#saurdar

[cuentoschinosen1999]

Sauron and Adar meet again: The stupid version.

[caitliwinks]

— And after what seemed endless thirst and hunger...I saw it. His servant's face. Sauron's face. And it was beautiful. He offered me wine, red as a blood moon. He offered me wine, and on that dark and nameless peak, I drank it. I drank it all.

[the-winnowing-wind]

My chat with Sam Hazeldine about Adar is finally here. It includes discussions of the below and more:

Adar���s origins

What it means that he was the father of Uruk

His messy relationships (romances) with Sauron and Galadriel

His complicated feelings about being an elf

His is deep, deep trauma

His love of elven poetry

[gauntletgirlie]

Why don’t you ship Adar with anyone?

Obviously, if a ship brings joy to your life then go for it! I love seeing all the artwork 🖤 but here are my reasons why I just can’t ship, sorry it’s long…

A lot of Tolkien’s work features strong platonic relationships. They are deep and meaningful. Frodo and Sam are an obvious example. I feel like in today’s society, we see connection, shared experiences, and immediately assign romance to it. Or sexuality. Sometimes this is correct and it’s great, but it’s always just slapped onto every relationship between any two characters now. You can be tender and not be in love. You can be kind and not romantically attached. You can be attracted to someone and compliment them without wanting to form any romantic attachment or be sexually motivated.

Whilst I find the idea of Sauron’s “exes” allying against him hilarious and am loving the memes, I don’t find the notion of Adar being in love with Sauron romantically at any point valid. Maybe as a saviour, a fellow victim of Morgoth’s sadism, a powerful ally, etc. then yes. I think being in love with people without it being romantic/sexual all the time isn’t explored enough, but Tolkien did explore it more.

I love all the interactions of Adar and Galadriel. He clearly thinks highly of her. She probably reminds him of his past elvish life and the light he turned away from. The last scene of them together was beautiful but I don’t believe it was romantic. It was two beings who had suffered at Sauron’s hands, who had been through the lies, manipulation, and pain coming to terms with one another; recognising the good in each other and wanting to unite that, whilst acknowledging their differences (Adar not wanting to become an elf again, choosing Uruk fatherhood). It was acceptance and understanding of a beautiful nature. I think Adar giving Nenya back was a proposal, just not a romantic one.

Elves mate for life (Finwë being the only exception I can think of and it didn’t end well for him…), so Galadriel would still be very much in love with Celeborn. It wouldn’t be crossing her mind to find someone else. If Celeborn wasn’t in the picture at all, I would be an Adariel shipper for sure though.

Adar telling Elrond he has the beauty of his forebear Melian was such a Tolkien way of doing things. It’s Adar showing he knows Elrond’s lineage. It’s not Adar flirting. Normalise male compliments being platonic.

Also Melian was Maia and so beautiful Thingol (who went on to marry her) just stared at her in a stupor for a looooong time. Mairon (Sauron) as a maia would have been objectively beautiful as well. So Adar was just recognising beauty as it existed, same way you’d call artwork beautiful. Which is a very elvish thing to do.

The real reason I don’t ship Adar with another character is because I’m too busy shipping him with me

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

(Sauron attempts to top Adar before the coronation. and fails....)

"Yes, bow before me," Mairon says, seated on his bed and robes pulled up to expose tights. "Show me how much you want to beg my forgiveness."

You're already on your hands and knees in front of him. You obediently lean forward and start licking his boot. It tastes like leather, you suppose? It's easier to lick than Morgoth's boots, which had enough metal edges that you risked bruising your lips on them.

"No," Mairon says after a few minutes of this, and he tips the toe of his boot up to your chin, making you look up to him. "That's not pleasing to me."

He looks bored. That's not a great sign, but it's not too dangerous. Especially since you are not balancing his AND Morgoth's attention.

You push yourself up to kneel between his knees. He hooks one over your shoulder, pulling you in until your face is pressed against his crotch. You rub your cheek against his bulge, half-hard through the fabric of his breeches. "Most admirable," you breathe, "I am the instrument of your will. One word and it shall be done. Command me, lord. What do you want? Will you use my mouth? Shall I disrobe, and you shall fill me? On my stomach, or on my back, or against the wall..."

When you were pulled into Morgoth and Mairon's games together, Morgoth was usually very clear about what he wanted from you, and Mairon was happy to follow his lead. But now, as you list off the things you can do for him, Mairon's face twists.

"Please, most admirable," you say, and you kiss the inside of his thigh. "Tell me what do to. You have made me, and I am yours to command."

(It is not a matter of want. This is a job just like any other. You will perform it.)

Mairon stares down at you. He grabs you by the collar of your tunic and throws you onto the bed. You land on your back and lay there as Mairon crawls on top of you, grabbing you by the hair for a kiss. You let him into your mouth, your hands shifting to hold his shoulders and help him balance.

He bites you, and you let him. He pulls way, black dripping from his mouth, and you let him. "Where is your fight? Are you not going to resist me?"

"Order me to and I will," you say. "I am your instrument."

His mouth twists.

What is he expecting, you wonder. You have long learned that resistance leads only to pain. After spending so long as a toy for him and Morgoth, why would you resist now? You have long learned your lesson.

He grabs you by the collar again and yanks you up even as he rolls, leaving him on his back and you on top of him.

"Only by order?" he snarls. "Fine. Use me as Morgoth would have. I command you, instrument of my will, to lavish on me every insult, every degradation, every lick of our master's wrath. Show me the ire he'd feel at me taking his throne."

You would not dare do what Morgoth would, if only because you think you flaying off Mairon's skin and feeding it to him would be significantly more fatal by your hands than by the hands of a god. But you have seen the ways the two of them play, brought in as spectator and tool, and you can mimic that.

It will prevent the embers in your chest from burning over; you cannot attack Mairon until the crown is in your hands. You must hold your hand until then. (except for this.)

You slap him. He feels remarkably solid under your hand. Some of the forms he's manifested in have been light as air, or heavy and hot as molten metal, but this one feels like flesh. You confirm it with a backhand.

He gasps. You press a knee between his legs and feel him harden as he had not when you were begging him on your knees.

"Dost thee think thou have a right to this?" you ask. "Mairon, tell me truthfully."

"No, my lord," Mairon gasps. His eyes are wide as marbles, his pupils going dark.

"Thou shalt earn mine cock," you say. Your grasp on the dialect of the Ainur is slippery at best, but it is working well enough - you can feel his hips twitching under you already. "Art thou willing, coward?"

"Yes, lord," Mairon breathes.

You sit up and drag him with you, hauling him over your knees. It takes several seconds of fumbling to peel off layers of robe and breeches and linen to expose his plump ass. He's as pale as new cheese and just as untouched - until you bring the flat of your palm against his flesh.

He you spank him and he moans. You spank him again, and redness spreads under your hand. You spank him and he ruts against you before jutting his ass out for more.

"Aren't thou greedy?" you say. "Begging me for such punishment. Dost thou need my touch so dearly?"

"Yes - please, harder - my lord, let me prove myself to you - "

You do not dare harder. You would like to keep your hand when Mairon comes to his senses. But you have other options.

"Crawl like the worm thou art and bringeth me oil -or shalt I take you dry?"

"Dry, my lord, I am not worthy - "

You shove him off your lap. "You are getting the oil," you snap, "because I am not carrying you to your own coronation if you cannot walk."

His face flashes from shock to offense to grudging. "You have a point. You can't get the oil?"

"I don't know where you keep it," you point out.

He groans and crawls over to his bedside table, opens a drawer, tosses you a vial. You uncork it and recognize the pine-resin smell - it worked equally well when used with Gothmog and with Mairon, ensuring that their fire spirit natures wouldn't burn you if they got a little too excited.

It's probably reassuring Mairon has lube that ensures you aren't going to get second degree burns on your fingers. As he splays himself over your knees, you give your fingers a liberal coating and then press in.

Mairon's hole opens easily as you press two fingers in. His flesh boils like a hot springs, but the lube ensures you don't burn yourself as you work him open, pushing deeper and deeper.

"Oh - please, my lord, please - "

Three fingers. Mairon bucks to shove himself onto you near to the knuckle. You barely have to move as he ruts between your thigh and your fingers, his hands twisting in his covers as he works himself.

"Shall I put my entire fist in thou?" You do not think you could, not with the state your bad hand is in, but Mairon likes the idea. You can feel his cock leaking against your breeches. He is starting to curse in that twisting Ainur tongue, and you can feel his entire body heating against yours.

When he climaxes, it's like someone poured boiling water into your lap. His hole contracts around your fingers hard enough you fear for a moment htat he'll snap one of them right off.

"Melkor," he moans. "My lord. Please. I shall be so good for thee tonight."

Thinking fast, you yank a sash from around his waist and tie it around his eyes. You're not having him come to his senses and punish you halfway through, not when you can make him climax so hard he forgets the amount of liberties he's asking you to take with him tonight. Then you push him onto his back, then straddle his shoulders. It's a little tricky to deal with yoru own tunic and breeches one-handed - it's not as though Mairon eats or expels anything, but you're still not touching your clothing with fingers that have been up his ass - but this is not your first rodeo. Far from it.

"Then thou shalt show me the quality of thine mouth," you rumble.

Mairon is already opening his mouth eagerly. You run a clean thumb over his lower lip - oh, this is a terrible idea, but he did ask for it.

And you are naught but an instrument of his will.

[Context: in reference to THIS ASK]

i'm a wall of 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣 emojis, no further comment.

[rey-jake-therapist]

Okay so if I follow the logic that when he offered Galadriel to be the Queen of Middle-Earth with him as her king, he in fact proposed her a job of super secretary and figurehead...

Then he offered Adar to be a King, right ?

I mean, secretary, assistant, mascot... Isn't it what Adar was for Sauron ?

[gingeragenda]

An Insignificant Endeavour

Summary:

Adar allows Sauron to leave Mordor to go and look for himself but Sauron is left unsatisfied by their encounter.

Mind-manipulation and smut ensue.

[geddycorn]

Adar fic sample whaaaaaaaaaaat

Oh it's ON. This is going to wind up being a long-ass motherflinger with a VARIETY of Adar ships but since this is a scene that stands alone pretty well here you go. The famous wine date on the mountain. No actual boinking but lots of hot and bothered.

---

The sound of the wind had changed.

He lifted his face from the stone floor, cold-cracked lips parted. Icy air drew tears from his reddened eyes.

How long had he lain there, chained within a crevice on that dark, nameless peak? He had lost track long ago, and ceased caring shortly thereafter.

He thought he heard footsteps hidden in the roar of the wind. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled his naked form even tighter, remembering the wicked cruelty in Melkor’s angelic face. The rebirth, the blessing would come, he repeated to himself as he had so many times before, if he could only persist.

Warmth. The scent of incense and clove. He opened his eyes.

Before him, barefoot in the snow, stood the most frighteningly beautiful being he had ever beheld. Not an elf like he, but similar in form to one, with eyes the color of sunlit honey and hair like the finest spun copper.

Without a word this not-an-elf knelt, offering a silver chalice. Heat radiated from its graceful body and the fragrance grew heady. He raised his filthy body into a pitiful crouch. He saw that the chalice held rich, vibrant red wine and he reached to take it with both trembling hands. The not-an-elf smiled and helped him tip the liquid to his parched lips, its other hand gently supporting the back of his neck.

The wine was thick, with an odd musky tang, but it freed his tongue from the roof of his mouth and he swallowed desperately.

“Slowly, Galgakh,” the being said with a laugh like a choir of bells, its voice soft and warm as summer rain. “You’ll make yourself ill.”

Galgakh. Ill. He did not understand these words.

His rescuer settled alongside him and removed the chalice from his reach. The world around him seemed to spin and something lurched deep within his guts, a new sensation. But he was finally warm, and slightly less thirsty. He felt the sumptuous texture of the being’s cloak drape around his shoulders and he collapsed into waiting arms, his body wracked with soundless sobs.

With elegant hands the not-an-elf stroked his dark, snarled hair, cradling his head to its chest. Uncounted moments passed. His head swam and he reached for the chalice of wine. It found his hands and he downed the rest of it, not caring about the rivulets that trickled around the corners of his mouth.

Jeweled fingers found the soft flesh under his jaw and lifted his chin. Those otherworldly eyes, like amber lit from within, so close now that he could see delicate ginger lashes, searched his face with a hunger that matched the gnawing in his belly.

“Galgakh,” the stranger murmured.

Now he understood. This was his name. The warm flutter of breath on his cheek raised bumps on his arms.

Galgakh’s savior pressed its lips to his, impossibly soft yet fierce and wanting. A tremor rippled down his spine and he suddenly felt like his skin was too tight to contain his flesh. A dull ache, not unpleasant, kindled like a flame low between his hips and began to grow. His fëa was silent but his heart pounded like a drum in his chest. Galgakh returned the kiss with ravenous intensity, basking in this intoxicating flood of physical sensation. He tasted blood but whose it was, he could not say. A breath caught in his throat and became a groan, the sound of it surprising him with its decadence. He felt his partner smile, flirtatious, arrogant even, but approving.

Just as Galgakh’s hands began searching for an opening to the fine crimson robes before him, he found himself pushed away. That face of unearthly beauty was smeared with - blood? Wine? He could not tell, but the thought slipped from his mind as easily as it had come.

“Enough.” The silky voice was firm but coy. “This place is not for you. Come. Your family awaits.”

“Wait,” Galgakh said, his voice hoarse from disuse. “What am I to call you?”

The perfect form was already standing and turning to leave. It paused and glanced at Galgakh with a radiant smile.

“I am Mairon.”

[liminal-zone]

A PERFECT SCENE. THE ABSOLUTE RICH TEXT OF SUBTEXT HERE. DAMN. THESE TWO. LET'S FUCKING GO.

All Hail, Lord Sauron! The New Dark Lord!

[cuentoschinosen1999]

Sauron and Adar meet again.

Who's ready for TROP S2 ending? Not me. It felt so fast.

[the-winnowing-wind]

Twenty fics, for shame!

[the-winnowing-wind]

SaurDar baby!

Holding a dagger to the throat and stabbing each other with pointy objects is their love language it seems

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

Funny/angsty ficlet request: pre-Forodwaith, Sauron keeps Adar in line by slipping him a love potion. Adar… doesn’t take it well when he finds out where his lovesick devotion stems from.

HAHAHAHA OKAY so this did NOT turn out funny....

but here you goooooo:

“What troubles you?” Sauron’s breath is a sharp flame, licking against the back of his neck. The maia stands close—too close. Adar clenches his gauntleted hand, shrugging away, countering around the opposite side of the large, stone table. The ample fire crackles within the hearth, sending black and amber shadows dancing and writhing across the chamber walls. The maia flashes him a smile that does not reach his eyes. “You look in need of rest,” Sauron’s eyes roam unhurriedly over him, always assessing, and Adar’s eyes fall to the goblet in his hand. “Drink this,” Sauron says, and it is a command, not an offer. “It is a tonic,” he adds, seeing the aversion in Adar’s eyes. He had suspected, for some time now, that Sauron has been… tampering… with his mind. His memories of the last weeks in the fortress are… muddied. Recalling them is like gazing into a brackish pool, the bottom of which is illusory and vague. All he has are flashes—mere glimpses, impossible to decipher: hands grasping desperately, a vice-like grip around his throat, fever-hot breath against his ear, and always—always—a slavish sense of yearning. He feels it now, though he does not wish to, gazing at the maia’s pale face, his red hair, perfectly kempt, the careful, intricate embellishments on his tunic. There is an order to him that demands to be disrupted. Unbidden, Adar’s fingers flex, as though desperate to claw at Sauron’s perfect collar and sink his teeth into the maia’s alabaster neck. He shakes himself, snarling like a wolf. “What have you done to me?” Sauron’s eyes flash, a dangerous warning. “I simply offered you a respite,” he says, his silky voice dropping low. Cat-like, he stalks around the table, one measured step at a time, pinning Adar beneath his gaze. “You were in such anguish after the war. You wanted an escape from the pain. I gave it to you.” Coming close, he leans in, pressing his lips against Adar’s ear. “I can give it to you again,” he says. “Will you drink?” Disgust curdles to desire in the pit of his stomach. Shuddering, Adar takes a single step back, just enough to look into Sauron’s golden eyes. Without a word, and without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the goblet. He presses it to his lips, and drinks it all.

also calling this to the attention of @brynnmclean , JUST BECAUSE

[gingeragenda]

Anemoia (Chapter 2 of 2)

Adar/Mairon, Celebrimbor/Annatar (no real Brimby smut though sorry) Explicit. Continues from Anemoia Chapter One

Part of Dream a Little Dream of Me (your worst nightmare)

[the-winnowing-wind]

SAURDAR!!! (Rises in the east!)

Not a GaladrielxHalbrand shipper nor a ElrondxCelebrimbor shipper but a third other thing.... AdarxHalbrand shipper 😓😓😓😓

[the-winnowing-wind]

HELLO YES, I WISH TO TALK ABOUT NOTHING ELSE!

BURY ME WITH THIS KNOWELDGE!