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sleepycatofshimano · 6 months ago

Text

Ea Quilda || Adar x Reader

fandom ➳ The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power (TV 2022)

word count ➳ 4,357

warnings & tags ➳ Adar/fem!Elf!Reader, Adar/You, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Prisoner of War, Light Bondage, Dubcon Kissing, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Quiet Sex, Enemies, Sensual Play, Blood and Injury, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Biting, Choking, Pretty Boy Privileges, Adar Is Just a Concerned Father

⠀⠀⠀➳ This work is rated 'R'; do not interact if you are under the

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ age of 18.

summary ➳ 'Melkor’s shadowed face, abyssal and barren, had now begun to form flesh in its haze; the face of a pale and sadistic Uruk now took its place.'

Seven days, you have been Adar's Elven prisoner during the siege on Eregion.

When your hunger becomes apparent to the Uruk, he notices your eyes falling greedily upon the crown of Melkor. But what hunger remains without lust? A lust for the desire to satiate a hunger for strength, it exists within this jagged crown and its fallen wearer; and Adar wishes to tend to this desire, for it is not food you yearn for.

All Elvish translations can be found in the Translation Chart at the bottom.

Of all the beauty beneath Lindon’s golden leaves, nothing could have prepared for such a thirst to arise from seeing Melkor’s crown. Arms taut above your head, knees buckling, and tongue like gravel, you stared lifelessly at the abyssal artefact that sat atop a silver platter. The long table was used for the guests of Adar—but when no Orcs were inquiring about the restless siege of Eregion, nor any Elves attempting to step past Adar’s silver boot, it was just the Uruk himself.

He ate alone, most days. Dusk was the loneliest; for Adar, and for you. The moment the sun flitted through the torn getelds and blood-riddled mulch of the Uruk encampment, the Orcs began their duties and chores, preparing to wage war on the Elves across the water. But before the kiss of dawn—before the cries of nearby animals being slaughtered for food, or the chronic suffering of injured Orcs rupturing from the surrounding getelds—Adar sat at his lonely table, feasting amongst himself, as he watched you hang restlessly from your chains.

On this very night, rain fell upon the encampment from the West, and the disquieting groans of the Orcs could be heard throughout the dusk; this seemed to be sending Adar into a pit of frustration, as he only stared at his silver plate with knitted brows and a simple frown.

This was dreadful; watching this Uruk, as he watched you. What of his thoughts? The Orcs were easy to read, and the few times they growled and spat at you, their vile eyes were filled with greed, hate, and war.

Greed, hate, and war. None of these lined his eyes, and war seemed to only take rest in his heart, which you could not see.

‘It is curious. After seven days, you do not look upon this feast. It is elsewhere that fair mind wanders, is it not?’

Adar’s low and smooth tone fell delicately upon your pointed ears, and it was only then that your stomach began to rumble beneath your bare skin. So, you parted your lips to speak to Adar—perhaps for the first time this day—but he raised his pale hand to slowly subdue your inquiry.

‘I wish not to hear word from you, Elf.’ Then, he stood, dragging the wooden chair back as he rocked upon his heels. He stared still at you, black locks falling against his silver-armoured shoulders, as he dragged himself away from the table and towards a leather bedroll; there, a Warg slept soundly, and Adar knelt down to stroke his matted coat of grey fur, keeping it in deep slumber. ‘It is the Ring I wish to speak with.’

The geteld was cold. Adar would leave after his final meal of the day, which only stole further warmth from the ragged cot; it felt like mere luck that he’d stayed tonight. At this realisation, you decided to pronounce your fury: ‘I can speak in many tongues.’

Adar stopped in his tracks. With a hand on the blade that rested at his hip, he turned towards you. His eyes fell quickly to the birthing of prickled flesh against your naked body, and he scoffed. ‘Yet not one I wish to lend ear to.’

Your head rolled back against your shoulders as you chuckled amongst yourself, swaying back and forth against your chained wrists; your toes were painted with blood, and they burned at the monotonous touch of the mulch and stone against your feet. Still, you swayed, until Adar grabbed both chains in his black gauntlet with a weary grunt.

‘You are hungry, girl. Until you speak to me of the Ring’s location, you will grow further delirious in my geteld,’ Adar hissed, halting your erratic movements from above.

‘Feed me, then, Adar! Maybe then, will I tell you more of the glorious Ring of Galadriel,’ you exclaimed, feasting your eyes again on the crown of Melkor; only this time, Adar followed your gaze.

Here, his breath caught in his throat. His hands released the chains, and your body began to once more sway. And his voice surprised you, as you had already squeezed your eyes shut in preparation for a laceration across your belly or breasts.

‘Even in death, His presence seduces still.’

And then you felt a frigid clasp at your shoulder; his gauntlet, digging slowly into the slope between your collarbone and neck, as he knelt down beside you—slowing your restless swaying. He spoke softly: ‘You are starved… But for matters not of my provision of meat,’ His lips pressed against the pointed shell of your ear. ‘He makes a fine vestige upon my platter, does he not?’ Adar’s hand—coarse, blistered, and damp—swept around your waist, sinking into its newfound concavity, as a sign of his starving you.

But you only wept into his neck. He had parted his lips to speak more on the matter before the both of you, but your lust for the artefact had finally fallen loose; if only your chains had followed suit. Crying out in horror, you fell forwards onto your knees, but the chains continued to hold your body off the ground. Again, you strained forwards, but this time, Adar grasped your nape, forcing you back against his chest as he heaved out a guttural sigh.

‘Enough!’ he growled, running his lips against your ear as he gritted his teeth. ‘Let me remind you that your coming here was of your own, Elvish will. You sought me out, crazed and lusting over what I deemed only madness at the time, but finally,’ he took a deep breath, before exhaling its vile warmth against your lobe and down your neck, ‘finally, I know what it is you desire from the Uruk, Elf.’

He was right; your eyes were wide, tingling, and soaked at the mere thought of getting your hands on Melkor’s crown; it was right there, a mere crawl away, if only you could tear these chains from their forsaken post!

Adar’s fingers sunk deeper into your waist, moving beneath your ribcage as he began to carefully penetrate flesh. You choked on your own response, only whining at his intrusive touch, and you allowed your head to once more fall against his neck. ‘They will come for me… Adar. You are filthy—undeserving of that crown!’ you sobbed, pushing your face further against him.

It was clear that Adar grew hastily uncomfortable at this motion, but his grip never left your waist. The rusted hinges of the chains began to squeal as your feet rolled back and forth, and Adar had to press his lips against the side of your forehead to stop you.

‘Enough,’ he whispered—the utter tonal change now churning your innards. ‘I wish to know more of your lust for Him. Show me, then. Show me this insatiable yearning for such evil. I wish to have it, if only until dawn.’ The slender length of his fingers had left your waist, and were now settled between your thighs, which were coated in your own filth from the seven days of imprisonment.

Unbothered by this, Adar continued in his slow movements, moving around to your front to face you with his curious glare. His lips had been twisted into something of a grin, and his black hair looked even more unkempt than usual. Then, without hesitation, he used only his index fingers to part both your legs, inviting himself between your burning flesh; in fact, your body heat was so warm compared to his, that he let out a soft groan at the layers of pure-Elven skin.

Your lips had long since parted, and you watched as Adar lowered his body to the ground of dirt and stone, levelling his face with your hips. His steady and slow breaths brushed against your vaginal lips, enshrouding the pubic mound in a sultry cloud.

At this, you merely whined and rolled back on your knees.

His pointed nose brushed against your thighs, and he released a soft whistle upon the flesh. ‘Ea quilda, ea quilda,’ he whispered. ‘My children will wake.’

And then Adar tried again. He brought his lips to the flesh that enveloped your clit, sucking tenderly on its sleek exterior. Your thighs only drowned his locks in your burning flesh, eager to focus his lips on the only spot that seemed to matter: your clit. Adar trailed both his hands down the bottom of your thighs, until he reached your cheeks, to which he hoisted you up into the air—slinging both legs over his shoulders as he allowed for your wrists to breathe and endure a moment of respite from the chains.

Suspended, now, the geteld looked a whole lot clearer; you could focus on the tiny, crimson embers that fluttered away from the pyre on the opposite end of the room; even Melkor’s crown entertained a shine that reminded you of the shimmering waters of Lindon, and you needed more of that feeling. So, you threw your hand into Adar’s hair, grabbing a large array of its abyssal contents as you tugged and kneaded at its tangles; it was clear this war had affected him in many aspects upon his vile being, and the grime that coated his armour and corners of his skin were now far more prominent.

Still, you sunk your teeth into the meaty flesh of your bottom lip, imagining all of the things Melkor would do to you—an Elf, helpless and needy for rule, and in dire thirst for power. He would have tainted your fair skin, corrupting you in body and mind, and it was only then that in this moment, Adar felt no different than He.

But it was his gentle and hoarse voice that stole you away from the mind’s abyss. ‘Your hips move in a motion I am unacquainted with… Tell me, how is it that He has seduced your mind?’ Adar’s lips had left your clit, and his nose now took their place. Glazed, grey eyes flitted across the sweat that trickled down your abdomen and breasts, before settling on your own lips.

‘It is far deeper than that of which you could ever come to understand, Adar,’ you hissed, straining your wrists between the chains. And Adar only grinned at your continued writhing.

‘Speak it to me, then, nityasá. In plain tongue,’ he whispered. Then, a single, slender brow raised. ‘Or any tongue.’

The sparkle of Melkor’s jagged crown nearly blinded your vision as you looked past Adar’s grin; with this, a fresh stampede of butterflies pounded against your stomach, and you trained your eyes on your spreading thighs. ‘I wish to abstain from the weakness of mortality. The light of the Valar may yet be extinguished by a shroud of great darkness… One in which even the Elves of Middle-earth cannot open their eyes amidst.’ Your stare was now focused on his crooked lips. ‘Can’t you see?’

Adar had pulled your body down against him within seconds of your lips closing, before his own were upon you; the taste of your sweat and arousal coated his kiss, and all you could do was scream into his mouth. But he remained taut against your lips, sucking and biting and lapping at your slick, refusing to tug away from such a heated embrace; at this, you wondered just how different Uruk blood was from that of the Elves.

Now, Adar wasted no time in brushing his lips down your chin, rubbing up and down the middle section of your throat as he hissed quietly against the feather-thin skin. ‘Though I cannot see the darkness that drifts through your veins, I can already begin to feel its sunless and weighted presence,’ he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the hesitation in your oesophagus. ‘But I wish to learn more of this hunger.’ And he sucked tenderly at your bobbing throat, trailing down every individual swathe of flesh with his jagged teeth. ‘Show it to me.’

With a weighted sigh, you pressed his head closely against your chest, groaning as his lips retreated to his own flesh; in their place, however, a gentle warmth from his nose brushed against your bare breasts, and you felt as Adar pinched two of his fingers around one of your nipples. ‘You feel little desire for Him, were this to be all the enactment you care to show,’ he mused, eyes trained only on your sweat-glistening chest.

Then, you spoke to him: ‘It is as though He is inside my soul, reaching for the depths of my immortality—and I wish to give it to Him.’

Adar grazed a thumb over your nipple. ‘What is it you wish to give to Him?’

You relaxed slowly into his touch, bucking your hips against his chest as he drew his body further down your abdomen, settling only once he was imprisoned between your legs.

Adar spoke again, softly—calmly, as he trailed two fingers down the heated flesh of your inner thigh, coming to a halt beside your slick, outer lips. ‘Speak to me of this desire, and I will be sure of its arrival.’ Another stutter of your hips, and Adar grasped both thighs beneath his jagged nails. ‘You must use your tongue.’ And then, he retreated his fingers from the swelling of your vaginal lips, only for you to cry out his name. But the sweet sound that left your mouth did not pertain to his title; for it was the accursed name of Morgoth you chose to allow off the grime of your needy tongue.

Adar’s coarse lips were upon your clit within seconds of your pleas for the Dark Lord, and his own tongue had made a home between your damp folds. All sense of self had been long skewered and buried when first you were dragged into this geteld with Adar at your nape, forcing you into these chains that bound you from the outside world, and ever-encroaching war on the Elves. And if the constant rise and fall of warmth against your thighs wasn’t indication enough of Adar’s burning desire for one’s lust of Melkor, then you really were just a foolish Elf.

‘Wrap your legs around me, nityasá,’ he whispered against the sweet parting of flesh making way for his tongue. ‘I wish to feel such delicate writhing.’ And his tongue was now prodding at your entrance, coating the labial flesh with his own slick as he slipped slowly inside.

And you did just that; settling your legs, one over the other, around his neck and sweat-riddled locks, as he buried his nose against your clitoral hood. While his tongue pumped tenderly inside of you, the soft tip of his nose drew slow circles around your clit.

‘Wait,’ you blurted out. With aching slowness, Adar’s eyes trailed up to your face with a burning gaze. ‘What if one of them walks in?’

Immediately, the Uruk let out a stifled chuckle, warming your clit. ‘You Elves are terribly akin to deer.’ Then, he pressed a tender kiss to your clitoral hood. ‘Worry not, nityasá. If they cannot smell your fear, then you have no place in entertaining such a thought. Instead, allow me to follow you into the darkness of your desires.’ His eyes shot quickly to the crown atop the plate. Then, he flicked the underside of his tongue against the glistening skin, allowing the meaty appendage to slowly press its way inside.

Adar devoured your flesh for what felt like hours. When his tongue had begun to waver in its tender thrusts, it began to lap solely at the outer folds of your vagina, before he removed his mouth entirely. Yearning for more, however, you rolled your hips against his scarred face, but he did not take your bait; he only looked up to your flushed face, entertaining a crooked grin as he spoke: ‘Attempting to devour an unending meal is only a fool’s dream, nityasá. You endowed me with a fruit I could never lap to its last seed, but it was one I will never be able to satsiate again. Thank you—’

You unbound your legs from around his neck, and kicked off his silver-armoured chest with a stifled grunt. ‘He would have satisfied me to Valinor and back!’ you exclaimed, looking erratically around at the wooden posts and firewood splayed about the geteld.

‘And he would have taken your corpse in a manner not even an Uruk would,’ Adar replied with haste.

The two of you glared at each other for what seemed longer than his tongue’s masterful movements of the flesh, before Adar finally broke away from your stare. He took his time retreating his head from between your thighs, but he did not allow his grey eyes to stall. ‘What more do you desire of Him?’ he breathed out in an uneven cadence.

Your mouth was hanging open, and the sweat that poured down the sides of your cheeks cursed you with a stammer. ‘I wish for the darkness to touch me.’

Adar chuckled again, as he rested his head against your inner thigh. ‘Are you a deception, dear Elf? Perhaps I am already dead, and this is what fate has condemned me to.’ Then, Adar stood, and he pulled your featherless weight with him. Removing your binds, he grasped your wrists in his large hands, and led you over to the grand table.

‘What are you doing?’ you croaked. Even though this Uruk had pleasured you to heights no Elf or other being in Middle-earth could, he had still tortured you for seven straight days; lacerations penetrated your fair flesh, but it did not burn anymore. Adar’s tongue had struck a nerve so deep beneath your folds, that the lasting pain had been indoctrinated into pleasuresome desire.

The Uruk suddenly swept his arms beneath yours, lifting you into the air with careful fingers. Then, he set you down onto the wooden tabletop, being sure to avoid the leftover food and drink that plagued the table from supper. ‘Hold still,’ he whispered, struggling for a moment as he kicked his chair away.

And you listened to him—for the crown of Melkor was right there, beside you, seated beautifully atop the silver plate.

Adar placed both his hands on your knees, squeezing gently at the flesh, as he looked down to your abdomen. ‘Though I cannot take you to Valinor, I can take you someplace else,’ he began with a deep breath. ‘Someplace even He could only dream of leading an Elf.’

You raised a brow of your own, eyes trained still on the piercing crown. But what you hadn’t noticed, was that Adar was now staring at the accursed object, all the same.

‘Are you waxing poetic about my death?’ you inquired with a sneer.

Adar grinned. ‘Quite the opposite, nityasá.’

‘Then what?’

He grabbed a fistful of your Elven locks, entwining them between his pale and scarred fingers. ‘Melmë.’ And he slipped those fingers behind your ear, pulling you against him as he searched for your lips in the firelight. ‘What He could never have,’ he whispered against your mouth, before biting softly at the fleshy surface.

And you all but melted into his words; brushing your fingers over the sharp precipices of Melkor’s crown, you allowed one of the many edges to penetrate your flesh. Adar was once more looking down at your lips, forehead pressed against yours, as the two of you breathed against the other’s mouth.

Adar was perhaps the only being in all of Middle-earth who could make a grunt sound so smooth and endearing. Then, he whispered: ‘May I enact your final desire unto Him?’

Blood began to trickle down your fingers, now. ‘Yes,’ you hummed out, ‘you may.’

His fingers no longer felt coarse; they fell from your knees, drawing a sort of vine-like structure up your thighs, until they wedged themselves between your sweat-coated skin. ‘Relax, nityasá,’ he cooed, flitting his sharp nose across your cheek. Here, he lowered his face to your throat, kissing at the glistening skin with fervent lips and teeth. The way he drew your skin into his mouth had you clutching at the edges of the wooden table—blood dripping down your wrists as your fingers strained harder and harder at his vicious lust.

‘Breathe, breathe. Good girl.’ Adar’s hand gently grazed your vaginal lips, using a single finger to stroke at your entrance. ‘Such divinity. You Elves are rich with flavour, and soft to the faintest of touch,’ he continued, eyes never leaving your throat as he flicked his tongue against the dark patch he had just sucked upon. ‘But what I was never privy to, is how naughty you Elves can be.’

Sneering, you wrapped your legs taut around Adar’s slender waist. ‘Prove to me that I didn’t make a mistake here, Uruk,’ you hissed.

Adar grunted again, removing his face from your neck as he stared down at your flushed cheeks. ‘I believe you know the answer to your own words, Elf,’ he spoke plainly. Then, he removed the finger from your labia, moving it to the waistband of his chausses.

Slowly, making sure as to not cause too much of a commotion, he only freed his aching heat from the confines of the chausses—keeping them at his waist still; the air held yet a chill to its stagnancy, so Adar made hasty work in settling himself between your legs. The head of his straining length poked the innermost side of your thighs, and the slick that spread across your flesh made you flinch momentarily; Adar grunted at this, and he rested a hand upon your waist as he directed his cock to your swelling lips.

He looked only into your gaze as the head of his desire slipped inside of you.

‘Adar,’ you immediately whined. Your thighs had already begun to clench together, and the feeling of this Uruk’s girth nestled within you caused a flurry of emotions to strike at your heated core.

‘I am here, nityasá,’ he replied, slowing in his thrust. ‘This hunger for lust… It’s insatiable, isn’t it?’ The curiosity in his lilt felt like a Warg’s sharp fangs had penetrated your bottom; he was quickly learning of your twisted desire for power, and how you worshipped the shell of a corrupted Valar.

But Adar kissed you still. While you were lost in your own pondering, his length had settled itself in a cosy manner between your slick walls, and he grunted as you tilted your chest forwards. At this, the both of you groaned like the cicada’s summer end, but your hands fell suddenly upon his chest as his cock pulsated against your walls.

‘Ea quilda, ea quilda,’ he whispered again. But he only thrusted deeper after these words, and you had to bite down upon his shoulder to stifle the tidal wave of pleasure that washed over you. ‘If you cannot control your own body, how do you wish to seduce the reign of Morgoth’s shadow?’

Upon hearing his name, you screamed incoherence at Adar.

The Uruk immediately latched his fingers around your throat, forcing your back down against the tabletop with a gentle thud. His upper half followed you down, shifting over your abdomen as his dark locks fell upon your breasts. A piercing thrust caused your legs to give out, and you felt as though you would all but slide off the table, but Adar’s own body kept you right in his grasp.

‘You are a very disobedient, little Elf. I was brought into the assumption that we were beginning to understand each other. Now, you wish to wake my children,’ he began in a hissing whisper, bringing his face down against your forehead with a snarl. ‘I pity my foolish misjudgment. Forgive me, nityasá.’ And with those final words, his hips fell into a cadence you couldn’t have dreamt of ever matching; it was erratic, cruel, and sloppy, and the sounds that both your bodies made were far more crude than anything that left your lips prior.

Adar held you firmly against him as he rolled himself against you, accompanied by his own panting and furrowed brows. The two of you could only breathe against one another’s mouth—though, your passage of air was heavily obscured—and exchange breathy curses. This Uruk held the most precious artefact in all of Middle-earth, yet he left it in solitude atop a table for dull supper. You could only grit your teeth at this simulacrum of thought.

When Adar buried his face against your blistering collarbone, a few of the table’s contents fell down into the mulch below; immediately, you threw your arm around, feeling for the crown, but the Uruk’s cool touch was already upon your wrist. He did not speak any words, for he began to suck at the taut skin of your collarbone, moving around its slender length as he left dark bruises in his wake.

With every continued thrust, your vision turned further to a mist far thicker than that of the Misty Mountains, and the flashes of imagery in your mind began to waver. Melkor’s shadowed face, abyssal and barren, had now begun to form flesh in its haze; the face of a pale and sadistic Uruk now took its place.

And then he was rolling his hips no longer; he slowed in his breathing, and he only pressed himself firmly against your waist one final time, before slowly drawing himself out from between your slick folds.

Your eyes were closed now; you only reached forwards, no longer feeling the warmth of Adar, and no more could you see the sunless visage of Melkor. Had he abandoned you? Where had he gone? You reached further, but your hands only fell upon stagnant air.

In one more fit of fury, you reached around for the crown; the dried blood on your fingers only hardened at the empty table, for no longer was the crooked artefact of Melkor within your grasp.

And at this, you wept. Silently, you wept—for you knew Adar’s children slept yet.

➳ Translation Chart

1. 'Geteld': An archaic term to refer to a tent. 2. 'Ea quilda': The Quenya translation for the English proverb, ‘be quiet,’ or, ‘be silent.’ 3. 'Nityasá': The Quenya translation for the English words, ‘little’ and ‘fire.’ 4. 'Melmë': The Quenya translation for the English word, ‘love.’