echoed back. He needed peace and quiet and a chance to think.

“I need him alive, Uzog, alive and in the same or better condition than when he was brought in, understand?”

“No, Adar, but I will tell her,” said Uzog, sharing a glance with Glug before scurrying off.

Adar didn’t need Glug to speak to feel his anger and confusion.

“I ask you to trust me a little longer, Glug,” Adar said, holding up a hand to silence Glug’s diatribe. “I need time to think and plan.”

“Adar, let me help.”

“Help me by keeping up the assault and ensuring I’m not disturbed,” Adar said as gently as he could, but it didn’t soften the blow at all.

Glug’s face was heavy with sorrow and pity and Adar knew his fearless, faultless persona was cracking.

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