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Chapter Text

There was a small area she could most likely fit through if she tried her damnedest. Her skin was covered in soot, and she could feel the sensation of it burning her throat; it was in her mouth and nose and under her fingernails. Perhaps it had been days or more since she'd woken covered in ash and wounded; she knew not how many. Crawling into this hiding spot had been her only option; the earth must have shifted due to the eruption, and the rock protecting her had closed further. Taking a deep breath, Elara threw her sword past the small gap and shoved her uninjured shoulder through first. It didn't save her from pain when the stone caught the wounded one. It was challenging to keep quiet, but a small whimper here or there couldn't be helped. Her knees hit the hard ground when she was finally free of it. 

Cursing under breath, she got to her feet. The sight around her nearly stole her breath. The ashen, dark wasteland that the Southlands had become. It felt like a vice grip on her heart; she had come to like this place in the brief time she'd been there, despite her comrade's best efforts, the people as well. The ones she had even met before the land was destroyed. They were a hardened and sad people, lost and unhappy after systemic punishment and harm done by first Morgoth, then the elves. It made her ill, the thought of it all. She was younger when she'd been sent here on and off throughout the years, never having fought in the great war herself; she didn't understand the nuance there was. Indeed, the elves didn't speak of it, but she had found it amongst the trees and fields. The price that continued to be paid by the children and grandchildren of men long dead. It was not their fault their kin had chosen to follow Morgoth. 

Elara took stock of her torn clothing—a tunic and trousers. Her bag contained a few items but no food, and her water had run out days ago. She was weak from the lack of sustenance, and her injury wasn't healing well.

Elara realised she had agreed to this under some duress when her father asked her to go with the elves to the Southlands. Yet, in the end, she couldn't stand by and watch more people be slaughtered when she could help. Still, it felt pointless; beings would and had been slaughtered regardless. 

Stopping to catch her breath, her body and mind missing nourishment made her uneasy and unsteady even on her feet. She'd been there to do a duty, which hadn't been possible. Just as she moved out of the protective covering of the small boulder, she spotted where the sunlight could still breach the relatively dense darkness; she must have made it far in her haze after the explosion. How long had she been hiding? She wasn't as sure now... her food had run out days ago, but she had a decent amount before that. It was never safe to leave. It could have been over 2 weeks even now that she was thinking more clearly. As she started to scale down the rock, her injured arm caught a jagged edge, and she lost her footing; all the practice her father could foist on her, and she still lacked the grace of an elf and a soldier. She wasn't one.

When she reached a small glen just past the shadow's edges, a tiny flicker of hope flared up in her heart, but it was gone rather quickly. A body lay on the ground a few feet away; Elara had seen many bodies, and the shock of it was always there. Some death seemed more natural, at least in most creatures, but laid out near a battleground or disaster, it was the most unnatural thing to have happened, always rocking her soul and making her want to be sick, despite her constitution for such things. 

The Orc was not conscious when she approached; she was not astute in telling the ages of these creatures, but he looked young by any standard she'd ever used. Her father would scoff at a thought like that; he hated Orcs deeply and wouldn't find it tasteful to think about something so personal about one. Tucking a strand of her hair behind an ear, she let her knees hit the ground near the Orc, scanning their injuries. This was not how she expected her time escaping this place would go. Part of her felt she should leave, flee, and turn her back on this creature. Up close, he didn't seem so... inhuman or elf; he seemed... real not some fable or monster. There was no hope for it; she placed her few items down and set to work. Elara was not going to let something so ridiculous as a grievance (a long-held one, but still) get in the way of her duty to help someone in need.

There was blood pooling near when his shoulder met his chest, and she tore the fabric to allow access to the place there. Some of the herbs she had left went to stop any rot from taking root there; if she had some kind of alcohol, she would've done one better. The Orc sturred, and glassy eyes opened, fear etched in them instantly. 

"Shh, I won't harm you." She mumbled. 

He didn't stay conscious enough for her to reinforce that fact. When the wound was fully bandaged, she scanned the rest of the body for any other injuries; it seemed that was all until she rolled him over; the back of his head and sparse hair were matted with black blood. A rock or something similar must have caused this gash. Sighing softly, as she did when realising anyone would be hard to save, Elara looked through her makeshift kit to see if anything was left for her to do. A twig broke behind her. 

...

He'd held his charge. A brief stay of his hand had kept his children at bay. On first inspection, he'd thought the elf killing his son, but it seemed she was trying to heal him. Elves didn't often take up the art of healing, nor did elven-led armies tend to travel with them. Glûg stepped too far, and a twig broke. 

The elf stood, raising blood-covered hands, one drooping as if she, too, were injured. Adar surveyed it all, taking in every detail of the scene, preparing for what to do next. "I am not trying to harm him," she said when she had fully turned and took in the small scouting group of Uruk she was now facing. 

"Savaausan. " The command staying the bows pulled taut around him. Then to her in Sindarin, " narn evedui (Drop your weapons). "

Slowly, she reached her clearly uninjured hand down to unhook her sword, letting it drop at her feet. She was the smallest elf he'd ever seen, confusingly so, her body more like the humans he had encountered. More petite, softer curves in places that Elven women didn't. Her long chestnut hair was pulled back, exposing her pointed ears. His perplexity persisted. 

" I wasn't going to do him any harm. " Her eyes were trained on Adar as he moved towards her to collect the sword. She was undoubtedly repulsed, as most elves were when encountering him. It was something uncanny that turned their guts, he'd been told once. He a warped and twisted version of them.

" If I can get to my bag, I can bandage his head. " Her Sindarin was good, another indication of her being Elven.

Stepping close, he towered over her, his black boot kicking her sword away, and Glûg collected it. Adar stooped down to pick up the bag and tossed the bandage to her. He'd not let her reach for it. She smelled like an elf, as far as he could tell. Catching the roll of linen, she winced. So, it was her shoulder; he took note and filed away. Watching he gripped his sword hilt as she finished her work, Adar's brain moved quickly, questions returning to him as he watched her.

Who was she? Why did she stop to help? Why was she still helping when she was now captured? 

As soon as she finished, he motioned with a hand for his sons to collect their brother. 

"I-" she didn't get a word out; one motion and the Uruk behind her hit with his dagger hilt, quick and effective. Adar caught her, not entirely sure why he hadn't let her hit the ground.

"Kurrauz avhe waausan kulknej." His command had them turning back into Mordor. 

...

Dull throbbing was what brought her back to consciousness. Elara shut her eyes in pain, then realised the place she was in was so dark that there was no difference between opening and closing her eyes. The moments before she'd been hit came back... the man, elf, whatever he was, must have been what they'd been fighting this battle over; she'd known his name, she supposed, spoken throughout the ranks. Despite her trying to avoid direct battle conversations, healers often heard things. Adar; he must be. All calm fierceness, the dark look in his eye should have made her afraid in that moment, but she sensed his ability to reason, so she tried to talk to him. That had been foolish. 

Always, too slow, you'll get yourself killed one of these days if you don't stop acting so human. 

Her father's voice echoed through her mind; he'd always thought she was too much like her mother. Even after she'd been brought to Lindon and taught the ways of the elves when her mother died. An ache settled in her heart at the thought, not unlike the one at the back of her head just in her chest instead. This wasn't the time to think about this; she needed to use her brain. Think like any other elf she'd aged with. They wouldn't have made this mistake. Moving her wrists, she tested how tight her manacles were, and then her ankles; they were solid and cold against her skin, and they didn't budge at all when she moved. 

Elara found that throughout her life, she rarely regretted trusting her instincts, even if those around her always questioned them. Today, in this dark cell, she was wondering if she could ever make a decision for herself again. She tried to push past her aching head and shoulder to fall asleep; at least if she could rest, her body might heal better than it had been. Elara wondered if the Orc she had helped was alright as she fell asleep. 

...

Waking sometime later, not that you could tell in the darkness how long. A noise like the jingle of a lock, a rough voice muttered "here," and something metal was tossed down in front of her. It smelled somewhat of porridge. Despite not wanting to eat anything being given to her here, eating was something she must do. So, after a deep breath, she used her fingers to scoop the soggy oats into her mouth. It was a matter of getting the food swallowed so fast that she couldn't really taste it or think about what she was eating for too long. 

Letting her head fall back against the hard stone behind her head, Elara tried to think about whether anyone would come looking for her. No doubt they'd think her dead in the volcanic explosion or in battle; either way, no one was legioning armies to find one lone girl. If she was to get out of here, she'd need to do it on her own, and the chances of that were looking slimmer by the minute. Allowing her hands to wander to her shoulder, she could feel blood escaping the wound again. She swore in Sindarin and tried to tear a piece of fabric from her tunic; her hands shook and felt too cold to move correctly. Trying her best to ignore the various dirt and grime that was most likely present on her clothes, she pressed it to the arrow wound to stop some of the blood. 

Sometime between that and the lock jingling to signal entry and her ill attempt at aiding her shoulder, Elara had fallen asleep again. Hand sticky with blood, she pulled it from her shoulder, trying to prepare herself for whoever was entering. Flames from a torch licked at her skin and the walls, too bright for her eyes, and yet the feeling of its warmth thawing to her sore muscles made her want to get closer. The Orc behind the flame grunted and muttered in broken common tongue, "Get up." 

Elara knew she could not show weakness, they would see it and use it. So she got to her feet without a wince or a stumble, holding fast to every lesson in grace she had tried to take from her father. The Orc stooped down and unshackled her ankles, grabbing the chain that held her wrists together and dragging her forward down what seemed to be a stone hallway; they were in some building that the eruption hadn't entirely destroyed, it seemed. 

The Orc was quiet for the most part as they passed other guards and continued down the long makeshift hallway, finally emptying out under what seemed to be a cloud-filled sky, though surely it was mostly smoke. Still, whatever light could get through the layers of grey felt like heaven against her skin. When they reached their apparent destination, she saw the Elf... or rather... Moriondor, she'd never heard that spoken of except in hushed voices, talking of days long past, but he had to be. Blue eyes far too ancient and skin scarred but resembling her own kin. 

For some reason, his eyes on her made her feel embarrassed or self-conscience; here she was, covered in blood and grime, his prisoner, and she was deigning to allow him to make her feel inferior. Wasn't he one of the ones that was looked on with disgust? Elara held her head high as the Orc behind her shoved her forward. 

"Diukmiukukun, Gigre." The deep, raspy voice surprised her, even in the guttural language. 

"Adar," the Orc bowed his head and left. 

She stood at the base of what seemed to be a throne of sorts, though the tattered black cloth was far from any throne she'd ever seen. For some reason, he looked slightly uncomfortable there, and as he stepped down closer to her, his tall frame dwarfed her again. " There aren't many healers amongst elves. " His Sindarin was immaculate. 

It wasn't a question, but he clearly expected an answer. She wouldn't tell him about her life or her choices; why would she? She was a captive. " Is the Orc recovering? " Elara replied in the same language. 

"The Uruk is the reason you were brought here." The common tongue also came quite easily to him. He turned and motioned for her to follow. Elara did as he asked, surveying what she could see of the surrounding area, mostly ruined buildings, canvas tents, and structures. Her eyes eventually fell on the man walking in front of her. More graceful than any of the Orcs here, he moved like an elf but with surer, more planted footing. The dark sword slung at his hip must have weighed more than any sword she'd ever held, and the designs on his breastplate made her wonder if it was elven-made. He didn't fear she could run from him since he didn't bother looking back to see if she was still there. When they reached what was left of a house of some kind, Elara was forced to tear her gaze away from his back. 

Spreading a hand out, he ushered her inside, clearly a makeshift infirmary. She stopped, refusing to enter. "Why would I help?" It was the most words she'd said to him; she tried to force the disgust she should surely be feeling into her voice. 

His face carefully changed; it was just the slightest hint of a smirk. "You seemed ill at ease letting my son die before." 

His son? 

"That is before I was chained in the dark for a day." She hissed, her voice angrier than Elara expected. 

Blue eyes flicked up to meet her hazel ones, their look calculating as if reassessing his prior assumptions. If he thought he could read her, but she wouldn't try to read past his apathy, he was mistaken. She may care for all peoples, but she wasn't so naive as to ignore her survival. That was one of the first things Elara's mother had taught her: You cannot help others if you are on the line of fire. 

"I will ensure there are torches added to your... accommodation." 

"Lead the way." Her Sindarin slid off her tongue like an icy blade against flesh, cold and unfeeling, despite herself. That would have to do for now.

He only nodded and took her through the long barn-like structure. She surveyed various invalids, none in dire need of assistance as far as she could tell, small injuries. The Uruk she'd stopped for was in the bed at the far end. Feverish. The herbs hadn't been enough. 

"I need water to cleanse my hands." 

She glanced up at Adar; he looked on as if asking her to continue. Elara's mind quickly went into the mode it often did when healing was needed.

"Soap if you have it, an alcohol clear, if available. Clean cloth and may I open some windows? It isn't good to have the sick in such a stuffy place." She hesitated, "My satchel has some of the supplies I had left; if you haven't been rid of it, bring it to me." 

Elara thought for a moment he might ignore or refuse her. Instead, he sent a few orders in black speech toward some Uruk huddled near the entrance. From what Elara could tell, they might be female, though she was not well versed in the distinction. 

Reaching for her, Adar gripped her manacles and unlocked them. "Open the windows, elf." He stopped her with a tight grip on her wrist and a level sort of threat in his raspy voice, "Try anything, and I will not hesitate to spill your blood on this floor."

Elara breathed in deeply, clenching her teeth and tearing her wrist out of his grasp. Turning, she opened the windows; the blown-off door wasn't enough to keep the air flowing well. As she attended to this, all with Adar's eyes on her, she thought about what Kandrë had said to her once.

You do this to yourself, Elara, if you weren't so easy to manipulate people wouldn't try.  

Her kindness had never been something she looked at as a weakness, but she was unable to see how this situation was not the error of her ways.

Chapter Text

He’d not been lying when he said he would have torches brought to her cell. The next time he asked her to check on the Uruk, she asked for furs; that request was also met. He even provided her with one extra meal after the Uruk began to improve steadily over a few days, and she had helped set the bone of another. She was in the makeshift infirmary, tending to a few Uruk when he arrived as he usually did when she was there, to oversee. Since the first time, he hadn’t been the one to escort her from the cell, but he stopped by each time to ensure, most likely, that she was well-guarded and not planning anything. Elara ignored him for the most part; he disgusted her, or she thought he should, given her understanding of his kind and his most certain past. Picking dark metal from a wound, she wondered if Lady Galadriel and the others had made it back to Lindon; whether her father knew she was dead, they would surely assume she was. 

“What is his name?” She asked after a bit of silence, pointing toward the Uruk she’d started with when she’d been captured. He was still only conscious every so often or she would have asked him. 

“Seddic.” Was the return. 

“Based on my judgement, Seddic should return to full health within a few day's time. I have been feeding him poppy juice to help him heal, but he won't need it soon and should fully awaken.” 

Adar looked down, then back up at her. Elara felt uneasy under his gaze, flicking her long braid over a shoulder and forgetting her injury with a wince. 

“You’re not an elf.” 

Barely moving her arm, she pointed up at her ears. 

“Elves don’t have healers-” 

“They do.” She returned. That was often a misconception.

But he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Your injury has still not healed, and by the looks of it, it is getting worse. You’re weakened by tiredness, and lack of food-” he held up a hand to keep her from speaking, “more so than any elf i’ve known. You’re not built like an elf.” His eyes dropped past her face and took in the rest of her short frame, lingering, perhaps, she thought, on her hips. 

“You’re built like an elf, you speak Sindarin, and yet you’re not one or not anymore.” She finished with a slight jab. Why did he think she would give anything about herself away? 

“Hmm,” the hum was barely audible, just a soft growl at the back of his throat. “I’ll give you credit for your bravery,” he leaned in closer, “speaking to me like that.” 

Elara just glared back at him, and he escorted her back to her cell. What did she care? She was his prisoner either way.

…

A day or so later, Adar found himself increasingly captivated by the girl’s presence. The sensation unsettled him; he had always been driven by a clear, straightforward mission, a beacon guiding his every action. Yet, in this moment, his thoughts strayed from that path. He couldn’t shake the curiosity about the elf who had boldly entered his space, her aura both intriguing and disarming. At first, he had dismissed her as merely naive, but as he observed her more closely, he started to question that initial impression. There was something deeper, a complexity in her eyes that hinted at hidden depths he had yet to uncover.

“Lord Father.” 

“Yes?” He asked, stopping on his way to the infirmary. 

“Everything is prepared to send a scout to find him..." Trepidation seeped into the statement.

"Good, Diukmiukukun." Dismissing the general.

“Yes, Lord Father.” 

Glûg walked away, and Adar continued on. He needed to keep his head above water; this distraction was at a very inconvenient time. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room; there she was, attending to the sick and wounded. They’d never had a healer. It was a valuable thing. Excusing the sentry, he stepped into the room.

“Seddic is healed.” She muttered, obviously realising he was there. She’d claimed some triangular scrap of fabric she’d found and used it to secure the hair around her face, covering the top of her amber-brown locks. Briefly, he wondered what they would look like as the sun hit them. Getting to her feet, he again marvelled at how much smaller she was than he, or any of the Uruk. 

“What is your name, nillë ?” 

She furrowed her brow at this. 

“Would your name be of some use to me? Is that why you won’t reveal it?” Could she be connected to the madness surrounding the sorcerer that the would-be king of the Southlands had mentioned? This chaos seemed to be emerging everywhere, even after he had finally secured a place for his people.

“No, " she replied. I am no one of importance; I simply decided to assist at the wrong time.” She brushed her hands off her trousers, and he watched her favour the shoulder that was injured again. She was no elf. As if to prove that point, she gave him a human name: “My name is Elara.” 

He hummed slightly in response. To be truthful, Adar was perplexed; none of it made sense. “Your shoulder, why haven’t you healed it?” 

“I have tried to heal the arrow wound as best I could…” she trailed off, looking around the room. “I cannot set it by myself; the bone is out of place.” 

“What was a human healer doing with Commander Galadriel’s army? You’re not from across the sea, that I can tell.”

“As you say, there were Numenoreans with her; they needed a healer, and elves, on occasion, needed healers. I was asked to come by our High King.” And her father more than the king. 

The metal of Adar’s gauntlet traced a pattern in a wooden bench. “You’re half-elf, are you not?” 

This time when he looked up, she seemed tired, not just physically but mentally as well. Tucking a loose strand of hair back into the fabric, she stood straighter. “My father is an elf; my mother was a human.” 

Adar had heard of this, though it was long ago and not often discussed in more public society. Perhaps it was more typical now, though he doubted it. She suddenly strode past him to the door, his gauntlet closed around her wrist before she’d made it past him. Despite yanking, he was stronger, but she seemed to have strength like an elf, at least the way she pulled.

“I’d like to return to my cell.” She spat, venom and hatred dripping from the words. Had he struck a nerve, then?

Adar only nodded silently and brought her back to her holding place. He watched her surprise at the bucket, soap to wash, and the clean clothing he’d left there. Healers shouldn’t be in dirty clothes, he’d muttered to Dalcma when he asked her to bring what they had taken from Southlander homes; it can infect patients. 

After that, he’d needed to leave for the next few days. Their scouts had caught someone moving toward Eregion. Adar needed to go see what they would do next, how they should proceed. He couldn’t help the small nagging in the back of his mind, the feeling that Halbrand had given him, eerie and unsettling, like a cold winter morning where you could see your breath and the sky was still dark, the trees without their leaves. 

When he returned, the camp felt uneasy, the feeling he always got when there was to be more battle, more bloodshed. Adar wondered vaguely, as he walked towards his tent, the heaviness of his sword swinging at his hip, if he’d ever see peace. Dalcma waited by the entrance to his tent, and he almost sighed audibly. There was not an end to his duties; rest was never something he could expect, even after days of travel. 

“What is it, Dalcma?” 

“The she-elf, she… we tried to help her, as you asked, but she… we could not.” 

He’d asked them to help her set the bone in her shoulder, before he left. “Where is she?” It had been days since then. 

Dalcma pointed towards the infirmary. His long strides got him there in seconds, his exhaustion suddenly more distant than it had been. Adar's consideration for her had him ill at ease. She was sat in one of the chairs at the end of the room, her head lolled forward, seemingly asleep. The clean dress he'd provided her was not so clean as they’d found it now, and one sleeve was off, bearing her arm and its bandages to him. When he got closer, Adar could see where the Uruk had tried to assist her in putting the bone back into place. There were small gashes from their claws; he hadn’t thought of that.

Stooping down near her, he removed his gauntlet, placing fingers against the bandages and pulling them back to see what he knew very little of. Elara stirred, and unsurprisingly looked alarmed at his no doubt unappealing face so close to hers. She had just the slightest hint of freckles covering her nose and cheeks. 

“They did their best,” she muttered, “their hands are not made for this type of work on someone with skin thinner than their own.” 

That stung him; was she insinuating that his children were only of use for violence? Her face didn’t seem to show that, but he still wondered.

“If you tell me how I can do it,” Adar held up his hands as if to show that he didn’t have claws, despite her surely knowing that.

She sat up straighter, preparing herself. “Place your left hand here,” she pointed to the spot, “and the other brace here. " Again, he followed her direction. Her breathing became more ragged at even his touch there; clearly, she’d been in a great deal of pain. "Now push up and then down swiftly with your left hand.” 

“ Minë, atta, neldë ,” he counted softly and did as she asked. The sound may have been sickening to someone less accustomed to the noises of death and battle. Still, Adar felt a jolt run through him at the odd sensation. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t broken others' bones, but he never set one back before. 

A hiss escaped her clenched teeth, but when he let go of her arm, she was able to move it slightly. “Thank you…” it was said like the release of a breath, sounding like relief. “Everyone here is stable. I-” she hesitated. 

Adar stood, moving away from the place so close to her. 

Her jaw clenched in anger or determination. “Can I take my rest here? I will be closer to any of them that need help.” 

Ah . Perhaps she was getting too comfortable? She was his prisoner, after all. He was not going to show weakness despite whatever inner tumult he felt.

“There will be sentries posted,” holding out a hand toward the cot in the corner, he lifted the shackles. He secured it around her ankle and left without another word. He was not her friend. Once in his own tent, he made a note to avoid her at all costs; this was some strange madness coming over him, he was sure. From lack of sleep and dread of Sauron’s return, he wasn’t sure which, but surely, this was some otherness making him feel inclined to be near the girl. 

… 

The soft sound of groaning had Elara up from the cot. Her arm was stiff, but it was healing, at least. It had been days since Adar had set it, and she was sure that had he not, she may have died from fever at this point. Dragging the metal of her chains toward the bed, she saw for the third day her patient getting worse; a simple wound had festered, and she couldn’t seem to get the fever to break or the wound to keep from rotting. 

She pressed a hand to the Uruk’s forehead; it was clammy as it had been for days. She swore under her breath, “ Húdaid (curses).” Looking through what she had of her herbs, she cursed again. 

“I need to speak with Adar.” She called toward the sentries. 

“He is not to be disturbed.” The gruff reply made her blood boil. The man saw himself as some kind of king, too important to be bothered by anything around him. She was surprised he even cared that the Uruk were being healed at all. Deep down, she started to question if he truly did care; he seemed to have genuine concern for them, but it was easier to feel angry. She didn’t want to be trapped; she longed to be home, sitting in her chair with her books, tea, and the peace she craved. If her father hadn’t offered her services and she hadn’t foolishly accepted, she wouldn’t be here now, but she would still be at the mercy of... Elara shook her head. Perhaps this was for the best. She felt doomed to live a life that wasn’t her own; maybe this was Valar’s wish for her.

“Rocvak will die if I cannot speak to him.” 

There was a grumble, but one of them wandered off into the darkness of night. It was black as pitch here when there wasn’t even a moon to see past the smoke and fog settling over this part of the Southlands. She did her best to continue to tend to him as she waited. If she could retrieve more of those herbs, it would make a difference, or at least in the past, she had known it to.

“Nillë?” The sound of his deep raspy voice had her turning.  

He stopped standing, feet somewhat wide, and his hand resting almost casually on his sword. Elara felt for a moment a bit miffed that he didn’t see her as a threat to him, but she knew in her heart that was true. She could fight, but she would not be able to overpower someone so battle-hardened, one of the Moriondor. Looking at him then, she didn’t feel the fear and hatred that word used to bring her when she read about it in the histories.

“I need more herbs. I cannot continue to heal Rocvak without them, and I won’t be able to heal anyone else either.” 

He just stared at her for a moment. “Do you know where to find these herbs?” It was said as he stepped forward to observe Rocvak’s still body. 

“Yes, at the edge of… this place, nearly where you found me. I know many are there, if they weren’t destroyed by the explosion.” She hesitated with the next bit, “Some must be collected by moonlight and others in the bright sun of the day.” 

He nodded, “do you have enough to make it through the night?” 

Elara moved, her chain dragging toward her stash of medicinals. “I believe so.” 

“I will make arrangements.” 

“ Hanta (thank you) .” 

He held a hand to pause her, “a nnon allen , (I give thanks to you)” he replied quietly. Turning, she briefly wondered if his breastplate and leather had become heavy; she had never seen him without them. He stepped outside into the night after muttering something to her sentry.

The Uruk she’d heard called Lurka came in, unlocked her ankle, and went back to his post without a word to her. Perhaps if she could prove herself useful and show that she was not a threat, their Lord Father would give her a long enough leash for her to escape this place. 

…

There had been some displeasure being spoken of in camp. He could hear perhaps better than his children knew. Worries of going to war, yet again. He didn’t want to do it either, but he couldn’t let Sauron return, could not let him take what Adar and his children had worked so hard to achieve. It was more than he or his people could bear at this point; he hoped those who doubted would understand that they must do this to find peace. 

He hadn’t slept at all, but he still moved from his cot to wash and dress himself in a trance pattern rather than anything he wanted to do. Easing his breastplate on, he stepped from the tent, after a night of unrest. 

Stopping Glûg near the infirmary tent. “I am taking the elf to collect medicinal herbs. Send scouts if I am needed before our return.” 

“Yes, Lord Father.” 

“Did we collect anything of note in the village?” 

Glûg nodded, “Yes.” 

“Inventory it and have what I asked brought to the infirmary whilst we are away.” 

The Uruk bowed slightly, and Adar continued. When he reached the threshold, he dismissed the sentries that had been there for the night and stepped inside, his boots making a soft sound, the wood floor creaking under his weight. She seemed busy in the corner and paid him no head; her long chestnut hair fell over her shoulder, not tied up in its regular braids as he often saw. It was long even for elves, falling just below her waist; it looked like it may be coarser than elven hair as well. Adar had the odd urge to reach out and touch it… let the strands slip between his fingers. 

“Can you prepare to go collect herbs?” He finally asked, pulling himself from whatever nonsense his sleep-deprived mind was encouraging. 

She jumped a bit, turning around. Clearly, she hadn’t realised it was him. Elara nodded, reaching for a basket and the small triangular scarf she used to tie her hair back out of her face; for a moment, he missed the wisps framing her face. Adar did his best to ignore this odd feeling as they both left the camp and headed to the North, the closest part of the Southlands, to not be overtaken by ash and cloud-filled skies.

…

Despite her small stature she was quite able to keep up with him and his long strides the whole way as they followed a trail to one edge of the lands that let in sunlight closest to them. Their camp was not so close to the volcano, but the trek still took hours to make. “How do you plan to survive without crops?” 

“Some things grow with minimal light.” 

Elara nodded, “I know. I am quite a adept gardener, but pollinators may not go so far into this land with all the ash.”

He glanced at her strangely then.

“It is clever to understand plants when you heal. I think you should try and grow rooted vegetables, beets, leafy greens even…” She trailed off as he was still looking at her oddly. 

“A very long time ago…” his voice seemed perhaps deeper than usual, and his eyes far off. “I tended to the earth with the same joy it seems to bring you.”

She didn’t know what to say. He was old. She had understood that when she realised who and what he was, but still, the sound of the statement felt ancient, so distant. Elara walked on without replying. 

“How did you come to heal?” 

That was a loaded question. He was still trying her, pressing her for information, but this felt harmless enough. “My mother was a healer in the city I was born in. She taught me, and I continued to learn as I aged…” 

“Your mother was a human healer?”  

Elara made a sound of confirmation. “My father didn’t know I existed until my mother became ill; I found out who he was before she died.” 

Adar narrowed his eyes at that as if he found it distasteful. She wasn’t sure if it was her being a halfbreed that he found objectionable, but it made her a bit angry. How could he look at her that way? “It isn’t as if I am some corrupted being.” It was hissed, they had finally reached the clearing, and the sun was shining; she started to look for plants, ignoring his reaction. Anything related to her mother made Elara feel trepidation; her mother had been the best person she’d ever known and the elves… Some of the elves her father took company with looked down on humans. 

When she found some herbs she needed and stooped down she was stopped by the cool metal of his gauntlet on her wrist, then a finger gently lifting her chin. “I do not find fault in your otherness; the fault is in your father's carelessness.” His voice was surprisingly soft for her, having just insulted him.

She didn’t reply, unsure what to make of that statement. Was he saying it was bad she was even created? Or was he saying her father had been careless to bed her mother? It hadn't felt like an insult, but he was so hard to read. She simply shrugged and continued looking for what she could amongst the trees and grasses. The sun felt like a balm to her soul, its rays heating her skin and making her feel whole in a way she hadn’t in Mordor. When Elara turned she noticed Adar watching her, curiously it seemed, the way she enjoyed the sunlight was no doubt foreign to him. 

Men made her uneasy overall, as a general rule, with too many years of not knowing where the next emotional tumult or occasional fist was- no. She shut her thoughts down; she would not think about this. She was stuck here, and she couldn’t go back there. Elara supposed, in a morbid turn of events, she was safe from one horror by being imprisoned in another. As she had known there were plenty of herbs and plants available here, some of a more magical property and some just mundane healing herbs. Still, they would all be useful. She selected some lavender and eucalyptus before turning to Adar, who had been watching her again. “Are there supplies to make soap at the camp?” 

“Yes, I’ll ensure they are brought to the infirmary.” 

“We need to begin the journey back,” he said after another stretch of silence. 

The return was reasonably quiet until there was a sound in the distance. “ Quilda .” He put a finger to his lips to silence her when she opened her mouth to speak. 

Elara realised for the first time that the language he was speaking must be Quenya. It sounded like Sindarin, but it wasn’t the same, she could tell. Her father had spoken it, but he’d never taught her. It was too precious, no doubt, for her to know. 

There was a rumble in the trees. 

“Quickly, toward the camp,” he murmured low. 

Elara wasn’t sure what had made that sound, but it wasn’t very friendly if she wasn’t mistaken, and she did as bid, following him swiftly as she could. By the time they reached the camp, Elara was out of breath and struggling to keep her energy. She stumbled on the steps of the infirmary, and Adar had to catch her before she hit the dirt. He didn’t seem more exhausted than usual, and that seemed to be a bygone exhaustion from years of lacking sleep. 

“Thank you,” she muttered and righted her skirt, stooping to grab the herbs that had fallen in her stumble. “I don’t have the grace many elves possess.” It was meant to be a joke, but when she caught his eyes, there was no reaction. “What was that?” 

“There are creatures in these woods.” That was all he said, and he turned to leave then. 

“I…” she hesitated. “I picked something for you.” 

His blue eyes met hers. 

“This,” she held up the plant, “aids with rest; by the looks of your eyes, you need it.” 

“I sleep only when my duties are seen to.” 

“That doesn’t seem very healthy.”

He didn’t respond, just stalked toward the door, leaving her alone in the room once again.

Chapter Text

Rocvak was healed, and her infirmary was empty of any other patients. Elara had always found an odd sense of uncertainty like this when there was nothing for her to do. It seemed to happen like that as well. Healing often came in waves due to war, sickness or just the changes of season; still, she felt ill at ease with nothing to do with her hands. She had taken to walking around camp a bit more freely and no one had stopped her, so their Lord Father must not feel the need to chain her again. With that in mind, she decided to take a walk. 

As Elara reached the far side, closest to the volcano, she couldn't help but stare up at it in awe. It was massive, with the summit occasionally ejecting lava and fire. Oddly enough, she realised it was beautiful in its own way—dark yet captivating. She nearly jumped out of her skin when someone appeared behind her.

“Adar, " she murmured in greeting. Seeing him then, to her dismay, she marvelled not for the first time at the hard line that was his jaw and how someone with so many scars could still have a sort of ethereal beauty. Casting her eyes down, she tried to shake herself from that thought. 

“Is that what you called your father, Nillë? ” he asked after a beat. He almost looked ashamed at the question. 

She toyed with the edge of her apron; she'd made it out of some leftover scraps Seddic had brought her as a gift for healing him. “No,” she hesitated. How much did she share with him? “I did not meet my father until I was close to 80 years old,” she hadn’t really counted her years once she went to live amongst the elves, but before that, she had. Pain flared in her chest at the memory of her mother growing old and herself staying nearly the same outwardly. “I always have called him by his given name.” 

Perhaps there was just the slightest bit of relief in his light blue eyes, but Elara couldn’t tell exactly. 

“If we were amongst his peers and I needed to show more respect, I would occasionally refer to him Atarinya (my father) . Mostly, I would just avoid those situations...” 

Adar’s eyes tracked down to where her fingers were boring a hole in the linen of her apron. Elara flushed then; she hadn’t even realised she’d been aggressively picking at it. 

“I should go back to the infirmary.” Pausing, she glanced up at him and sucked in a breath at their closeness; his tall frame all but dwarfed her, “I have no Uruk in need of healing at the moment; if there is anything that needs mending… I am happy to work on that; sewing flesh isn’t the only skill I have learned in my life.” 

He nodded, “I will have some things brought to you, Elara.” 

She turned before he could see the way her name in that deep rasp made her feel. 

…

True to his word, there had been piles of mending that clearly had needed to be done for a long while, and she knew Dalcma always had too much laundry to do; perhaps Elara could see where they did it and help them clean. As far as she could tell, most of the women stayed even further south in a more protected and ancillary part of the settlement; she assumed that was where most of the children were as well. She’d have to mention to Adar that it would be best if she went and did a general checkup of them just to make sure there was nothing she was missing. 

Glancing at the door, she noticed her sentries were becoming less and less watchful with each day. They would wander off or chat with each other, even with her occasionally. She’d heard from their conversation that Adar and a scout group had gone out to find something… or someone she wasn’t sure exactly, but this might be her chance to leave; maybe she could slip out of camp undetected and go…Where? To Lindon? No.

Elara felt a shiver run through her at the thought of Kandrë what he might do if he knew she’d been healing Uruk’s. The blonde hair and easy smile flashed through her mind as she readied a needle for mending. It was too late for all that, and even if it wasn't, Elara was beginning to care for the people here as she usually did when her healing gifts were put to good use in a place where they were needed. Then there was the unease that was spoken of in hushed tones by the Numenorians and the elves in Commander Galadriel’s company; something was coming, and if you were keen enough to listen to the sound of it in the wind and on the water, it sang a doomed song. It seemed Adar was haunted by this song as well.

Darkness crept into her heart at the thought of such things, and to rid herself of it, she hummed a working song she’d learned as a child. She mended for as long as she could, well into the night, and then moved on to hang herbs to dry or crush dried ones to make medicines. The whole while she waited for the sound of the parties returning to camp, she wasn’t at all ready or sure why she was concerned for their well-being. 

…

Light behind her eyelids, accompanied by a bit of a shove, had Elara waking. She had clearly fallen asleep in her chair instead of her cot, and a bundle of Valerian was still in her lap. The one to rouse her was Lurka, one of her sentries, of course. 

“Gazad needs healing,” Lurka’s voice sounded gruff, but there was a touch of fear that made Elara get to her feet fast, the Valerian falling to the floor in her haste. The party, it seemed, had returned; a few of the scouts she knew were lying Gazad down in the bed nearby; even from the distance she was, it was easy to see the bone sticking from the skin of his leg. A nasty break. At the doorway, she caught sight of Adar lingering near the entrance, his silhouette framed in the fading light. He looked far less indifferent now; a look of distress carved deep lines into his sharp features, making them appear almost ethereal. It was one thing to know, but seeing his face contorted in anguish at the mere thought of danger threatening one of them was a revelation. In that moment, she felt a surge of understanding wash over her—his profound devotion to their well-being was unmistakable. The weight of responsibility rested heavily on his shoulders, and it became clear to her just how far he would go to protect them, no matter the cost.

That thought connected in her mind just as she felt herself snap into a dazed state when there was something dire to attend to in someone’s healing. Everything else fell to the side, and she called upon the Valar or whoever would listen to aid her in this task.

“Clean water,” she called out, and she heard the retreating steps of someone while she readied the soap she’d made recently and the alcohol they’d been able to produce. Elara wasn’t a particularly religious person, never had been; that part of her human identity had stayed with her. Still, she noticed that when going to live amongst the elves, she could call upon the Valar to aid her in healing. She respected that, and it seemed that was enough. 

“Water, Lady Elf,” it was Lurka. She could tell, despite her not looking at him, and part of her was rather impressed by that fact. 

“Thank you, Lurka. I need two or three of the strongest to stay. I will need help keeping him still.” Elara’s hands were a flurry of movement, tearing strips of bandage. The jars she had been slowly collecting where she could find them were coming in handy. Tucking a small piece of fabric, she soaked it in the diluted lavender oil mixture, then placed it near Gazad’s head, so he could smell only that. “Please bite down on this, Gazad, I don’t want you to lose your tongue.” 

The Uruk nodded with difficulty and did what she asked. Looking around, she saw Lurka and another Uruk she didn’t know at his feet, and Adar had appeared at the top of the cot; Elara sucked in a breath, preparing herself. 

“Hold him tightly,” she murmured, “he will thrash at first and then lose consciousness most than likely.” There was general agreement from the others, and Adar levelled a dark look at her.

“I will do everything I can to cause the least pain.” 

“Uruks’ are not unaccustomed to pain,” Adar said as Elara poured alcohol over the wound, more than she would have for a more minor wound. Gazad jerked only slightly and Adar’s hands held firm. 

“I do not doubt it, and I wish to be a hand of relief to them, not more agony,” it was a simple rebuttal, but she saw something flash in his blue eyes, surprise or perhaps not; she couldn’t think on it then. Elara focused on her craft, doing her best to set the bone with as much precision and care as she had in her. There was a sense of relief when Gazad passed out, and at least he could be at ease for a bit. When healing, she often didn’t know how long it had been until the end; it was the same this time as she wrapped the wound very carefully and elevated the limb at the correct angle. 

Finally, sitting back, she felt her lower back ache from the effort and strange angles she had been sitting and standing in. “Is anyone else hurt?” 

The gathered grumbled no. Adar muttered something like a dismissal, and the two Uruks left the infirmary. Gazad had fallen into a deep sleep, and Elara was grateful. It was the best thing for him at the moment and the least painful. Washing her hands in the basin, she straightened and noticed that Adar had not left with the other scouts. 

“What happened?” She finally murmured, stepping back towards her wooden chair and picking up her mending again.

“A mishap, wrong footing in a bog.” His eyes were thoughtful and perhaps appreciative?

Elara closed her eyes, burdened by the weight of her thoughts. She reflected on how a minor incident had spiraled into a devastating cycle of grief and loss for his people. With each life claimed, there was no healer to mend their wounds, only a rising tide of anger and violence threatening to engulf them all. The air was thick with unresolved pain, wrapping around her like a heavy shroud. “I am sorry for all the loss you have felt, Adar.” 

He gazed beyond her, his eyes clouded with a distant memory as if he were lost in the corridors of time. When he finally spoke, his voice was a deep rasp, rough and textured, sending a delicate shiver coursing through Elara’s spine. She fought to mask her unease as he drew near, the intensity of his presence enveloping her like a heavy fog.

“At one of the old settlements, we recovered some items I thought you might find useful.” His leather battle skirt moved around his calves as he stepped toward the entrance and stooped down to get the bundle he’d left there, coming to deposit it on the chair beside her. 

Clothing, more dresses, skirts, tunics, they all looked like they would fit her. Some medicines that had been from another healer, no doubt, she’d need to go through them and see what was helpful and what wasn’t. Then, a tin was full at the bottom, almost bursting with tea leaves. To this, Elara sucked in a breath and smiled up at him, where he still stood towering over her.

“I have desperately missed tea, hanna (thank you).” 

He gave a solemn nod, “I know elves care for tea.” 

The statement made her remember how old he was and the life he must have lived before all of this. Where was he from? Did he once have a life? He said he’d grown seeds to her once. Had he had a wife or a lover? Elara caught herself looking at his face, the set of his brow and the sharpness of his jaw. He was handsome, no doubt without the scars, before she stopped herself busying herself again with the sewing. 

Clearing her throat Elara began carefully, “I have been meaning to ask…” 

“Ask it.” His voice was harsher then, seeming to take on that quality of a leader.

“I think it would be best if I go to the women and children, see if any of them need healing.” 

“Most women are here, " he said after a moment, and when Elara furrowed her brow, Adar continued, “Female and male Uruk do not look so different from each other. I would guess you have already treated many and didn’t realise.” Did she mistake it, or had he glanced at her own figure very quickly? 

Elara’s mouth fell open then, “I… I didn’t mean to offend. I knew Dalcma, but…” 

He shook his head, and his hand reached out before dropping to his side again. “None would take it as such.” 

“The only women further into the camp are the ones who have recently given birth or have very young children; they take care of the winë who are orphaned as well.” 

“I see…” Her heart hurt for these people. “Winë means children?” Elara finally dared to ask him about the Quenya he spoke. 

Adar nodded, “you were not taught Quenya?” 

“No. It is rarely taught anymore.” She wondered if he was now trying to calculate her age. “Either way, I want to ensure they don’t need any healing.” 

“I will go to them,” he replied, “they are wary of strangers, especially the new mothers.” 

“Understandably.” 

Another careful nod, and he retreated toward the doorway. He looked stricken then, as if remembering something he had wanted to forget. Elara imagined that was often routine for him. 

“ Hanna , Adar. For the tea.” 

Stopping just before the exit, barely turning his head, he nodded stiffly to her.

Chapter Text

The bitter taste of tea made her sigh aloud. Gazad was asleep peacefully in a cot. It was the first time he’d slept through the night in a few days, and Elara had slept restfully for the first time since the scouts returned. A calm had settled over the camp, but she didn’t think it would last. Elara felt an unsettling intuition gnawing at her, as if there was a hidden layer to the situation that eluded her grasp. Adar, despite having supposedly completed his mission and secured the safety of his children, radiated an aura of tension that contradicted the relief she would have expected. Perhaps his millennia of existence and the unfathomable depths of suffering he had endured weighed heavily on his fëa, hindering his ability to find peace. Yet, deep down, she sensed this wasn’t the whole truth. Something was distinctly amiss.

It both fascinated and alarmed her how swiftly she had grown to care about him and the others despite being still firmly trapped in her role as a prisoner. Why did their fates matter to her, especially that of their imposing leader?

For a time, she had clung to the naive belief that Adar was unlike any of the men she had encountered in her tumultuous life. But that notion crumbled; she was here solely because he needed a healer, and she understood all too well that if she became a liability or useless to him, he would cast her aside without a second thought. A surge of anger coursed through her as she meticulously braided her hair around her head, a physical manifestation of her internal struggle. He had asked her to come to his tent that day, and she would do as he asked well. She would ignore these games he was playing with her, pretending he had any interest in her save for what she could provide them all. Elara would only do this with the utmost basic level of interest, and the second she had the chance, she would escape. Something like a heavy rock settled in her heart as she walked toward his command tent, the overcast sky making the air around feel cold and emotionless.

He must have heard her approach… or smelt her. Elara had become aware that Uruk had a very keen sense of smell. “Come in, nillë .”

Elara stood straight as she entered; he’d brought her a sort of overcoat, and some of the leather Seddic had brought her was able to make a makeshift belt to hang items she’d need for healing. It made her feel stronger, having the tools of her trade so at the ready. He did not look up at her, he seemed to be perusing maps and some books that were open in front of him. Elara realised that this was the first time she’d been here. The tent was large but not very ornate. Everything there was practical in nature, including the table, the chairs, and the wash basin near a partition that undoubtedly led to his sleeping quarters. Perhaps the only thing that wasn’t precisely utilitarian were the books stacked at one end of the tent. Some seemed very old, or perhaps he hadn't always been able to keep them in their best condition.

When she glanced back at him, he was looking at her. “We go further south to the children and mothers."

Elara only nodded and couldn’t drag her eyes away from his frame as he strapped his sword to his belt again. Her eyes skated over the dark chainmail and worn breastplate that covered her upper body. There were holes in the metal; she wondered what weapons had pierced his skin that could cause such gaps. The make of the armour was elven she was sure now, having looked at it more often. Sucking in a breath, she looked away; it sounded like a huff of indignation to her own ears; even still, she exited the tent and waited for him to follow. Frustrated with herself for this strange pull, she felt to the Uruk leader.

Elara followed him, ignoring the eyes on them as they walked further south. They were silent for a good amount of the journey. She decided that instead of thinking on any of this, she would recite medicinal recipes in her head. She needed to have clear thinking if she were to help in the best way she was able. Soon enough, they crested a small hill that showed more tents below, and smoke rose amongst them.

“You’re angry.” 

Elara glanced up at his back, where he walked ahead of her. “I am a captive, I think that warrants some bitterness.” 

This time, he did turn back, his dark hair falling over his shoulder. The look on his face was sad or perhaps disappointed; she cared not. He didn't have time to reply. An Uruk with longer hair than most appeared before them. She looked at Elara with fear and contempt. 

“Adar, greeavinguk .”

“ Mausan daughavas ,” Adar inclined his head in greeting. He began to speak to her lowly in Black Speech, and as he did, the woman’s eyes eased toward Elara. 

As she surveyed her it was easy to see now that the uruk was heavily pregnant. It made Elara wonder how different uruk births were from that of elves and humans. It would be something she should know, no doubt.

Adar beckoned her to follow, breaking her train of thought.

“ What is her name? ” Elara asked Adar quietly in Sindarin. 

“Sherdakh.” 

Sherdakh disappeared into a large tent, and Adar waited outside, Elara next to him. When she returned and bid Elara come in, it was easy to see that this was the tent they used as a makeshift infirmary. 

Adar confirmed this before she entered, “Sherdakh is as close to a healer as we have had.”

“Are you not coming?” Elara tried not to sound alarmed but didn’t know these women. 

“It is in bad taste for uruk men to enter a place of birthing.” 

Their culture was so strange to her. This was common amongst humans as well, though she’d found in her experience that only the men who cared very little for their partner and didn’t wish to be there. Elves, for all their pent-up stiffness, did not have this tradition, perhaps because elven children were rare in the scheme of their long lives. 

Following Sherdakh, there were rows of beds. It seemed a few were sick, a few more just having given birth, and one woman in the very beginning of labour. Elara already had things she needed to change, but she didn’t want to offend; that would set them on bad footing. As they reached the tent flap to exit back to Adar, Elara stopped to speak. 

“Do you speak common tongue, Sherdakh?” 

“Yes.” 

“You have done a very good job here taking care of them.” 

The Uruk gave a wary nod.

“The only thing that would be safer is separating the sick from the birthing.” 

Sherdakh looked confused. 

“Mothers and babies are more susceptible to illness in such a state; it would be best to make sure they are not in the same room.” 

Sherdakh exited the tent, and Adar still stood there, waiting now able to hear them.

“Have you ever had children, Lady Elf?” It seemed almost a test, the question.

Elara shook her head, “no, but I have delivered numerous, not just elves, humans, dwarves even."

The female Uruk nodded then as if accepting that as some answer. “We will do as you bid.” 

“They need another large tent if it can be spared.” This time, she spoke to Adar. 

“For what purpose?” 

“So the sick and the newborns are not in the same one.” 

He acknowledged this with a nod. 

To Shedakh, Elara began to hand off the medicines she’d brought and the soaps she’d made. It seemed the Uruk understood it well, but she wanted to be sure not to have her use the wrong methods with some of the medicines she may not have been familiar with. The whole while she could feel Adar’s eyes on her, she tried her damnedest not to care. 

“You’ve done well here, Sherdakh.” Elara placed a light hand on her shoulder. 

The uruk seemed surprised but not angry at the touch. “Thank you, Lady Elf.” 

“Elara.” 

Sherdakh raised a brow in surprise, but nodded again. Uruks weren’t talkative people, she’d come to learn; there were a lot of nodding and grunting replies.

Adar stepped forward and talked with his daughter in a low voice. At one point, Elara heard the word she had learned was danger in Black Speech; it gripped her heart with a tight fear. When he was finished, they set back toward the hill they’d come from; a sound stopped them before they got too far. Elara turned and found herself gazing into the deep, dark eyes of a small uruk child, no older than five. The little girl's face lit up with a wide grin when she spotted Adar, indicating she recognised him. Curiously, she tilted her head to the side and peered at Elara, her small features filled with innocent interest.

Adar knelt, bringing himself closer to her eye level. His gaze softened as he looked at the delicate doll the child held out toward him, crafted from twigs and fabric. A hint of warmth crossed his usually stoic face as he murmured, “It’s very beautiful,” appreciating the child’s creation.

With a delighted giggle, the uruk girl accepted the compliment and quickly placed a handful of tiny glass beads into Adar's open palm, their smooth surfaces glimmering in the warm light. After a moment of excitement, she scampered off toward her mother, joining a group of other children laughing and playing around a flickering fire.

Adar stood up, his expression returning to its customary seriousness as he avoided meeting Elara's gaze. They resumed their journey, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts, and Elara’s mind swirled with the unexpected tenderness of the moment she had just witnessed.

…

Her anger had dwindled, that much was true. As they again reached the camp, it was fairly obvious that she was trying to cope with the emotions she felt stirring. To her surprise, Adar followed her to the infirmary.

“ Hanna, Elara .” 

“What for?” She asked in a common tongue. 

“Treating my children with civility.” 

Her gaze met the floor and then focused on Gazad’s sleeping form, anywhere but in his blue-green eyes. “Tis not difficult.” 

“Others,” he was close now, his deep rasp closer to her ear, “would beg to differ.” 

“I am not others,” she replied as she tried to steady her breathing. 

He reached a hand out and lightly brushed the shell of her ear, the one that had hoops pierced through the skin. His soft touch on her piked ear made her shiver. “Is this common amongst elves now?” His voice was slightly husky, sending another shudder through her without him touching her at all this time. 

“No, it is more popular with Numenorean women; I… rather liked the style.” 

His eyes moved from her ear to her face. “I see.” 

“My father despised them,” she said, reaching up to point to the other ear, which was also adorned with some golden jewellery. Having earrings in a uruk camp wasn't practical, but she didn’t want to take them out, a final act of defiance to her father. 

Clearing her throat, Elara placed her items down on the table she used for healing and tried to busy her hands with cleaning up what she had left that morning. “You’re planning something?” She finally asked. 

“I see your anger has subsided.” 

“It has not. I am still here against my will.” 

Adar didn’t respond to that; instead, he came to stand before her healing table. “I will tell you, but not here. Come to the command tent this evening.” He turned and left the room. Elara felt her heart ache at the idea that she didn’t want to leave this place even if she could. 

…

The tent was darker than the rest when she appeared before it that evening. There had been a scuffle between a few Uruk, and she’d had more injuries to tend to that she hadn’t expected, and Elara was weary. Clearing her throat at the entrance, she heard his drawl call her to enter. He was perusing maps again, hunched over the table, and to her surprise, he didn’t wear his leather battle skirt, only a pair of leather trousers; his breastplate, though, was still firmly in place. 

“Were any of them severely injured in the fight?” 

He knew then. She had been worried she'd have to tell him. “No, a few scratches and bruises mostly.”

“You’re bleeding.” Adar was looking at her now, stepping forward. 

Elara shook her head, “it's not my blood, I am sure-” 

“I can smell elf blood, and it is red.” Adar reached out, touching her temple, and Elara had to resist a tremble; he wasn’t cold, but the sensation… like her fëa pressed toward his hand, was odd. His finger came away crimson.  

“I am not an elf,” Elara mumbled, but still, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small handkerchief to dab the blood away. “Not sure where this happened…” More to herself than to him. 

Adar was still very close to her, and she did everything she could not to step back just to escape his unnatural magnetism. “Do you need to clean it?” A large hand motioned toward the wash basin in the corner. 

Just to do something with herself, she did as he bid, and she saw his neatly laid-out supplies next to the bowl. For some reason, that seemed right to her; he was in a dirty and gloomy place, yet he was organised and meticulous. Cleaning the small cut meant removing the bandana from her hair, and surely she looked insane with her wild brown waves a mess around herself now, but Adar didn’t seem to mind when he looked at her, only beckoning her toward the table. He trusted her, she realised, or he wouldn’t show her something like this. He’d removed her chains and let her wander freely about camp. 

When she looked back at him, he was staring at her, and though it wasn’t so, she felt as if he could read her mind. “If you wish to leave, I will let you.” Adar braced his hands on the table spread wide; she was sure the gauntlet would leave marks in the wood from the pressure.

Given the current situation, her hazel eyes held his for longer than appropriate. 

“Show me.” 

He jerked his head for her to join him, closer to the map. “ Sauron has returned .” 

The pit in her stomach deepened, a gaping hole replaced by a larger one. She was too young to remember the War of Wrath, yet the name shot fear through her, just knowing its relation to the horror that had been told to her. “Your children do not know.” 

“They think I destroyed him. I thought I had as well…” His deep voice trailed off. “ We must go, and I must put an end to him for the sake of my children. ” 

“ And the entirety of Middle Earth ,” Elara added, looking over the maps and seeing he was now tracking the possible paths to Eregion; Sauron was there.

“ I care not of that. ” 

To this, Elara chuckled lowly; it caught him off guard. “I don’t believe that.” 

The look he returned was one of perhaps astonishment. He sobered then, “I do not want to send them to war again.” 

“Is that the only hope of keeping them safe?” 

His head dropped, hair falling into his eyes. “Yes.” 

“They will understand, they trust you.” 

As if on cue, Glûg entered the tent; she had seen him on and off, but the others had made it apparent that his skill was in war, not some of the scouting others did. Glûg eyed her suspiciously. Adar spoke in Black Speech, which she didn’t understand, but it seemed there was some disagreement. “ Diukmiukukun .” 

She’d come to know that meant dismissed; as she began to follow Glûg out, Adar caught her wrist very lightly in the cold grip of his gauntlet. “ Har (stay).” He halted her with the word. “We will march into Elven lands soon, I and my children would appreciate a healer with such skill along, but I will not force you.” The end was said very softly, in a way that she could tell it almost hurt him. He needed her, but he wouldn’t make her do this. 

It pushed Elara back many years, to choices she was refused that changed her life and truly led her to where she is now.

“May I think about it?” she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She glanced down at her wrist, where Adar’s fingers rested lightly as if she were a delicate flower he feared might wilt if he held too tightly. The warmth of his grip sent a shiver through her, making her acutely aware of how close they were yet again.

"Yes."

Chapter Text

A gentle breeze wafted through the infirmary, wrapping the dim space in a chill that contrasted sharply with the warm glow of twilight outside. Soon, the leaves of Lindon would transform into vibrant hues of gold and amber, a picturesque sight that seemed worlds away. Elara’s mind drifted momentarily to Adar’s request, a burden that settled heavily on her heart. Could there still be a place for her in Lindon? She realised with a twinge of resignation that there wasn't; she was tightly tethered to her life in this camp. Yet, paradoxically, here she felt a newfound sense of freedom. How strange that was—this sanctuary, born from her captivity, was the first place in ages where she felt truly safe.

With a soft sigh, Elara shook off the weight of her thoughts and rose from her cot. The need for fresh air gnawed at her, drawing her to the outside. She wrapped a small, worn blanket around her shoulders for warmth and descended the short steps, the cool air brushing against her skin as she stepped into the stillness of the camp. The night enveloped her, and while scouts moved silently along the borders, their presence reassuring yet distant, most of the camp lay in peaceful slumber, wrapped in the gentle embrace of night.

It was easy to imagine the elves rallying against Sauron if he had truly returned. A chilling thought crept into her mind—where would that leave her? What if she were to cross paths with… Elara squeezed her eyes shut tightly, forcing the thought away. She couldn't return to that life; she had promised herself she would seek a new beginning after assisting Galadriel, planting seeds of hope somewhere far from the shadows looming over her past.

“ Nillë ?” Adar’s deep voice was even more resonant when he spoke quietly. 

Elara was grateful for the dark; he could not see her blush. She was only wearing her shift, shorter than her dresses and thin. He wore his usual apparel, breastplate and all. Confidence, she tried to tell herself; if she was to do this, she’d need to be better, capable in more ways than her talent for healing. “What does that mean?” She finally dared to ask.

He had approached slowly, perhaps not to frighten her. Elara felt differently about him, even that night. Adar had told her she could leave, even if it meant there would be no healer for his children. It seemed, for his part, he followed some sort of code, though she wasn’t sure what exactly. Perhaps only time would tell. 

“You truly do not speak any Quenya?” 

She shook her head, “I have picked up some words here and there, but I was older as I said before… when I went to live with the elves; by that point, mostly Sindarin was spoken in Lindon.” 

He seemed to be gauging something in her words, but she knew not what. “It means small woman.” 

Elara wrinkled her nose at this. “Are you insulting me, then?” Her question was genuine, but mirth slipped into her tone. 

“No.” He didn’t elaborate further. 

“I am and have been aware for a long time that I do not look like the elven maiden I should.” It was a huff and sounded sour as green grapes to her own ears. It had always needed addressing in proper society with her father and later with Kandrë. Elves cared for beauty, which was sometimes lovely, but they often found their version of magnificence the most palatable.

“You’re not an elven maiden,” Adar replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

This made her hug her small blanket tighter around her shoulders. You’re interesting; you have that going for you. She could almost feel Kandrë tracing the swell of her breast as he said it; Elara wanted to be sick. 

“ Did I offend you?” Adar stepped closer, and she could smell him, earthy like fresh soil and rain… 

“No, I need to sleep.” It was the only thing she could think of to say; she wondered why he cared whether she’d be offended. Turning back to the infirmary, Elara wondered why she was out here with the Lord Father of the Uruk, to begin with. It was like a pull every time she saw him and she knew not why. 

Glancing up, she caught him, blue eyes studying her. He’d been calling her…? A pet name? No, that really couldn’t be… she felt herself blush again as her eyes wandered to his tapered waist and up again to his chest. “I will go with you and your children.” Finally, finding her voice amidst their strange, studious silence. Elara turned and disappeared, not waiting to hear his response. 

… 

Gazad was finally able to walk back to his tent. She’d had Dalcma and Seddic fetch a large branch, and she had fashioned a crutch out of it to help him get around. Elara had noticed since healing Seddic that he seemed keen to be around her, and she didn’t mind, really; he was less course than some of the other Uruk and genuinely curious about healing and anything else. When he wasn’t scouting, he would often help her process her medicines or retrieve things for her when they were scouting. On a cool morning, when she was sterilising some linen for bandages, he asked her a question Elara hadn’t been expecting. 

“Are you married, Lady?” No matter how she tried, none of them would call her by name. 

The question jarred her; she jerked her hand and burnt it in the boiling water. Elara cursed in

Sindarin.

Seddic cast a sheepish glance her way, but before Elara could digest his expression fully, a loud commotion erupted outside. He jumped up abruptly, curiosity etched on his features, leaving her alone to wrestle with her swirling thoughts. In that moment of solitude, the very ground beneath her seemed to tremble, a faint rumble that heralded the approach of something massive. “What…?” she murmured, instinctively wiping her throbbing hand against her tunic.

With hesitant resolve, she crept toward the entrance. As she peered outside, her eyes widened in disbelief at the sight before her. A troll—an immense creature, unlike anything she had ever encountered—towered over the nearby buildings, blotting out the sky as its hulking figure cast a long shadow across the ground. Panic surged through her, gripping her heart with icy fingers, and she darted back, hiding deeper within the structure's safety, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

From her concealed vantage point, she saw Adar making his way toward the towering beast. A sense of dread twisted in her gut as she watched them approach, her heart clenched with an inexplicable mix of fear and concern.

Adar moved forward with an unexpected grace, his small frame starkly contrasting the troll’s grotesque bulk. He exuded a calm confidence that caught her off guard, and she felt a flicker of admiration as he began to speak in the dark, guttural tones of Black Speech. Elara's pulse quickened; the tales of trolls from the war with Morgoth rushed back to her. In the atmosphere thick with tension, the silent awe of the camp was palpable—the Uruks, too, seemed to sense the menace emanating from the towering creature, their fear hanging heavily in the air like an unspoken omen. Adar seemed less uneasy than the rest, but from her far point tucked away, she could see the sadness when the head of a Uruk messenger was tossed at his feet. 

“I gather you received our message.” His common tongue is gravelly as stones under a boot.

“Where is Sauron?” The troll called Damrod bellowed. 

All the Uruk would know now that their lord father had yet to free them entirely.

“Lady elf,” Dalcma appeared nearby. Her face showed strain, but her voice was quiet, not to interrupt the exchange between Adar and Damrod despite their distance. The uruk feared the troll. “There… I think it frightened the wargs, one… Lurka is injured.” 

Elara rushed back and retrieved a satchel with supplies, “take me to him.” 

The dirt was stained black with blood, and a dead warg lay nearby Lurka’s body. Elara could see some of his insides as she approached. Still, she may be able to pack the wound. Getting used to the sight of black blood and how it distorted a wound was getting easier, but she still caught her breath at the sight. 

“It will be alright,” she murmured near Lurka’s ear, hands moving fast to apply pressure where she could safely and stop the bleeding, then she would be able to sew the wound up. Seddic appeared nearby and aided her with what she’d taught him; it would be helpful in the coming days to teach others how to assist her.

It was more stressful minutes of a flurry of hands and careful application of a few healing chants she’d learnt from Elven healers. “We need to get him to the infirmary.” Elara took off her cloak and laid it down. “Here, we need to move him onto this quickly!” 

Dalcma shouted in black speech, and others appeared to lift him up and move him onto the cloak. 

“Carefully now, do not jostle him.” She needed to stitch him up, but not in the dirt and grime. She followed close behind them. She hadn’t lost a patient in some time when not at war, and she didn’t plan to start today. 

…

Damrod would meet them in the forests surrounding Eregion. Adar knew this choice would upset some, and it made him ill to even insist it was necessary. Trolls could not show considerable allegiance and often killed the men they were meant to be fighting alongside. It was not for dwelling on; they needed to give the best fighting chance possible to defeat Sauron. Like many before, the weight of this decision pressed down on his shoulders, a burden he could hardly bear. He tightened his grip on the pommel of his sword, feeling the cool metal beneath his fingers as if seeking strength from it. Much to his chagrin, the thought that brought him a flicker of calm amid the turmoil was Elara. The little half-elf had an uncanny ability to infiltrate his thoughts, her bright smile and kind eyes dancing at the edges of his mind. Her presence wrapped around him like a warm blanket, soothing his troubled heart for reasons he struggled to comprehend, let alone admit. In a world fraught with uncertainty, it was her delicate yet resilient image that he clung to, a fragile beacon of hope in his otherwise turbulent thoughts.

The calm that her thought brought him was doused like a flame under ice water; the infirmary was crawling with Uruk when he reached it. “What has happened?” His voice came out harsh, from dread and anger he was sure. 

Dalcma was at the entrance, showing loitering Uruk away. “Lurka, Lord Father, was attacked by a warg who escaped. Lady is stitching him.” 

Pushing into the building, Adar felt a vice in his wretched old heart. Every time one of his children died needlessly, he felt a sharp sting of pain, the wish that he could spare them this. For not the first time in his life nor the last, he wished he’d never been capable of spawning them at all; perhaps Morgoth would have simply killed him if he had been no use in that way. 

Lurka lay on his side, and Elara worked over him, her small fingers covered in blood, weaving the needle through his flesh; she seemed focused and at ease, even like the task was something almost second nature to her. 

“Seddic, I need another clean needle when I tie this off.” 

The young Uruk jumped into action, and Adar observed the skill he must have learned from their healer. He continued to watch the exchange without announcing himself. Elara instructed Seddic gently, and he did as she bid until it seemed Lurka had been appropriately stitched. 

When she finally sat back against the chair and wiped her forehead, a smear of black stained her fair skin. There was sweat on her brow and a glint of pride in her hazel eyes. Adar decided to make his presence known by clearing his throat. “What happened exactly?”

Elara started slightly pressing a hand to her heart. 

“Could you not smell him this whole time?” Seddic asked with a gruff chuckle. 

“No,” Elara’s cheeks turned a darker shade of red, but she rolled her eyes at the Uruk. Adar observed this; it seemed these two had developed a bond or comradery. 

“The wargs became frightened by the troll, and one-” 

“Two,” interjected Seddic, “the other ran away.”

Elara stood then and began to rinse her hands in the basin, the water swirling with black blood. “Dalcma came to fetch me, luckily I got there in time. He will recover as long as I can keep the wound clean. He’ll have a nasty scar, though.” 

Adar nodded, unsure what to say. Never had someone cared for his children like this, simply leaping into action as needed without question or request. Perhaps her humanness made her care so; he was still sceptical. 

Seddic seemed to take this as an invitation to leave, exiting the infirmary and leaving Adar alone with Elara and her patient. He observed her intently as she meticulously scrubbed her hands, the remnants of the day's work slowly washing away. As she peeled off the blood-stained apron, he noticed how her brunette hair was secured back in a loose bun, held in place by a scarf. The scarf, a rich shade of rusted red, beautifully contrasted with her hair, enhancing the warm amber highlights that glimmered in the light.

“Two accidents in a matter of days, I am unsure how you survived without me.” Her tone held mirth, and Adar got the impression that she gained some form of adrenaline from healing the wounded. It didn’t seem ill-intentioned; helping people and healing them truly seemed to bring her a euphoria. 

“We didn’t.” He crushed any of her joy from her saving his son with the words. “Lurka would be dead if you weren’t here to aid him.” He tore his gaze from the Uruk’s sleeping form to her. He watched her throat bob as she swallowed at that. “ Annon allen , Nillë , ” it came out like a prayer, his thanks, something reverent and careful. Despite himself, that was precisely what he intended. 

“ Glassen (my pleasure) ” was her soft reply. 

Adar stepped forward, the cool water of the basin glistening as he dipped his fingers into it. As he reached up to wipe the dried blood from her brow and then her cheek, he felt an overwhelming urge to comfort her. Pulling in a sharp breath through her teeth, and at that moment, he clenched his own jaw, suppressing the surge of helplessness. The air around her was infused with the soothing scent of lavender, intertwined with a warmer, sweeter aroma that drew him closer. His thumb lingered gently on her cheek, the softness of her skin contrasting with the harshness of their circumstances. Her gaze locked onto his like the sun on a sweltering day, radiating warmth that seeped into his weary muscles and exhausted spirit, igniting a flicker of hope amidst the shadows surrounding them.

What was he doing? He drew his hand away quickly and turned without looking back. He couldn’t deal with seeing her disgust at him having touched her, he with his ruined face and tattered soul. It made him perhaps more horrible to have ever touched her. He hadn’t felt like this, perhaps ever, a pull to a person amidst the darkness. It was her care for his children; Adar tried to reason with himself, but even to his own mind's eye, that excuse was hollow and untrue.

Chapter Text

Elara nearly toppled backwards into her chair as soon as he walked out, feeling utterly drained of all her energy. A strange fluttering sensation churned in her stomach while her breaths came in quick, shallow pants instead of the slow, deep inhalations that usually brought her comfort. His gentleness always took her by surprise, but this moment—it was different. What had just happened between them?

Over time, she realised how deeply he loved his children; that much was clear. Perhaps the act of saving Lurka had allowed her to forge a connection with him, but there had also been an intense, burning look in his eyes that caught her off guard. It was a mix of gratitude and something else—something profound that left her both exhilarated and unsettled.

In an attempt to collect herself, she pressed her hands against her forehead, feeling the tension mounting as her heart gradually slowed from its frantic pace. The warmth of her fingertips offered little relief, and she fought to calm the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. As the adrenaline began to fade, she reflected on the moment's gravity, wishing she could decipher the unspoken bond that had seemed to linger between them.

“Lady?” Seddic stood at the entrance, with Dalcma behind him.  

“Yes? Does someone need me?” She stood, smoothing her dress and hoping she looked presentable and not flustered as she felt. 

“Lord Father has asked that we continue to learn healing from you, Lady.” 

Elara was surprised but not wholly shocked. It made sense to have more than one person to help with such things. She had meant to ask him a few days ago if Seddic could spare more time to help. “Right, well…” she hadn’t taught anyone before, at least not formally. This would get her mind off what happened earlier and her strange feelings toward Adar. 

… 

His tent loomed a short distance from her, and Elara took a steeling breath. She would have to ignore whatever had happened; she was sure it had been nothing to him. She twisted a ring on her ear, and it sent a jolt of regret through her at the mere thoughts she’d been having. This had her marching forward, less ill at ease than before. 

“Adar.” She called at the entrance.

“Come in.” 

There was a plank of wood near the entrance, and in her haste, she missed it, stumbling forward only to be caught before her fall by his strong arms. She steadied herself, gripping his biceps, her fingertips dug into the chainmail there, but it didn't hide the years of battle-honed muscle beneath.

“S-sorry,” she stuttered, yanking herself back before his scent fully enveloped her. 

For his part, he looked stunned for a mere second before going back to his table, his elven grace still intact centuries later, and she having never had it in the first place. “How familiar are you with the forests near Eregion?” 

She paused pensively. “I know them well enough, I haven’t spent much time in Eregion, but I was there occasionally when my- with someone on business.” It was evident in his eyes that he knew she’d kept something back in what she was saying, but he did not press. 

“I have met Lord Celebrimbor; he is an astute and temperate man. I do not think he would eagerly accept Sauron's assistance.” 

Adar weighed this, his face thoughtful then. “How old were you during the time of Morgoth?” 

Oh . He thought she was much older than she was. “No age. I was born after Morgoth was banished… I believe my father was a soldier in human lands at the time…” She trailed off; her mother had never said anything, but Elara always wondered what possessed her to sleep with an elven soldier. 

Genuine surprise flitted across his face. “You are young.” 

She laughed, a soft huff. “I am hundreds of years old, more than that by many. I don’t even count anymore.” 

Adar fixed his gaze upon her, and in that moment, his eyes appeared to hold centuries of wisdom, reflecting a profound weariness that seemed to transcend time. He was not merely old; he was ancient, far older than she had ever imagined. “Sauron has a remarkable ability to deceive,” he said, his voice heavy with experience. “Even the most courageous and righteous among us can fall victim to his treachery.” The weight of his words hinted at the deep anguish and suffering he had endured during his captivity under the dark lord's manipulative influence, a torment that shaped both his past and present.

Elara nodded; she believed him despite Celebrimbor's good nature. “I know the woods well enough to help you.” She circled the table, coming to stand closer to him, and watched him stiffen as if she perhaps smelt bad. Blushing, she moved to the left, further away from him.

“It's not you.” Was all he said, his gauntlet clenching, but he did not elaborate further.

“Does Dalcma generally join the fighting?” 

“Yes, she is a soldier.” 

Elara nodded, thoughtful. “It would be best to leave a healer here with the babies and mothers. I have and will be teaching her and Seddic, but I think having one of them stay would be best.”

“Do you trust them both?” 

What an odd thing to ask. 

“Yes, I have come to trust both of them.” She realised it was an easy answer; they were no different than human or elven healers she’d worked with, just less knowledgeable.

“Then they both will come with us. I will select some others to be taught who can stay here.” He must have seen her confusion as he continued. “In war, it is best to have trust between comrades.” 

“ Ae anírach (if you wish it).” 

They were close again, and she couldn’t stop herself. Elara reached a finger out and brushed the gauntlet; it was cold. His other hand reached out and stroked her fingers; this hand was warm. Their eyes met then, and something rippled pleasantly in her lower belly, something she ought not feel. Elara ignored whatever conscience she had left and leaned forward, pulled by some unknown thread. Adar pulled his hand away and turned toward his sleeping quarters. “You’re dismissed, healer.” 

His voice felt like a bucket of ice water, harsh and cold. Without another word, she left, she’d crossed some line, and Elara wasn’t even sure why she’d done it.  

…

“Has his fever gone down?” 

“ Yeuk .” The grunted yes, Elara had begun to pick up in Black Speech. 

During the night, their patient had begun to get restless with fever, and Elara felt exhausted after a few hours of monitoring Lurka. He’d mumbled something about his knife to her over and over in his feverish haze. When Seddic appeared to help Elara, she decided it was time for her to go find the knife that was so precious to him. 

“It is most likely near the clearing where the Wargs got loose,” Seddic said when she inquired where she might find Lurka’s knife. Then, a bit softer, “his mate gave it to him before she passed.” 

Ah , Elara glanced at the sleeping Uruk and felt a small vice around her heart at the way they had been treated. They loved like any other species and cared for each other, all of it. “I am going to retrieve it for him.” 

Seddic only nodded, busy changing the herbs as she had taught him to. The camp was quiet, at ease even, and she thought again about how hard it must be for Adar, knowing that he had finally secured a place for his children, and he would only have to fight again. Still, the peace that existed here at the moment was pleasant. Elara had not known real peace for a long time, but she realised that darkness lurked everywhere despite how pretty it was outside, even if it was in a clean city and a lovely home like the one she had left behind. 

If you return from this doomed mission with Lady Galadriel, you will stop healing and become a proper member of society. Kandrë’s voice always echoed in her head, even from so far away. As usual, she growled at it to quiet. 

She searched the perimeter of the area. The wargs had been moved, so locating a knife in the dark should be easy, even if your eyes weren’t quite as good as the uruk’s. It wasn't long, before she spotted it. There, the blade glinted off the torches further back in the camp; Elara grabbed the weapon, hoping this would bring Lurka some peace.

A twig snapped sharply to her right, a sudden crack piercing the night's stillness. Before she could glimpse its source, a deep, guttural snarl shattered the air—one so ferocious it sent shivers down her spine, unlike any sound she had ever heard from the dogs in Lindon. She inhaled sharply, her heart racing as she struggled to steady her breath. The loose warg must have returned. Her mind whirled with panic as she watched the beast emerge from the shadows, its movements slow and deliberate, exuding a sense of lethal grace. Drool dripped from its jaw, pooling on the ground below, a chilling reminder of its hunger. It had been days since she had last seen it; surely, the creature was desperate for a meal. Its yellow eyes glowed with an unnerving intensity as it circled her, each step echoing ominously in the darkness, a predator toying with its prey.

Elara gripped the knife in her hand, trying to think through the shock and fear that suddenly seized her. She couldn’t run; it would catch her from behind; she needed to fight, backing up slowly to arrange herself near a post jutting from the ground.

The creature lunged, Elara moving out of the way just in time, its face hitting the post. Another snarl that had her bones quaking. It pounced again, quicker this time, and she sliced at its side, barely stepping out of the way. Then it let out a mighty roar, sensing her strategic manoeuvres and abruptly ending their lively cat-and-mouse game. It sprang into the air swiftly, its paws aimed squarely at her shoulders. The force of its leap knocked her down, slamming her into the ground with an overwhelming weight, disrupting the atmosphere with a thud that echoed around them and surely breaking some of her ribs. Elara’s head hit the dirt, and she barely had time to get her arm up to protect her face, its teeth sinking into the flesh of her forearm. She screamed, her voice finally returning to her, shrieking louder than she thought perhaps possible. In a last bit of clarity, before it went to bite her again, Elara brought the hand still holding the dagger up and plunged it into the side of the beast's neck. 

It made a gurgling noise and bit down harder on her arm; Elara screamed again, and this time, the grip on the knife was lost. Her thoughts felt muddled with pain, and she could feel blood dripping from the animal and herself onto her skin and into the dirt. Just as the warg released its grip on her arm, ready to deliver the final blow, the creature suddenly went limp and collapsed to the side. Elara strained to hear the muffled, guttural sounds of a dark language swirling around her, but her senses felt distant and blurred. The adrenaline surged through her, a frantic race against the encroaching shadows of shock that threatened to overtake her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, each beat a reminder of her vulnerability in that chaotic moment.

Adar’s face appeared above her, his blue eyes practically manic. He was speaking to her, but she couldn’t understand him. Storing his sword, he pulled her up into his arms, and despite herself, she pressed closer to his chest; the pain reminded her of something perhaps from long ago, but she couldn’t place it, and she knew she was shaking like a leaf against him.

Finally she could hear his voice in her ear, as he walked her back into camp. “ Le meriathon , Elara (I will protect you).” Over and over, until she felt darkness grip her. 

…

Pain brought her back to consciousness. Elara blinked her eyes open, squinting. Dalcma stood over her and must have been changing bandages. “Be still, Lady. I am doing as you told me.” 

“Is she awake?” That was Adar. 

“I am not sure if she is just in a daze, Lord Father.” 

Elara tried to speak, but only a garbled sound came out, raspy. 

Adar appeared above Dalcma’s shoulder and pressed a waterskin to her lips. Elara drank and tried not to think of the pain in her arm and chest; it felt hard to breathe. 

“I shouldn’t give her more poppy juice now.” 

Elara felt pride swell through the pain at Dalma, having remembered the proper dosage. 

“Will she be in pain?” Adar asked then. 

“Most likely.” 

Elara was finally able to form words, “I will-survive.” 

“Thank you, daughter,” Adar said to Dalcma, and she left. Then, Elara noticed that she wasn’t in her infirmary but Adar’s tent. She tried to sit up, but his large hand stayed her, pushing her back into the furs. 

“I am in your bed.” She mumbled, unable to think of something else to say. 

He muttered something to himself, but she didn’t catch what it was; he must have found it amusing because there was the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips as he got up and sat in a chair nearby. “Dalcma needs to ensure that Lurka is alright. I offered to do the same for you.” 

Elara thought it odd that he would care to do that, but she decided thinking too far into it would bring up things. Instead, she lifted her arm to look at the bandage. Dalcma had done a good job. She could barely see the hints of purple bruising on the edges. It was surely a nasty wound, but not broken, luckily. Shifting again, she felt her breath come in a small wheeze. 

“What is it?” Adar sprang to his feet, kneeling beside the cot, lowering himself until their eyes met, almost at the same level. The soft glow of the room illuminated their faces, creating an intimate moment between them.

“Noth-nothing, I did not realise my ribs were broken…” She got a shallow breath in, “it makes it hard to breathe.” 

“Shall I call for Dalcma again?” 

Elara reached her good hand out to stay him and nearly lost her breath when touching his forearm. “No, there is nothing much she can do; they will need to heal.” She shut her eyes once more with a deep breath, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation. His fingers hovered delicately over her cheek, tracing a path that sent shivers down her spine. Elara became acutely aware of her breath catching in her throat, not from exertion but from the electric familiarity of the moment.

“Why did you return there, írimënya (my lovely) ?” 

“Lurka’s knife, he wanted it back. I did not think it would be a danger.” 

He hummed, low and gruff but so softly and had not stopped tracing her face and jaw, soothing small circles and lines, easing Elara through the pain and back into sleep.

Chapter Text

“You must sleep; I can return to the infirmary.” 

“You will overexert yourself.” He murmured from his place, reading a book. Night had fallen again, and Elara felt slightly better; she’d been asking to get up all day, but both he and Dalcma had denied her. 

“I heal faster than the Uruk,” she tried again. He was unusually protective of her; it felt strange, like being wrapped in a warm, unexpected embrace, yet it brought with it a sense of comfort that she couldn’t deny.

“Not as fast as an elf.”

The corners of her lips curled into a playful smirk, trying to mask the flutter of nerves within her, and she huffed loud enough for him to hear. Still, the effort sent a sharp gasp escaping her lips, a reminder of the tenderness in her ribs. He appeared at her side in the blink of an eye, his tall frame casting a reassuring shadow. He moved with a swift grace, honed by years of training, his presence a steadying force, his face so close to her own that she could feel his breath. Instinctively, she pressed her palm against the cool metal of his breastplate, exploring the intricate carvings beneath her fingers—each line a testament to battles fought. “I’m fine…” she murmured, her voice soft and slightly wavering, though she was trying to convince him and herself.

Her fingers traced the delicate swirls of the armour as if searching for strength in the ensemble he wore. The contrast of the cold metal against her warm skin sent a slight shiver through her, breaking the silence between them.

When their eyes finally locked, she was struck by the fierce determination radiating from his gaze—an intensity that both fascinated and unnerved her. It was as if he was silently vowing to protect her at all costs. Caught in the moment, her gaze drifted to his lips, where an unspoken promise lingered, tempting her with the possibility of something more profound. The air around them grew thick with anticipation, each heartbeat echoing the uncharted territory of their connection. Elara felt it like a bolt of lightning. She wanted him to kiss her. It had been swimming in her mind for days, more perhaps… but she had always thought guilt might wrack her at the thought, yet it didn’t. 

“Rest,” he spoke low, tone gravelly. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed.

“You first, " she returned. If we are to march towards Eregion soon, you will need your strength.” Elara was unsure why she did it, but she removed her hand from his chest and instead opened the furs to him. It was a bold thing to do, and it was not done in Elven society. If you were not married, you didn’t sleep in the same bed, sometimes not even then, and yet humans did it all the time.

He was staring down at her; she noticed then that her shift had ridden up in her sleep and exposed much of her thighs to him. Her first instinct was to yank the fabric down and shield her modesty, but Elara embraced the boldness that surged within her instead of retreating, allowing him to gaze at her without restraint. A shiver raced down her spine, a mix of nervousness and exhilaration coursing through her, awakening a surprising thrill in the moment's vulnerability.

Spurring him on, it seemed, he began to take off his boots and armour without more protest; in only his tunic and trousers, he looked less harsh but not unappealingly so, less all-encompassing. He tried to keep his distance when he crawled in next to her, and Elara wondered how long it had been since someone touched him out of tenderness and compassion; she didn’t think she wanted to know the answer. The thought sent a sadness rushing through her fëa.

“Your hair is brown,” she mused, her fingers gently weaving through the soft, wavy strands.

“Mhmm,” he replied, his voice rich and deep, resonating like a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through their shared cot.

“I always thought it was black… but it’s such a rich, very dark brown,” she reflected, the colour catching the flickering light.

“Sleep, Elara,” he murmured soothingly. As a wave of exhaustion washed over her, she surrendered to the warmth of drowsiness and drifted softly into slumber.

…

Warmth spread through her as she came to, a warmth you couldn’t gain from heat alone. Elara burrowed further into the blankets, trying to get more of it, but halted in shock. She could feel Adar’s chest pressed against her back, and more than that, she could also feel the hardness of his arousal pressed against her. Sucking in a breath, she tried to rationalise this; men often woke that way, having no reason to… his hand around her waist pulled her closer, and he ground himself against her backside. Elara flushed, her face hot, and she felt her own excitement pooling in her lower belly, making her sex ache. He was dreaming; it probably had nothing at all to do with her specifically. It felt so satisfying, and she wanted to turn over and let him finish what he had started unintentionally. She was unable to help the soft moan that escaped her when his grip tightened on her hip. Elara felt his body stiffen behind her. 

With a sudden pull, he disengaged from her and stood in a feat of movement. His breath came in heavy, uneven gasps as if he had just completed a gruelling race, unlike his usual calm calculation. The blankets were thrown aside in the rush. Adar stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, his expression a mixture of confusion and shock, as if reality had just landed around him. Elara watched him intently, her heart racing; she could sense the storm of emotions swirling within him, and her concern deepened as she took in the defenselessness behind his stupefied gaze. Was she so disgusting to him that he would react like that? Then she watched him trail his eyes down her, and his nostrils flared; breathing in deeply, Elara clamped her legs shut in surprise. Could he smell her…? Without a word, he turned, grabbed his things and went out into the front of the tent. Elara thought perhaps to chase him, but didn’t. He was clearly upset that this had happened. She stayed there stunned until Dalcma came to help with her bandages. Elara felt stronger after another night of sleep; she had aches, but she could move around, and her wounds were healing now. The benefits of recovering similar to elves.

“You smell of Adar,” Dalcma peeked at her with a knowing eye. 

“No-” Elara blushed crimson, “I… it's his bed.” 

The Uruk clicked her tongue a little in disbelief but didn’t press further. “You should wash. If your scent is that of another, it means you’re mated; the other Uruk will see it that way.” 

A wave of astonishment washed over Elara, surprising her with its intensity. Despite the shock coursing through her, she managed a firm nod and approached the basin near the door. The cool water sparkled in the light, creating a stark contrast against the dark earth of the floor. Gently, she splashed the water onto her skin, wincing slightly as it touched her injuries.

Dalcma, with her steady demeanour, carefully assisted her into a fresh set of clothing. The fabric was soft against her sore skin, lending her a sense of comfort amid the distress of the morning. With her injuries as a backdrop, they began the journey back to the infirmary, each step filled with a mix of determination and the subtle sting of her wounds.

As they approached the structure, Adar was easy to spot nearby, engrossed in inspecting a newly constructed trebuchet. Its imposing wooden frame captured the strength and ingenuity of its builders. The mechanism loomed over him, impressive and sturdy, with ropes and pulleys ready for action, contrasting sharply against the clear grey sky.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes met, and Elara felt her heart race. The heat of his gaze sent a familiar flutter through her chest, and before she could fully process the connection, she quickly turned her eyes away, her cheeks flushing a bright red. Battling a mixture of embarrassment and excitement, she focused on the path ahead, her mind racing with thoughts of the encounter.

Lurka was up and awake, sitting in the infirmary bed. She was happy to see him recovering well. “Dalcma and Seddic have been doing an excellent job caring for you, I see.” 

The Uruk nodded then and glanced down, embarrassed. “I am sorry, Lady.” 

“Whatever for?” Elara got closer and sat so as to not lose energy as she checked his injury. 

Lurka held up the dagger she had retrieved, a sad look on his face. 

Waving a hand, Elara began to pull back his bandage. “You wouldn’t have known, Lurka, that the warg would return; do not worry yourself.” The wound looked good, and it was healing very well. "You will be able to go to your own tent tonight, but nothing too strenuous. I don't want the fresh skin to tear or the stitches.” 

“Yes, Lady.” 

As she raised her gaze, she found Adar standing in the doorway, his posture tense and his face marred by a deep frown emphasising the crease between his brows. Concern flickered in his blue eyes as he stepped forward to meet her. “What are you doing out of bed?” he asked, his voice heavy with worry.

She took a breath, summoning her strength. “I’m tending to my duties,” she replied, attempting to maintain her balance and hide the slight sway in her posture.

Adar shook his head, a look of disapproval etched on his features. “You need rest. A healer cannot fulfil her role if she collapses from exhaustion or injury,” he admonished gently, his tone softened by an undercurrent of care.

“I’m perfectly alright, Adar,” she insisted, though her voice wavered slightly.

His expression remained unconvinced, and a wave of what seemed to be sadness washed over his scarred face. He stepped even closer, his gaze piercing yet tender. “Did you wash?” he asked, looking her over.

Elara felt her face heat. “Yes… I used your basin; I apolog-” 

He shook his head then as if trying to right himself, holding a hand to stop her sorry. “No need; it is well” Then he turned and stormed off, leaving Elara in the wake of his ever-changing mood. 

…

There was to be a gathering with the leaders in Adar's legions. Seddic said there could be brawls, so Elara took her time preparing some healing items. She’d needed to sit down less to catch her breath. That was an Improvement from even hours earlier; it seemed things were healing. Her arm looked dreadful, but the scarring would be minimal if at all.  

It was at one of these moments that Adar appeared in the doorway. Elara had thought him too busy or shamed to see her after that morning. To his credit, he didn’t look too abashed. He was mostly distracted, perhaps apprehensive of the evening to come. 

“You look pale,” he murmured, stepping closer and pulling a chair out, indicating she sit. 

“I am resting as needed.” 

He huffed as he didn’t believe her. “I want you to attend the discussion this evening, Nillë .” 

His use of her nickname softened the sting he had left earlier. However, she still found this surprising. “Alright, I don’t think I have much to contribute to the war meetings.” She wasn’t naive enough to believe that the Uruk could altogether avoid warfare, like any other group or clan of people, but something about this situation genuinely unsettled her.

“I want them to see your face so they understand that should you give an order regarding healing, they will heed what you say as if it were my command,” he said, stepping forward with a serious expression. Elara felt a moment of anticipation as she thought he might reach out to her, but he held back, keeping a respectful distance.

She took a deep breath, gathering her resolve, and nodded firmly. “I will be there,” she assured him, her voice steady and confident, ready to take on the responsibility that lay ahead.

Chapter Text

When the time of the gathering came, Elara was overwhelmed by a sense of alienation. She had become familiar with the Uruk who surrounded her daily: the ones who skillfully washed the laundry prepared hearty meals and patrolled as scouts. Yet, the Uruk gathered now were entirely different—battle-hardened warriors, their bodies bearing the scars of countless conflicts and their posture radiating an intimidating confidence. They had been meticulously selected for their roles due to their exceptional combat skills and ability to kill. They were looking at her, eyes full of suspicion and perhaps hatred even, distrust certainly. Elara wondered for the first time if Adar was following the right course asking her to be a healer to them; these men seemed ill at ease with her presence here. Glûg was the only one she saw with any regularity, and he had been wary of her from the start. Elara sat in the shadows, her posture hunched as she tried to make herself appear even smaller amidst the lively chatter of the group around her. They spoke in a guttural, resonant black speech, the harsh sounds washing over her like waves, leaving her isolated and captivated. Suddenly, Adar stepped into the fire's flickering light, and its glow caught his breastplate, casting a warm bronze hue that illuminated his imposing figure. Elara felt her heart skip a beat as she stole a glance at him but quickly averted her gaze, not wanting to be distracted from the solemn atmosphere.

Though the cadence of Adar’s words was familiar, she could only grasp fragments of their meaning. The sound of “my children” stood out clearly, an endearing term that resonated with her, having heard it before. Beyond that, however, she found herself lost in the intricacies of their dialect. She caught the term "she-elf" mentioned a few times, each utterance causing her to feel a mix of curiosity and apprehension as was often since she came to be in the land with these people. The company members glanced her way, their eyes filled with intrigue and judgment.

Then, Adar shifted to the common tongue, his voice steady and resolute as he stalked around the fire. “If we are ever to feel safe in these lands, we must ensure that we are never called to another's army again. This time, we march to war not just for the sake of battle but in pursuit of the long-desired peace we yearn for.” His words hung in the air, laden with gravity and purpose, stirring something deep within Elara as she felt the weight of their mission press upon her as well.

She noted that the crowd, with the exception of Glûg, cheered and banged on the logs they sat on; it seemed sturred by the idea of war or peace; she knew not which.

“The Lady is to lead in any healing-related matters; you are to defer to her in those circumstances even as Captains, am I understood?” 

This was met with silence. 

Elara took a deep breath and spoke with confidence, “You have gone without anyone to tend to your battle wounds for ages. Regrettably, far too many of your kin do not survive the injuries I possess the capability to heal. I am offering my services to you and your Lord Father,” she said, glancing briefly but meaningly at Adar. “My hope is that this gesture may lead to stability for your people.”

To her surprise, her speech was met with log banging of its own; a few called out ‘she-elf’. Adar dismissed them when the ruckus had calmed, and Elara felt the rush of adrenaline leave her; she was fearful of this. Not because of the impending violence, she realised, because Elves would undoubtedly come to aid Eregion if they knew not that Sauron was within its walls and that meant harm to the Uruks and… Kandrë could perhaps be called upon by the King to help defend Ost-in-Edhil. Elara shut her eyes as things flared there, the past moving behind her eyelids. 

“Come, Nillë .” Adar was the only one left there, and he crouched in front of her, at eye level. “You should rest.” She knew not how long he had been watching her.

Allowing him to pull her to stand and follow him, they didn’t go to the infirmary. He drew her towards his tent, and Elara felt nerves shoot through her. Inside, she saw fresh bandages and her own ointment on the war table. 

“Sit,” his command firm. “Dalcma didn’t want to cause you any damage with her nails; you will need to guide me, though.” He removed his gauntlet and washed his hands in the basin without being asked, so he’d picked up on some things then. 

He was to help her with her wound. Of course, that morning had been nothing but an accident. Drawing her sleeve up, she bared the bandages to him. “These need to be removed, then we need to cleanse it.” She could probably do this somewhat independently, but Elara decided to let things unfold as they would. 

Dutifully, he did as she asked, paying attention not to be rough as he did it. The wound looked far better. The difference from her wounds when she had been taken captive by him was stark. She’d had enough food and rest to heal this time. The bruising was the ugliest part of it, dark purple and browning skin surrounding where the warg had bit her. 

“ Goheno nin (forgive me),” he murmured, beginning to clean the wound. 

“You did not release the warg on me, Adar.” 

He didn’t reply, but she could see his thoughts behind his eyes, ever moving. 

“Now the ointment, only a small amount,” Elara held up her fingers to show him. “Spread it over the punctures; do not press.” 

As he carefully applied the medicine and a soft bandage around her arm, Elara couldn’t help but wonder about this gentler side to him that she only saw glimpses of. His fingers, warm and steady, moved with surprising softness as he secured the fabric in place. She felt mixed emotions swirling within her, but she fought to focus on the task. The proximity of his face, with its strong features softened by concern, and the lingering warmth of his touch created a charged atmosphere that made it difficult to think clearly.

“ Agorel vae (you did well) .” She finally said.

“You should rest.” 

“I am healing well, better than expected after nearly perishing by that dog .” Still, she got up; she would not burden him with her presence. 

“Will you need it cleaned again tonight?” She thought he might look hopeful; his blue eyes held something there she couldn’t place. 

Elara shook her head, her gaze locking with his. In that moment, everything from earlier rushed back to her—a whirlwind of emotions and memories. She felt the warmth of his presence enveloping her, stirring a mix of longing and uncertainty deep within her heart. The connection they shared was undeniable, and the intensity of their earlier encounters filled her with a blend of hope and hesitation. Elara shut her eyes and tried to ignore the way her core clenched around nothing, arousal beginning again; this time, it was apparent he could smell it. His eyes dilated, and he breathed in deeply. Then he leaned in, and she met him halfway, their lips connecting. It felt like a cool breeze on a too-warm day; relief like this had been building for far longer than either of them had even realised. His mouth moving over hers in a way that felt soft and persistant, each swipe of his lips causing more longing to stir.

Adar’s tongue begged entrance to her mouth, and she granted it, allowing him to press her closer and firmer against his chest; the hard metal of the breastplate felt familiar in a way it shouldn’t, so very him. When he finally broke away, Elara was breathless and stunned. 

“I…” he trailed off, still looking at her with a wild gaze. "-don’t do this…” he finished lamely. 

What an odd thing to say. She couldn't help it. She laughed or huffed, not sure which due to the ringing in her ears.

Elara felt boldness rise in her. " Do you want to?” She wanted him greatly. 

He looked up at the ceiling of the tent, almost in absolution. “Yes.” 

Elara stepped forward again, slipping the tips of her fingers into the arm opening of his breastplate, gripping it and dragging him towards her. “Then don’t stop.” 

Something like a growl escaped him, and he was kissing her again, without the demure press of lips the first time but thoroughly kissing her. His lips pressing, moving against hers with an abandon, Elara didn’t think the severe man could muster. Adar moved her then, changing their positions and pushing her against the table, thighs pinned between him and the hardwood; if it weren’t for his arms around her and the grip she had on his breastplate, she’d have fallen fully backwards. She moaned, the sound getting lost in his mouth, dampness gathered between her legs, and she was hard-pressed to remember a time she’d ever felt so in need of someone like this. Adar also seemed to be reacting like a starving man, as if he hadn’t felt touch like this in a very long time, and she assumed that was the truth. 

His mouth trailed down her jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses in its wake. He stopped where her shoulder met her neck, nipping, soothing the spot with his tongue and then biting down there. She inhaled sharply, pleasure overriding every logical thought in her brain. Adar seemed perhaps frenzied; finally, pulling back, he looked at her, and his seafoam eyes held an awe that made her blush; surely, she looked bedraggled and wanton. He seemed to relish it, the tiniest upturn of his lips, and he was against her again, this time lifting her to sit on the table and slotting his hips firmly between his legs. The press of his arousal made Elara gasp and groan when he kissed her again; in the back of her mind, she wondered how good the Uruk’s hearing was, but it was a fleeting thought as his hands sought the ties at the top of her dress, allowing it to fall open and expose her breasts to him. He stared, and Elara felt the tips of her ears grow hot. Elven men sometimes found her more human curves distasteful, the ones she’d heard talking about her at a party once. She was strong and fit, but she had full breasts and hips that slim Elven women didn’t possess. 

“I… I know that elves are thinner… um here and-” 

He stopped her with a finger to her lips. His hand found one breast, thumb running over a nipple. “I have not seen a beautiful woman like this in…sometime.” Dropping his head, he took a peak into his mouth, sucking, rolling it with his skilled tongue. 

“Ahh, Adar…” The words and sounds fell from her lips with ease, his attention to her only drawing more pleasure, like syphoning poison from a wound. 

His hand found her ankle, teasing above her boot, then both hands yanked her shoes off, tossing them somewhere, hand trailing up her leg, gripping her inner thigh, all while kissing her hard on the mouth. When he began to tease the seam between her legs, Elara broke the kiss, gripping his shoulders, panting. He stilled, perhaps worried? 

“ Avo dharo! (Don’t stop!) ” 

Adar thrust one finger inside of her, and Elara moaned aloud, forgetting her worries about who would hear in the camp; the tent was further from the rest; it would be alright. She was losing all sense of coyness and needed him. Another finger and his thumb began to run small circles around her clit, drawing whimpers from her. It was evident in every movement that he knew how to please a woman.

Adar leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he said, “Let me hear you.” His voice felt like rough stones, gravelly and more profound than usual. Elara broke apart, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder and moaning; she could feel herself clenching around his fingers, pleasure racing over her in sharp, warm barbs, holding onto his chainmail to keep steady.

“Ohh…” It was more of a trailed-off sound than a word as she felt him remove his fingers from her. Suddenly, she couldn’t think of anything but that cot in the other room of the tent and getting his clothing off. 

Elara reached for his sword belt, her fingers deftly unbuckling the clasp with a sense of urgency. He watched her intently as he allowed her to take the heavy belt from his waist. The metallic clank sounded like thunder in the new stillness as it hit the ground, even with blood pounding in Elara's ears.

Next, she turned her attention to the breastplate, her fingers struggling to grasp the intricate straps holding it. The armour felt unyielding, a second skin that he had worn for far too long. For a brief moment, he stood frozen, unsure of what to do as he watched her persistence. But then, a surge of determination seemed to wash over him, and he stepped forward, gently placing his hands over hers. Together, they worked to remove the breastplate, the tension in the air shifting as they shared this intimate moment of vulnerability. Then, the chainmail went up over his head, the metal swishing and falling to the dirt. Reaching out, he drew her against his body again, kissing her hard on the mouth holding her face, his thumb pressed below her jaw. 

“Bed,” she said against his mouth. Elara would have felt embarrassed if she had the mind to at all.

He lifted her, encouraging her legs around him, and walked them through the curtain to the bed, depositing her on her feet. Elara finished removing her blouse and skirt, standing there in her half-open shift as he removed his boots. This was it, she realised, the point of no return, yet she wasn’t terrified or uneasy. In the time she’d known him, Elara had come to trust Adar far more than she had ever trusted… no. Not now. Her mind rebelled against the thought.

Trying to reach for his tunic to lift it, Adar caught her hand; the material of his shirt was fine. She had never noticed with all the beaten armour, but it was elven-made, the cuffs decorated in silver markings. “It is not pleasant to look at,” he murmured, waving a hand vaguely at his chest. 

“I don’t care.” 

“I do.” 

Elara nodded at that; she would not force him to show her himself should he not wish it, but still, to make a statement of her being fully in on this experience, Elara pulled her chemise over her head, letting it fall to the ground and leaving her completely nude for his eyes. Adar stepped forward, almost entranced, gently touching her hip and pulling her hard against him. Groaning into her mouth as his hand kneaded and squeezed her arse. “Fuck..” he mumbled low, biting her lower lip. Laying her down on the cot, he came to hover over her. Elara yanked at the ties of his trousers, releasing him from their confines. 

“ Nestago den (inside me)” came out in a frustrated rush; she needed him.

“ Dartha (wait),” he stayed her hand where it had begun to stroke his length. Adar grit his teeth before continuing, “I-I do not want to pain you; it may-” 

“I have lain with a man,” Elara said before she could think what the implication would be to him. Elves were prudish creatures; they wed, and this act was done solely in those confines, especially for women; it was not often done to have multiple partners.

His eyes were on hers then, calculating, and Elara wondered if he would ask what she had desperately been trying to forget, why she felt more at home here than in Lindon. This would sever that and condemn her in the eyes of the Elves. It would do the same to Adar, though that ship had long sailed. Instead of bringing her fear, it felt like a blessed relief, like boulders lifted from her shoulders. Adar must have decided to leave his questions for another time because he began to press inside her slowly, forcing a breath out of Elara. 

Holding himself up, one of his hands was firmly planted next to her head, but she wanted to feel his weight. When he was fully seated inside her, she tried to pull him down; Adar only shook his head, giving a small tentative thrust, brushing light fingers over her still bruised ribs. “I don’t want to hurt you, Írimënya .” His breathing sounded laboured.

Something about that gentleness broke her heart a bit. How often was he looked at as a monster? Elara placed a hand on his scarred cheek.

The pressure in her lower belly was becoming too much, “move, pleassssee.” She drew out the last syllable, and he chuckled lowly, doing as she asked. It wasn’t long, and they were in a steady rhythm, as had been quite evident since this alliance had formed; they seemed to be a good match in even a physical sense. This was the first time Elara had observed him almost at ease; as he pressed into her, again and again, he seemed for once forced to be present at the moment. 

“You’ve grown quiet, Nillë .” He sounded strained. She clenched around him to test that theory. Adar groaned, hanging his head. “My resolve is not so good as to withstand that after so long,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss and nip at her neck. His other hand found the spot between her legs and drew small circles. Her breathing quickened, and she couldn't help but moan at the warmth beginning to spread through her as release approached.

Elara pressed her head back against the pillow, digging fingertips into his shoulder as more pressure built inside her; she locked eyes with Adar. His jaw was set, the refined line of it ticking as if he were trying very hard to focus. A sharp thrust sent her over the edge, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut. Pleasure rippling over her in waves, her core clenching; somewhere outside of herself, she heard him curse in Sindarin and thrust against her once more before stalling his movements. They stayed connected like that for a moment; she ran her hands up and down his back before Adar rolled off of her onto his side. The stark reality of her situation crashed down on Elara like a heavy storm, illuminating the weight of her choices, the uncertain journey that lay ahead, and the profound truth that her life would never return to what it once was. The gravity of it all felt almost suffocating, yet in that moment, she found herself surprisingly indifferent to the outcome. Instead, a desperate yearning for connection surged within her.

With a trembling hand, she reached out blindly in the dim light, her fingers brushing against his palm's rough, scarred surface. It was a tangible reminder of the battles he had fought, both internal and external. As she pressed his hand firmly to her chest, she could feel the warmth radiating from him, a grounding force amidst the chaos of her thoughts.

Beside her, she heard him inhale deeply, the sound filled with an unspoken understanding. Then he muttered something in Quenya—its lyrical quality was lost on her, foreign and beautiful, drifting like a soft breeze through the air. As his voice faded into the background, she allowed herself to surrender to the fatigue that enveloped her, drifting into a deep sleep, comforted by the presence of someone who, despite the darkness, offered a glimmer of light.  

Chapter Text

The next time they came together that night, it was still very dark, and the sounds of the camp were all but nothing; their lovemaking held little ceremony this time, simply needing to be near one another. The comfortable ache of having him twice in one evening licked lusty fire in her insides as she lay on her side, his cock filling her again and again from behind. Adar’s firm grip on her never faltered; his fingertips would leave bruises on her hip. 

“Adar…” She moaned softly into the bedding, trying her hardest to not be too loud. He pressed his hand very lightly to her lips, aiding in muffling her sounds; the camp was too quiet now to cover anything up. Elara used the opportunity to suck two of his fingers into her mouth and lave at them. Hitching breath in her ear and his voice whispering words she didn't understand but felt the meaning of as his movements created friction between her thighs, slick with pleasure and want for him. She had wanted him earlier than she would ever admit to herself. Found him handsome even in the first moment he caught her in the woods. Adar's other hand found her breast and squeezed lightly at the flesh there, seeming to relish in the softness of her skin; his hand then trailed down her gripping her thigh, opening her more thoroughly to him as his thrusts went deeper, making her suck in a shaky breath and whine softly around his fingers. He cursed low in her ear, and they both found pleasure not far after that. 

Adar was asleep within minutes, and Elara smiled at that, hoping it was a sound sleep he didn’t often get. Still, as the realisation of what had occurred settled, Elara felt her heart racing. What did this mean? Was this something he had done for pleasure and would toss her to the side? She wasn’t his prisoner anymore; he’d made that clear, but she had been… There were things she hadn’t told him… It was a long while of thought before Elara could fall asleep. 

…

It was the first night in ages that he had truly slept well; perhaps he should try to do it more; his head felt clearer than it had in weeks. That also meant that Adar felt shame for his actions in the stark morning light. Elara is peaceful beside him, lost to sleep, and he brushes his fingertips over her collarbone; she feels too delicate and small when he touches her. Too perfect for the likes of him. There is something she hides; it is obvious, but he had decided weeks ago even that he would allow her to come to him with it when she felt ready, and he feels that perhaps more so now. The fact that she had lain with a man leads him to believe that perhaps her husband died, went to the Halls of Mandos, and she is only seeking comfort in he. That would make more sense. Adar wouldn’t object to that; he would take what he could get of the tiny healer and her big brown eyes… her body; he wanted the image of her curves in his mind forever. He could shut them and see her there, just perfection amidst this rugged place they dwelt in.

Elara was a half-elf; perhaps she didn’t attach the same stiff value to this sort of thing as Elves tended to. Yet, despite his efforts to be indifferent, the pain ran deep within him. He loathed his traitorous heart for its capacity to feel, especially at a time when he had hoped to guard himself. This connection held a weight that resonated, touching a part of him that he had almost forgotten existed. Adar found himself grappling with emotions that felt more intense than anything he had experienced in recent memory, stirring recollections of long-lost feelings from his past. He had tried to build walls around his heart, hoping to avoid attachment complications, as allowing himself to care for someone else would only invite worry and vulnerability into his life. The idea of yet another person depending on him when he had so many already... Of nurturing a bond filled with expectations, was daunting, yet it tugged at him in a way he could not ignore. That was frightening. The Uruk would most likely not take well to this, at least not all of them; many seemed to respect her and her ability to heal them, but that could change should he show such respect and care to someone who, to them, despite her origins, was just another elf. The same people they so often feared.

Too many thoughts he needed to get out of his head. Pushing himself up from the furs and the warmth of her body near his Adar dressed and readied himself for the day in much the same way he usually did, mechanical. The camp was already moving when he exited the tent. They would march to Eregion in a fortnight, and things needed to be prepared. Adar must show them that he was doing this for them to achieve their long-sought peace; he could not afford distraction. Glûg appeared at his side as he stalked further into the camp. “I have prepared what you asked, Lord Father.”

Glûg’s discomfort with his decisions had not gone unnoticed, but Adar had to hope his son could see why he must do this and why the ends justified the means. Nodding to the General, Adar placed his hand on the Uruk’s shoulder, “You have done well, my son.”

The Uruk jerked slightly in shock at something, “you reek of she-elf.” It wasn’t said with meanness, perhaps surprise more than anything. Adar ignored the comment and continued on to see what Glûg had finished in his preparations. This would be a signal to anyone he encountered today; Uruk placed a significant amount of weight on scent; they would think Elara was his now. In Elven culture, it was the same after what they had done last night, and Adar was beginning to wish she had run away, that he had never been able to spoil her like this. Her people would never accept her again after he’d laid claim to her body with his dark soul and tainted life. It was not done.

…

“I think we need to inventory what we have and decide how much to gather before we leave, " Elara instructed Dalcma and Seddic. Preparing for the march felt heavy, and the room was generally silent. Patientless, the other two worked quietly preparing medicines and ointments as Elara asked. They were both quite quick and learned what she required with an efficiency that would put some Elven healers to shame.

“Yes, Lady.” Seddic bowed a bit to her as he went to count what was there. They were both acting strange… 

“I’m just going to step out for a moment.” Elara escaped the room and walked across the yard towards an empty area. She needed to be alone, to think. When she reached the lone post, she placed a hand against it and tried to steady herself. So much had happened. Glancing up, she saw across the way Adar had appeared, and when she caught his eye, he turned swiftly and walked the other way. It felt like a sharp stab to her heart. 

She tried telling herself he was busy as she returned to the infirmary. The look of… anxiety, even dread that had crossed his face at the sight of her there was disconcerting. Did he regret what they’d done? Or perhaps he had simply taken her to bed, and that was the end of it? He wanted her to move on and remain... unbothered? She bit her lip hard. This wouldn’t do. She had given her word to help them and was determined to honor that commitment. With a deep breath, she shook off the lingering thoughts of the Uruk's leader, whose shadow loomed too large in her mind.

As she stepped into her healing space, the atmosphere shifted around her. The air was infused with the soothing scents of herbs and essential oils, and soft candlelight danced along the walls, casting gentle shadows that comforted her spirit. She took a moment to ground herself, feeling the cool foundation beneath her feet.

Her hands glided over the various tools and ingredients organised on the shelves, each holding the promise of healing. Determined, she focused on the tasks ahead and began to gather the necessary items, ready to embrace the challenge that lay before her and fulfil her promise to these people.

…

It had been 3 days. The evening air was growing cooler, making her evenings more lonely. Adar hadn’t spoken to her directly since that night in his tent; there had been a lot of ‘ the healer will- ’ and ‘ I will have the healer prepare it- ’ at gatherings in the evenings, but never did he speak to her directly and then he would disappear afterwards. She dare not go to his tent. In a way, Elara preferred to avoid confronting the painful reality of why he refused to speak to her. It felt like a more manageable approach to simply convince herself that he was busy with other matters rather than entertain the unsettling thought that he had manipulated her feelings.

With a deep, shaky breath, she lowered her head, her long, umber hair tumbling over her shoulders as she rested her trembling hands on the cool surface of the infirmary table. Antiseptic scent lingered in the air, mingling with herbs' faint, earthy aroma. In that moment they had shared, it felt as though he truly understood the weight of such acts and their significance to Elven people—a connection deeply rooted in trust and emotion. Yet, a part of her wondered if he was merely acting out of sympathy for her feelings that night. She knew that the Uruk, a race known for their strength and aggression, were known to the broader populous as reluctant to forge emotional bonds. Since being amongst them, that wasn't what she had witnessed, though her knowledge of their customs was still limited. Perhaps the cultural divide made understanding him all the more challenging, and maybe it was none of those things. He may have just found her lacking as her father always. That sent a bit of anger coursing through her.

Elara exited the building and searched for some privacy to allow herself thoughts, but it seemed the dense fog and overcast skies were closing in on her; a few Uruk looked at her strangely, but she kept walking. When she reached a small precipice that dipped into an even smaller valley, she noticed this was where they must train. Adar was in the centre of the small space, instructing another Uruk on how to properly swing his smaller sword to match Adar’s long sword. The Uruk nodded and moved back, and then Gazad stepped up. He was the largest Uruk Elara had given aid to as a healer, and he was taller than Adar by at least a foot or more. It made her suck in a breath of worry, until they began to spar. It was almost immediately apparent that the Uruks fought with a certain brazen brutishness that was surely terrifying, and many elves wouldn’t know how to respond to such a thing, but Adar was accustomed to their pursuits and the use of that, along with his different techniques made them no real match for him. He parried and blocked blow after blow, spinning out of the way or shoving Gazad back; she could hear the Uruk’s frustrated grunts. 

Elara almost gasped aloud when the others joined in as well. Were they actually trying to ambush him? This was when they finally seemed to have some sort of advantage over their leader, and still, Adar deflected almost each blow with a meticulous skill that must have been honed over centuries of fighting. He disarmed several, never drawing the blood of his children, but surely they would be bruised from various impacts. Glûg stepped up at the very end; he had not been participating before this, and it must have caught Adar off guard; the General caught Adar’s jaw with the edge of his blade, and Elara could see the drizzle of black blood slip down his neck. She was becoming slightly suspicious of Glûg’s actions and thought to pay particular attention to him when he thought no one was looking. He was disgruntled with his Lord Father; that was clear as crystal.

“Alright,” she called, “I don’t want to waste fresh bandages on training wounds.” 

There was a grumble amongst the gathered but they dispersed a bit to take a breath. Elara stalked up to Adar, and he avoided her eyes. He was barely breathing heavier than normal, nothing but a slight uptick in his pulse it seemed. Adar was a warrior. 

“Here,” she stepped forward with a small cloth to wipe his injury. 

Adar moved out of her reach and stalked away toward the training weapons. Elara felt a sharp pang in her stomach. He didn’t want her, that much was clear, and yet she was not about to let him act as if she were some annoying ant under his boot. If he didn’t desire her and did not care to have her as more than something to warm his bed, fine, but she would not show herself to be meek. “Will someone spar with me?” 

The gathered group looked to Adar for permission, and it seemed odd.

“I haven’t had practice since coming here. I do not wish to be without the ability to defend myself.” 

There were a few snickers and the words ‘woman’ and ‘small’ she had learnt in black speech. “Mubarum avhiuk!” Adar commanded the group, and silence reigned. “What weapon would you prefer, She-Elf?”

The use of her title from his lips, which had only three nights ago whispered adorations of her and her body, felt like a sharp pain in her chest. Elara gritted her teeth. “Long sword and a dagger.” 

Gazad brought them to her; his face was surprisingly encouraging, and she watched him mutter something to the other Uruk when he returned to the sidelines. She and Adar circled momentarily, and Elara knew she would have to make the first move; he was stalking her, offensive and aloof. The first attempt she made, he easily stepped away from, and she went in a second time, his sword clashing with hers, the metallic clang ringing in the small valley. She could not best him; she knew that, but at the very least, she could prove herself stronger than any of them had given her credit for. 

The next time she went in to strike, he blocked her sword but forgot, perhaps until the last second, her dagger; he stopped her just in time to avoid a knife in his side. Elara watched his eyes following her movements as they went back and forth for some time. He never really struck at her, only blocked what she sent his way; she had the feeling if he did begin defensive movements, she’d lose rather quickly. Still, his eyes were blue steel; she could see nothing of the man the other night and his gentle touch. It really had been all a show for her. White hot rage rushed to the surface, rippling beneath her skin. Elara fought harder, pushing him back, making it harder for him to parry her attacks. When she had finally pushed him far enough towards the remnants of a stone wall, Elara threw an obvious stab his way, and whilst he blocked it, she dropped her dagger and turned, kicking him in the chest and sending him onto his back in the dirt. It had been a messy move and wouldn’t have worked in all scenarios, especially had he been actually trying to kill her, but as her chest heaved and she could hear the whoops of the Uruk behind them, she smirked just slightly. 

Adar got to his feet, not bothering to brush the dirt off his trousers. “ Agorel vae (you did well). ” 

Elara rolled her eyes at him, dropping the sword and stalking back the way she had come. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an Uruk named Morgh giving Gazad something; they had bet on her performance. She couldn’t help but smirk to herself, even if the whole exchange had filled her with more dread. How could she have been so stupid to think any man would be different from those she had known her whole life? As usual, they took what they wanted and moved on just as her father had with her mother, just as Kandrë had so often with her. She stopped at a boulder and sat, looking out into the grey landscape surrounding the camp.

What should she do? Leave?

She would not abandon these people just because their Lord Father had spurned her; it wasn’t even a genuine question. She should have been less foolish. 

“You’re angry.” His deep voice made her jump a little. 

Elara did not respond. Her offence was quickly deflating into something else, shame? She wasn’t sure. 

Adar stepped around so she would have to look at him. “I am sorry if I offended you.” 

“You did not offend me.” 

“It seems I have done something. That kick was not a simple move in a sparring match.” The sentence was punctuated with a small snort. “You’re going to leave now, are you not?” 

Elara glanced up, meeting his eyes, and that had been a mistake. The hurt came flaring back to life. “I do not wish to be used as someone’s pet or toy. I am a person with free will, and I have spent too much time at the behest of men who thought my uses were only for their pleasure and societal gain.” She breathed in deeply and stood, “But I made a pact that I would heal your children; I would not go back on it.” 

He was silent for a while, and when she glanced up, he looked a bit surprised. Then he stepped forward. “I did not—I do not want you to ever think that I used you in such a way.” His voice was severe, not angry but firm. 

Elara stared up at him, her breath catching despite herself and her resolve to be furious with him. 

“It is complicated,” his finger reached out, tracing her jaw as if he couldn't prevent himself from doing so. 

“What is?” It was almost a sigh more than a question, his touch making her dizzy. 

“This… emotion between us-” 

“So there is something!” Elara felt a bit vindicated. " You have been avoiding me on purpose.” It felt good to know she had been wrong about him simply tossing her to the side. 

Adar glanced up at the sky in what seemed to be a feigned exasperation with her, but when he bent and almost pressed his lips to hers, there was no real bite to his expression. “We are different, you and I,” he said against her lips. 

“Yes…?”

His hand moved to the back of her head, fingers massaging her scalp lightly. “You would never be able to go home. You would be an outcast simply by association. Even now, it would be difficult; by elf standards, we have joined ourselves together; they would look at you horribly for lying with something like me.” The way he discussed himself was sullen; it made Elara’s heart ache for the pain and loneliness he must have felt for centuries. 

She had come to trust Adar. Until a few days ago, she thought they were becoming friends and allies, and her feelings were more than that, of course. Not simply because they’d lain together, but she cared for him. “Elves have not always been the pillars of goodness they often make themselves out to be. I have been,” Elara swallowed. She needed to tell him things… but it would have to wait, “harmed by them in more ways than one.” 

Adar’s eyes tracked hers, a hardness setting to them, but he didn’t push her. 

“I must admit that I chose carefully when you asked me if I would stay and heal your people. I do not wish to return to Lindon; I left to escape my life there. I did not expect this to be the result, but I am not upset by it.” She tugged the Uruk commander's breastplate towards her as she had done a few nights before. “I do not make decisions lightly. Do you trust that I know my mind, Melethel ?” 

Adar sucked in a deep breath and brought their lips together, kissing her fiercely and holding her tight against him. 

Elara forced herself away; she had to hear him acknowledge it. “Do you trust that I know my own mind? What I want?" 

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. 

Something like righteous vindication swelled through her. Kandrë had never thought she could think for herself. She trusted what Adar said at this moment; he did not dismiss her in such a way, and this had all been born out of his fear for her. She allowed him to press her back against a tree and further explore her mouth.

Chapter Text

When Elara returned to the infirmary, Dalcma only raised an eyebrow, and Seddic seemed to become very busy suddenly… storing herbs in jars and packing more of the bandages they needed to take. It was strange to be around beings with such good noses that they could smell their leader on her from a few minutes of kissing. Adar had gone to attend to more duties, but before he released her to return to the camp, he had requested that she come to his tent that night. Hot arousal had spiked in her at the thought. And he had a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he walked away, a sly smile that revealed he was fully aware of just how deeply she desired him. The confident tilt of his head and the glimmer in his eyes hinted at a shared secret that made her heart race with a mixture of longing and frustration. 

“The inventory, let's hear it then?” She tried to make her voice sound strong without caring for what they knew. 

Seddic stepped up, always wishing to impress her with his newest healing knowledge.

"We are doubling the recipe of the sun balm, and most of the badges are stored for travel; we should not have any issue with moisture getting in."

Dalcma, always more apt to find things humorous, looked down at her work and smirked as Elara fumbled about, trying to get her bearings again and push thoughts of the Uruk Commander away.

...

As the sun sank below the horizon, casting a deep orange hue across the sky, Elara found herself surrounded by the remnants of a busy day filled with training and preparation. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the metallic tang of blood, a reminder of the sparring sessions that had left a few injuries needing attention. Night had completely settled in when Elara sent the last Uruk, a young warrior with a fresh bandage wrapped around his arm, on his way with a few encouraging words. She sighed deeply, the weight of weariness settling on her shoulders.

After watching him disappear into the shadows, Elara turned her attention to the basin before her. She scrubbed at the stubborn black blood staining her fingers, the evidence of the day’s work. Once she felt that her hands were clean, she decided to take the entire basin outside for proper cleaning and sanitising.

At that moment, Dalcma appeared from behind the nearby tents, her towering form illuminated by the faint glow of torches in the distance. “I’ll handle that,” she said, her voice surprisingly gentle and soothing despite her fierce appearance. The rugged Uruk had a kind demeanor, a stability that made her exceptionally skilled in healing. Both she and Seddic were naturals, taking to the art of healing as if it were something they were born to do.

“I’m fine,” Elara replied, attempting to brush off Dalcma’s concern.

Dalcma raised an eyebrow, her gaze steady. “I didn’t say you weren’t, but you still need to eat. You can't neglect yourself.” She gently pulled the basin from Elara's hands, the gesture firm yet caring, and then nodded toward the distant eating area, where murmurings of conversations and the tempting smell of food wafted through the air. “Is there anything left to do?”

Elara took a moment to reflect, a sense of responsibility tugging at her. After considering her tasks and realising that everything had been taken care of, she sighed once more and said, “No, everything is done.”

Seeing the reassurance on Dalcma’s face, Elara felt a flicker of warmth in her chest, a reminder of seeing Adar later.

Dalcma nodded knowingly, then motioned again toward the dinner setup, encouraging Elara to take a moment for herself.

Elara felt almost in a trance as she walked there, calculating the things they still needed to forage before they left this place. She was reasonably prepared but didn’t know how dangerous this would be. Elves were lethal soldiers, but the Uruks held their own as well. Elara had barely realised she’d retrieved a bowl of food, so lost in her thoughts. Thanking the cook, who only grumbled, she sat by herself on a log. The stew was likely rabbit, and it seemed they had been able to harvest carrots and potatoes from somewhere; it felt good to eat, she realised, finishing her whole portion quickly and eating the crusty bread as well. Interestingly, she had been far more well-fed in Lindon, but she felt good and strong being here with the Uruk; life was simpler and less extravagant, and she had taken to it. As she pulled the tie from her scarf, her fingers worked through the tangles in her long, wavy hair, which cascaded around her shoulders. It was becoming quite unruly and would soon need a trim, growing significantly like a weed whenever she neglected it. The gentle breeze tugged at her hair, mingling with the earthy scents of her surroundings, and she couldn’t help but smile at the refreshing change.

Someone’s shadow blocked her from the fire, making her glance up. Glûg stood, hand on his sword, not looking at her incredibly friendly. 

“General.” She murmured in acknowledgement. 

“Lady,” he returned, though it was a strained reply. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Adar appeared over his shoulder, stopping whatever comment he was yet to make. When Elara glanced around at the other Uruks, they seemed to return to their business as if they had been waiting for a confrontation. Not everyone was pleased she was there… and she supposed it wasn’t their fault; they had died at the hands of Elves for centuries. 

Adar said something to Glûg in Black Speech and laid a hand on his shoulder. The Uruk seemed to soften then, and his face looked less fierce as he went to his friends across the fire pit. Adar sat next to Elara, allowing his long legs to extend out a bit with a grunt of soreness. 

“Did you eat?” she asked. 

He shook his head. 

Instead of waiting to convince him, Elara stood and retrieved a portion for him, placing the food in his hands before he could protest. She didn’t notice, but the Uruks around her took note of this, paying very close attention even if they couldn’t hear their Lord Father and her conversation. “Eat, or do you wish to become one of my patients from exhaustion alone?” 

Adar looked at her in surprise but began to eat without more protest. 

Elara noticed the ugly graze on Adar's jaw. The scrape was still showing, raw and uncleaned and beginning to bruise, which made her shake her head in dissatisfaction and roll her eyes.

“What?” he asked, catching her disapproving expression. He took a bite of food and waited for her reply.

“You didn’t even bother to clean the gash on your jaw. Let me take care of it for you—” Elara started, stepping closer.

He halted her with a firm gaze, his eyes conveying a message far stronger than words. “ Not here .” He spoke in Sindarin, the lyrical language that kept their conversation private from prying ears.

Elara nodded slowly, understanding the necessity of maintaining his strong façade in front of his people. “ You’re right, ” she conceded. Then, focusing on the situation, she asked, “How do you wish to proceed with this?” She motioned between them with her hands, illustrating her desire for clarity. “ I don’t want to cause any troubles. ” Her gaze inadvertently wandered to Glûg, who was lingering nearby, watching them on and off.

“ They already sense that something has shifted ,” Adar replied, his gruff voice taking on an unexpectedly gentle tone. “ You smell of me ,” he added, almost teasingly.

Caught off guard, Elara looked down, a warm flush creeping into her cheeks.

“And you even retrieved my food,” he continued in common tongue, his brow furrowing slightly in perplexity.

She looked back up at him, confusion etched on her face.

“In Uruk culture, it’s customary to care for another in that manner only if you are mated,” he explained, his voice serious yet laced with an underlying warmth.

“Oh! I—I'm so sorry,” she stammered, suddenly aware of the implications of her actions. The last thing she intended was to make him feel pressured—

“ Îdh (peace) ,” Adar murmured gently, brushing his fingers against hers with a tenderness that surprised her. “It is alright.”

“Have you ever had a… mate?” she ventured carefully, the question hanging in the air between them.

He shook his head slowly, his expression thoughtful. “No.”

“When you were an elf…?” She was definitely fishing at this point, but she needed to know or wanted to know more about who he was. 

Adar’s eyes became very distant. “My memory of that time is distant. I did have a betrothed; she left me for another.” 

Elara didn’t want to push him too hard; she only nodded and squeezed the hand still resting on hers. “I am sorry.” 

“That was long ago.” He had finished eating, and most of the Uruks that had been gawking a bit at them had moved on to other tasks or retiring for the night. “Are you tired?” 

Looking down, Elara smiled to herself, feeling free-er to express her feelings than she ever had living with elves. “I am not tired.” 

Adar nodded to this, looking around as if he were trying very hard to think of what to do next. Seeing him so at a loss in that moment was sweet. 

She leaned closer to him, tilting her head up. “I do, though, wish to go to bed.” 

A dark look crossed his features, and he glanced around to ensure they were alone before leaning in and kissing the base of her ear. “I am amenable to that.” 

When they reached his tent, Elara began to feel embarrassed. Perhaps he had not wanted her to be so brash with her request, maybe he needed more time. There were still so many unknowns. Just before they reached the entrance, Adar looked around and then grabbed Elara about the waist, pushing her against the firm post of the tent and kissing her hard on the mouth, his hands wandering up and down her sides. That was a question answered then… 

“Lady-” Dalcma’s voice came into focus, then cut off in a noise of surprise. Adar pulled away swiftly, and Elara was left face burning against the wooden post. 

The Uruk was trying her hardest to suppress the amusement of this situation. 

“Is someone hurt, Dalcma?” Elara collected herself enough to speak. 

“No, Lady, I simply wanted to let you know we’d had one more wound to dress, but it is well, and the infirmary is empty… ready for you to sleep…” 

“Right, thank you. Tell Seddic as well; you’ve both been such fine students.” 

Throughout the entire exchange, Adar’s gaze remained fixed on the tent, his expression almost contemplative as though he were inspecting its seams and fabric, even though it was evident he wasn’t truly paying attention to it.

As Dalcma walked past him, she said, “Good night,” nodding in acknowledgement, “Lord Father.”

Adar responded with a slight nod, his face resuming a cold, apathetic mask. He then moved past, gracefully holding the wide opening of his tent so that Elara could enter. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she stepped inside, nervously chewing on her bottom lip, a sign of unease. “Sorry—” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

With a gentle wave of his hand, Adar interrupted her. “No need for that,” he said, his tone surprisingly calm. “I was the one who initiated that; you have nothing to apologise for, Nillë .” His words hung in the air, allowing her to reflect amidst the tension.

“I think they already know anyway…” She trailed off, tracing patterns against the rough wood of the table. 

“Do you wish for us to keep it private?” 

Elara shook her head, taking out a few healing items and motioning for him to sit beside the table. “That is a choice you should make.” She began to clean the wound on his jaw, already closing up, mostly just smears of black blood there. “You heal like an elf,” she mused, unable to stop herself from glancing at his scars. 

His eyes tracked where she was looking, “if wounds are kept open long enough… even elves scar.” 

She placed a finger to his lips, “You do not need to speak of such things to me. I will listen if you wish, but I do not expect you to relive such horror just for my curiosity.” 

His blue eyes shown with a gratitude that hurt her heart. 

“All done,” she murmured after adding an ointment to the scrap. He would not sustain any more scars on her watch; that was certain. 

Adar reached out then, pulling her towards him and encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist, sitting in his lap. His large hand threading into her hair and pulling her in for a kiss, whilst the hand with the gauntlet clamped protectively on her back, keeping her in place against him. Elara’s heart began to race, and pleasure pooled between her legs at even the slightest touch from him. Elara sighed aloud when his lips began to trail down her neck, her hands gripping his shoulders for steadiness. The gauntlet tightened against her side, and she yelped slightly, but the slight sting only added to her pleasure, and Elara couldn’t help the moan that escaped her. 

“ Goheno nin (forgive me).” 

She shook her head then, “it is well.” Then, taking his gauntleted hand boldly, she placed it on her upper thigh where her skirt had ridden up, exposing her skin to him. The dark steel made a stark difference against her pale thigh. He kneaded her flesh there and picked them both up, placing her on the stool and kneeling before her in a smooth movement. Elara was a bit confused at first, but then he began to push her skirt up further, pressing hot kisses to the inside of her knees and thighs. Nearly gasping, she leaned back against the table. No one had ever done this to her before, and she wasn’t sure what to expect, but the tension coiling in her belly had her allowing him to continue. Adar’s eyes met hers just as he pressed a chaste kiss to her centre, the lightest brush of lips, but it felt like hot iron searing her as his tongue lightly slipped between her folds, tasting her fully.

“Oh,” Elara mumbled lamely as he tested her reaction to his tongue circling her, “Ohhh.” 

His dark chuckle added to the sensation, his movements continuing, tongue lapping at her, lips sucking. Shutting her eyes, Elara felt nearly ready to black out at the warm pulses of pleasure she felt as he worked his mouth against her. Each stroke of his tongue made warmth bloom in her centre, and she could feel herself throbbing, pulsing, needing him. The feeling was building, her breath coming in and out rapidly, her fingers tangled in his dark hair, and she could not stop herself.

“ Ci sui ‘lî erin lam nîn (you’re like honey on my tongue).” His low growl against her had Elara shattering, moaning and holding his face against her. 

“ Rhaich!” Elara couldn’t help cursing as she saw stars behind her eyes. 

When she allowed him to pull back, it was hard not to simply force him back to his place between her legs. His appearance dishevelled from his efforts, his long hair messy from her fingers, and his lips and chin glistening with her release. Her legs shook without her control, and Adar rubbed her thighs to soothe her likely. She tried to stand up and pulled him with her, luckily, as her legs shook when she tried to stand. Adar pulled her through the makeshift door to the room, stopping just inside and pulling her against his chest. The hard metal of the breastplate made it difficult to melt against him, and she wanted to feel him. Tugging at the breastplate, Adar chuckled against her lips, his fingers stilling in her hair. He went instead to remove his breastplate and then his mail.

It looked old; it seemed he had worn the same things for centuries, perhaps. Elara watched this time as he pulled his gauntlet off. The scarring on his hand was severe, and the skin seemed tight and stiff as if the bones had been broken many times. She grimaced as she picked it up, inspecting it. 

“It is grotesque,” Adar murmured, a hint of desperation in his voice as he tried to withdraw his hand. “I am sorry—”  

“Shh, no, Melindo (lover-male) ,” Elara whispered softly, her voice soothing as she pressed her warm lips to his knuckles, one after another. As he gazed at her, a flicker of wonder illuminated his eyes, and she felt a deep ache in her heart for the years he had endured being met with looks of horror. “I have a certain ointment that might help the skin move more freely. If we apply it regularly, I truly believe it will—”

“Later,” he said with a small, barely there upturn of his mouth, hand tracing the curve of her waist. They finished undressing in a rush, but this time, he looked at her, no, gazed at her when she stood before him in the candlelight. 

Elara felt a blush spreading and began to cover herself with her arms; he stopped her, grazing the swells of her breasts with his fingertips and murmuring something over and over again in Quenya. She was not generally shy, but she’d always been self-conscious of how she looked compared to her peers. Adar seemed to sense this and moved back towards the cot, pulling her with him. She moved to straddle him, her chest pressed firmly against his, the rough feeling of his tunic against her exposed hardening nipples ripped a moan out of her, and Adar growled in response, his lips against her neck, pressing kisses and sucking at her skin there. 

She wanted to feel his skin against hers; it was as if she couldn't get close enough to him. Inevitably, her hands ended up beneath his tunic, stroking the skin of his abdomen as he continued his attention to her neck and shoulder. Adar’s eyes met her own, and she realised his chest had been off-limits to her the last time. Elara was ready to apologise, but he reached down and pulled the tunic over his head, then eyes meeting hers. He was allowing her this; he was trusting her, and it made her heart swell; she kissed him on the mouth and let her fingers to explore his exposed chest and stomach. Scars covered most of it, but the muscles underneath were honed over years and years of fighting, making her mouth dry a bit to see him. She needed him in a way she had never felt before physically with anyone. It made her almost desperate.

Elara pressed him back to lay against the bedding and reached between them to sink down on his cock. Adar groaned audibly, gripping her hips tight in his large hands; clearly unable to help himself, he ground her over him, pressing her back and forth, their skin flush. She moaned at the feeling of him so deep inside her, eyes fluttering closed and mouth open in a silent moan. Adar finally loosened his grip on her, his hands still in place but allowing her to begin moving up and down on him at a slow and tense pace. He swore and reached up to squeeze her breast, thrusting up each time she came down. Elara felt pressure building in her before too long, her moans becoming less controlled and her pace less steady; Adar noticed and began to run small circles around the pleasure point between her thighs. Moaning, she hung her head, nails digging into his chest as she came shuddering around his cock. Immediately, she began to move again, trying to get him to the same place of ecstasy; the ache left from her own pleasure made her gasp at the sensitivity and leftover pulses of pleasure. Adar looked entranced by this; his fingers dug into her hips, eyes falling closed until he tensed beneath her, and she felt his hot release inside her.

Adar eased her off of him, and Elara lay on the cot, where he went to fetch some water to clean them up. She drifted in and out of sleep, her consciousness flickering like a candle in the wind. Just when she thought she might finally surrender to the depths of slumber, she felt the gentle dip of the bed beside her. A warm presence settled close, radiating heat that enveloped her in a comforting embrace.

To her surprise, he was warmer than she had anticipated. The Uruk she had tended to before always seemed to possess a higher body temperature than the elves, but this warmth was especially reassuring.

“I can almost hear your thoughts racing, Írimënya . Just let yourself sleep,” he murmured softly near her ear, his voice deep and soothing. As he pulled her closer, Elara felt a wave of relief wash over her, grateful to be in such proximity to him. The familiar scent of his skin and the steady rhythm of his breath created a cocoon of safety that coaxed her closer to the edge of peaceful dreams.

Chapter Text

To some, Adar might come across as a harsh, formidable figure, but in truth, he was not usually an angry man. Over the centuries, he had wrestled with anger, allowing it to consume him at times, yet he eventually learned that this deep-seated rage had never propelled him forward. Only in moments of calm contemplation, when he could think clearly and strategically, did he find the strength to achieve his objectives.

Yet, as he strolled through the weathered grounds of their encampment, an unexpected and uninvited unsettling wave of anger surged within him. This frustration was not aimed at his children or the difficult lives they had always led; rather, it felt like a raw emotion with no specific target. This intermittent anger had cropped up since he decided to allow Halbrand to retreat to Eregion—perhaps even earlier.

He felt a gnawing discontent as he reflected on that choice. What had compelled him to let the would-be king of the Southlands escape? Despite his best efforts to rationalise it, a satisfactory explanation eluded him, leaving only the remnants of confusion and frustration. Why had he acted in a way that now seemed so perplexing? The more he searched his mind for answers, the more he became entangled in uncertainty. It was as if he hadn’t been in full control of his mind. It had been a long time since Adar had felt that way, and it terrified him. There were things he lacked, but he felt reasonably intelligent in the themes of war and prisoners, and yet that had all gone out the window, and he had let the man leave. Deep down, he wondered why that was and had a sneaking feeling he already knew.

Elara felt like clear, cool water on his face; she brought back the parts of him that felt perhaps out of reach, like he could see past this fog clouding his judgement. That, at least, was something.

As he moved through the dimly lit encampment, Adar passed several carts methodically loaded with an array of weapons—swords, shields, and bows—all in the early stages of preparation for the impending conflict. Doubts gnawed at him as he hesitated, his thoughts tangled in a web of anxiety. Did he truly want to be part of this? Was this the best course of action for him and those he cared about?

He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the weight of his decision pressing down on him. With a heavy heart, he turned away from the bustling preparations, his boots barely making a sound on the hard, packed earth beneath him.

Just then, he sensed someone trailing behind him. When he turned, he was met with the sight of Elara. She stood confidently in her training attire, a tunic and sturdy fitted trousers that hinted at her readiness for battle. Her expression mirrored a mix of determination and curiosity, making it clear that she was aware of the moment's gravity for him; always, she seemed to sense his feelings. He allowed his eyes to linger; he could now. Adar realised she had given him leave to look at her, and he did often. Her petite frame was slight, but he could almost feel her hips and legs under his hands, the soft skin, squeezing it, caressing it. Elara's waist was currently lost in the larger tunic she wore, but he already knew what it looked like and felt it in his hands. 

“Are you staring at me, Melethel? Do I have dirt on my face?” Her face lit up when she smiled, teasing him. 

“Yes,” he conceded. 

“You will give me a complex, gazing at me like that.” She stopped just before him, tilting her chin and looking up with interested eyes. “What is troubling you?” 

Adar shook his head and tore his gaze off to the grey landscape of Mordor. “ Alnad (nothing). ” 

Elara didn’t look convinced when his eyes met hers again, but she did not pry; every day, she made it clear she wouldn’t force him to speak of things he didn’t wish to; it was refreshing the freedom in their partnership or whatever this was. Adar felt a deep affection for her, but he didn’t want to scare her off with the intensity of his feelings. It made him somewhat uncomfortable how quickly the urge to protect and care for her had developed.

“Where did you grow up?” she asked.

Adar looked away and sighed, deciding to be sincere. “I don’t fully remember. I recall various regions in Beleriand from my younger years, but much of it is lost to time, and…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “My mind changed after I was transformed, and I lost some of my memories at his hands…” His voice dropped to a low, gravelly tone. He waved his hand dismissively as if to brush away the heavy thoughts.

Her small hand reached out and stroked the metal of his gauntlet. True to her word, she had been applying a salve to it the past few nights, and he felt it moving better each time. Elara had a beautiful gift for healing that made him catch his breath. To be good at something so pure… he felt a husk of a person so near to her. She shouldn’t be at all interested in him. What could he provide her? Nothing but ruin and fear.

“Why are you not certain you killed him?” 

“I thought I had.” His mind drifted to that moment in Forodwaith long ago. Even then, when Adar saw the empty armour on the frost-covered ground, he knew deep down, perhaps, that he had failed. “The prisoner I sent to Ost-in-Edhil, he spoke of a sorcerer, but more than that, I feel that I knew him, Halbrand. The moment I saw him, I felt a familiarity with him.” He did not wish to speak of this to anyone. He had felt this undeniable connection and absolute fear that perhaps he would never truly be able to rid this world of Sauron. 

Elara was perceptive as he knew her to be caught on without him saying it outright. “Do you believe this Halbrand to be he?” 

“ Law iston (I don’t know). ” 

“Perhaps… doing as he bid is not the course?” This time, Elara stepped close to him, forcing him to look at her, her hand tracing the patterns of his breastplate. 

Adar felt a rage flame within him. She did not know of this, and she was unable to see the damage Sauron would inflict on his people. “I must eradicate him from this world.” 

She tried to reply, but Adar cut her off. “I must go,” and he followed the path he had taken back to camp, wishing he had not ended their conversation so harshly. 

…

That dull grey light woke her, and Elara rolled over a bit, trying to get her bearings; she was in Adar’s tent, their tent. After their feelings had been split that night and the two had come to some understanding with one another, Adar requested that she put her personal things here in his tent. She had slept in his bed every night since then. Any of the Uruk who had noticed this shift seemed to have taken it in stride, not being concerned that she and their Lord Father were now in some relationship or understanding. Elara felt some stiffness in her limbs. She had gone and trained with the others every day that she could get away from the infirmary, and it was making a difference in her strength, but she wasn’t used to so much exercise. Groaning, she sat up, rubbing her right arm. Gazad had landed a particularly nasty blow on it with the blunt side of his sword the day before. 

Adar appeared in the entry at the sound, brow raised. Elara was surprised he wasn’t already seeing preparations for leaving to march; there was much left to do, and he was often insistent that he would be just as involved in it as his people. 

“ Ma samil maure aþio? (Do you need aid?)” 

“ Û (no) .” Elara pulled up the wide sleeve of her shift and was met with the nasty bruise that had been left there. “ Orro (ouch) ,” she mumbled, pressing a fingertip to the bruise to test it. 

Taking her arm to inspect it, Adar spoke in Common Tongue. This was something they often did, slipping in and out of their shared languages. She got the impression that he had missed hearing the words and phrases of his origin.

“How did you do this, Írimënya ?” His brow furrowed as he looked her over. “I did not see that last night…” 

Elara felt her face heat thinking of the night before and their rushed coupling. Despite travel preparations, they were not able to keep their hands off each other. “You did not remove most of my clothes… and it may not have developed yet.” She cleared her throat, moving from the cot towards her chest of things and pulling out some clean clothing. “It happened when I was training; Gazad is strong.” This was a compliment, and true, he was skilled and not only that, but he was large. 

Adar eyed her, stepping up to help her take her hair from its nightly brain. He seemed to love running his fingers through her strands at every chance he could. “I wish you would train with someone else…” 

A younger version of herself would feel angry that he did not think she was capable, but she knew it was just his protective nature. Many would baulk at the idea that the Commander of the Uruks was caring, even, but it seemed to be innate in him; he felt compelled to protect and provide for the ones he loved. That is what made him a seemingly devoted leader to his descendants, who called him father. 

Adar raised an eyebrow when she hadn’t responded to his question. 

She chuckled, “Who? You? You’re far more lethal than any of them. " She turned, patting his chest. “I am well. I want to ensure I am capable, Ohta túla (war is coming) .” 

“ Nál melehta ohtar (you’re a mighty warrior) ,” then he added, “already.” 

Waving him off, she pulled her doublet over her head; the padded vest would help her not feel their blows so much, “I am not.” 

“I plan to ensure you will be far from any danger.” He pulled her close, tilting her head back so she had to look up at him. 

Elara pressed up on tiptoes to kiss him. “That is not always something you will be able to control. I must go help Seddic this morn.” 

He allowed her out of the circle of his arms, and she gave him a small smile as she exited the tent. 

…

He was not one to fear his children questioning his decisions; he welcomed it mostly, even in times of war, but Glûg was becoming a problem, sewing seeds of doubt within the group. Glûg had been promoted not long before this, for good reason. He had good sense and battle strategy. He oft knew what to expect out of certain situations, but there was some discontent in him. Adar was not so naive to think it looked wrong to some of the Uruk that he had finally bedded someone after all these years, and it was someone of elven origin, but that couldn’t be all of it, and most didn’t seem to have an issue with it. Elara chose to help and heal them every day, and most were pleased to have her there. 

“I think she’s got him by the balls,” Glûg’s voice was loud enough to be heard from where Adar approached. “If he wanted a whore, he could've found one elsewhere.” He almost spat the words. 

“That is enough.” Adar would not tolerate her being spoken of in such a foul way. For his credit, Glûg looked ashamed, and perhaps this was less about Elara and more about spitting Adar.

“ Kurrauz avo duavieuk ,” his command sent them on their way. This was becoming something more than he had expected. It was the first time that seeds of doubt had really taken root in his midst in many centuries, perhaps since Forodwaith. 

He was the one who had taught them to question authority. That was not his problem; his issue lies with Sauron and his effort to seek the Uruk's protection. He would not sit back and do nothing if it was possible he could save them from becoming slaves to the Maiar again. Adar allowed a sigh of frustration slip from him, and he continued walking towards the training arena; he needed scouts to fetch some supplies, and many of them were there. Cresting the hill, he gazed down on the fighters there, and in their midst, his eyes made contact with Elara’s back as she caught a blow in the air above her head and slipped from Gazad’s grasp, quick and efficient. Adar saw his son growl a bit in frustration. Moving quickly on her feet, Elara caught Gazad’s ankle with her boot, knocking him onto his back and placing her blade at his throat. 

The Uruk chuckled and got to his feet.

“We shake,” Elara murmured, producing her hand for him to take, “for a good fight.” 

Gazad shook his head, “I shouldn’t touch you in that way, Lady.” 

Elara’s face skewed in confusion. 

“It's not done. You smell of Adar, and I would not dishonour him in that way.” 

Adar observed as her expression shifted into one of deep thought, the gears of her mind visibly turning. As was her custom, she absorbed the cultural insight and tucked it away for future reflection.

“I didn’t realise that was a tradition of yours,” she finally remarked, her voice laced with curiosity. “Thank you for sharing it with me.” She wiped the sweat from her brow with a cloth, her movements fluid and mindful, before she began her ascent up the hill. The warm sun glinted off her flushed cheeks, a testament to her effort, but a deeper shade of crimson crept in as she realised he had overheard her previous conversation.

“A while,” Adar replied, his tone casual yet hinting at the weight of his thoughts.

“Hmm,” she mused, tilting her head slightly as her brow furrowed with concern. “You really were worried that Gazad would harm me?”

“Not intentionally,” he reassured her, his gaze steady.

“I know that,” she replied with a dismissive huff, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. Despite his formidable exterior, Gazad had a surprisingly gentle spirit. This juxtaposition intrigued her, leaving her to ponder the complexities hidden beneath a rugged facade.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling her closer and breathing in the scent of her hair. 

She scrunched her nose and pulled away a bit. “Do you think that because I am small, I am not a good fighter? Earlier, I tried to push this from my mind, but..."

He shook his head, “I do not. I see that from the way you move. Your height is to your advantage; you can be quick and stealthy in a way someone of Gazad’s size cannot.” 

She had allowed him to pull her back into the circle of his arms. 

“You can clearly be quite deadly.” His hand slipped down, caressing her backside then. “I need to see to a few things. Will I see you after dinner?” 

She nodded, giving him a small wave “till then.” 

…

Tucking herself beneath the covers, Elara pulled out the book she had selected from Adar’s collection; she hoped he wouldn’t mind. She had not seen him since earlier that day. Turning over onto her stomach, she began to read; it seemed a history of some lands in Middle Earth, not exactly the most entertaining, but at the very least, it was something. She read quite a lot in Lindon, and she missed having something to relax in the evening with; she hoped he would not mind. Soon, she was lost to the words on the page and jolted from her reverie at the cold feeling of metal against her leg. Adar was behind her, his gauntlet resting against the back of her calf, where her chemise had exposed it. 

“Hi,” she mumbled, going to turn and greet him, but he stopped her, holding her in place against the bed with his hand. Her breath caught, and without anything else to go off of, Elara felt something like a liquid desire pool in her lower belly, sharp and quick. “I..uhh, decided to read one of your books,” his hand crept higher, caressing the back of her thigh, “hope that is alright.” Elara sucked in a sharp breath.

“Yes, feel free.” He said it nonchalantly, but when she glanced at him over her shoulder, she could see his eyes dark with desire as he gazed at her bare legs. He traced light patterns over her skin with the tips of the metal, never pressing harder than the lightest caress. “Your skin is so unmarked… I feel I shouldn’t even touch you.” 

“ Anin gell nîn (please), touch me…” her words came out like a breathy sigh. 

His responding chuckle was a low rumble that made her insides ache all the more. 

The sound of the gauntlet hitting the ground made her jump a little in anticipation, his bare hands now exploring her flesh, daring to press higher, kneading her backside with a groan. Elara fisted the bedding and felt his fingers trail closer to where she desperately wanted them. Barely brushing her folds with his fingertips but groaning when he felt the dampness there, the clear indication of her attraction to him. Adar’s weight made the cot shift as he leaned forward, gripping her thighs, one in each hand and opening her further to him, his tongue pressing to her centre, tasting her with a flick of his tongue. Elara moaned and pushed up onto her knees; this was obscene, her open before him on her knees, but she was unable to fully see his face behind her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as he tasted her again, mouthing at her clit ever so gently, never enough for her to feel a complete reprieve from the searing want in her. He gripped one hip harder, jerking her back so he had more access to her, pressing her against his face. Just as his lapping intensified and he was sucking her clit over and over, rolling his skilled tongue over it, Adar completely removed his mouth from her skin.

“Nooo,” Elara whined, her head dropping to look at the furs beneath her as she panted. “ Avo dharo! (don’t stop)."  

“Peace, Nillë .” Two of his large fingers pressing against her entrance. 

There on her hands and knees before him, she felt like a wanton mess, moving her hips back towards his fingers. She felt positively on fire at the mere thought of him in this way. Was that how it was supposed to feel? Needing him like this. How long had it been since he last bedded someone? There were many questions. He pressed his other hand to her back, pressing at the smallest part, arching her body. 

“What do you want?” He rasped, pressing kisses to her back and sinking his teeth into her hip, then caressing it gently. He seemed rather amused by how badly she wanted him. 

“ I lebid gîn (your fingers) ,” Elara was surprised, but she didn’t blush at all at what she said, even as he played in her juices, toying with her arousal and making her legs shake, never pressing far enough into her to satisfy. Finally, he did as she asked and thrust his fingers inside her fully. Elara moaned, and just as she was getting used to the sensation of being full, he pulled out all the way and then thrust his fingers back inside on and on like that, still teasing her, and each time, he would brush her clit with his thumb, sending small starts of pleasure through her. The mounting pleasure was nearly blinding, Elara losing all thoughts except his fingers again and again and her breathing becoming more laboured. When she finally came, she collapsed onto her forearms, her thighs shaking and feeling like she had walked for days. 

“So wet, Írimënya .” Adar’s voice floated over her gently as she came back to reality. She pressed up, allowing him to grab her about the waist and hold her back against his chest. She hadn’t noticed, but his armour was still in place, cold against her thin shift; she shivered.

Adar lifted the hem of her shift, pulling it over her head and pressing kisses to the side of her throat.

“ No gûn annin (bend over for me) ,” he whispered low in her ear, and she did, of course, as he asked, her core clenching at the slight command. 

She heard the sounds of his armour coming off, the anticipation playing a low melody inside her. The bed creaked a bit under his weight, and his warm hand came to caress her thigh, again making Elara shiver; she looked back at him and found him admiring her brushing light fingertips over her exposed skin. With perhaps almost painful slowness, he aligned himself with her entrance and pushed inside her. The stretch of him had her panting again as he gripped her hips and thrust again and again at a leisurely pace. 

“Just like that,” he murmured low, barely audibly. 

Elara moaned in response, his words sending sparks around in her belly, lighting the fire of arousal yet again. She pushed back, meeting him thrust for thrust, enjoying the groan he made when he bottomed out inside her. 

“You take me so well,” he mumbled, lost to pleasure, and Elara, in turn, clenched around him. Adar sucked in a breath and leaned forward to cover her back, moving faster, fucking her harder every movement of him inside of her was like pleasurable surrender. She was going to come apart again, but Elara wanted to hold on and enjoy hearing him lost to his own pleasure, so often he was so serious and never allowed himself peace. He groaned and thrust against her, lost to the sensation, words and phrases in Black Speech falling from his lips amidst her name. 

Elara didn’t know what he said, but it sounded filthy, and it had her clenching around his cock, and finding her release without having really known what was happening. “Ada-.” The shout of his name was cut short as the heat pooled in her belly, and she felt pleasure roll over her again and again. Somewhere in the distance of the moment, she felt him tense and mutter something against her shoulder, but she wasn’t sure what, then her name. 

When he released his grip on her hip, Elara fell forward, unable to support her arms anymore. Turning over, her long waves were all over her face, and she had to fight to get them back from her eyes, surely she looked a mess, but when she saw his face, Adar seemed to only look at her with a reverent awe that made her blush under his gaze. Chest rising and falling with his exertion before, looking beautiful in the low glow from her placed propped up on her elbows, Elara wanted him to ravish her again, and some of her shame of nudity was dissipating. Her breasts were on full display to him, and he didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he stared blatantly as if they were the loveliest things he’d ever seen. 

“I apologise,” his deep voice sounded husky and worn in. "I just have not looked at a woman like this in so long." He moved towards the bed, reverently brushing his fingertips over her skin. 

“No need to apologise,” she murmured, moving a strand of dark hair away from his face; he turned into her palm, kissing it. He settled into the bed beside her and pressed open-mouthed kisses on her shoulders and throat. Elara was lost to the sensation and her thoughts as she realised what it had sounded like she had said earlier. She had called him daddy, not really meaning to. Her skin heated, and she blushed all over. She was acting positively filthy.

“What is it?” He mumbled. 

“I… nothing,” she blushed harder because she sort of liked it. 

His nose brushed her jaw, tracing its line and breathing in. 

“Can I ask you something?” Changing the subject seemed a good idea. 

“Mhmm,” he nipped her throat, and Elara sighed aloud. 

“When I had been attacked by the warg…” he stiffened at the mention, but she continued, “I woke in your bed, and when I said that I was there, stating the obvious really, you mumbled something… what was it?” She bit her lip as their eyes met his blue-green ones were swimming with a bit of mirth. 

“That,” he muttered, is not for a lady’s ears.” Busying himself, he adjusted to lay on his back and avoided her eyes. 

Elara came to drape herself over his chest, tracing a scar there, before meeting his eyes, “and what you did to me moments ago? That was for ladies' ears? Muttering Black Speech as you took me from behi-”

“Alright,” he shut his eyes in slight embarrassment, it seemed. “I had wished you were in my bed for another reason, and perhaps it had something to do with your manner of dress or my wish that you lacked it entirely.” 

Elara smirked like she had won some sort of game; her giggle turned into a moan as he wrapped his lips around a nipple, sucking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin. The sensation sent arousal to her lower belly, igniting the fire there again. 

“So, did you call me Ada on purpose then?” He smirked against her skin as she gasped and blushed red as his mouth continued to pleasure her.

Chapter Text

A tense air set about the camp. They were to embark on their journey in two days, and it seemed nearly everyone was feeling some sort of unease. Adar couldn’t blame them; he felt it as well. For the first time, maybe ever, in his life, there was something good, sparkling even, that reminded him of the person he had been, who he didn’t even quite remember anymore. Now, he was putting his children in danger and her as well. 

As he passed another group of Uruk, a sound caught his attention. The grunts of a fight turning bad had him rounding and heading back the way he'd come. He could see them now, raging.

" Halav. Thaav iuk ij urdan! "

They did not stop. One of the Uruk fighting had the other around the throat. Adar shouted another order to no heal.

Growling in frustration, Adar strode through the chaos, his fists clenched at his sides. He was determined to restore order, even if it meant resorting to force. He burst into the throng with a mighty shove, scattering the arguing figures, one falling flat in the dirt. Adar's voice rose above the din, sharp and commanding, until the uproar began to diminish.

Finally, once he had fostered a semblance of calm, he turned to Glûg, his expression resolute. "Glûg, ensure they are the first to start digging trenches on the journey. And for now, keep them apart," he instructed, weighing each word.

"Adar." Muttered the General in understanding.

Adar rubbed a hand down his face for not the first time that day; he’d already broken up other fights, and now this. His children were disturbed by the idea of Sauron and by more war. Someone tapped his shoulder, gathering his attention.

“Does anyone need healing?” she murmured the question softly, her hazel eyes gazing past him toward the sight of the squabble.

Adar let out a deep sigh. "I don't think so," he said, voice laced with frustration.

Elara's anxious demeanour was unmistakable; it was as if she was seeing right through him or past him altogether, lost in her own thoughts. He noticed her brow furrowed and her eyes darting briefly, hinting at an inner conflict or racing thoughts. He was on the verge of asking her what was bothering her, convinced she, too, must have felt the growing tension in the air. Just as he opened his mouth, she interrupted with another comment.

“I need to go into the mother's encampment. I am going to leave Sherdakh with some supplies.” She hesitated, then, “one of the women there is labouring, and something is wrong. Could I take a horse to get there faster?”

He noticed her posture's restlessness; her hands fidgeted, and her foot tapping lightly against the ground indicated her growing anxiety to reach the encampment as soon as possible. It seemed she was also nervous to request a horse from him, and perhaps he could not fault her for that. After all, he had taken her prisoner, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was an unspoken tension between them. Something in his heart ached at the idea that she might want a horse to leave; she may be using this as an excuse. 

She wouldn't. His mind protested, but he didn't feel so certain now.

“Adar?” Her eyes searched his, looking more desperate.

“Yes, of course, yes. Are you taking Dalcma?” 

“No, I need to ride fast.” She wasn’t looking at him, instead eyeing what little horizon they had in Mordor, judging the light she'd have.

As he guided her toward their makeshift stables constructed from salvaged wood and old tarps, Adar’s mind was a whirlwind of uncertainty and contemplation. The sun was dipping low, and anywhere else, there would be shades of orange and magenta in the sky, but here in this land of ash, shadows danced around their feet in the failing grey light.

Adar couldn’t shake the question that gnawed at him: Could he genuinely trust her? Elara had demonstrated a deep, instinctive care for his children—mending their scraped knees, cooling their fevers, and soothing their fears without hesitation. Yet, despite this, Adar felt an unsettling awareness that she was concealing aspects of herself, threads of her past that remained tantalisingly out of reach. He did not trust easily after so many years on this earth.  

Their relationship had evolved into something resembling a partnership, a fragile agreement built on mutual needs, yet it felt incomplete. Despite the time they had spent side by side now, sharing thoughts and, more recently, pleasure, there were still barriers looming between them—ones developed by millennia of hatred between their peoples. The realisation struck him like a bolt of lightning, igniting a mix of vulnerable emotions within him—fear and yearning intermingled in a tumultuous dance.

Fear was a feeling Adar had long since buried beneath layers of psychological armour forged in the fires of his past traumas. The result of years marked by brutality had left him hardened, skirting vulnerability to survive. Yet, here he stood, grappling with confusion and a sense of sadness, confronted by emotions he thought he could contain. His sense of purpose had been crystal clear just months before; his singular focus had been to create a safe home for his children in a chaotic world. He had comforted himself with thoughts of their peace and safety, never allowing room for his own aspirations or happiness.

Ultimately, he came to a poignant realisation: her happiness had to precede his desires. He would bear that burden with quiet acceptance if she was called to leave if she believed her choice to stay had been a mistake. The weight of this acknowledgement pressed on his chest, a bittersweet echo of what was becoming evident. 

As he watched her mount her horse, the leather creaking under her weight, a pang of despair gripped him. The cool evening breeze tugged at his clothes, but it couldn’t penetrate the warmth that spread through him as he recalled their shared moments of quiet conversations and how her eyes had sparkled with compassion he had not known in so long. Pain lanced through his heart as he witnessed her silhouette growing smaller against the canvas of dusk, a stark reminder of the impending void her absence would create. In that instant, he understood that he would not just be losing Elara; he was losing hope of the fragile happiness that had begun to unfurl within him.

…

Elara felt worry grip her heart as she reached the camp, her mind solely on the task ahead of her. She only hoped she would make it in enough time. Birthing had always been her least favourite part of healing; she did not enjoy the vulnerability of such a thing, and watching women go through it, often with little aid from their partner or anyone else, was off-putting to her innately.  She thought perhaps they would not take her help so kindly without Adar there, but it seemed that Sherdakh had enough trust in her after their first encounter to allow her in without fuss. Ushering her towards the birthing tent as soon as she dismounted her horse.

Inside the tent, they had diligently followed her instructions, transforming the space into a sanctuary for mothers and their newborns. The sick were carefully relocated to a nearby tent, ensuring a calm environment for those who needed it most. Elara knelt beside the birthing bed, her heart heavy as she surveyed the woman’s condition. The patient’s complexion was a ghostly shade of pale, and beads of sweat glistened on her brow, reflecting the dim light. As Elara leaned closer, she was struck by how drastically different Uruk births were from any she had experienced. The dark black stains that met her gaze when she was permitted to examine the woman filled her with concern and urgency, a stark reminder of the life-and-death struggle unfolding before her.

“I will need you to tell me what isn’t typical about this,” Elara murmured to Sherdakh under the sound of the mother's agonised groans. "I have not attended to an Uruk birth before.” 

The Uruk nodded, and Elara rallied her calm into being. Raising back to her feet, she stepped close to the mother, watching pain crease her forehead.

“ Jiak kij katu avo help. “(I am here to help)" , Elara murmured in her broken Black Speech. She looked to Sherdakh then for confirmation, and the Uruk nodded.

“I am going to have you turn on your side. I will try to be as gentle as possible as I check for a few abnormalities.” The woman, though slightly fearful, did as Elara bid.

…

The night had worn on, and Elara had learned much about Uruk births from this sole dire circumstance. This was not her education in Elven realms. This was real and raw learning. The kind that elven medicine did not quite prepare her for, but her mother talked about it often. You will be in situations where you do not know what to do; rely on what you know and put it into practice as best you can.

It had shocked Elara, but Uruk generally had 2 or even 3 babies at a time; unlike elves or even in humans more than one babe was rare. Shel, whose name she'd learned, was at least no longer bleeding in excess, and the labour was progressing more consistently, but Elara wondered if she would need to send word to Adar that she would be days behind their leaving. Uruk births apparently could take many days at a time.

As she rinsed her hands and dampened another cloth in cool water, Elara's mind wandered to Adar, the enigma of a man she was now entangled with. The fact that his children, as he said, had to have been literal long ago. It made her want to pinch her eyes shut and shutter at what he and others must have suffered at the hands of Morgoth.

Pressing a washcloth to Shel’s head, Elara began to sing low, a healing song she had learned long ago from Cirdan, the shipwright; he had spent many years learning so many different things. He was an excellent healer in his own right, and when he came to their home for dinner one evening, Elara had pestered him endlessly for information. Despite her father telling her she was rude, Cirdan had been pleased to share with her.

Elara called to the Valar as she oft did and felt her fëa ripple with the familiar sense of peace when she was capable of helping someone. The night was not so long, and the journey was not so horrible that she couldn’t aid this being. Shel drifted off between pains, and Elara felt her stable enough to get up and stretch her legs outside. The sky was beginning to light in that dull way it did here in Mordor; it was daybreak in this land. Hours had passed, and she had barely noticed, so focused on her task. It was a blessing and a curse to her, how enrapt she became in her art.

Sherdakh appeared at her side, “word has been sent to the Lord Father, but I do not know when they will reach him.” 

“Thank you,” bowing her head in thanks. “I think she will weather this yet. One of the babes is turned, but I know some ways of easing a birth as such.” 

Sherdakh looked surprised, her dark face showing hints of dread, and Elara wondered perhaps if she was thinking of her own impending labour. 

“Tis alright, I will teach you the technique for the next time this may happen.” 

“ Avhank lat , Lady.” Thanks in Black Speech, Elara had realised. Then the Uruk hesitated, “we have never had both a faushnu and mother survive when a child has turned.” 

Elara gaped at her, her heart breaking at the suffering. She wanted to say she promised that she wouldn’t rest until Shel and her children were safe, but Elara simply levelled her gaze and said, “I will do everything I can to keep them safe.” 

“I can see that in your eyes; I know your ukoul .” Sherdakh pressed a hand to her own heart.

…

Another full day had passed, and the army would have begun marching at sundown. Elara hoped she would not be too far behind them; even having to dig various trenches, they were skilled enough to make good time. Some of her wished they weren’t going to Eregion, that she could return to her infirmary and, at night, sleep in the cot she and Adar had been inhabiting. Despite its meagre conditions, it had become somewhat of a momentary home to her in this short time.

Elara's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp cry from Shel; it seemed things were progressing. Elara had done her best to turn the baby, but it looked more and more like she would have to give birth to them this way. Elara could control the bleeding so far, but as the mother weakened, it would become harder to manage and birthing one child was exhausting two… well, that was something else entirely. The next few hours were going to be long, but she felt a glimmer of hope.

…

He stared out at the caravan that followed behind, his face a mask of stone. Of course, he would not allow his children to see his deeper emotions; their leader and commander were what he had to portray. Inside, another piece of his shattered heart splintered off. It was probably for the best that she did not go with them. Battles were dangerous even when you were away from the fighting; he’d have to split his focus between his children and Elara's wellbeing. Yes, this was better. He pulled the despair and rage he left simmering around him like a shroud and made orders to Glûg when he came into view. 

“We are prepared to march out, Lord Father.” 

Adar gave the signal then, and they began to move; he would ride down the ranks, trying to bolster whatever hope was left in his broken people, and he knew there wasn’t much. His heart, which had recently been thawing, felt hardened yet again to the fate of this world and his children if he did not do something. Perhaps this had been a simple reminder that he had a duty and he could not allow himself such things as distractions. Somewhere in the back of his mind, even with his jaw set and eyes fixed towards Eregion, his mind murmured: it was not simply a distraction.

…

It was a long labour, and by the end, Elara was covered in black blood and exhausted. Despite becoming more used to the Uruk, it was strange to heal them, assessing how they differed from elves or men. Still, as she stared at Shel and her babies safe and healthy, it reminded her of why she did these things, the reason she had become a healer in the first place. It had not been more evident to her in centuries; aiding the Uruks had shown her that her skills were not just warranted for those of man; no, she had a duty to help people, all people. Even though it had taken her being kidnapped to figure it out, perhaps she smiled ruefully to herself at how things had changed; maybe that was ridiculous to think of something so barbaric as kidnapping so lightly, but she had felt some sort of innate trust for Adar the moment she met him. Which made more sense now.

Elara went to Sherdakh. She was dead tired, and a ride to catch the others was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to make haste.

“I have prepared many medicines. You have a good eye for things; you will know what is best in most cases, I am sure.” 

“I will do my best,” she hesitated then, “ avhank lat , Ladausan Moavhas .” 

Elara felt something like fear grip her heart at the tone she used to address her and the unknown word in Uruk tongue. 

Sherdakh had already begun to walk away before Elara could ask her what it meant. Shaking off the unusual feeling that gave her, she did her best to clean up the blood that was on her hands and arms; what was left on her clothing would need to wait for any change of clothes was yet with the army. Her horse was saddled and ready when she reached the edge of the encampment; now she saw plenty of soldiers that Adar had sent to guard this group of his people. Lurka was one of them, still healing. 

“She-Elf,” he greeted her as she reached them, “we thought you left us.” 

Her eyebrows went up at that. “I sent a missive.” 

Confusion crossed Lurka’s face. It clearly hadn’t been received, Adar must think… fear gripped her at the sad look she’d seen cross his face; he had thought she might leave. It had not crossed her mind till now.

“I must go. Varna, Lurka (be safe/secure) .” ” Elara took off at a galloping pace that wracked her tired bones. She would not let them think she had abandoned them. She rode for the army; there were legions of Uruk going with them. She would not reach the front for hours, more even. 

…

When Elara saw the army breaking camp on the horizon, it was soon sunrise. She had ridden all night; her legs were aching from the effort, her mind hazy from exhaustion, and her skin felt slick with sweat. She had been in such a rush when she left that morning. Elara had not even taken a moment to notice the sorrow that had overtaken Adar’s face; she had just assumed he was worried for his children and impending battle. Seeing deeper was so hard with his stoney exterior, and she was cursing herself for it now. If she had paid more attention, Elara would have reassured him… something. The two of them were still on tenuous ground, and she was trying to find a rhythm. 

Frequently, she found herself deeply immersed in her healing tasks, so much so that she lost track of her surroundings. This tendency to become engrossed in her work often frustrated Kandrë; he didn’t appreciate feeling overlooked and left out of her world. As she rode along the winding path, she chastised herself for her distraction in that moment with Adar, whispering encouraging words to the horse beneath her. She hoped her calming voice would uplift the animal's spirits.

The sun was high in the sky as she rode up the flank of the furthest legion; most were entrenched away from the sun except guards and scouts on watch. They didn't give her a passing glance as she rode by at a slight distance.

Just as a glimmer of hope flickered that she might soon reach the front of the line, Elara's progress came to an abrupt halt. A group of imposing Uruks, far larger and more menacing than those she had previously encountered, stood firmly in her path, their broad shoulders blocking the narrow way ahead. The horse bristled beneath her, nearly charging through them before she could regain control and pull it to a stop. These Uruks were unfamiliar to her, their faces twisted in sneers as they exchanged harsh words in guttural Black Speech. Elara's heart raced as she noticed the crossbows they wielded pointed at her chest, their intent clear and threatening in the charged atmosphere. She realised, perhaps belatedly, that this moment was fraught with danger and she needed to think quickly to navigate this confrontation.

“I am-” 

“Don’t speak, Elf; we have orders to kill anyone who causes trouble.” 

She was sure they did. Adar would have put the scouts under strict rules to keep anyone they encountered quiet. It was to their advantage, and she looked like an outsider. Elara opened her mouth to speak again when she was drug down from her horse from behind, and a jagged blade pressed against her throat. She winced, feeling the trickle of blood drip down the neckline of her dress. Trying her hardest to calm herself, Elara followed them without struggle; they would have to take her to Adar, wouldn't they?

Chapter Text

The unfamiliar Uruks kept her tied to the back of the wagon for the duration of the journey the following evening. When the sun began to break, and they stopped for rest, Elara was buzzing with anxiety. One of her boots came off in the madness, and the other was torn to bits as she tried to keep up with the wagon throughout the night. Her feet ached, and she couldn't lift them to see what damage had been wrought on the soles. The sharp pain was there, especially in the bare one, each step feeling like knives against her delicate skin. Even just standing there as she was currently felt like an acute kind of torture. Thinking about open wounds exposed to the ground made the healer nervous and anxious. At the very least, she did not contract things easily, as humans did.

Attempting to speak with her captors again had been met with threats of cutting out her tongue. Her legs throbbed in protest from the long hours of riding, and now, with the rope binding her too tightly to the cart, she was left in an uncomfortable position. The pressure constricted her movements, making her legs feel numb and heavy as if they were losing all sensation. Meanwhile, sharp pangs surged through her feet, adding to her mounting discomfort and leaving her yearning for relief. She was still covered in dried blood from the birth, and now, from the wound on her neck, she had dripped her own blood all over the front of her dress. The Uruk had sliced her deeper than she'd originally thought, and it was in a place where, when she moved, the wound reopened each time.

Elara took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her situation pressing down on her. It was clear that she needed to devise a plan to escape. Her captors showed no urgency in even discussing her fate, leaving her in a state of uncertainty and dread.

As she scanned her surroundings, her frustration mounted. The dimly lit area was devoid of anything that could assist her in her escape—no tools, nothing but the cold, hard ground and the faint echoes of distant voices. Too close to feel comforted should she even find the means to escape. She let out a low growl of anger and desperation as she contemplated her following action. Perhaps she could wiggle her wrists free... Time was slipping away, and she couldn’t afford to wait any longer. A tentative tug made Elara gasp quietly, pain radiating; they were tight, and she winced at the sharp sting. The rope was restrictively tight, chafing against her skin and pressing against the bones of her wrist. Frustration bubbled up, cursing in her head. Huffing aloud, her irritation uncontained.

“She-Elf!” Shouted the largest of her captors, Umragig, she believed to be his name. “Don’t move an inch-”

They were more terrifying than any Uruk she had generally encountered in the main settlement near Orodurin, with the exception of perhaps the meeting Adar had held. Still, she didn't recognise them from that either. They were clearly warriors by any person's standard. The sun was high in the sky now, and hours passed painfully and slowly. Elara tried to avoid crying. This was surely not the worst thing she had experienced in her long life, perhaps, but eventually, her emotion won out, and the pain finally became so oppressive that she allowed a few tears to slip down her cheeks. The real possibility of wasting away here made her feel a sense of deep-seated hopelessness.

There was a point where she could rest her feet slightly if she allowed her body weight to rest now more on her wrists, nearly hanging from where she was tied to the top of the cart. She fell asleep for perhaps a few minutes here and there throughout the day once the sounds of the camp dulled, and she felt at least that no one was going to come to bother her, but never for long.

Elara felt a wave of dizziness wash over her as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged terrain. Each step she took felt like a monumental effort as she forced herself to keep moving alongside the creaking wagon. She prided herself on her resilience; after all, she had faced many challenges in her life. Yet now, as sharp pain radiating from her feet and the overwhelming fatigue tugged at her strength, she felt like she was wading through thick mud. How was she supposed to go on? Would they kill her? They seemed uninterested in taking her to their leader. Another captive would have felt fear at the thought of whoever led this legion of Uruk, but all Elara wanted was to see Adar's scarred face. The relief... Or perhaps he would be angry, thinking she'd abandoned him.

Another wave of vertigo hit her, and she almost lost her footing, black spots dancing behind her eyelids. Frustration rippled beneath the surface; she wanted to curse her perceived weakness, but deep down, she felt shame for those thoughts. She wasn't an elf who would weather these hardships with ease. No, she was different, bound by her limits, and these were dire circumstances indeed. She cursed herself again for not making a better plan with Adar before leaving, reassuring him that she would follow him and not leave him or his people.

As she fell farther behind, a heavy sense of doom settled over her, tightening around her chest. The wagon rolled steadily ahead, its wheels crunching over gravel and dirt, while Elara fought to keep pace, tripping. Darkness crept in, and each moment felt more perilous than the last. She could hear the distant call of night creatures and the rustle of leaves, but her focus remained fixed on the wagon, desperate not to be left behind in the gathering gloom. She just had to stay conscious; being drug behind the cart was not an option.

Hours passed, and she put one foot in front of the other. Occasionally, an Uruk would come to see that she was still attached to the cart, but no food or water was given. They sneered and muttered in Black Speech. Elara felt disgust for them and their inability to see her as another living thing, but she tried her best to remember what they knew of elves. Her throat was so dry, and her feet were past the point of pain; they throbbed dully, and she did not wish to see the shredded soles. When they broke for camp, the moon dipping out of sight but the dawn not quite coming to view, Elara began to reckon with her fate; she could starve and die of thirst, unlike an elf, she was sure. She needed to do something; sweat slipped between her shoulder blades as she glanced around; they seemed to be setting up their camp yards away, a fire beginning to billow smoke. The jagged edge of the wagon's hinge was within reach if she were just a bit taller.

They seemed distracted as she glanced back, talking loudly. She lifted her leg, stepping onto the back of the wagon, biting back a groan of pain when her foot touched the splintered wood. Forcing herself to put pressure on the foot, she hoisted herself up, reaching as far as she could to saw at the bonds around her wrist. Just as she saw the first rope start to splinter, the Uruk stopped speaking suddenly; instead, glimpsing over her shoulder, she saw their shadows turn toward an entrance to the trench but could not see beyond that. Someone had entered, or whatever else had distracted them. She could only make out a softer conversation taking place.

They were preoccupied. Perhaps she could do this… Elara looked around again, searching for anything… “ Pukta norna,” she cursed lowly.

Elara sawed more intensely at her bonds, having to stretch as far as she could to maintain steady pressure. Something sharp pressed against her foot as she shuffled. A whimper slipped from her, and Elara lost her balance. She fell shoulder-slamming into the wheel, painfully hanging now from her ties, her knees buckling and pain radiating. Elara felt tears pricking at her eyes again as she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

Umragig cursed loudly and muttered something.

" Alvaer (not good). "

His footsteps resonated, each step growing louder as he approached. When he finally emerged into the soft glow of early light, Elara wondered if this is how she would meet her end. Just behind him, she thought she saw the glimpse of a familiar breastplate, its polished surface reflecting the hues of the dawn. Was it truly him, or was she simply imagining it in her hopeful longing?

Elara's pulse quickened, trepidation mingling with fear as her mind raced through the potentials. At that moment, all rational thought slipped away; she was gripped by an overwhelming desire to believe.

Without pausing to consider the consequences of her outburst, she shouted, her voice echoing with desperation, “Adar!”

The large Uruk paused only briefly with a strange look before stalking forward, “I said I would cut your tongue out, She-Elf-”

His large hand clamped at her hair, yanking her head back, the other hand on her jaw, prying her mouth open. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes, and just as he was about to surrender to her fate, the Uruk was yanked back in the process, taking a small chunk of her hair. Adar loomed over them, tossing the large Uruk to the ground and nearly spitting in Black Speech at Umragig. She didn’t know what was said, but the Uruk bolted, bowing as he retreated, fear evident in his red eyes.

Adar moved swiftly then, dagger removed from his belt and cutting her bonds in a matter of seconds. Elara was in tears as he did it, before even she wasn’t sure. Falling on her unsteady feet against him, and he caught her, bearing her weight.

“ Írimënya ,” he muttered against her hair, allowing her to fall apart against him. He shouted behind him again in Black Speech. 

“I am sorry,” she choked out against the cool metal of his breastplate. “I didn’t leave Adar; I tried to send word,” she exclaimed, her voice trembling. Tears streamed down her face, each sob deepening the raw anguish in her chest. Any lingering embarrassment faded away, eclipsed by the overwhelming exhaustion that weighed heavily on her. “I wouldn’t,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the thought was too painful to bear.

“ Îdh (peace), Arimelda (beloved) , Îdh.” His deep voice spoke lowly in her ear, soothing despite the raspy nature it excluded.

“Can you ride?” He asked then, softly even. 

Elara nodded as best she could, even if she didn’t believe she could ride; she wanted to be away from this. More orders were given to the Uruks here, and clearly, they had not followed something correctly; the wrath they were feeling from his words was obvious. When his horse was brought, Adar lifted Elara with ease, placing her on the back of the horse and mounting behind her so she could rest against his chest. When they finally rode away, Elara let herself sob fully. She wept for the exhaustion and the fear of what was to come. Adar rode fast, and his warmth made her unsure how long they had been riding before entering the main camp. It was a daze, but she saw Dalcma and a few others she knew as Adar moved her from the horse to the ground; she lost her footing, immediately collapsing against his solid frame, he hoisted her into his arms. 

“Dalcma, there is blood, some red, some black.” She allowed him to take her to the tent, and Dalcma followed.  

When Adar sat her down, not moving far, and passed her a waterskin, Elara drank as much water as her stomach could handle and gasped aloud when she returned for air. “I am alright,” she finally was able to say. Dalcma came and grasped her hand; Elara took it gratefully.

"My neck and my feet..." she tried off. Adar was looking over her neck with fierce eyes and then her feet.

His face contorted in rage, and he took the cloth and water from Dalcma, nodding for her to exit. "I will take care of this." Clearly, he was doing his best to keep his temper in check at the sight of her injuries.

Dalcma scurried away but cast a meaningful glance at Elara, one that said, ‘I knew you hadn’t abandoned us.’

He knelt before her and cleaned her neck. Apparently unable to help himself, he nuzzled the other side of her neck, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Then he attended to her feet. Elara hissed and whimpered, but she did her best to stay calm every time he looked ill at her pain. She yanked her foot back involuntarily.

"Davo annin (let me) , Elara." He murmured low, taking extra care as he wrapped the soles of her feet in bandages.

When he had finished, Elara finally sat back against the cushions of the bed, her body aching. Adar returned with more water and some bread. He sat himself behind her and pulled her body close to his. Hands running through her hair, she could feel him trying to remove the tangles in her surely matted locks. She knew she was still filthy, but she felt so so tired.

He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, pressing kisses there. “I will ensure you smell of me every night and day, Írimënya . Any Uruk will know that will never happen again. Díheno nin (forgive me)." It sounded almost as if he were trying to convince himself as well, but Elara felt comfort in it. 

Before she fell asleep, Elara murmured, “I was coming back; I was always coming back.” 

…

The feeling of waking from rest so deep is something otherworldly and disorienting. Elara blinked rapidly, struggling to pull herself back to the waking world. The dull throb in her temples made it clear she had been immobile for what felt like hours. Her body protested as she attempted to sit up, the stiffness in her limbs akin to a statue coming to life for the first time. A soft groan slipped from her lips, betraying her discomfort, as she swung her legs off the cot and pressed a hand against her forehead, hoping to ease the relentless ache.

The canvas curtain was drawn aside at that moment, and Adar stepped in. His presence anchored her foggy mind as he dropped to one knee before her, concern etched across his scarred features. The dim light of the tent highlighted the worry in his eyes.

“What time is it?” Elara could finally look at him without her vision swimming; lines of worry creased his face. 

His voice sounded more hoarse. Perhaps he hadn’t spoken in a few hours, “noon, I’d guess.” 

“Did I sleep all day-” she frowned, “or night, your day.” Shaking her head. 

He chuckled very lowly, “yes.” 

“Then we are off schedule,” she muttered with concern edging into her mind. 

“It is well; we stayed an extra day.” 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, accepting the waterskin he passed to her.

Adar gently took her chin between the thumb and forefinger of his gauntlet, forcing her to look into his blue eyes. “I am sorry. You have no need to apologise. You should not have been treated as such by my children…” he trailed off as if he were controlling his anger, and she remembered the look of fear that had crossed Umragig's face when Adar had taken Elara in his arms. 

“I am just glad you were there,” Elara murmured, touching his bare hand where it had come to rest on her cheek, thumb brushing her skin carefully. He was so gentle when he wished to be. 

“As am I.”

Their eyes met then, and Elara had the distinct impression that he was asking her for some kind of permission. She had not thought this until after thinking he may have thought she left, but there was something broken in him when it came to trusting others; he didn’t fully believe himself worthy of love or perhaps even acceptance.

Reaching out, she touched his scarred cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. He relaxed slightly, and she could hear him breathe in deeply through his nose before fully reciprocating the kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth and his hand moving to support the back of her head, moving his lips over hers in a steady swipe, that lit something in her belly. Just when Elara had begun to moan into his mouth, Adar pulled away. 

“You need to rest.” 

“I need to wash,” she muttered, annoyed at his overbearing attitude. 

He gestured toward the wash basin and stood, moving back to his maps but leaving the curtain open a bit so they could speak. 

“How long were you here before I arrived at that camp?” His voice was somewhat hesitant, different from his generally assertive tone; as if he didn't want to know.

"Two days, I think.” 

“You would have made decent time then before they stopped you.” 

“I didn’t stop, just rode.” Elara finished washing her face and doing what little she could with her hair. At least most of the blood was gone. Glancing at the chests nearby, she didn’t see any of her things; perhaps they were with Dalcma. There were some clean tunics of Adars, some of which she never saw him wear, one a honey colour, the other a creamy white. They were fine; she wouldn't be surprised if they were very old.

“Can I wear one of these to sleep in?” Elara bit her lip, holding the item up and showing him. 

“Yes.” Raising both eyebrows in acquiescence. 

Elara slipped off her dirty clothing and slid the clean linen over her head. The air was chilled, so she climbed back into the bed and tried to stay warm. He appeared a few moments later, placing his sword near the cot. Elara patted the space next to her, inviting him as she realised she always must do. He reached out a hand, tentatively tracing the stitching on her neckline. 

“I thank you for going when Sherdakh asked it of you.” 

“ Athgar (easy to do). They needed my help .” 

“What was amiss?” He began to take off his armour, preparing to bed. 

This was good; he did not rest enough. “A baby had turned. Inside,” she added, but he seemed to know what she had meant, “I did not realise how long Uruk labours were.” 

Adar nodded, his eyes somewhat distant. “Shel is gone then? Did any of the winë survive?” 

Elara shook her head, sitting up and grabbing his hands, “they are all healthy and well.” 

His eyebrows raised in surprise at this. 

“I taught Sherdakh the technique I used as well to turn the babe in the future or ease the labour as I did for Shel. I think that should suffice, and when we return, I will make sure they know other ways of helping a mother along. I am not a great midwife, especially when I know so little about Uruk birthing and its natural hormonal cycles, but I can learn.” The last bit she murmured almost to herself as if she were trying to think of the next course of action she would take. 

“I have never known an Uruk mother or child to not at least one of them die due to a complication such as that.” 

“Sherdakh said the same.” Elara chewed her lip then and sat up more to wrap her arms about his broad shoulders, her hair slipping over his chest. “Can you explain a few things to me, Melethel ?” 

Turning towards her, he eased them both so they lay, Elara resting her arms on his chest; he nodded for her to continue. 

“I was surprised; most Uruks have multiple babes at a time.” 

He made a sound of acknowledgement. 

“Elves… even humans do not.” 

“Elves aren’t particularly typical in terms of procreating,” he muttered almost disdainfully. It made her laugh a bit. 

“That is true.” 

“And the births take multiple days, I had no idea.” 

Another nod, she could tell the topic was making him slightly uncomfortable. 

“I have to ask…” she murmured carefully.

“Ask it.” 

“Do you… that is,” she tried again. This was not the type of conversation she would generally have, and this was new despite the depth of her feelings. She took a deep breath. " Do you reproduce like an elf?” When the question came out, it was all at once and garbled together. “I just feel like I should ask. I never thought—” Her cheeks were burning, she was sure. 

He brushed his fingertips over the blush forming. “I believe with you, yes, it would be as elves do.” Elves did not have children in times of war, and they had to both come to a mutual desire and need for a child. There had to be an exchange of life force. It was a complicated process. This soothed her mind, though. It had begun to worry her that perhaps she could be with a child, having never considered the possibility. Relief flooded her. 

Her curiosity must have shone in her eyes, though, because he said more, his eyes distant and face a mask of anguish. “Melkor’s dark magic… that is what made it possible for the Uruk to be created, I know not how, but it was not like elves…”

He trailed off, and she didn’t want him to continue. The horror that certainly was being at the mercy of those evil beings... What he must have had to do. Elara shut her eyes in agony at the thought alone. 

Reaching out, she placed a hand on his chest. “I am sorry.” It was a simple statement, but she hoped he understood how much she meant it. 

“I have many children because of those horrors; I did get what I wanted in some sort of twisted way.” The last was a quiet rasp; she probably wouldn't have heard it if her ear hadn't been so close to his lips. 

“You should sleep; we will have long days ahead.” 

Adar leaned towards her, nuzzling her neck and making Elara shiver, “are you tired?” 

“No, I have slept all day.” She flexed her feet, the soles already feeling better.

He kissed her then, rolling her over to hover over her, kissing down her neck and back up again. 

“Adar…” his name was a moan as she shut her eyes to the sensations. 

“Hmm?” His hand found the hem of the tunic, fingers teasing her folds. “So wet,” he groaned lowly. 

As he thrust his fingers inside her, Elara bit her lip to keep from shouting his name and waking the whole camp. It had never felt like this; when his hands were on her, she felt like she would melt under his touch. His other hand held the back of her head, his seafoam eyes not leaving hers. “Look at me,” he murmured in her ear, and she obeyed, feeling his thumb brush her clit, sparking pleasure through her. She reached for him, trying to get the ties of his trousers undone; it seemed he understood and helped her, pulling them out of the way enough to replace his fingers with his cock. Elara threw her head back at the sensation of him filling her. It was heady and hushed in the space of their tent, and they both came to the sound of Adar murmuring Quenya in her ear. Soothing the past days' pains.

Chapter Text

The whole camp seemed to think he had taken a mate, that was their understanding of his relationship to Elara. It was peculiar to think about the situation from the Uruk's viewpoint. He recognised that he was a fundamentally different being from his children, possessing traits and experiences that set him apart. More complicated; not really an elf, not an Uruk. Yet, to them, the presence of the healer sleeping in his bed, her scent mingling with his own, served as the only validation they needed. This closeness signified a bond in their eyes, embodying the cultural customs that governed their understanding of family and connection. They were not bogged down so with tradition and specifics. They had their customs, and he had watched them develop over time, shifting and changing as his children died and more were born. However, theirs seemed more natural; Elves held a particular pride in their stiff, never-altered morality and convention. Uruk's were not the same.

Adar was a sensible enough leader to see that some didn't take his relationship with the elf in stride. The discontent among them and the anxiety of leaving their recently established home created an atmosphere fraught with tension and unease. Some of his children openly expressed dissatisfaction, while others remained apathetic to his romantic choices. Regardless of their feelings, they placed their trust in him, believing in his ability to keep them safe and to navigate the complexities surrounding the welfare of the Uruks. Adar felt that trust like a boulder bearing down on him; he felt as if he were never enough, and he loathed to admit it even to himself, but he was so tired, centuries worth of exhaustion.

Sighing and rubbing his temples, he knew they still had a long journey ahead, and there was much he needed to see to. It felt like he had a never-ending list of things that he and only he could achieve. That was his burden as their leader. Steeling himself, he tried to think through the aching of his head. The tent flap was opened, and he felt irritation rise in him for one of his children doing so unannounced when Elara’s face came into view. The soft smattering of freckles and hazel eyes entranced his soul. Perhaps she was a sorceress pretending to be a healer, which was why he was so taken by her. 

“I just need to get another layer; the air is cold.” She murmured as if to explain herself.

She was still a bit shy around him; perhaps she still feared him. Or maybe she was unsure where they stood fully, as he was. The strange times and circumstances kept them in perpetual movement; he didn't know what was to come; he was still unsure of his path forward. Elara was something unexpected, adding a layer of the unknown to his life.

Adar nodded then and returned to his perusal of the map; she did not need to see how taken he was with her. It had been an age since he had felt similarly at all, and he was not willing to forget all the time in between he had a duty and her coursing through his every waking thought was not going to help-

“Do you need something for your head?” She brushed a fingertip over his brow, smoothing the lines near his eyes and placed herself between him and the table. 

A spark of anger went through him. He was not some child and was not at her beck and call. The rage was quickly diffused when she pressed a soft kiss to his closed lips. He was allowing his discontent to make him angry. Long ago, he learned that sitting too long in anger did nothing except turn you towards darkness.

“I see I have disturbed you. Díheno nin (forgive me).” 

“ Avo drasto (Don’t worry) . It is me, I am…” 

“Frustrated?” Her dark eyebrow raised, and she clearly found his lack of words slightly amusing. 

He nodded in agreement. His hands were still braced on either side of the table, caging her in. Adar wanted to give way to his urges at that moment, but what was he doing? He was supposed to never become distracted and always know what to do next, and his children depended on it. They relied on him being unmovable, untouched by the feelings and emotions mortals felt.

“You’re allowed some peace, Melethel.” 

He sighed audibly feeling uneasy with her being able to read his dark mood so well.

“I must get back to this.” 

Elara nodded, “let me ease the pain in your head, yes?” 

He wanted to say no. Save the assistance for others who needed it more, save the sleep, the food, whatever it was. He was the last to get what he needed, ever. That had been his life for so long; it felt wrong to change that now.

“My mother always said you cannot save another when you’re drowning. Your children will be aided by having a Lord Father whose temple isn’t aching.” 

She was correct; damn her, Adar nodded, and despite himself, his hands found their way to her waist, holding her like she was his. 

Brushing a spicy-scented ointment onto his temples and the back of his neck, Elara sang a healing song very softly in Sindarin. Hearing the Elvish tongue so often recently made him crave the words even more; the beauty of their phrases was a balm to his tattered soul. The discomfort eased, and she brought her soft song to a close. It was like magic, her gift. 

“Better?” 

He nodded again; this time, he pressed his lips to hers, and her hands came up to brace against his ancient breastplate. He wanted to take her there against the table; she wanted it too; he could see her chest rising and falling quicker as she stared up at him. He didn’t expect her to slip from between him and the table. Giving in so easily was not her way when she wanted something he had come to realise.

“I know you have a lot to do,” she murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I will be back after-” The rest of her words were cut off as Adar grabbed her around the waist, hoisting her into the air and depositing her onto the table this time. Elara’s mouth fell open in surprise, and he took the opportunity to kiss her. Press his tongue into her warm mouth and enjoy the thrill of pleasure it chased down his spine. He should show some restraint; she would learn she could manipulate him if she wanted… and yet he couldn’t seem to be bothered by it.

It surprised him still as she took his scarred face in her hands that she didn’t find him repulsive. She moaned into his mouth and gripped his shoulders for support. He should slow down, but he felt too restless as he moved his hand up her skirt, testing to see if she was ready for him. Elara mewled, arching against his slight touch. He could feel her arousal already so slick between her legs. Toying with her there, he brushed his thumb up, circling the place that he knew would bring her pleasure. Elara panted, her fingers digging further to his biceps, eyes shut and mouth open in a silent moan. The pad of his thumb ran softly up and down over her hard clit, and every sound she made had him aching in his trousers. How could someone so beautiful want to come apart for him?

Moving his mouth to her throat, he kissed and sucked at the skin there, only removing his hands from her when she gripped his hips and pulled him towards her. Bucking against her, thrusting over their clothing. He was hard-pressed to remember a time when he had felt so lost to sensation, a slave to it. Her small hand yanked at the ties of his trousers; he pressed with his gauntleted hand very lightly at her chest, laying her backwards on the table.

Complying with him, Adar thrust deep into her cunt and leaned over her, relishing the way her eyes rolled back at his movements and the gasp of pleasure Elara made. She was so warm and soft, wet, and his every touch sent shivers over her. It was addictive, the feeling of being inside her heat. Burying his face in her neck, Adar licked at her pulse point and scraped his teeth over her collar; this rewarded him with a faint moan. She radiated a fervency that echoed the brilliance of starlight and the golden glow of sunshine, illuminating everything around her. He longed to immerse himself in that light, to feel her presence envelop him like a comforting embrace, believing that if he could hold on to her, everything would eventually be all right. Perhaps he was not so far gone.

She clenched around him, and Adar dropped his head to her chest with a groan, his fingers pulling down the neck of her blouse so he could take a peak into his mouth. Rolling over it with his tongue, pressing with his teeth. Elara’s moans were reaching a pitch that might alert others. He didn’t care much but knew she would blush in embarrassment afterwards. Reaching a hand up, he placed his finger at her lips, reminding her of their proximity to others in the camp. She sucked the digit into her mouth, and he paused, trying not to let go too soon. Every move had heat coursing through him, and he couldn’t remember the last time something felt so good or someone cared about him in this way. Pleasure had been hard to come by, and this was something otherworldly. When he felt her clench around him, her eyes screwed shut, her breath coming in short gasps, he leant forward, placing his lips at her ear.

"Let go..." He murmured, running his thumb over her exposed breast.

Elara cried out, "Adar!" Her hands pulled him hard against her, his length buried as deeply as it would go inside her.

"Good," his lips against her ear, pressing kisses there.

Only then did Adar allow himself his own pleasure, spilling his release inside her and trying not to think about how far in he was. How much he would never want to let her go. As he helped her right her clothing, and she ran her fingers through her lengthy hair, tucking it carefully back into its braids, Adar continued to watch her as she exited the command tent, his eye lingering on her petite frame, his mind beginning to feel gloom closing in again.

Eventually, he felt the nagging sensation return, deep within his mind—a persistent worry that he couldn’t protect her in this place, where danger and despair lurked at every corner. Not even if they returned to the foot of Orodruin. No matter if Sauron had been vanquished, the shadow of fear still clung to him and his people, stained them. Elara would remain vulnerable in a world filled with threats. The Uruks were a hunted race, stigmatised by a history steeped in violence and conflict. Could he honestly condemn her to a life overbalanced by fear and hatred? Being ostracised by her own people simply because of her connection to him was an acute kind of shame he now felt the burden of. Only adding to the list of acts his conscience bore.

Each time they shared a moment or he touched her perfect body, Adar feared he was further entrenching her in a fate of isolation and sorrow. The thought of her experiencing anguish and insecurity tore at him. This was still so new, and yet, he cared for Elara more deeply than he had ever cared for his own sense of joy or fulfilment, even though he was completely enamoured by her presence. The look of fear in her eyes would haunt him more than his own loneliness.

If an inevitable confrontation arose—not if, but when—he resolved to put aside his own desires and wants, placing her well-being above his need for connection or comradery. He would take action to ensure her safety, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness or accepting a life devoid of her companionship. It was a commitment he was willing to embrace for the sake of the woman he was beginning to believe he might love.

…

Seddic had found a copper kettle somewhere. He was very good at finding small things like that, and it was handy when attending to wounds, but it also made brewing her tea in the morning easier. Just as she had done that evening at dusk, standing at the foot of her infirmary tent, they had luckily been able to spare one for her. It was not as spacious as the crumbling building at the volcano's base, but it was better than nothing to cover them when the rain came down, which it currently was, trickling over the canvas and making the ground a sludgy mud beneath their feet.

Things were calm if challenging; it took far more work than she had expected to move this many Uruk that far, especially when they couldn’t be in the sun. That was what she treated, mostly injuries caused by the elements. It was better than battle wounds, but that would come soon enough. She longed to be more useful to her companions. The journey to Eregion had stretched for weeks now, and with each passing day, a sense of inadequacy weighed heavily on her. She watched her fellow travellers shoulder their burdens with unwavering determination as they traversed the rugged terrain. At the same time, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was falling short of her potential. The vast landscape around them seemed to mirror her inner turmoil, enormous and daunting, leaving her restless with a desire to contribute meaningfully to their quest. Her past itched at her brain, weighing on her. She needed to speak to Adar about it but didn't feel ready.

With a sigh, she took another sip of her tea, tugging her shawl closer. The air was cold enough to see her breath. Adar came into view, stalking towards her. When his face hit the torchlight, she could see water droplets in his dark hair. His face looked worn and tired. It had been days since she had slept next to him. He hadn't come back to the tent to sleep. It was beginning to worry her. Even elves needed rest occasionally.

“ Tôl mîth (a dense fog is coming),” stopping short of where she stood. “We can move faster over the next few days without the sun.” 

Nodding, she took another sip of her tea. It was becoming cold as the air around her, and she could feel the gloom picking up around them. “When do we leave?” 

“First light.” 

That alone made her head hurt, but she nodded again. “You need sleep.” 

His face set in a dark frown. “There is much to do; I cannot.” Turning to return the way he came, Elara boldly caught his arm. She still felt unsure how familiar she should be with him.

Her fingers flexed against the chainmail, and she bit her lip in thought. “Is it me? If it is more comfortable for you to sleep alone, I don’t mind sleeping here.” Gesturing to the infirmary tent, they were still in uncharted territory with each other. She wasn’t sure what she was to him. 

“No,” a look of surprise flitted across his face. "It is my responsibility to show them that I, too, am willing to work amongst them. I am not a leader who sits back and commands from the comfort of his tent.” 

Ah . Elara understood, pulling the arm she had stopped him with closer, holding his fingers between her smaller hands and pressing a soft kiss to his scarred knuckles.

“Do you wish them to work past the point of exhaustion?” 

“It is not the same.” She thought he might rip his hand from her grasp in irritation, but he carefully removed it and leaned in to kiss her forehead, whispering softly.

“Get some rest, Írimënya .”

She was still waiting for a snap from him, a moment where he showed himself to be no better than Kandrë and every time she thought that may happen, he surprised her with gentleness in the face of her fear. Elara had little doubt as she watched him walk back into the drizzle, back straight and hand on his sword, that he was fearsome. She knew he was, but she was beginning to understand the loyalty he felt towards those he cared about; he was careful and soft even with her. Dalcma and Seddic appeared with baskets of herbs they’d collected, and Elara turned her attention to that then.

Chapter Text

The icy draft slipped through the soft firs, stirring Elara from her dream-laden slumber. She groaned softly, blinking away the remnants of sleep as she turned to her side. Just then, she felt the movement of Adar climbing beneath the warm covers beside her, and a smile crept across her face.

“Have you come to join me in sleep, Lord Father?” She teased gently, her voice barely above a whisper.

He grunted in reply, the sound wrapped in a mixture of weariness and mild irritation. Clearly, he was not thrilled with her suggestion, as though he wanted to remind her of his responsibilities. Yet, a quick glance into his tired eyes revealed the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. The lines on his face deepened in the dim light, telling a story of long days and even longer nights. She could see that despite his annoyance, he was seeking the comfort of rest.

“ Îdh (peace),” Elara murmured and got comfortable again, feeling his chest pressed to her back.

It was sometime later that she felt him move in his sleep; a muttered word she didn’t understand came from his lips. Elara pressed up onto an elbow to study him. Undoubtedly, he was dreaming, and it didn’t look pleasant by the lines in his brow and the downturn of his mouth. Waffling a bit between waking him and allowing him to sleep, he moved again, this time making a sound of pain. Elara decided it was best to free him from whatever was causing him distress. She rubbed his shoulder lightly, stroking the exposed skin there in hopes that he would wake without a startle. That was not to be. His eyes flew open, and his hand snatched hers tightly, almost painfully. Grip softening when he recognised where he was.

“You were dreaming, Melindo .” 

He grunted a bit in reply, closing his eyes again and lightly holding her palm to his chest. His heartbeat pattered beneath her palm, pulse quick.

The tent felt very cold, but Elara felt heat burn in her chest when their eyes met. His blue depths so utterly mysticising. Her fingers dug into his chest where they were pressed there she could feel his heart speeding up perhaps more. His other hand tangled in her hair, dragging her down for a kiss. She felt the relief like cool water on a burn.

Maybe it was the heavy grey clouds hanging low in the sky outside, casting a sombre glow that made the day feel less like afternoon and more like the closing chapters of proper night. The camp lay in an eerie silence, where the usual sounds of nature—the rustling leaves, chirping birds, and distant whispers of the wind—seemed to be muted, wrapping everything in a thick blanket of quietude. Or perhaps the dreamlike state she found herself in, a fragile balance between reality and the soft edges of sleep, that intensified her feelings.

When he pulled away, she caught a glimpse of something raw and vulnerable in his eyes, a fleeting look that passed between them like a whisper. His fingertip, warm and delicate, reached out to her, tracing the gentle curve of her jaw with an almost reverent touch. She felt the soft glide of his skin against hers, moving gradually up her face until it reached the delicate shell of her pointed ear. The simple yet intimate gesture sent a shiver racing through her, awakening sensations she hadn't fully acknowledged, stirring.

His other arm pulled her from her place at his side to lay on top of him. She could feel his hard arousal pressing into her lower belly. Another warm kiss, the feeling of his tongue moving firmly against hers, his large hand stroking beneath her shift, up her side. The pads of his fingers were rough, scraping her skin and creating goosebumps over her leg. His big hand grasped the soft part of her outer thigh, massaging, gripping her muscle, seemingly luxuriating in the feel of her. Her legs were sore from training and walking. The feeling of his rough caress to her aching muscles was subtly arousing and soothing all in one.

Elara moaned into his hot mouth. Shifting to place herself fully over the bulge in his trousers, grinding down against him, the sensation was sharp bursts pleasure that had her gasping into his mouth. Moving again over him, planting her knees and dragging her centre against his hard length, the perfect friction forcing her head back, tearing her mouth from his lips. Flexing her hips, meeting his burning eyes.

“Fuck,” he groaned in the space between their mouths. Eyes flicking from her mouth down to where the light gauze neckline of her chemise fell open, exposing the tops of her breasts to him. His hand held her jaw, drawing her back to him, lips meeting again. His tongue pressed past her teeth and stroked her own muscle; she turned her head, trying to get more of him, more of this burning kiss that made fire light in her belly and calmed the fears stored away in her heart.  

When she ground down on him again, Adar broke their kiss, and he pressed his head back against the bed, his throat stretching, eyes closed. She enjoyed it, the look of him almost in surrender to her. Elara couldn’t keep the smirk from her lips as she moved, her own soft moans beginning to spill into the silence of the tent. The pressure of her movement had her own lust spiking, and when she glanced back down at him, he was gazing at her again, fingertips flexing against her thigh.

A large hand reaching to brush against her hardened nipples, making her shiver and bite her lip.

"Adar..." The mumble tumbled off her tongue as his fingers dipped down beneath her hem, circling her clit, then pressing, brushing with his thumb. Sucking in a large gulp of air, she felt him thrust his hips up against her, then dip down, gathering her excitement and spreading it over her aching bud again, repeating the action until she was shaking, fingers digging into his chest, needing to steady herself.

"Cum for me, Írimënya ." The ragged timbre of his voice was her undoing, waves of pleasure matching the movement of his finger between her legs.

He chuckled low, and she could hear it through the ringing in her ears. "So good for me," he muttered close to her ear.

Elara felt herself coming back to her body and mind. She had never felt like this before so in need of someone. It almost felt unnatural based on her previous experiences.

That thought hit her like a wall of icy wind. Of course, she hadn’t. The only other times had been with Kandrë. Elara swallowed, trying to forget the way he had touched her. It had never been like this, and yet she still felt as if she were betraying something… If anyone in Lindon knew what she was doing, here with this Moriondor… She began to feel sweat cooling on her body, and her breath felt as if it weren't coming at the same rate anymore.

Adar’s rough voice brought her back to the reality she was in. “ Mas bennich? (Where did you go?) ” 

“I…” Elara’s gaze met his, and she found herself lost in the depths of his open, sincere eyes. A tempest of emotions swirled within her; she longed to share her secret, to unburden her heart. Yet as the words hovered on the tip of her tongue, she swallowed hard, shaking her head in quiet frustration.

“Nothing,” she finally said her voice barely above a whisper. “I was just distracted by my thoughts. I apologise.”

He frowned, brushing her shift back up onto her shoulders, signally an end to this interaction. 

“No,” she mumbled, dipping her lips and pressing them to his jaw. The feeling of scarred skin had become so familiar to her over the past months. 

“ Nillë … I think perhaps we should sleep.” His tone held no room for argument.

Elara pulled back from him, kissing his neck, and met his eyes. Her legs were still pinned on either side of his torso, but it seemed the moment had gone.

Elara shifted away from him and nestled into the warm furs, allowing herself to gather her thoughts and catch her breath. Despite their physical distance, she could feel Kandrë’s lingering influence on her, a presence she couldn’t easily shake off. Closing her eyes tightly, trying to drift back into sleep, but the rest she craved eluded her, resulting in a fitful slumber.

In her dreams, haunting images emerged—her father’s cold, piercing gaze that had always made her feel small, the biting edge of his harsh words echoing in her mind, and the unsettling sensation of Kandrë’s touch, which sparked a confusing mix of emotions. Each memory battled within her, leaving her in a state of unrest as she tossed and turned, unable to find rest.

…

The fog hung heavily in the air, shrouding the landscape in a ghostly grey, while the ground felt soft and damp beneath Adar's sturdy boots. He had just finished his rounds through the camp, where he instructed the scouts stationed at the perimeter and resolved a few pressing issues with the supply carts that struggled to keep up with their needs. Despite the sheer number of soldiers gathered, anxiety settled over him as he surveyed their equipment—rusted swords, frayed banners, and worn armour that had seen better days. With a knot of worry tightening in his stomach, he wondered if they had enough strength and resources to take on the might of Sauron.

He often wondered if they would ever have the peace to build things, perhaps like an average group of people, not outcasts or scavengers. He'd frequently been told that his children were not capable of such things, only violence. He clenched his gauntleted fist and continued his walk around the main encampment.

“Lord Father?”

Adar's brow furrowed as he struggled to recall the name of the Uruk that summoned him. Despite his efforts, the recollection eluded him like a fleeting shadow.

As they travelled closer to Eregion, he became increasingly aware of an ominous distance that seemed to grow between himself and his children. The bond that had once felt robust and effortless after years of knowing them trying to be their leader now appeared frayed and strained, leaving him questioning his own thoughts. His usually sharp mind, once clear and decisive in the rough lands of Mordor, now felt muddled and heavy, slowed by an inexplicable haze of hesitation. He sometimes felt as if he was not always present in his mind.

The Uruk gestured toward the cart with a look of frustration etched on its rugged face. “ Lav'uk noav uukable (not usable) ,” he announced with a husky voice.

Adar followed Uruk's gaze and saw the cart's wheel—splintered, twisted, and completely broken beyond any hope of repair. The sight deepened his sense of helplessness as he faced the challenges ahead.

“Take the metal, melt it down. Dry the wood out. Once it has cured, it can be used for fires.”

Nothing would be wasted; they didn’t have that luxury.

His request was met with a grunt of approval, and Adar continued surveying the lands they stood on. The trees were close and tight, the woods making the isolated feeling perhaps more oppressive with the moisture in the air. His eyes tracked, and he saw Elara standing outside the healing tent, in a large basin where she was washing black blood from rags and drying her hands on her apron. She adjusted the scrap of cloth that kept her hair back; the wild waves cascaded down her back as she turned back towards the entrance to the tent. 

For not the first time, he wondered how she could stomach being here. His people must seem unnatural and even disgusting to her; she had nothing here; she was as poor and lowly as they were now. Her clothing growing more wretched by the day, nowhere to properly sleep or bathe… This was no place for a lady such as herself. He increasingly wondered about her past and what had brought her here. Something had happened to her; no one in their right mind would give up the comfort of an Elven life for this, for him… without something having pushed them to it. 

Adar struggled to untangle his thoughts as he walked briskly toward the healing tent, its canvas still and unmoving in the heavy, damp air. Had he ever known a half-elf before? Surely not. It would've seemed impossible, almost absurd, to him, especially in his youth when he believed he could count on the world to remain whole and predictable. Back then, everything felt imbued with possibility and wonder. Yet, now he knew forces in this world were not so steady as he had once believed.

Elara seemed to revel in her distance from her kin, even the mention of them... so at odds with the serene haven that should have provided her. It puzzled him greatly. What could compel an elf, even one of mixed heritage, to forfeit the peace and beauty of life in Ossiriand? And yet, she was seemingly relieved to dwell in a place so far removed from that tranquillity, one that was rife with hardship and squalor.

He sensed she held secrets—dark and potentially dangerous truths. Adar's heart tightened at the thought that these revelations might threaten his people, the very ones he vowed to protect. An unsettling feeling lingered within him, a mix of concern and urgency. Adar had given her the space she needed, patiently waiting for her to come forth with her story, yet he was beginning to question whether it was foolish to remain passive to avoid compelling her to tell him of her past. Each step they took toward Eregion had him wondering how much further he would fall for this woman who had stumbled into his life abruptly and, with it, the realisation that he couldn't simply ignore the weight of her silence much longer for the sake of his people.

His notions were assuaged at least a bit, pulling aside the tent flap and seeing her working to help his children. What were these thoughts he was having of late? Darker than usual.

Adar could see a few empty cots low to the ground. Elara was stooped down at the far side of the space, pressing a cloth to the greyish forehead of one of his children. She did not flinch as the Uruk leant up, coughing harshly, black blood splattering onto the front of her apron. Shifting, she calmly murmured something to Seddic, who stood behind her, a thick cloth pressed to his mouth and nose.

Seddic was the first to notice Adar, bowing just slightly. Then busying himself at the table, distributing ointment onto various bandages.

“What ails him?” Adar asked, gazing down at the Uruk, who seemed to be in and out of a feverish state. 

“I am unsure…” Elara pressed two fingers to the Uruk’s wrist, counting softly in Sindarin, then scribbled something down in a scroll she had on a stool nearby.

“It is a fever of some sort. I am trying to keep it contained, but we have little space.” Seemingly, she was speaking to herself more than he at this point, muttering softly, getting up, and heading back out into the evening. 

Adar followed. It was interesting to him how involved she became in her tasks, almost losing herself in them. He was never able to do such a thing, his thoughts ever plagued and thinking of the next item of business.  

“Do they often contract sickness?”

He met her gaze, his expression serious, and nodded once, affirming her concerns. “Yes, similar to humans, I understand, perhaps a bit sturdier in constitution”, he replied.

Elara’s brow furrowed as she processed his words. “I worry about the close quarters in the camp and the cold. If it’s transferable, we could see more falling ill. So far, this is the only case I’ve witnessed, but it’s severe Adar.” She cast a worried glance back at the tent, her mind seemingly racing. After a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut in contemplation, then opened them again, her hazel irises meeting his with determination. “I will do my best."

“I know.” And he meant it. He reached out, his large hand resting gently on her shoulder, hoping his gesture conveyed the support and reassurance she needed. He felt a pang of uncertainty about how to express his feelings, grappling with the unfamiliar intimacy with another person.

Elara opened her mouth as if to speak again, perhaps to reassure him or share another thought. But just then, the distant sounds of scouts returning reverberated through the camp, pulling their attention away. Sensing the need to refocus on the tasks at hand, Adar nodded again to her, a silent encouragement, before striding determinedly toward his responsibilities, leaving her to wrestle with her thoughts and he his.

…

It felt perhaps like she was going to scream, and Elara cursed herself for her weakness. It was nearly noonday, but the fog and mist had settled over these lands, and true to his word, Adar had them moving faster over the last few days. The air was cold; undoubtedly, for the Uruk, it was relieving; with no sun, their temperatures ran far hotter than hers. Even with the chill, she walked alongside Dalcma, trying to keep up despite her pain. 

“That must be horrible,” murmured the Uruk who had become her friend.  

“Yes,” Elara groaned a bit at another cramping in her lower belly, “it isn’t ideal under these circumstances.” Then she thought briefly, “I don’t understand then. How do Uruk’s reproductive systems function?” 

Dalcma chuckled, “I think we are always ready.” 

“Ready?”

“To make children, once we are grown,” she supplied, “we are very...” Dalcma tried to find the right word in the common tongue.

Elara scrunched her nose, trying to make sense of what she meant. She was doing her best to learn more Black Speech, but it was a difficult language, nothing like others.

“Fertile?”

Dalcma nodded, then glanced at Elara from the side of her eyes. " If you were Uruk, you would already be carrying Adar’s babe, Lady.” 

Elara couldn’t help the blush spreading over her face and down her neck.

“Instead, you bleed.” 

It made sense that Uruks were more prolific regarding offspring; no doubt they had been crafted that way. The thought of that made her a bit sick, thinking of Morgoth and the darkness imbued to create them. “Do you not bleed at all?” 

“We do, but it is very slight; most don't notice, I understand, but only women who are mated bleed at all. It is more... for survival, the act of being with a mate that way.”

Dalcma, as usual, interested in things she hadn’t heard of before, continued, “You bled before being with a man?” 

Elara nodded, “Yes, most human girls bleed around 12 years old. Elves are different by age, but still, yes.” 

“Interesting, seems inconvenient.” 

She laughed despite the cramps she felt: " It is and would be worse for an Uruk, I am sure.” They lead difficult, uncomfortable lives. She didn’t say that part aloud. “Do…” 

Dalcma tilted her head in question. 

“Do the Uruk think I should be pregnant by now? Is that strange to you?” Elara felt strange at the thought, blushing at the thought of Adar. They had that brief discussion about reproduction, but that was purely technical. 

Dalcma seemed to think on this as they continued to walk: “I am not certain. It would be unfamiliar to them, surely. Most females are with children in a matter of days after they are intimate with a partner, and that is seen with great respect. Bearing children is important to us as so many die.” 

This made Elara grimace; their cultural norms were so set on the brutality of the lives they lead. 

“I think they understand that you are different.” It was simply put. 

Elara glanced around, but no one could hear them. She still felt self-conscious. “But they know that Adar and I…” She trailed off, trying to insinuate what she meant to her friend. 

Uruk laughs were rough like stones, and hearty when they were genuine, Dalcma was no different. “Yes, Lady."

Her face burned red and hot with embarrassment. She knew this on some level, but fully hearing it was different. 

“It is not strange to us or shameful.” 

“Yes, I know. It is just foreign for me. Elves are very… stiff, prudish even.” They continued on in silence for a while. The sound of the horn at the front of the legion signalling camp was a blessed relief to Elara’s body. She was more tired when she bled, and her pains were demanding to walk through.

“Truthfully, I do not know what I am to Adar. I do not know what he thinks at all, really...”

Furrowing her brow, Dalcma followed her as they made their way to the infirmary cart, freeing it from its hinges and preparing to set up what little they did for a brief stop.

“I do not think he would be so obvious in his attention to you or his want for you to be at his side if he did not care for you.” Glancing around, she spoke quieter, “Glûg was spreading some rumours amongst his faction... that you were a whore. When Adar found out, he told Glûg he would be demoted if he spoke ill of you again. I have never once heard him be so harsh about something as that before.” 

Elara took a sharp breath, her chest tightening at the realisation that her suspicions about Glûg were correct—he didn’t like her. The weight of this revelation was compounded by Adar’s bold assertion that she was his charge to protect, even in the face of his own children. “I see,” she responded, her voice tinged with confusion and disbelief.

“That is something only a mate would do,” Dalcma remarked, her golden eyes intent as she spoke.

“Oh no, I don't know if that's what we are…” Elara stammered, feeling a wave of astonishment wash over her. She was suddenly acutely aware of the tension in the air. With a knot of unease settling in her stomach, she made a mental note to closely watch Glûg. For some time now, she had felt a sense of disquiet lingering around him, and this latest development only confirmed her instincts in one critical way.

…

Rain hammered relentlessly against the tent's canvas. She curled up tighter in her bedding, doing her best to stifle any audible groans of discomfort. Earlier, she had braved the cold to stoke the fire, its warmth paramount to her comfort. She'd meticulously heated her blankets, wrapping them around her in a futile attempt to trap the lingering heat before hauling them back to her cot. However, the chill seeped in despite her efforts, leaving her feeling exposed and miserable.

Suddenly, a soft rustling caught her attention, snapping her focus from the storm outside. The sound of the tent flap moving triggered an instinctual reaction; her hand darted to the dagger she kept under her pillow. Though the tent's darkness offered some cover, her heart raced slightly as she prepared for any potential threat. Just then, Adar stepped into the dim light, hovering by the entrance. Elara blinked in surprise. He rarely joined her this early in the evening; usually, he would wait until she was deep in sleep before venturing in, if at all. Seeing him there, silhouetted against the rainy tableau, brought relief. There had been a distance in him the past days.

“ Suilad (greetings, hello) ,” she murmured from below the covers. 

He stepped forward in greeting, stooping down to kiss her lips. The gentle gesture sent flutters in her belly.

Then his eyes shot to hers, worry clear there. 

“What?” She asked, sitting up a bit and grimacing. 

“You’re bleeding,” he moved her furs aside, trying to find the source, “where?” 

Elara blushed for not the first time that day and shook her head, clasping his hand that was about to continue its search of her person. “I am well.” 

“What is it, Elara?” His tone brokered no argument. 

“I am bleeding,” she emphasised, face hot with embarrassment. 

He still seemed to not understand. Then she pointed south on her body, and his eyebrows shot up in understanding and surprise, glancing away in embarrassment at his misunderstanding. “I see. Díheno nin, (forgive me), nín lótë (my flower) .”

He brushed her cheek softly with his finger as if she were precious to him. Elara was beginning to think she might be. 

“It is well,” she muttered, pulling the blankets back over her and trying to shut her eyes against a new wave of pain. 

His deep rasp had her opening them, “can I get you anything?” He unclasped his dark cloak and breastplate.

“No, I have done what I can.”

“I could have stopped us earlier had I known.” To her surprise, as he was stripping his armour off, his sodden tunic was removed as well; thankfully, she did not want to be cold and wet in her bed. His warmth radiated through her as he climbed in and pulled her against his bare chest. 

“We would not stop for something so small,” she meant it too, “it helps to move as well, eases some of the pain.” 

“I am not used to such things; Uruk women don’t experience that similarly.” He did not seem ill at ease discussing such a thing, which was refreshing. Elven men were so prudish about such a normal bodily function. 

“I know, I talked with Dalcma about it. I am glad I don’t need to become with child every time I wish for… pleasure.” She buried her face in his chest at that, embarrassed that she had said it. Her humanness often got the best of her, speaking her mind without thought.

His low chuckle reverberated against her. " Indeed, as am I.” His blue eyes became unfocused, and his mind was somewhere else, thinking of something horrible. She knew this; she had become accustomed to seeing him go to those places. 

“It seems inconvenient for them to be with child so easily.” 

“Yes, I don’t think the intention in their creation was for their convenience.” His soft rasp was measured. 

Rubbing a finger over a scar that marred the centre of his chest, Elara mused a bit, forgetting perhaps that he was there, “For coming from Elves they are very different from you.” 

Adar stiffened beneath her touch, “I am not an elf.” There was a low contempt about his tone. 

Elara flinched. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean it like that… you’re more Elf than they are all I suppose I meant, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I-” 

“I am not angry at you,” he brushed his fingertips over her cheek, then paused, thinking. "You fear me.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement, and it wasn’t harsh, just honest in that uncanny way of his. 

Sighing, Elara felt that pull to tell him, in the safety of this space, to simply let it all out, but she couldn’t. “No, I do not fear you. I just… Sometimes, I forget where I am and who I am with, and my body reacts on instinct.” 

Dark brow furrowing, he looked as if he would ask more, but he held himself back, only nodding in response to her. 

“What does… Ladausan moavhas mean?” 

The words sounded awfully pronounced even to her own ears, but Adar didn’t seem amused by it. He gently corrected her, his blue eyes sparkling slightly in the low light. “Who said that to you?” 

“First, it was Sherdakh; now, I have heard it a few times around the camp.” 

Adar cleared his throat, his voice a bit husky. " It translates loosely to Lady Mother, in common tongue.” 

Mouth popping open in surprise, Elara sucked in a breath. Would he be angry that they were addressing her as such? She was not naive in seeing why they would associate her like that, especially given their adherence to their tradition of mates.

“Oh.” Was all she could think of to say. 

“I can ask them not to address you as such if you feel uneasy about it.” 

“I was more concerned with your unease, Adar; they are your children.” 

He fell silent for a moment, his gaze distant as if lost in his thoughts. When he finally leaned in, his lips met hers with a profound depth that spoke volumes more than words ever could. As their kiss deepened, she felt an overwhelming rush of emotions surging through him—each unspoken feeling wrapped in tenderness, longing, and a hint of sorrow. It was breathtaking, yet simultaneously, it shattered her heart. In that intimate moment, she reflected on the countless millennia he had lived, and she couldn’t fathom how no one had ever paused to glimpse the extraordinary purity hidden within his soul.

Chapter Text

“Move your feet,” Gazad's deep voice rumbled through the air, resonating in Elara’s ears like distant thunder. The ground beneath her was soft and muddy, each step dragging her down and making her struggle to maintain her nimble movements. She could feel the cool, damp earth clinging to her soles, threatening to slow her down as she tried to stay light on her feet.

Stepping out of the way just in time to save herself from being hit by the long staff Gazad was using today, Elara focused on the rhythm of the movement, running around the Uruk, so he was forced to turn towards her. Ducking down, she swung her foot out to catch his ankle. Relying on her swift movement and being a small target did not pay off. Instead, he threw the stick out just in time, striking the back of her knees and sending her onto her back.

Elara groaned, pain reverberating in her back where clearly she had landed on a rock. She would have black and blue bruises all over her from her work that day.

“Too slow,” Gazad’s yellow eyes came into view above her. They twinkled despite her frustration, with her faults being all too apparent in this scenario. Elara couldn’t help but smirk at him.

As he reached out, his strong hand gripped her wrist securely, pulling her up from the ground. Elara had insisted he loosen his formality with her and took her words to heart. She even asked Adar to speak to Gazad to further solidify their connection, telling him he was fine with them shaking hands.

It was surprising to discover that a gentle nature lay beneath Gazad's fearsome exterior, a softer side that contrasted sharply with the image of strength and dominance he typically projected. It was opposed to most of the men Elara had spent time around, too often throwing their weight around, uncaring who was harmed.

The imposing Uruk, with his towering stature and intimidating presence, was now grinning at her as a father would an unruly child or perhaps a younger sister. "Biting it good, though," he held up a finger, pointing to the spot on his arm she had gotten with her teeth earlier. "Most won't expect that." His chuckle was deep and rumbling,

Brushing the dirt off her training attire, Elara took a deep breath and stretched her arms high above her head, feeling the tension in her muscles release. She bent forward, touching her toes to ensure her body wouldn't stiffen after practice. Her father had always wanted her to be a stronger fighter, and here she was in an enemy company honing that craft.

I will never be weak again. That had been her mantra; the cold, the wilderness, and all of it would only make her stronger. Another voice had also whispered, and it sounded like her mother: you're not weak for feeling, for being gentle.

With a determined look, she turned to her instructor and asked, “Could you teach me how to use the staff?" Plucking it up, she swung it a bit, testing. "I like the idea of keeping more distance between myself and my opponent during a fight. It feels safer and gives me a better chance.”

Gazad nodded, “Yes, Lady. Tomorrow.” Then he motioned to her to follow. 

They ended up near some of the extra weaponry. Reaching behind his leather armour, Gazad produced a basket. The object was rustic, skillfully crafted from various reeds and twigs gathered from the forest floor, yet the artistry showcased remarkable craftsmanship.

Elara gently took it from his outstretched hand, her fingers brushing over the intricate textures and organic shapes. As she examined it more closely, she marvelled at its robust construction, which could easily rival the finest pieces found in Lindon. In its unique way, the item was magnificent, transforming something mundane into a striking work of nature-inspired beauty.

“Where did you find this?” She was shocked by it, still studying the handle. “It is beautiful.” 

He cleared his throat, looking away. “I made it, Princess.” 

Gazad had taken to calling her that despite her being very much not a Princess. Elara met his eyes, and she saw perhaps nervousness there? “This is truly a masterpiece, Gazad. You have a talent for this.” 

He looked in awe of her then. “I have never been told I have a talent for anything but killing.” He muttered. 

This sent pain into her heart again. Despite her concern for his means, she understood why Adar wanted them to have a home so badly. These people could be something; they were capable of so much more than Middle Earth had given them.

…

The fire crackled and sparked, and Elara had to move back a little to keep it from singeing her sleeve. Tugging the gambeson she'd been wearing off, it was warm enough here to not need it, better than starting her clothing on fire. Gazad's basket had already come in handy when foraging; she was foraging for some soft wood to add to the fire. She didn't like that they were cutting down trees; it made her uneasy, and she had done her best to ensure that this camp at the front at least used foraged timber or trunks that had already been felled.

"You're quite good at starting fires, Nillë ." Adar sat on the log near her. Stretching his long legs out toward the blaze.

"Humans get cold," she muttered, still poking at the embers and blowing lightly to make the fire burn hotter. "I also get cold, perhaps not as much, but..." She glanced back at him, his eyes watching her. They were alone; that was not usual when they took rest by fire. The closest Uruks were further away near other fires or already abed.

"My mother would get horribly cold when she grew older; I got very good at keeping our house warm."

Content with the outcome, Elara settled back beside him, stretching her hands toward the crackling flames to absorb their warmth.

"It is hard to watch mortals fade away, isn't it?"

She swallowed, her throat tight, and averted her gaze from the dancing firelight to meet his seafoam eyes, which shimmered with shared sorrow.

"Yes." For the first time, she realised that he, too, bore the weight of such loss.

They sat in contemplative silence, staring at the flickering firelight that moved and crackled in front of them. Elara leaned back against the rough-hewn log, feeling the warmth of the flames on her skin. Suddenly, she felt Adar’s hand brush lightly against her arm. He lifted her arm, scrutinising the bruises blooming across her pale skin, which stood in stark contrast to the dark metal of his gauntlet.

Elara hissed when he gently pressed on a particularly tender spot, feeling the ache resonate; her body was sore.

"Naeg! (Ouch)" She quickly retracted her arm, rubbing it with a groan as she winced.

Adar clicked his tongue softly in sympathy. "So, Gazad got the best of you today?" he asked, his tone laced with concern and perhaps a bit of humour.

"He's going to teach me how to wield the staff... it was... effective," she admitted, a mixture of pride and pain in her voice.

Chuckling softly, Adar’s gaze turned distant as he focused on the fire, lost in thought. The flames glowed warmly over his rugged features, illuminating the divots and scars that decorated his skin. Elara was captivated by his striking visage, undeniably handsome despite—or perhaps because of—his imperfections. She couldn't quite tell what fate had drawn her to him, but she felt an undeniable connection as they both sat in the warmth of the fire, lost in their own thoughts.

"What is Lindon like?"

His question caught her off guard, though she worked to mask her surprise. "It’s pretty," she murmured, her eyes drifting as memories surfaced. "Very pretty."

His bark of laughter brought a smile to her lips, a playful warmth enveloping the moment.

"It’s very Elven—rich with art, dancing, and exquisite fine wine." She felt a pang of nostalgia as she envisioned the scene. "Endless floral fields stretching toward the horizon, and the gentle roar of the sea… utterly breathtaking. It’s almost otherworldly." Yet, with that beauty came a twinge of sadness that she couldn't shake, the darkness she had felt there.

"I can imagine you in those lovely gowns, with everyone turning their heads to catch a glimpse as you walked by," he commented, his tone lighthearted, uncharacteristically cheerful that evening. Reaching out, he brushed a strand of her hair, toying with it in his fingers.

"You would be wrong. Well, I did have fine dresses, but Eleven men, women, they find me..." She searched for the word and came up blank: "wrong."

He tilted his head in thought.

Despite herself, she continued, "I... am too short, not slim enough; my physical features alone seem to bother them. More than that, I think they know I am not fully one of them."

Now that she was speaking, Elara had a hard time stopping. "My father always found me lacking, or perhaps not what he had wanted from a child. He was often critical of me, and I think I allowed myself to believe him."

Adar's brow was furrowed, "you don't anymore."

"Sometimes," she admitted, "I am not what he wanted, and I think I am alright with that. Certainly now..." She met his eyes and cleared her throat, not wanting to offend him despite Adar knowing what she meant.

“For a time, I think I was more pleasing to society there. Perhaps my father even felt a sense of pride, but I was so miserable.” Elara felt a heavy weight press down on her chest as if the very air around her had become thick with her emotions. Guilt gnawed at her, mingling with a deep inadequacy, a fear that she would be forced back into that box one way or another. She didn’t want to reveal this distressing side of herself, this perceived weakness that she desperately tried to conceal, to forget.

Adar leaned in, his eyes focused intently on her, his body language urging her to open up further. The warmth of his attention only heightened her anxiety. She felt like a mouse caught in a trap.

Panic surged in Elara’s throat, choking off her words and sending fear spiralling through her chest. “I must go see to the infirmary,” she stated abruptly, her voice trembling slightly. Without another glance back, she sprang to her feet, her heart racing, and hurried away, leaving the weight of her unspoken thoughts behind.

...

The sun had finally come in and out, and Elara felt a bit more like herself. Sun rays warming her through the trees; she would lose some sleep being able to enjoy it, but she decided it was worth it. The long day of travel had been gruelling, but she had found some rhythm, perhaps even begun to think of Adar as a partner of sorts; he didn't have qualms, it seemed, with the Uruk calling her Lady Mother. Elara found it strange, but it appeared it was less familial than it was respectful. For all of their gruffness, the Uruk appreciated the structure of formality and esteem.

Adar seemed to trust her, she hoped... He had not pressed her after that night by the fire. That, though, made guilt roll uncomfortably in her stomach. Tying her bandanna around her head to keep the wisps out of her face, she tried not to think of the guilt. Here, he showed her trust when she couldn't find it in herself to give the same to him, and she couldn't actually trust him with her past or was still unsure if she could.

Rubbing her temples, she released a long breath. Elara was preparing to go pick some items that grew around this area. A trip out of the war camp sounded ideal; it was a rough place, no matter who you were. 

“May I accompany you?” His voice was so close to her ear that Elara jumped, pressing a hand over her heart. Shame cropping up again for what she'd been thinking about.

When she turned, a barely there smile curved his lips. 

“Seddic was going to go, but I don’t think he’d mind staying here,” she motioned to the Uruk, who was deep in a game with another soldier a few yards away.

Adar nodded, and they followed the path away from camp and into the surrounding forests. The air was crisp but not uncomfortable in its coolness, and Elara basked in the sunshine filtering through the trees. He also seemed more comfortable based on the moment, the ease of being away from the war camp and among the trees. It felt like they were just ordinary people, he without his past and scars and she, not a Half-Elf who turned on her own people to help the Uruk and their commander. 

She selected some red raspberry leaves from a bush nearby, which would be useful the next time she bled. There were no berries left, long past season, but the leaves would dry and be useful for various things. Elven lands were always rich with medicinal plants, and things grew well here. She could produce far more for her stores just from this gathering alone. It must have been that she looked inquisitive when she turned back to Adar; his face changed with a small smile, watching her, perhaps as relaxed as she had ever seen him before. 

“You shine when you’re doing something you treasure,” he murmured, stepping closer to her and tucking a long strand of amber hair behind her piked ear, brushing the golden hoops as his hand moved down to her neckline, making her shiver. 

“I love being in the natural world. I feel at ease here.” When she glanced up at him, for a moment, he looked almost like any other Elven man. Dark hair was tucked behind an ear, and she did as he had, running her fingers over the shell of it, rejoicing in the realisation that it was a sensation he also shared. He made a soft growling sound and pressed his lips to her jaw, tilting her neck to gain better access to her flesh. Legs weak, Elara had to grip his shoulders for support, and Adar pressed her against a tree trunk, holding her there with his body, the strong line of him against her soft flesh. Through the leather of his trousers, she could feel his arousal pressing against her belly, and Elara sucked in a breath, letting it out in a shaky shudder. How they burned for each other always took her off guard.

“I…” she mumbled incoherently as his lips moved to her neckline, teeth pulling at the ties that held her blouse up and baring the swell of her breasts to his eyes and mouth. 

“Hmm?” He mumbled against her sensitive flesh. 

Elara shook her head, unsure if she had meant to form words. Instead, she gave herself over to his mouth. His gauntlet found its way under her skirt, and the cool metal squeezed her thigh. It was a slight pinch, but she gasped and keened at the feeling, pressing her head back against the tree bark.

He did it again, flexing the clinking metal, and she could feel his smirk against her skin as she gasped and moaned.

“Adar…” Her breath came in short pants, and the sound of his name was like begging, even to her own ears. 

“Yes?” His low mumble vibrated against her collarbone. “What do you want?” 

“You-” her voice broke at the feeling of his sharp gauntlet scraping carefully against her lower belly. 

“Use your words,” the utterance whispered in her ear had liquid arousal pooling between your legs. 

“I want you to take me-uh- against this tree. Pathro nin! (fill me). ” She forced through clenched teeth, breathless and wanton, but the dark look in his eyes was full of lust. 

Shoving her skirts up, she worked at the ties of his trousers; he hiked her up further against the bark and wrapped her legs around his trim waist. The sensation of him filling her was smooth and searing at once; she was so wet that it was almost shameful. Her cunt drenched for the dark Elf, a Moriandor of Morgoth. Moaning into his ear, she tightened her grip around his neck.

“Yes!” A sharp thrust forced the word out of her. “More, please.” She was pleading now, fully. Her fingertips would have impressions from where she gripped his chain mail. 

“You are so wet for me, Írimënya .” Even his normally steady voice was rough with pleasure. 

Elara moaned loudly, hoping they were far enough from the camp to keep out of hearing distance. Every movement had her clit rubbing against his pelvis and stars were exploding behind her closed eyes. She cursed in Sindarin and called his name, babbling incoherently with each of his movements until finally, she broke apart with a sharp scream, tightening her legs around his waist and pulling him perhaps deeper. Never had she expected sex to feel like this, to be so all-consuming; it was like she couldn't get enough of him even as he was inside her.

His hips bucked against her again a few times, sending aftershocks of heat through her before he stilled. Pressing messy kisses to her face and neck, where she was lolled back against the tree, before finally placing her on her feet. Elara grabbed his arm as she righted her clothing, feeling shaky on her legs. He did the same, sharing a small look with her, and it felt special, something only she got to see, a part of him that still seemed capable of joy. 

Groaning very softly, she knew she would feel soreness in a few hours. 

He tipped her chin up with one finger in question, “was I too rough?” 

“No, laich nín,” she said, gently touching his scarred cheek. 

Adar pressed into her hand almost in a touch-starved way. Needing more of it, he shut his blue eyes and turned his face to nudge a kiss into her palm. 

“Adar,” she had wanted to say it for a while; she shouldn't. It was too soon and could love to exist without trust? Yet, she felt it... Deep down, she knew something was different about this, about them- “ Sevil i veleth-”  

He stiffened sharply, and Elara gasped. 

“Move!” A harsh, lilting voice commanded. Adar did so very slowly, and Elara could now see an Elf with their blade tip pressed at the top of Adar's spine.

Elara searched Adar's eyes for something, anything to do, but they were a cold, emotionless blue. 

“Tullen tye-rehtien, heri (I am here to help you, Lady).” The Elf finally looked at her, and Elara’s breath caught. She knew him, Himelion.

“Elara!” Her name escaped him in a stunned gasp. Adar's hand moved then for his sword, but Himelion still had the advantage, pressing closer to the Uruk and bringing his blade to Adar’s throat. The blade tight against his skin, just under the jaw.

Elara nearly let loose a scream when she saw black blood trickle from beneath the sword, but she thought better of it, her mind moving fast, considering how to keep her head.

“ Mae g'ovannen, Himelon (well met) ,” she tried to keep her voice steady amidst her pounding heart. “Are you alone in these woods?” 

The Elf ignored her question. “Kandrë has been ill with worry; he thought you dead.” 

An icy feeling coursed over her at the mention, and Elara felt sure that after their parting conversation, whatever feeling of upset Kandrë had with her wasn’t that she had been harmed; it was that he never got the chance to drag her back into the miserable life she had been leading with him and do more harm to her himself.

“Did this creature harm you?” He kicked at the back of Adar’s legs, sending him down onto his knees in the dirt.

Elara swallowed hard, trying not to show desperation on her face.

“I heard sounds of distress and came looking to see what the matter was. I and my party carry a message for Lord Celebrimbor of Eregion.” He spoke in Sindarin, assuming naively that Adar did not speak the language of Elves. 

Iluvatar, help his wife if those are the sounds he deems to be distress, Elara thought wryly to herself. Himelion trusted her, clearly despite her having been in the arms of the Orc leader only moments before.

“I have been his captive for some time,” Elara moved carefully to stand at the right side of Adar, within arms' reach. She hoped he might grab for her as a diversion, but he stayed still, not speaking. 

“Did the Orcs harm you?” Himelion, for all his bluster, did look concerned for her. 

“The Uruk’s haven’t harmed me.” She’d not even realised her correction until his eyes narrowed at her. 

“Take his weapons, and we can bind him. How close are the rest of his beasts? This is the one they call Adar, is it not?” He kicked the Lord Father again, sending him to his hands and knees. "We were warned by the High King of him."

Her fury was only quelled by the reason she tried too hard to cling to, and she refused to answer his question about the other Uruk. “Yes, that is he.”

“Move an inch, Orc, and I will stow my sword in your flesh,” the tip was pressed just below Adar's ribs, where the blade pierce beneath his breastplate and kill him. 

Elara tried to steady her breathing. Stooping down, she pulled Adar’s sword from its sheath and the dagger at his waist as well. She knew he kept a knife in his boot and didn’t touch that one; Himelion would not know it was there. The Moriondor's ocean eyes met hers briefly, and she gave the slightest nod. This felt pivotal as if she was making a proper decision.

“My horse is tied in the trees," Himelion jerked his head in the direction he'd come from. "Stow his weapons and get the rope I have there,” he ordered.

Elara circled the messenger; he was completely oblivious, unaware she was behind him. Pressing her eyes closed in apology to whom she wasn’t sure, Elara placed Adar’s ornate blade against Himelion’s throat. 

“Drop your sword.” Her voice sounded firm and commanding, and Elara was grateful for the strength she’d found. Himelion’s surprise was all Adar needed, breaking free of the elf’s sword and on his feet instantly with his small knife in hand and tearing the sword from Himelion’s grasp before the Elf could get his bearings. 

“Retrieve his horse, Nillë .” He murmured her pet name softer, not taking his eyes off the Elf. Still, the command sounded less harsh than Himelion had asked of her in the moments prior.

“Elara,” Himelion gasped, still looking at the ground. What -?” 

Turning, she did as Adar bid, an uncomfortable knot tightening in the pit of her stomach. 

…

When she returned, Himelion was out cold on the ground, and Adar didn’t even look winded. She felt something sick in the pit of her stomach; Himelion had mentioned Kandrë and that there were other Elves nearby… The whole event made her feel sick to her stomach.

What would Adar do to him? Could she stand by and watch him torture an elf?

These questions plagued her the whole way back to camp. Adar barking orders in Black Speech was the only thing that drug her out of her own mind. Rationally, she’d known that she’d already turned her back on her own kind, but genuinely choosing Adar over someone she knew… Elara hadn’t expected to have to do that. 

“You’re shaking,” Dalcma had come up, wrapping a shawl around Elara’s shoulders. She could feel Adar’s eyes on them, but she couldn’t look at him just then. A scouting group ran past them, no doubt to find the other Elves. Elara couldn’t place precisely at whose feet her fear should be laid. 

“ Geav lav-li inukide avhe avenav ,” Adar’s deep voice skated over the order to Dalcma. 

And that was when the fear broke through her exterior. She looked at Adar then, her hazel eyes filling with tears; she didn’t want to be away from him then, but she feared telling him the truth. Unsteady, Elara gripped Dalcma’s arm and followed her away. 

…

It had been utterly foolish going off on their own. Adar had let the pull of his emotions and his… pleasure remove him from his rational mind. They were in Elven lands, marching on an Elvish city; he was to be at war. This wouldn’t have happened had he not gotten so lost in this woman. This woman he had known for a matter of months. Even at the thought, Adar felt his Fëa ripple under his skin. Elara wasn’t just some woman to him, which is why this Elf's words were paining his very soul. That thought kept him stalking into the tent where their prisoner was being housed. 

“I see you have awoken.” 

Himelion lifted his head, scowling, disgusted, as he looked at Adar. It was not uncommon for Elves to feel revulsion towards him, and he was somewhat used to this behaviour.

“I will not tell you anything, no matter what you do.” 

Elves were so noble that they sounded foolish and juvenile. This man, in particular, looked young, his jaw quivering as he spoke his courageous words; the world had not yet taught him of pain and suffering. It made Adar feel old.

“Where is Elara? What did you do to her? Creature of darkness… Ci orch ‘waur (you dirty orc)."

The insult was spat with such vitriol, and usually, Adar would rejoice in an enemy's lack of ability to control their own temper, for that always made them easier to manipulate; however, at the moment, it exhausted him. 

Stalking past him, Adar went to a chest in the corner, pretending to be occupied. “How many are there in your party?” His tone was bored; at least, that was how he had meant it to sound. 

The Elf spat at his feet. 

Sighing, Adar circled back, dropping to one knee in the dirt to be eye level with the Elf’s face. “I can make you talk. I am attempting to allow you to keep some of your more useful body parts.” 

Fear seeped off the soldier; despite his set jaw, Adar could nearly smell it. “I need to know that Elara is safe. You must remove whatever trance you have put her under; I wish to speak to her free of your sorcery.” 

“What makes you think I have that kind of power, or am that kind of monster, edhel (elf).”

“ Thiog hui úan (you look like a monster).” His pretty face twisted in contempt.

“Why do you care so much for one Elf maiden?” 

The man pinched his lips together. Adar’s gauntlet closed around the Elf's shoulder, spikes pressing into the skin. The sound of his yelp was met by deaf ears, the Uruk Leader who had seen far more torture than this. “Why?” He asked again, digging the metal in deeper, knowing that he was indeed drawing blood. The prisoner grits his teeth, and Adar closes his fingers more, watching the Elf turn pale with fear.

In a huff, he babbled. “She is the bride of my friend. I have known her since we were young.” 

Too easy, information would not be hard to come by from this one, but this could be to his advantage. Something heavy had settled in his gut at the revelation, something that had been nagging at him that Adar had hoped was incorrect.

Adar left the prisoner in the tent and posted extra sentries. He needed to speak to Elara.

Chapter Text

“Did you kill him?” Elara’s first words were out of her mouth before she could think better of it. Did she want to know? No, she realised she didn't.

The situation felt increasingly bizarre and unsettling, leaving her at a loss for what to do. She wrestled with a deep sense of betrayal, torn between loyalty to her kind and the uncomfortable truth that she was prioritising the needs of the Uruk over what was best for the Elves. Now, she grappled with the thought: could she allow him to...? Himelion, though not a friend, had been a familiar presence in her life for many years.

As a healer, she had dedicated herself to alleviating pain, not inflicting it. Yet within her simmered a profound conflict. Anger rooted in her past clawed at her, festering like an untreated wound that she couldn’t seem to heal. Despite being adept at such things for the body, the mind was another thing entirely. This turmoil was a constant companion, and she resented it.

“I see being around one of your own kind has brought back your sense, then.” He circled her as she sat on their bed, and to her surprise, he reached for a bottle of the Elven wine he had stowed there. She had never seen him drink before.

“Why do you say this? Adar, is Himelion dead?” 

He reached for a glass in a trunk nearby.

“No.” He poured and drank it down. 

“We should have been more care-” 

“Indeed.” It was short and curt; he hadn’t spoken to her like that since perhaps the second day she had been with them. “I have allowed my feelings to override my reason.” 

Something icy ran through her veins at the tone of his rough voice. 

“You could have been hurt… they could have found the camp…” He was almost muttering to himself now. His often calm demeanour seemed to be slipping into something more manic.

“You being here wouldn’t have stopped anything if they had.” Even as she said it, fear sparked in her, the idea of Elves flooding this place, taking her back… she shut her eyes to the thought, and when she opened them, he had turned from where he’d been staring at the rough table, instead to her pierce her with his blue eyes, they were stormy and lost to the waves of thought.  

“You’re married,” he said, his voice tinged with incredulity.

Elara felt a wave of heat rush to her cheeks, a deep crimson warming her pale complexion, intensified by the day's event and cool air outside. “No- I—” She faltered, her heart racing; what could she possibly say to explain? This , Kandrë, was something she should have revealed long ago. Yet, each time she had tried, the words tangled in her throat, heavy and unspoken. As they did now, fear clawing at her; what would he do? Men were harsh and envious, and she didn't know how Adar would react.

Huffing, Adar glanced up at the tent ceiling, shaking his head slightly. “He wants to speak to you, know that you are safe and have not been harmed.” 

“Adar, I-” 

He continued, barely concerned with what she would say, not even looking at her. Then his gaze looked past her to the bed she sat on; Adar shut his eyes then as if trying very hard to forget something. When he opened them, they were hard as steel.

“I can make him talk by other… methods. He seems weak, but it might be best for you to try speaking to him.” 

Elara felt rage rush through her. How could he ask that of her? “I see." She turned her face into anger and resentment; he wouldn't let her explain. "Lead the way, Lord Father.” Her voice dripped with irritation, even as she thought inside that perhaps she had missed her chance and that this was all her own fault.

Stomping from the tent despite not wishing to speak to Himelion. She did not fear Elves, but she distrusted their motives sometimes, and she felt betrayed by people who had been friends with Kandrë.

Elara's eyes were fixed on Adar's broad shoulders as they approached the canvas tent that imprisoned the Elf. She felt a surge of frustration—an urge to scream at him for his dismissive behaviour. Still, she held her tongue. The shadow of Uruk loomed nearby, and she understood all too well the dangers of opposing him, especially in the presence of his children. It was painfully clear that Adar was unmoved by her turmoil and would not heed her words, even if she found the courage to speak. As he held the tent flap open for her, Adar kept his eyes averted, his expression stoic and unreadable. With a brief wave of his hand, he dismissed the sentries stationed outside, then settled into his role as guardian, the weight of his watchful demeanour palpable against the backdrop of this impending confrontation.

“Do not speak in Sindarin or Quenya.” Was his command, not looking at her, hand on his sword hilt. Gaze fixed out at the rest of the camp. Dismissing her to this task without words.

Elara felt her heart perhaps crack a bit more under the weight of his body language towards her. Sucking in a breath, she entered the space, her hands shook, and she tried her best to hide them in her skirts.

Himelion looked fine enough, his red hair mussed and tangled and his clothing dirty from the forest floor, but Elara guessed she, too, looked a far cry from the girl he had known in Lindon. His bonds were a bit tight, but it didn’t look like Adar or any of the others had harmed him. 

“Thank the Valar. You are alright, Elara. I thought perhaps he had killed you to spite me.” 

She felt the need to roll her eyes at the dramatics of his statement, but it would do no good. “I am well.” 

“Have they hurt you? Was… I am sorry for my crassness, but was he doing the worst when I came upon you in the woods?” His beautiful Elven eyes were sorrowful, and Elara felt sympathy for him then. He did seem genuinely worried, though she wondered where that worry had been for years, seeing the bruises on her skin she could not hide after Kandrë was particularly rough with her.

“No, he has not harmed me; they have not.” 

“Savage beasts, the lot of them. They will suffer pain for this!” 

Holding a hand up to signal his words to stop, she felt the need to correct him, but if Adar intended to get information from him, she would not risk that. Disappointing the Commander again was perhaps what she wanted to do least.

“Where are the others? Is Kandrë with you?” She tried to sound pleading, as if she really wished to know.

“The Orc is still outside, Elara…" His eyes met hers, narrowing. "Are you trying to help him get information? He has put you up to this, no doubt?” 

Elara ran a hand through her amber hair in frustration. It was knotted from the wind in the trees, and she wanted to yank her fingers through anyway; none of this frivolousness mattered to her.

“Do not give them a reason to harm you, Himelion, and they will not.” That was all she said and turned for the tent flap. 

“I will free you from this monster, I swear it; I will bring you back to your M elda (beloved).” 

Elara paused, shutting her eyes tightly before stepping toward the exit. A bitter smile ghosted across her lips as she imagined his surprise upon learning that her Beloved was still standing guard at the entrance. He was clad in battered, rusty armour, his skin marked with scars that told stories of resilience and bravery. He was also a Uruk.

… 

Not a word had been spoken between them as she left the tent; he had heard it all and did not need to report it to him. His angry command sent sentries back to their posts at the door, and he turned his back on Elara, stalking further into the camp. Glûg was close at his heels, not before looking at Elara with contempt.

Dalcma and Seddic said nothing to her when she entered the infirmary; it seemed someone had collected what herbs she had left behind in that glen. 

“That fever is spreading about camp, Lady. I thought perhaps it was just the cold, but there are now five ill with chills.” 

That was not good news. “Where do you have them?” Elara wished her voice had sounded softer and kinder, but she felt tired and sullen. 

“They are on the edge of camp, safe, but away from the others.” 

“Good,” This made her smile; they had been listening to what she taught. “You did well. Take me to them.” 

…

Elara returned to their tent with a heavy heart; she hoped this fever wouldn’t spread to the rest of the camp. Her encounter with Himelion was already weighing on her, but the idea that they could have a contagious virus on their hands was very concerning. As she removed her outer clothing, she felt as if she wanted to cry. Things had been fine just that morning, and now… her head fell into her hands at the uncertainty. 

The sound of someone entering made her look up. Adar seemed surprised that she was there.

Had he wanted her to sleep elsewhere?

Embarrassment flooded her; he was angry, and she still thought they would sleep together like usual. How stupid she was.

“I will get my things and go to the infirmary.” 

He shook his head, rifling about with some maps on his table, not looking at her. “I am not staying.” 

There was a stretch of silence then, and Elara felt herself growing not just sad but angry as well. He had told her not so many nights ago that she didn’t need to tell him all about her past if she felt uncomfortable; had that meant nothing? That it was okay and that he would allow her time. Apparently, those had been pretty words. 

Trust only extends so far. He should trust you when you refuse to tell him something like this? The voice in her head hissed.

“I must report a medical issue within the camp.” Elara found her voice steady and thankfully unyielding. 

Her eyes bore a hole into his back, just between his shoulder blades, and she watched as it stiffened. She would do the same if he treated her as if she were no one, simply some other member of his army or kingdom. Elara shut her eyes, thinking of his sweet words in the forest, his tender touch. 

He waved a hand. “Report.” Cold, direct. 

“The virus; there are multiple sick now, I have kept them apart at the edge of the camp, and I will do my best to bring them back to health, but I do not know what this virus is; it is different from what I have seen. I am unused to Uruk illness, but my worry is for its spread around the camp.” 

He whirled around then. “You went to them?” 

“Yes, of course- I am doing what I can-” Her eyes were wide. Did he expect her to shirk off her duties?

“You could become ill.” There was a level of panic in his flat tone, just at the very edge of it. 

Elara shook her head, “I do not contract fevers, I am like an Elf in that way- I don’t think they will be able to march for another few days-” 

“We must keep moving soon, but we will stay here for the time being, I must deal with the threat of the Elven messengers as well.” He turned from her again, but not before she caught a look of despair in his eyes. 

“If anyone shows symptoms of this fever, chills, aches, or anything that might be abnormal, I will need to pull them from the larger group immediately, and I need them to wash their hands more frequently. Can you instruct such a thing, Adar?” 

The Lord Father nodded, “It will be done, healer.” 

Without another word, he left, and Elara yet again felt the weight of his ire like a boulder on her breast.

…

Sweat trickled down Elara's brow as she scrubbed her hands under the cold, rough water, feeling the sting of dryness and cracking skin from the incessant washing. The illness had emerged as a harrowing outbreak, seemingly confined to the Uruk population, prompting her to send Dalcma and Seddic away for their safety, fearing that they might contract the fever that had taken hold.

Days had slipped by without a glimpse of Adar; he hadn’t visited the tent since the outbreak began, and she found herself avoiding the central part of the camp where their paths might cross, only to feel the aching pain of their separation like a sharp knife slicing through her heart. With each passing hour, more Uruk fell ill, their faces drawn and pale, and Elara's anxiety grew as she worried for the safety and well-being of everyone affected. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on her shoulders as she sought to care for those in need, even as her own heart hurt for the presence of the man she longed to see. She wished to come clean about everything, to tell him, and hope that it wasn't too much, that he wouldn't be angry.

Her thoughts were broken by Seddic's rough voice outside the tent.

“Lady."

“Stay at a distance, Seddic,” Elara murmured, drying her hands and exiting the sick tent. 

The Uruk had done as she asked but looked nervous. “The Lord Father requests your assistance with the prisoner… he needs healing.” 

When Elara reached the tent, the sight of Adar’s tall frame made her breathe a sigh of relief despite the circumstances of their current argument. She was exhausted, having spent most nights taking care of the sick Uruk, and she was weary on her feet. All she wanted was to fall into his arms and allow him to hold her. She wondered briefly at his stern face if she would ever feel his arms around her again. 

Despite that, she felt bitterness and now concern, “Did you torture him then?” Grabbing at her bag and making sure she had any supplies she would need. 

Adar’s face hardened even more. “You will think me a monster no matter what I tell you.” His voice sounded careless as if they were talking about the weather.

“Will I?” she asked.

He only looked away, ignoring her question.

"You do believe you know the contents of my mind and past without my explanation, don’t you?” Pushing past him towards the tent, he caught her arm. 

“Not a word of our plans for Eregion.” 

Elara gaped at him, to think he would even consider that she would give something like that away. Without her consent, her eyes filled with tears, “ Man cerig, Melen nin? (What are you doing, my beloved?)”

She caught a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes before his stoic mask reasserted itself, and he motioned toward the entrance behind him.

Himelion had a deep, angry gash across his shoulder, and a series of dark bruises marred his skin, a recent struggle evident. He would likely recover quickly despite his injuries due to his nature. As she knelt beside him, her hands reaching out to tend to his wounds, he looked at her with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty, seemingly unaccustomed to receiving healing. Elves often didn't bother with it unless the injuries were severe. If he had any sense, Himelion would realise that Adar even allowing him to help was a testament to his character and morality.

“Did they torture you?” 

Himelion shook his head, “I tried to escape.”

Ah . “Did you injure any Uruk?” 

“Yes,” Himelion smirked at that. 

“I should go find if they need healing as well.” It was said more to her; she was so tired. Elara didn't even think about what she had said.

“Why do you help them? Is he forcing you to?”

“No.” 

Himelion looked at her, beseeching, “Elara, please, do not allow them to take your mind like this!” He shouted now.

“They are and have not.” 

Himelion snarled in frustration, "You do not know what you are saying!"

Adar stepped into the room then. Staring fixedly at the Elf, hands clasped at his waist. The gauntlet stark against his skin. Clearly, he had heard the shouting.

“What have you done to her? She is Elven! Do not dim her with your evil; allow her to return to her husband in peace.” 

Elara clenched her fists. “Kandrë is not my husband.” Whenever his name was spoken aloud, Elara couldn't keep herself from flinching.

Adar made no change except his eyes perhaps grew darker, more angry. 

This was all crashing down; she could feel the fear of her reality again, the constant anxiety she had lived with for years settling in. Men making their claims of her and pretending she had no mind of her own.

“He is just as good as if you hadn’t left him to go to the Southlands-” 

“What Himelion? What?!” She finally shouted, unable to contain it further due to her exhaustion or rage she knew not.

Himelion looked shocked; she had always been so meek in front of him. His mouth clapped shut.

“So he could hurt me more? You’re not a stupid man; You knew what he did, most knew what he did, and yet none of you did anything to stop him.” 

“He loves you, Elara.” Was all the Elf said, though he did look ashamed. 

“You do not harm the one you love.”

“He only wanted you to be the best version of yourself; you’re stubborn, Elara; sometimes it is a Veru's (husband) duty to-” 

To this, she wanted to scream, moving forward and getting into the bound Elf’s face. “It is not! Kandrë is some past I care not of! This is my meleth nîn (my love)! ” She pointed at Adar, who she could now see looked shaken, if not fully shattered, at what she had been saying. She truly believed that they had made that commitment, not in so many words, but it had been implied that the whole camp looked at them as if they were mated, practically married in terms of Uruk.

Himelion's face was drawn, his eyes filled with sorrow and anger. “You do not comprehend what you are saying, Elara; he has deceived you, just as his masters once taught him.” His gaze showed pity he had never shown before, a stark contrast to his indifference when his best friend had been abusing her in their radiant and serene Elven city, where beauty thrived, and darkness hid behind smiles.

Without another word, Elara turned sharply and fled the tent, her heart pounding. She didn’t stop running until she reached a small hill in the distance, where an ancient tree stood, its branches swaying softly in the breeze. There, she finally sank to the ground, her shoulders shaking as she wept, releasing the pain that had been bottled up inside for far too long. The world around her faded, leaving only the sound of her sorrow mingling with the whisper of the leaves.

Chapter Text

As Adar cautiously approached the dimly lit clearing, he kept a respectful distance. The haunting words exchanged in the tent echoed in his mind, sending a chill racing down his spine. His heart felt heavy with guilt, burdened by the painful awareness that he had been unjustly harsh to her, denying her the opportunity to share her side of the story. He couldn’t help but feel regret as he imagined how she must have felt during their last encounter. Would she even look at him now? The thought of her turning away filled him with sorrow, but perhaps it was best that way. After all, he had built a wall between them and feared it might be too late to tear it down. There was also the fact that she didn't belong here with him, constantly in danger... Rubbing a hand down his face, he paced, still holding back, not wanting to have to look upon her face, know what he had done, the pain he had made her feel.

The elf messenger was convinced that Adar was a monster, which was true; he had done horrible things for Morgoth and, since then, for his children. It was not as if he were naive to such a thing. Perhaps that would always mar his soul, the things he had done, and he would be a monster forever more; he had made peace with that, but these last few months, Adar had seen a glimpse of something... it was hard to ignore that. The feeling of happiness he had thought had long since passed for him, and yet, it had sprung up like a flower in the spring.

Elara glowed like a beacon in the depths of his darkness, a radiant light he refused to let be snuffed out. Yearning to protect her, he was determined not to allow anyone or anything to pry her away from him. He would respect her decision if she ever chose to forge her own path, to leave, but he would condemn his soul to the deepest shadows if it meant shielding her from anything he could if she allowed him that precious task.

His greatest desire was for her to live a life free from fear and sorrow; even though he understood that such a wish was unattainable, he certainly could not give her such a life. Nevertheless, he would pour every ounce of his strength into ensuring her happiness. As he climbed the gentle slope of the hill, he approached her and found her sitting there, tears streaming down her face—a heartbreaking sight that pierced through him like icy daggers. He had done this, causing her this agony. It had been long since he had worried about what another person could need from him emotionally. Damn him, he was not good at this.

…

Elara knew he was there, and she didn’t want to seem weak, so she hid her tear-stained face in her hands and tried to collect herself to speak with him. What if he asked her to leave the camp? He couldn’t stand to be around her. Head hurting from crying, she felt weak and wondered if that was what he thought of her also.

A weak woman who did nothing but run from her abuser ... her mind taunted her.  

“ Írimënya ,” his rough voice made her finally sigh and look up. 

What she saw in his eyes was hesitancy but not the hardened malice she had witnessed the past few days. Seafoam depths stared at her from that scarred, handsome face.

She felt like crumbling all over again. Despite everything that should have gone through her head when looking at a Moriondor, Elara only felt peace and trust. She had hurt him by not confiding in him.

“I was going to tell you,” she said, finally finding her voice, which sounded vulnerable to her own ears. 

Stooping down to one knee, Adar grasped her hands in his, gently stroking her palms with the rough pads of his thumb and the cold metal gauntlet.

He looked down, shameful. “I did not even try to listen to you, and I am sorry for that. I thought perhaps it would pain me further to know the truth… I failed your trust.” 

“I should have been honest,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

His warm and tentative fingers found her chin, lifting her face gently to meet his eyes. At that moment, Elara felt a rush of emotions swirl inside her, a mixture of exposure and longing that surprised her.

“And he is wrong,” she waved a hand towards camp and Himelion, “I never wed Kandrë. I put it off for years, despite what he and my father wanted… yes, we were intimate, but I did not pledge myself to him… I couldn’t.” She breathed deeply, “I tried hard to improve before we wed. Thought perhaps if I was better, he wouldn’t be cruel to me… I for so long thought it was my fault, all of it, what he said about me, why he hurt me, that it was me, that I was not enough, but I came to realise after the years past that it was not my fault-” 

“It is not," he interrupted, looking like she had said the most outlandish thing. "You’re the warmth of the sun, the heat of a noonday after a cold night, meleth nin (my love) ."

Elara allowed her eyes to become distant, thinking of the past and all that she had been through. "He always said he loved me..." She was not sure if she meant to say it out loud.

"You do not harm that which you love.” His face fell with shame. 

"And you trust whom you love, " she replied. They had both failed this challenge, he falling into old guarded habits and she retreating inside herself for too long. They were both broken people with pasts that still affected them.

“ Ni melil? (do you love me?) ” She dared to ask. 

“ Le melin (I love you.). ” 

Elara touched his cheek and rejoiced when he leant into the sensation, shutting his eyes.

“Do not think that I feel any less for you. Speak to me when you have a question, and I will answer but do not refuse to listen again. I am yours.” Her voice was firm but not harsh. She knew that, like him, she was sometimes lost to the current of her past and unable to escape some pressing fears and anxieties.

It was the second time she had referenced him as hers, and her fear of being turned away burned bright in her mind. 

Adar nodded, his large hand threaded in her hair. Then he kissed her lips, tasting her for the first time in days. Elara felt the connection profoundly, and without having to be told by anyone that their connection was sealed by the Valar or some other force, she knew not, despite who and what Adar was.

When he pulled away, he gently pressed his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the cool air. His eyes sparkled with a profound understanding that mirrored the revelation she had just felt coursing through her.

A flicker of determination crossed his face as he uttered, “ Antan melmenya tyenna (I give you my love)" .

The Quenya phrase she knew, that resonated within her like a familiar melody. She had always envisioned reciting it to Kandrë amid the pomp and grandeur of a lavish ceremony, surrounded by his friends and her father. But instead, it was offered to her by a fallen elf cloaked in shadows beneath the ancient trees outside the war camp, making the declaration all the more significant.

Without hesitation, she knew the reply that would bind their hearts together in this intimate and informal moment.

" Samil melmenya (You have my love)" , she declared, sealing their bond with a raw and genuine promise in the forest's depths.

Adar reached for her and pressed his lips to hers, just a soft movement against hers, but it felt like home and safety.

…

The sickness had reached a few others, but Elara had also seen two uruk recover from it. They were stable enough, and she brought Adar with her to the sick tent, perhaps to gauge whether he had encountered something like this before. 

She had told him about the illness prior, but he had been so lost to the situation with Himelion that she had dared not speak with him again.

He stopped her with hands on her shoulders, and his thumb caressed her collarbone. Elara could have melted against him.

“How many days have you been awake, Elara?” Brow furrowed in frustration. She knew he was not upset with her but with himself. 

“I have been able to sleep a bit each night, mostly here. After the first night, I knew you were not returning to the tent.” 

He looked down, “I am sorry, I just- I am not good at this, you must know-” 

“Peace,” she placed a hand on his chest, “it is well now.” 

Adar didn’t seem convinced. The set of his jaw was emphasised, but he did not say anything else; he only allowed her into the tent before him. He was rather good at torturing himself, so she was sure he would not be swayed by her telling him not to be upset.

There appeared to be some improvement compared to earlier. She observed that a few of the uruk's fevers had finally broken, their brows less furrowed with discomfort, but the majority still lay in a deep, restless slumber. A sudden thought flashed in her mind, prompting her to gently beckon Adar away from the door and his children.

“What is it?” he murmured, his voice deep and resonant, brushing against her ear in the soft cadence of Sindarin.

“I’m uncertain whether this sickness could also affect you,” she replied, biting her lip as her mind raced through the possibilities.

Adar shook his head slowly, his expression firm. “I’ve encountered something like this before among the Uruk. I do not fall ill; I remain Elven in that regard.”

“You’re sure? And you have seen this before… does it usually pass on its own, similar to a virus humans encounter?” 

“Yes, from what I can recall.” Then he moved closer to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Go sleep, Nillë . I will watch over them until you wake.” 

Elara thought of arguing with him, but she was so tired that she instead instructed him on what to do should one of them wake or worsen. They still needed to talk about much, but this would have to suffice. She didn’t think of much else when her head was on the cot. 

…

When the day had passed, and the sun was setting, Elara woke and did her best to clean herself up, washing in the basin and changing into clean clothing. She was feeling more well rested, that was certain, and the conversation with Adar had been what she needed to set her mind to rights in that regard, but now she felt a touch angry with him despite their resolution of things. She tried to shake it off as she returned to the sick, only stopping for some bread and telling Seddic and Dalcma that she would report back with any news.

When she arrived, Adar stood at the doorway looking towards the camp, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“ On dhea (good morning), " she murmured when she was within hearing distance, despite it being nightfall.

"You didn’t come to wake me, so it seems they fair well.” 

“All seem to be steadily improving.” His brow was furrowed though in thought or perhaps worry.

“Scouts came back while you slept. They intercepted another elven message; this one, it seems, related to our prisoner.” 

“Hmm,” Elara mumbled non-commitaly as she went into the tent, bidding him follow while she checked the invalids. 

“It seems your betrothed will be joining the current elven party to aid in the search for his friend and it seems something else that was more cryptic... related to Lord Celebrimbor.” 

Fear gripped her heart. “He is not my betrothed,” the words came out in a rush, her teeth clashing together.

Adar’s gentle touch on her arm had Elara looking up at him; he cupped her cheek, “a mistake of words, Nillë , Díheno nin (forgive me) .”

“ Le gohenon (I forgive you).” She sighed, then went to her medicinal stores. "We must move on then, or you must. I can stay with the sick and wait until they are ready to be moved.” 

“No.” 

“Adar,” she protested. It was so very like him to oppose something like this. 

“I won't hear of it,” he said, holding up the metal gauntlet towards her. They will still be far off by this point, or that is what I suppose. I believe the sick are already getting closer to health. Getting your acquaintance to talk… that could be advantageous.” 

He eyed her warily, and Elara sucked in a deep breath. “I do not wish harm to come to him, but I am not naive enough to ask you never to harm anyone again; I am marching with you to war, after all.” 

“Indeed, perhaps there is another way…” 

A sound from inside the tent drew her attention away from Adar. This would have to be dealt with later.

"There is much, surely, that needs to be done. Go about your duties; I will care for mine now."

She thought perhaps he would protest, that something in his eyes held more that needed to be said, but Elara simply pressed up on her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Hours later, even the mere thought of Kandrë had a shiver running down her spine. Losing herself in healing usually took the edge off such feelings, and being here with the Uruk, with no one knowing what had been her life, it had been easier to forget herself, to pretend that none of this had happened.

Despite having slept through most of the day, Elara felt a heavy wave of exhaustion enveloping her as she glanced over at the sick Uruk, who lay unconscious on a makeshift bed of blankets. The flickering fire of her lone lantern cast dancing shadows around the tent, and the sounds of rustling leaves and distant animal calls came from the trees around them. Staying awake amidst the sick tent's serene atmosphere was challenging.

Stepping out into the brisk night air, she inhaled deeply, hoping the coolness would invigorate her weary senses. The camp was alive with the soft murmurs of fellow warriors further away. They spoke, and there was hearty laughter, their voices mingling with the crackling fire. Elara had always thought she would grow accustomed to a nocturnal schedule, yet tonight, despite her efforts, she found herself struggling against the pull of sleep.

Setting to chop a few herbs on a stump nearby, she tried to focus on her task, not the tiredness of her mind and body.

" Nillë ," his rough voice made her jump; she had not seen him emerge from the trees. His dark armour shone in the moonlight, but other than that, he blended in quite well with the dim forest.

"Are you not cold?"

Shaking her head, she looked up at the stars: "No, the air is fine." Returning to her task, she felt his presence near her and was grateful they had reached some understanding.

"You should go rest, Melindo."

"Is this how it is meant to be between us?" He raised an eyebrow at her and came to sit near the stump she worked at. "One of us begging the other to rest and then the other again and again forever?"

Elara chuckled, " Perhaps. My mother often said that ensuring your lover gets proper sleep benefits you both."

Her hazel eyes flicked up to his and saw heat flash there. If she were not so tired and sickness wasn't taking over the camp, she would undoubtedly see where that look could take them.

It distracted her enough to slice into her palm; with a hiss, she dropped the knife and cursed in Sindarin. Pulling a piece of clean cloth from her apron.

"Careful, Nillë . " Reaching out, he took her forearm in his hand and took over the task of pressing at the wound. Little blood escaped, but the sharp sting made Elara annoyed with herself for being clumsy.

"I need to slow down; this is why I do this." It chidingly said, as if she were a child.

When the blood had stopped, Adar sat back but did not let go of her; instead took up stroking her palm. "That is why you do that."

"Hmm?"

"You criticise yourself at the slightest misstep, almost as if you expect perfection from yourself. I've noticed this pattern before."

"Oh," Elara replied, her gaze dropping to the ground, a flush creeping into her cheeks; she knew he was referring to Kandrë. This was precisely why she hadn’t wanted him to know about it, at least partly; she didn’t want him to perceive her as weak or fragile.

"He is unworthy of even uttering your name," he said fervently, his voice laced with indignation. "Don’t allow his twisted ideas to taint your mind." His frustration was palpable, and she could see how deeply bothered he was by the very thought of Kandrë.

Elara felt a knot tighten in her stomach at the mere thought of her former betrothed. She didn’t want to delve into this uncomfortable subject. "You shouldn’t praise me like that... I lied to you, and I am not—"

He abruptly pressed a gentle finger to her lips, an unexpected gesture that silenced her in a strangely comforting way.

"I won't pretend that emotional wounds don’t run deep, they do... I know this all too well. I just want to ensure you understand that I see you as worthy each day from this moment on."

This time, Elara let out a soft huff of exasperation but allowed herself to lean back against his firm, reassuring chest. She thought he was delusional in his opinions of her, yet a sense of safety washed over her when she was with him. For the most part, men made her feel uneasy and exposed, but from the beginning, Adar had felt different—like a sturdy anchor in a stormy sea.

"Thank you," she murmured after a while of silence.

"For what?" He seemed confused.

"For not making me feel small or undeserving."

His arms tightened around her, and when she saw his face, it was hard and angry. She knew he was not at her, but he did look fearsome.

"There is so much more I need to share with you; I don't want to leave anything out this time." Her unspoken thoughts pressed heavily on her mind, but the idea of vocalising them felt overwhelming. There was so much to unravel, and she feared it would become an added burden for him—he already bore countless responsibilities.

"Take the time you need; there's no rush," he said, his voice gentle and reassuring. After a brief pause, he continued, "I truly mean that. I told you before that you could wait to divulge your past, and yet, at the first hint of risk, I rushed you into speaking without regarding your needs. I regret that mistake and promise to be here, ready to listen whenever you feel I am deserving of that."

You are deserving , Elara thought, a flicker of longing amidst the turmoil. She wanted to tell him all. Yet, the words lodged in her throat, and she found herself unable to voice her pain now. As always, the suffering felt much like a storm brewing beneath the surface; she and Himelion had already exchanged much of her past in that conversation. Perhaps it had left out details, but she felt the same anguish, and it had exhausted her. What she craved was a moment of tranquillity, a safe harbour from the emotional tempest, and at that moment, Adar offered her the peace she desperately needed.

Chapter Text

The firs were warm, and it felt like the first time in days that Elara had felt a bit more herself. Himelion was here, rotting in that tent for all she cared, though she knew that wasn't the case. Adar was having him fed, and she and Adar were back on good terms. She feared what could happen, but looking to the future too much would do her no good right now. They had to get through some of this to move forward.

She settled further down into the firs, not wishing to get up and face the day quite yet. It felt oddly safe in the Commander's tent; away from others, she felt like she had no reason to fear here. Still, she needed to attend to the sick. They were steadily returning to health, but much to be done.

Eyes closing, she began to slip off, in and out of sleep, until the soft rustle of fabric alerted her to Adar's presence.

His long, dark hair was wet with rain, and Elara reached out to cup his face as he stooped down near her in the cot.

"Did you sleep at all?" her words were muffled around a yawn.

Adar shook his head and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. His fingers found a small scar under her eye, the pad of his thumb brushing it lightly.

" Ma hen? (what is this?) "

Her eyes became blurry and distant... "It was an old wound," it was a simple answer that he surely didn't want.

"Did he do it?" They both knew who; it hung in the silence between them.

She sniffed, and then Elara forced herself to nod.

His jaw ticked, its hard-line flexing under the strain of his teeth pressing together. Sitting on the cot's edge, he pulled Elara into his arms, holding her tight against his chest; his large hand cradled the back of her head. He whispered soothing words in Quenya that she didn't understand, making her feel safe and cared for.

The last few words were said in Common Tongue: " He will never touch you again." It was a promise or a threat. She did not know which, and it didn't matter.

Leaning in, he dipped his head, allowing their lips to meet. He tasted of rain and something unique to him. His mouth moved against hers, and Elara lost all feeling of reality; there was just him. Warm lips and tongue took over her senses, warming her. His hand slipping to the back of her neck, he tilted her up, further opening her mouth to him. Her hands became tangled in his hair; the damp strands were an anchor to her as their kiss deepened.

Elara lay back and pulled him with her; she did not care that he was dressed and that his boots were most likely muddy. After days of not feeling it, she craved the feeling of his weight above her.

Deft fingers moved over her collarbone, dipping down into her shift to caress a breast. The rough pad of his thumb traced circles around the peak, and Elara mewled softly against his lips.

She craved his touch; she couldn't get enough of it. The thought that she had not known him not so long ago, and now he was everything... the feeling was oppressive.

His movements were slow, precise and teasing. Elara groaned, pinning her legs around his hips and rolling up against him.

Adar's chuckle was deep and rich, "îdh, Nillë, îdh (peace)."

She was ready to use her strength to flip him onto his back when the scout horn could be heard through the camp. The dull bellow instantly broke the spell of their tent.

His smile was sad. She knew his responsibility for all weighed heavy on him; she would not make it worse despite her desire to protest his leaving.

Jerking her head towards the sounds and pushing at his chest, "Go, I need to attend to the infirmary."

His blue eyes skimmed her over, one last longing look before he turned to leave.

...

Having an elf in the camp was reaching a fever pitch of problems. It was clear by that alone that most no longer looked at Elara as one; she was Uruk, it seemed, in many of their eyes, but this elf was a threat. Adar kept guard over the elf messenger tent throughout the daylight while the others slept to ensure his safety.

Rubbing his tired eyes, Adar walked the grounds as they picked up to move on to their next destination. The rain was light, but the dribble still left mud instead of soil. They would need to do something about this elf soon—it was becoming a problem.

Glûg appeared to his left.

"Report."

"The Scouts have returned. We should reach our destination soon. No other elf has been spotted."

The General glanced warily at the tent not too far away that held Himelion. "Lord Father..."

"Yes?"

"There is talk."

He knew there would be; he had been sensing it.

"There is a worry... that elves are being treated too fairly." Clearing his throat, Glûg pressed on without looking at Adar. "It isn't right. They have done too much to us, and you are treating them as if they are worth saving when we are being marched toward war where many will perish."

This was not untrue, but they must destroy Sauron. The closer Adar got, the more he knew that this was the course he had to take. "I need information from the elf; until I get it, he won't be harmed. You're dismissed."

Glûg stomped off, and Adar did notice that he had referenced two elves, looping Elara into this as well.

The prisoner needed to talk, and he was beginning to think that there was perhaps something he could do to achieve this.

...

Elara didn’t like the glint in his eye, but she felt her heartbeat speed up just because of the look he was giving her.

“This idea would be?”

Stepping closer to her, Adar brushed fingertips over her jaw and down to where the swells of her breasts were visible; Elara shivered at the sensation, grateful that all the patients in the room were soundly asleep. His head bent, and she felt his breath against her exposed neck as he spoke.

“I do not think the elf would refuse to talk if he thought the Lord Father of the uruk would hang your virtue over his head.” He nipped at the base of her throat, then soothed it with his lips. 

“That-” she drew in a shaky breath as he sucked at the spot where her shoulder met her neck, leaving his mark there, “is dreadful..” she finished lamely despite hot pleasure coiling in her belly.

He drew back a bit, “more horrible than his blood being spilt.” 

Elara furrowed her brow at this situation. 

Adar tipped her chin up to look at him. “I do not wish you to say yes to something like this just because of sparing him, Elara. I will not hang this over your head. If you asked me to…” He paused, barely able to utter the words, and when he did, Elara knew how much he felt for her. “I will let him go without another thought or action.” He looked sad as he said it, as if he were a disappointment to himself. He trusted her, but not only that, he put her above what he thought was best for his children.

Elara swallowed, nervous. She didn't know how to feel about that. “I will do it.” 

“You’re certain?” 

“It's not as if you are taking my virtue,” she smirked wryly at him. 

“It is not,” he produced his own very tentative smile. 

Glancing back at the sick, she assessed what was needed with her eyes. "They are doing better, and fevers are going down. I will have Seddic and Dalcma stay at a distance so I can return if I am needed."

His nod was swift. He gave her hand a short squeeze and turned back towards camp.

…

Dalcma seemed nervous when Elara explained what they were planning, not about the fever but the elf. 

"You shouldn't have to do that," muttered the uruk.

“He will not hurt me,” murmured Elara, “elves are too noble for such things… most of them.” 

“You said yourself that you’re no longer one of them since you have aided us and… lain with Adar.” A low grumbling sound escaped Dalcma as she continued to fold bandages, "elves do not think twice about killing or harming us."

That was a truth she spoke. “Himelion does not know of all that. That I am one of you, not really.” 

Dalcma only nodded, taking up her place on a stool. 

When Elara reached the tent, Adar seemed to have cleaned himself up a bit. His hair looked less tangled and he smelt of soap. She got the distinct impression that he, despite the bluster, didn't like elves looking down on him. Looking at him pitifully would just upset Adar, so Elara took the scarf out of her hair and tried her best to comb any knots with her fingers so her eyes didn't show what she was thinking.

Adar stepped behind her, pulling her hair to one side, bearing the mark he had made on her neck. One large hand went to her front kneading her breast through her dress and the other with the gauntlet held tight to her hip as his mouth left more marks on her neck and shoulders, all while making her into a panting mess, moaning and pressing her backside against him. After a while of this, he finally pulled all the way back, and Elara felt bereft. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

“Are you going to really leave me without pleasure?” She asked. 

“I think it best if you look somewhat wanton for this,” he murmured. "Apparently, I have you under some spell.” 

Elara rolled her eyes, and something uncomfortable reverberated within her.

“Later, I have no qualms pleasuring you till the moon rises. Brono nin vellas hen trî dhû (May my strength last throughout the night). ” The last bit was whispered low, then he had moved and bid her to follow, a sly look on his face. 

Elara felt her core clench, even as she glared at him. 

When they reached where Himelion was being held, Adar dismissed the guards, and a dark look fell over his face.

Pulling her hand into his gauntlet, unfurling her tiny fingers, and kissing her palm before pulling her more severely into the tent. 

Himelion looked tired, but no harm had befallen him. Elara was surprised by herself, but she really didn't care so much anymore. Himelion had never cared what happened to her.

“Well met, messenger,” Adar said after glaring at each other for a moment.

Himelion spit at his feet. 

Unfazed, Adar resumed on. “I need to know the location of the others in your party and the group that may soon be descending on these lands.” 

Himelion set his jaw and glanced at Elara. “Torture me as you wish. I will not give that up.” 

“Tell him, Himelion, or he will hurt you.” Elara tried to sound afraid. 

Himelion gaped at her, “Elara.” 

Drawing a dagger from his belt, Adar went to Himelion and drew small circles over his exposed arm, not breaking the skin; the messenger didn’t budge. Then the uruk Commander did slice into his arm, and a small trickle of blood dripped to the ground.

For what his worth was, Himelion barely flinched, though elves were fairly sturdy creatures, a small scrape was nothing to him.

“Perhaps pain isn’t the only form of torture I have at my disposal.” Then he sent a pointed glance at Elara, who did her best to look fearful. 

“Do not touch her letch! I knew this was some kind of sorcery over you, Elara!” 

Adar left the elf’s side and came to stand just behind her. His scent was all around her, and it was odd that she could be in a situation like this, lying so much when really it was his scent that gave her comfort. When he grabbed her around the chest and drug her back against him, Elara gasped, and luckily, it could have sounded like fear. She was not some famed poet or performer; this was not what she suited, and she felt rather silly.

“Tell us what you know.” Adar punctuated the end with a large hand moving her hair to the side, showing off the marks he had left there earlier. 

Elara felt more than saw the look that Himelion gave her. It was pity, yes, so much pity, but more than that, it was disgust… revulsion. That was the look that any elf would give her if they knew what she had done and with whom.

Adar must have seen it, too, because he stilled slightly. It all seemed quite real to him at that moment. He dropped his hand, and she felt his gauntlet squeeze her hip slightly, telling her the trick was up. They weren’t going to do this after all. 

“Himelion, please,” Elara begged, trying to keep their charade going. She didn’t want them to be in danger, Adar or his children, and she would do much to ensure that didn’t come to pass.

When she glanced back at Adar, she realised he had given up the game. He rubbed his face and looked distraught beyond anything she had ever seen. Shutting her eyes tightly, she moved away from the elf and went to Adar. 

“It is done, Írimënya .” 

She thought he might pull away again at the thought that he had tainted her somehow, but instead, he just picked up her hand and kissed the palm, cradling it in the dark grey steel of his metal glove. His blue eyes held a sadness that she knew was meant for her; he knew he'd tarnished her but also knew that perhaps there was no going back from that.

“Elara…” Himelion sounded as if he might weep. “What have you done to yourself?” 

Whipping around, she nearly growled, “What have I done? Everything I said to you before was true. I am not under some sorcery. I do not wish to be rescued and taken back to that brute I was being forced upon by my father.” 

Rage filtered in as this all hit her. Perhaps she was ruined in the eyes of elves, but what they thought mattered very little to her. She worried for Adar; he cared far more about their ideals than she did.

Himelion's gaunt face paled. "You have become darkness as well. Do you think so carelessly of your own people, of your father?” His voice dripped with malice, "this creature... you have debased yourself for him... a disgusting monster!"  

Elara nearly screamed but slapped the elf across the face instead. “He is not the monster,” she pointed to Adar, “nor am I. You, with all your pretty things and poetic words, should be the best of this world, and yet I continue to see elves fail to be just and kind.” 

The elf looked surprised by what she said but also not at all guilty. A haughtiness to his face made Elara want to yell again, but instead, she turned and tried to collect herself. 

“You have defiled yourself, Elara, in the worst way.” 

She watched Adar stiffen at the statement, his shoulders slumping, eyes roaming the room, not meeting hers. He seemed to be trying very hard to control himself.

“I have done no such thing.” Turning back to Himelion, she saw him looking revoltingly at her neck. 

“He will toss you to the side when he has finished using you for your healing skills and body,” he spat the words with a vitriol that Elara could never muster. "Then what will become of you?"

Elara tried to speak, but he continued instead.

“You made a vow in front of the Valar, whether it was an official or not; I know you lay with Kandrë in an elven culture that is binding Elara.”

The last statement was said to overexplain to her as if she didn’t understand their customs and was some silly child. 

Adar had still yet to make a move. He was allowing Elara to handle this, she realised, even though when she glanced back, his face was strained, and his knuckles were white where he griped his sword. Eyes sad, and angry at the same time.

“I did not choose to lay with Kandrë.” Elara finally said it, something she had always tried to deny, even to herself. But it was the truth: He had compelled her into it, and she had lied to herself for years that she had wanted to. 

“Lies!” 

“Coercion is not consent,” Elara said simply, feeling a familiar pain surface in her. She hoped Adar would not look at her differently after she had said that aloud, and she wouldn’t dare look at him now. 

“You’re a fool Elara, and now you have become this creature's whore, also.”

It seems that was where Adar’s resolve broke; with a growl, he stalked past Elara and struck the elf in the face with his bare fist. 

“Kandrë will kill you both now,” the elf spat blood. "He hates disloyalty, Elara, and you have betrayed him."

Anger etched more lines into Adar’s scarred face; he hit him again with the gauntlet, knocking Himelion out cold.

There was a beat of silence between them; Elara could feel hot tears rolling down her face.

“I apologise,” Adar muttered when he turned again to face Elara. Then, he paused as if he had just realised the lie. “I am not sorry. No one should ever speak to you like that, and if they do so in my presence…” He let the words trail off and cupped Elara’s face in his hands. "What he said isn’t true; you deserve to speak of what was done to you.” 

Elara felt emotion welling up and anger as she glanced at Himelion. He would survive a punch, and he had deserved it. 

Adar ushered her from the tent, and she tried not to look too distraught in front of the uruk around as they returned to the tent. Adar shouted an order out in Black Speech.

It felt as if her new world was crumbling. He sat her down on a stool and knelt before her. “We must move towards Ost-in-Edhil. Can you see if the sick can be moved?” They had not gotten the necessary information from their prisoner, and they would all be in danger if they stayed here.

Elara nodded, her face solemn, “I think they can.” 

He inclined his head, “I must go and ensure we are prepared.” Lingering near her, he touched her cheek, eyes darting over her face. When she met his eyes, he spoke again, "I am sorry I have done this to you."

"Adar-"

He did not let her finish, standing up and looking at her. Elara felt small under his gaze. “All will be well; I will never allow you to feel fear like that again.” 

Despite his inability to do such a thing, Elara believed him. Adar was a man of his word; she knew that.

Chapter Text

They had been marching for what felt like an eternity, the weary soldiers pushing forward with a determination that was beginning to fray. Their destination loomed near, yet the promise of rest seemed just out of reach. Fatigue hung heavily in the air, and discontent simmered within the ranks, transforming their unity into grumbling irritation. Elara, attuned to the subtle shifts in mood, could feel the growing tension as she rode through the weary lines, her keen eyes scanning for any signs of injury or illness amid the dusty, beleaguered faces. She wondered if it was boredom; they had been promised war, and it seemed that some of them had been looking forward to such a thing. Not all, perhaps, but Elara could now tell from her time amongst them that the Uruk seemed to enjoy a good fight.

She had not seen Himelion since that day, and she felt grateful for that, yet his words still filled her mind—the idea that Kandrë could find her. She shivered and tugged her cloak tighter around herself, dismounting when she reached the front of the legion she was attending that day.

A large Uruk barred her way, and he didn’t look at all friendly. She had become used to the Uruk she was around, but some of them still took her by surprise, causing her fear. Something innate in her made them other; that was, indeed, years of being told such a thing. Elara always tried to put it from her mind when it came up, but it wasn't always easy.

Elara was prepared for this now, even under the large uruk's penetrating gaze. Adar had coached her on what to say: she was a healer sent to help them by their Lord Father. “ Jiak kij ij sharog ukenav afar your goth faavhas .”

It had taken a bit of practice, but her pronunciation was much better than it had been. When she finally got the words right, Adar had grinned, actually grinned at her, as if he were proud. Elara had blushed, unused to anyone believing in her. 

The Uruk looked unconvinced, but when she dismounted, it was apparent he could smell her. Adar had been true to his word; she never left the main camp unless she smelled of him. It was odd for her mind to comprehend, but this was something significant to uruk. They took great care in what scent meant, and hers smelt like their Commander. 

"Yarhk," he pointed to himself.

Elara nodded in return, following his lead to a pair of Uruk with nasty sunburns. They seemed wary at first, golden eyes looking at her with distrust. This was common. Her own innate fear of them was the same she realised when they saw an elf.

Elara diligently cleaned the blistered areas of the Uruk warriors, carefully applying the ointment she had crafted to alleviate their sun sickness. After extensive experimentation, she had fine-tuned the recipe, but her efforts were hampered by the scarcity of ingredients she had on hand; still, the ointment would suffice for the time being.

As she moved on to assist with a few more minor injuries, then a particularly painful broken arm, she noticed the Uruk giving her wary glances, their eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and discomfort.

Elara couldn't shake the thought that, despite her efforts, their hardships seemed to be unending. She wondered if there would ever come a time when their plight would improve or if this struggle was destined to continue indefinitely. Except in the land they had left, the sun was a never-ending surety.

It seemed her healing had at least gained Yarhk's trust. He motioned that she follow him when she had finished. There appeared to be a small fire, and he pointed to it with little ceremony, suggesting that she take a seat there to warm herself. Elara hadn’t noticed, but she had been shivering.

They sat silently for a while, and Elara warmed her tired muscles. Neither seemed at ease with the other, but it was enough not to feel outwardly threatened.

“Do you speak Common Tongue, Yarhk?” 

A grunt that she assumed was yes. 

“This salve,” she produced it from her bag, “is what I used to help with the sun sickness. If you have any scouts who come back with burns again, just apply a small amount topically.” She made a motion like rubbing it into the skin of her arm.

The large creature hesitated but eventually took the salve from her. “ Avhank lat ,” he bowed his head slightly after the thanks. 

“Is there anyone else that needs healing?” 

He shook his head. 

“Then I will be off. If ever you need my help, send word to the front ranks, and I will come.” 

Another nod. There was an uncomfortable sense in the camp as she moved from the place by the fire and back to her horse. The Uruk there clearly had never seen her before, and they only knew elves to be harmful to them. She didn’t know if that would ever ease her feeling so out of place and at a loss amongst them, even as she learned some of their language and customs. The fear they felt for outsiders was understandable and deeply ingrained.

A cool wind whipped around her as she started back, and dawn began to creep over the horizon. As she oft did, Elara felt a deep sadness come over her at how much the Uruk had lost and what they yet must endure. As they moved closer to Eregion, she saw Adar become more and more… not nervous, but watchful; the proximity to the potential of Sauron sat under his skin and nestled there in a way that made him itch. Elara could see it even if he never stated it outright. She wanted them all to know peace. Most of all, Adar.

…

The sound of a horse had him standing. Sharpening his sword was a methodical task that made him feel in control, if only for a moment. Since Eara had been making these trips down the ranks, he had been doing it more often. It was and never would be his intention to smother her, but he feared what could happen while she was away.

A small voice whispered that they were on to war and that he had little control; he could die, and so could she in the upcoming conflict. Something like dread sank in his chest and stayed there when considering of the upcoming violence. He felt so guilty for keeping her here and allowing her to stay with them. If he was a better man, he would make her go back to her people. She would be safer there or anywhere else, not here with the uruk. She deserved to live a life free of the pain his people often faced. If they vanquished Sauron that would not change, but he was indeed selfish. Years and years of being alone, with his children, but alone; he needed her, wanted her too much to let her go, even if it was in her best interest. This made him hate himself, not an uncommon feeling. The feeling of being wanted by someone... was new and intoxicating; that kept him from letting go. Being cared for, even loved... The idea of allowing it to pass from his life... agonising.

Elara rode into camp, looking well enough, if tired, as she halted her horse. Approaching, he wrapped his hands around her tiny waist and pulled her off the animal to stand in the dirt before his feet. She smiled slightly up at him, hands tugging at his chainmail to steady herself. He could get lost in those sparkling hazel depths, seeing him more than he wished to be seen. This might all end, but right now, he only wanted to have her in any way he could, for any amount of time they had.

Taking note of the Uruk around them, Adar stepped back a bit and allowed her to collect her things from the horse before they were taken away to be fed and watered. “Report.” He murmured, trying to show the persona of the Commander he was for any of them that could hear.

“Nothing too awful, mostly sun sickness and a few injuries from brawls.” 

Adar’s response was a solemn nod. “We will soon reach Ost-In-Edhil; it has been a long journey, and they are restless,” as if that were an answer.

He felt ill at ease still, expressing his thoughts with another, and the closer they got, the more uncomfortable he felt and the more strangely drawn he became to something he just couldn’t quite place.  

Elara gave a solemn nod in return and went to fetch some supper near the fire that Dalma had kept for her. Nothing but violence waited for them at their destination; he could see it in her face whenever they spoke of it, and the fear of her former betrothed was ever-present now that he knew of her past; he understood this fear.

How was he supposed to care for his children, win a battle, and keep Elara safe? Losing at any of those things seemed like the end of the world, the end of his existence, and maybe that was it; perhaps he was doomed to continue failing to see peace for his children and himself evermore.

Something dark filled his heart as he watched Elara and Dalcma by the fire. Was he following this path for the good of his people? Or was he losing himself in this fight against Sauron?

…

She hadn’t been avoiding him exactly, but she had been trying to give him his space as she went and healed throughout the legions. It seemed he needed that. His moods tended to be aloof and absent of much emotion. Elara did her best to smile through her conversation with Dalcma, but she was worried.

“What are they saying about Adar in the ranks?” 

Dalcma looked surprised. 

“The truth only, please, Dalcma.” 

The uruk hesitated: " There are seeds of doubt… the closer we get to our destination, the more they become restless; something calls to some of them.” 

“I feel worry.” 

Dalcma placed a large hand on Elara's forearm. “I have trust in Adar, many do. He has yet to steer us wrong since long ago at Forodwaith.” 

Elara nodded, yet she wondered if something else wasn’t at play. It had been bothering her for some time. Chewing her lip, she said goodnight to Dalcma, moving toward her tent. Perhaps he would be there this evening, and they could speak.

He was. Elara found him standing over the table, hands braced and hair hanging on his face. His shoulders held a tension that displayed his thoughts. 

“ Melindo ,” Elara mumbled to get his attention. 

He made a noise of acknowledgement but no words, and he didn’t turn to look at her either. She knew this stewing over things, and obsession was drawing him further into his mind, but she wasn’t altogether sure that he was himself. 

“Have you been to the misty mountains?” 

He finally looked up as Elara disappeared behind the curtain, separating their quarters from the rest of the tent.

“Yes, we lived there for decades after the defeat of Morgoth. Why?” 

“I care for snow,” Elara shrugged, though he could not see her. "I just wanted to know how you felt about it. I feel as if I know so little about you, still.” She sighed a bit and finished changing her clothes, selecting a chemise she didn’t often wear. Something that had been found in the wreckage near Orodruin. Much of the clothing had been useless to her, but she kept certain things even on this journey because she liked them. It hung off her shoulders and barred her cleavage and Elara knew that it looked enticing on her.

“Millennia of life is much to express.” She barely heard the response.

He seemed half interested in it all, and Elara felt frustration flare within her. He was consumed by this mission, and even a conversation seemed too much. The closer they got to Eregion, the more he was consumed by it; this was so at odds with his generally calculated thought-through movements and decisions. This manic obsession clinging to him. 

“Adar? Would you come here?” 

There was a grumble, but she heard him move. It was as if he were trying to keep his distance from her, but she would not allow such a thing tonight. Possibly, she could bring him back to the present. When he stepped through the entrance, Elara reached her arms around his neck and pulled him further into the room. 

“Elara-“ he protested, but he stopped when she dropped to her knees in front of him, hands running up and down his thighs. This seemed to fully grasp his attention. 

“Do you want me to stop?” She asked, toying with his belt. 

Adar swallowed hard, and Elara took that as an answer. Releasing his belt and untying his trousers to release him. It seemed just the thought of this had made him swell for her, but her hands coaxed him into fullness, then she leaned forward to taste him, her eyes not leaving his as she did. She took as much of him into her mouth and drew back in a long pull that had the Commander closing his eyes and gripping the chair near him for stability. Elara breathed deeply through her nose and pressed forward even further, feeling him bump the back of her throat. Despite herself she felt her own arousal spike at the sensation.

Adar cursed low in Quenya and growled, threading fingers in the tresses at the back of her head, and tugging just a little at her, helping to guide her over his cock how he liked it. Elara felt excitement begin in her lower belly, making her inner thighs wet and sticky with every movement of her tongue.

She was sure she hadn't ever enjoyed pleasuring someone so much, but every glance up at his face had her moaning around his length and sucking harder, laving her tongue over him. She liked how he looked, as if he were on the edge of control, a man so stiff and held together, crumbling as she worked his body.

Smiling at the thought, Elara moved her thighs just a little, some friction, anything and gasped around him at the shot of pleasure it sent through her. He seemed to be completely losing his sense of reality, as she had intended. Pushing further and sucking him harder.

When he gripped a handful of her hair tighter, Elara moaned wantonly where her face was pressed against his pelvis, gazing up at him as best she could with her mouth so full of him. She wanted him to lose control, and he seemed to either realise it or be unable to help himself. He began to move her against him, thrusting and using his grip on her hair as an anchor of his thrusts. Elara moaned and surely looked needy on her knees for him; the sting and bite of her hair in his hands only had her pleasure mounting, and though her eyes began to water, she loved the control he took over her just then. Reaching a hand down between her legs, she rubbed just a little at her pleasure point, enjoying the sensation mixed with the heady experience of this. 

“Ma sell (good girl)." He whispered.

Elara cried out and worked him harder, faster as he gripped her hair until he groaned, trying to pull away as she tried to hold him in her mouth. In the confusion, Adar cursed, and his grip on her hair tightened as he spilt himself on her chin and down her neck and chest. His seed was hot against her skin. Elara breathed deeply for the first time in a bit and flicked a tongue out to taste him on her lower lip. His eyes flared with something animal, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Do I have your attention, Lord Father?” She tried to be coy, but it came out a little too breathless. 

His hands reached down and brought her to her feet, his blue eyes not leaving hers. Then, trailing down her, he looked at what he had done to mark her.

Elara reached down, picked up some of his seed, and licked it off her finger for him to watch. “This time inside me.” Turning, she pulled her shift off and went to the bed. 

There was a distinct difference in her attitude towards this, she was interested in fucking him, of course, as she always was, but she wanted to centre him, force Adar to see the world around him through his eyes and not whatever was fueling him in this way. She was beginning to wonder if Sauron still had a grasp on Adar, and Elara shivered at the thought. Adar was not evil; she knew that She did not fully agree with his means, but the ends were justified; she wanted peace for their people as much as he did. There had to be a way to make him see that being lost in this quest was not the way. She had a sneaky feeling that perhaps he needed purpose outside of his mission to protect the uruk from Sauron. 

To his credit, Adar seemed to be fully in this moment, almost intensely so; he was nearly frenzied as he reached to grab her around the waist, pulling her towards the cot. It was nearing dawn and dim except for the candle that burned, and Elara watched the light from the flames flicker over his face. The rough scars made him look frightening in an exciting way as he pulled her to sit in his lap, and his hands moved over her body, gripping her waist, kneading her breasts and backside, seemingly enjoying the way she felt in his hands. Elara’s centre was aching with need, and something about that heady experience was only fueling her sensation as if she had taken a mind-altering drug. Suddenly, wanting him, more than any other point she had remembered before in their time together, she enjoyed pleasuring him, but this was acute and dazing. 

“I want to taste you, Meleth nîn.” He murmured against her neck, his tongue exploring the expanse of her throat and chest. They were surely smearing the mess he had left on her, and Elara felt hot arousal run through her at the thought. Adar laid on his back then, and Elara almost lost her balance; his large hands caught her instead and hoisted her up, placing her above his head, knees on either side of his face. 

“Oh!” Elara blushed in surprise, staring down at his eyes, even as his tongue darted out to taste her, siding between her seam and flicking lightly at her bundle of nerves. “ Ohhhh .” 

His arms locked around her thighs, holding her weight down on him as he lapped at her, truly as he had said, tasting her, sucking her clit into his mouth and pressing the nub with the flat of his tongue again and again as Elara panted and moaned, trying not to scream and let the whole camp know that she was about to cum all over their Lord Fathers face. He thrust his tongue inside her then, and Elara threw her head back, wining, unable to figure what to do with her hands, instead grinding down hard against his face as he fucked her with his tongue, his nose bumping at her clit and shooting warm wet pleasure through her lower belly, she was surely drenching his face. Elara couldn’t help but enjoy the idea that he would smell of her. 

“I…” she moaned, mouth wrapped around her clit again, sucking with purpose and intention, no longer toying with her, hurtling her towards release. “ Avo dharo! Avo dharo… Adar (Don’t stop! Don’t stop, Adar).”

In a swift motion, he tugged her a bit forward, sucking at her with his mouth, and Elara lost all awareness; it was like everything was lost to her sensation, lights and stars behind her eyes and in the distance, she could feel Adar licking her through her pleasure, each press of his tongue searing her sensitive flesh.

She felt limp as he moved her off his face and down his body; Elara was barely able to recognise the stiffness of his member, but still, she took him in, enjoying the fullness of him inside her, stretching the newly swollen flesh. She leaned forward, resting on his chest, not moving. 

“This time…” Adar mumbled, pushing her hair away from her face. He held the back of her neck, lifting himself to kiss her; his mouth tasted of her, and Elara moaned softly around his tongue as her hips started to move of their own accord. “ Aníron cened i chent gîn n’i gellog (I want to see your eyes when you cum).”

Chapter Text

It felt even more necessary for her to be training. The fear that went through her at the thought of Himelion and all that had happened sent shivers down Elara's spine. He was there away from the others, but Elara couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t in the general area around them and that Kandrë wasn’t potentially coming to collect her if Himelion could be believed. She had been waking from dreams that were uneasy or even terrifying. The fear would cling to her as she tried to slow her heart and go back to sleep. Often, Elara would need to get up and move around to even have hope of going back to sleep. She would just get up for the day if it was too close to the evening when the camp would wake. It had been one of those such mornings. Luckily, she found Gazad awake just as the sun was beginning to set. 

“Train?” He asked her, in his gruff but perceiving way. 

Elara nodded and got up from where he had been sharpening his sword. They didn’t talk much as they sparred back and forth, but that also meant that Elara had no time to think; there wasn’t enough space in her brain between moves to think about elves or Kandrë, her father. None of them mattered while she was here, making the most of this time before they marched again. By the time they were finished, Elara was dripping with sweat, and her mind felt clearer than it had in days. This is what she wanted from a session like this. 

Breathing hard, she sat on the ground, trying to catch her breath. Gazad looked mostly unfazed by it. Uruks were hearty and not easily winded, even when she moved much faster than them.  

Noticing a tear in his tunic, Elara reached out a hand, “do you need this patched?” 

Gazad shrugged, “it is not a large thing.”

“Bring it to my tent. I will patch it so the hole does not get bigger and requires more fixing.” 

“Yes, Lady.” He gave her a somewhat solemn nod, but Elara had learned the way Gazad was. He seemed to hold a respect for her, and that was why he was why he spoke to her in such a way.

Elara smiled after him as he left. She wished they were on the road to something better for all of them, not more violence. Shaking herself, Elara knew it was best to keep the clear head she'd gained from movement. They were in Elven lands and she could take some solace in the fresh air and the vegetation. 

...

The coolness of the air wrapped around Elara as she walked from the precipice of a small hill; the sun was breaking over the landscape, the trees covered in a light frost, and she felt the earth shiver a bit with the slight autumn chill. There, in the far distance, she could see the shimmering light of Eregion. They were so close. The wool shawl she wore kept the chiller bits of wind from reaching her lighter clothes beneath, and the warmth of the sun's rays felt soothing on her face. She needed to ensure she went out in the sun more, even if she lived mainly on a nocturnal schedule now. 

“ Bain i find lîn, (beautiful is your hair). ” Adar’s deep rumble made Elara jump, but his presence behind her quickly soothed the start.

Reaching out, he let his fingers trail through the strands, holding them up to the light. “Like amber when the sun hits it. I can picture it with my eyes closed,” he murmured almost reverently as if he treasured the image in his mind. His words hinted at sadness as if he were wondering if the memory would be all he had soon.

Swallowing, she tried to push that idea from her mind. “ Hannon allen (thank you) .”

“It is I who gets to look at it and should give you thanks,” he mumbles close to her ear, pulling her back against his chest and gazing out over the precipice. He presses a kiss on her shoulder, and they stand there in silence for a bit. Elara knows his mind was ever moving. She had gotten him to slow it a bit in the past days, but something was under the surface, moving him toward Eregion as she had noted before; it only grows with each step of the journey.

“What would you do if you weren’t Lord Father?” She asked after a moment of silence. “Where would you go? Do you enjoy leading armies and peoples?” She knew the answer to the last question but wanted to hear it from his own lips. Admittedly, he was good at leading them, but she didn't get the impression that he liked it or had a passion for it as some men do.

He chuckled, rough and low. “I haven’t thought much about what I would prefer to do with my long life. I am their leader, and I have a duty to them. That is my life.” 

“Yes,” she pressed, “but if it wasn’t?” 

He sighed as if he hadn’t wished her to ask again, but he answered. "A small farm, decently secluded, I would never be welcome in most societies, and I don’t treasure much company. Perhaps I would grow things once again and bake… bread.” His laugh was breathy, and the light, carefree sound warmed Elara’s heart. “I have always longed for children, though…I am unsure what…” He trailed off, clearing his throat. “This is all not for thinking of.” 

“I think it sounds beautiful. I had often thought my life would be a pretty cage that no one saw the horrors of on the inside. Since you captured me, I feel more free to make decisions and dream.” She smirked up at him, one eyebrow raised. This was rare, being able to be playful with one another.

Adar huffed, “I wish to apologise for that… but I cannot bring myself to, Írimënya . Somehow our fate has allowed us something even now amidst all this.” He waved a hand vaguely and shook his head, a strand of dark hair falling into his face.

Elara shivered, not from cold but from how he spoke of the impending action. She would bring down the lightness with this question, but she had to know. “Do you feel him?” 

“What?” 

“In your mind," she hesitated, partially in not wishing to divulge her own internal issues but also because she didn't want him to be upset. "I know it sounds mad, but sometimes I hear Kandrë’s voice in my mind, whispering that I cannot or that I am not smart enough, whatever it may be,” she moved then, trying to look sane as she said this. “And he is not really there, it is my own mind bargaining with what has been said to me in the past. Kandrë is no... sorcerer or otherworldly being as Sauron is.” 

He gazed past her at the trees in the valley and perhaps the skyline. “I hate that he spoke to you in such a way that you doubt your worth, Meleth nîn. You’re the sun and sky and stars; I see not what you aren’t but what you are and provide to this world every moment. Do not allow his memory to pester you so.” Conveniently, he did not respond to what she had asked regarding Sauron. Instead, he pulled her back into the circle of his arms so they could continue to gaze at the valley together in silence. 

Eventually, he kissed her neck. “Are you finished gathering herbs?” 

“No, but you go back to camp. I will finish, and I wish to get some more sunlight.” 

“ Pi den anírog (if you wish it). ” His hand reached down to ensure she had her dagger and sword with her. Elara smiled at the gesture, and though she knew he didn’t like to leave her alone for worry of her safety, he recognised that giving her freedom was something she needed, or she would shrivel and become unwell as she had in Lindon.

His retreating form made Elara grimace a bit; though he had not stated it in so many words, she now worried that Sauron still had some grip on her love. It was unlike him to avoid answering a question like that. 

Elara made her way along the edges of the dense treeline, her senses attuned to the sounds and scents of the forest. As she carefully selected a few mushrooms, their caps glistening with moisture from the morning dew, and gathered fragrant herbs that added vibrant colours to her collection, she felt a deep connection to the earth beneath her feet. The cool soil was comforting and grounding, allowing her to find solace amid the chaos surrounding her. The further they were into Elven lands, the richer the plants became, their uses almost endless.

Although she hadn’t fully connected with Adar on the matters that troubled him, she began to grasp the root of his distress. It was as if she could sense the burden he carried, the weight of his responsibilities pressing heavily upon him as they usually did, but this was different, more directed. Elara instinctively knew that she had a role to play in protecting him and his children, especially with the looming threat.

A tumultuous blend of emotions swirled within her; she had immense trust in Adar, viewing him as a figure of strength and fairness, unlike anyone she had encountered before. Yet, despite her respect and admiration, she couldn't shake the feeling that something dark was festering inside him. This internal struggle concerned her deeply. Elara was resolute in her determination not to let him fall prey to the very darkness he was fighting to eradicate, and she vowed to be a source of support and clarity for him during this tumultuous time. Something was plaguing him, and she knew it was perhaps out of his control. It wasn’t that he didn’t seem in his right mind; no, he was wrestling with past or present influence. 

Hours had passed when she heard someone calling her title. Their voice held fear, and Elara felt something grip her heart. Something was wrong.

“ Ladausan moavher! ” The uruk she reached as she went down the slight grade was someone she had seen but didn't know. “You must come, lady. The elf has escaped and-.” The uruk was breathing hard, and fear was apparent in their eyes.

“Hush, it is alright. Is someone injured?”

Glancing back at her the uruk nodded frantically.

Himelion had somehow escaped? Her mind was a whirlwind as they approached the camp; Elara saw the scene before she really had time to process black blood all over the ground, and Gazad lay in the midst of it. Her stomach sank, and fear curled around her heart.

Dropping her basket, Elara ran; how large her friend looked even on the ground. Falling to her knees, she cared not about the harsh feeling of the rocky earth beneath her knees. Her mind raced, checking for a pulse, then checking again, scanning injuries, and she saw them... arrows had pierced him in many areas, and there was a large gash at his throat and a wound where his head had hit the ground, most likely.

She yanked at her apron, pulling it from her waist and pressing it to stem the blood, despite her knowledge in the back of her mind. Never before had she felt so at a loss in knowing that a patient was dead, not since her mother… The memories of her mother's body and the sobs that she hadn't been able to stop escaping her own mouth made her feel ill at the memory. Elara shoved them from her mind, forcing herself to think clearer, knowing the unfortunate knowledge it would bring her. Still, her hands attempted, trying to hold the head wound, even as Gazad grew colder…

Seddic’s voice barely broke the ringing in her ears: " We tried, Lady, Dalcma, and I tried… he is gone.” 

Elara hung her head and wept, tears falling so fast she could not stem them with her blackened palms. Her hand shook as she tried to think what to do. She thought of the many times she and Gazad had sparred, the care he took, the way he never let any other uruk think her weak or small. 

"No," Elara mumbled, shutting her eyes tightly. “ Ni si an le nestad (I am here to heal you) ,” she murmured the phrases in Sindarin repeatedly.

Cradling Gazad’s large hand in her own, Elara finally looked up to see Glûg standing over her, watching her. For the first time, his eyes held genuine emotions, and no suspicion of her could be seen there. He finally understood that she cared for them, his people.

Through her tears, she asked, teeth gritted, and face pinched, “did he get away? Where is Adar?” 

Chapter Text

As darkness enveloped the forest, an eerie stillness settled in, and Adar could sense the very essence of the woods shifting around him in disquieting ways. Each step they took closer to Sauron intensified the unsettling energy that writhed through the trees and undergrowth. Now that he was alone, it felt tenfold, creeping into him, settling into his bones. It was as if the forest itself was alive, bending to the will of a power that loomed just ahead. The tense grip of this influence gnawed at him, and Elara’s voice from earlier reverberated in his mind, a haunting reminder of Sauron's potential grasp on his mind. He needed to push this from his head as he focused on tracking the elven captive who had escaped. 

Still, his mind itched. Elara had a unique ability to perceive the subtle changes in her surroundings, and she had voiced concerns about the peculiar nature of this journey. Unlike many who knew only of Sauron as a distant spectre of fear—his presence marked by ominous tales and shadowy whispers—Adar had faced him directly. He had witnessed the dark lord’s horrors firsthand, feeling the chilling aura radiating from him. Even now, memories of that terror lurked in the corners of Adar's mind, vivid and raw. The weight of that experience served as a grim reminder of why he must remain vigilant, aware that danger was ever-present in this realm tainted by malevolence. This was his whole purpose in dragging his army here.

There was a rustle, and Adar circled, his mind being brought back to the present, this moment, what he was meant to be doing. It hadn’t been much of a thought on his part; he just went running in the direction of the elf. The moment he was alerted that Himelion had escaped. Adar did not want their location shared, that much was true, but more than that, perhaps he didn’t want anyone to know that Elara was with them. He was not interested in toying with her safety and didn't have that monster, her former betrothed, anywhere near her. It made his stomach turn, forcing his feet to move at that moment. Throwing caution and rational to the wind. He was not some green-brash elf; he was a centuries-old being, yet he had run off after this prisoner without anyone to back him up or go with him. It seemed all for love. Adar had seen how that went before. Acting first and thinking later. He pressed against the notion in his brain that it was weakness, feelings such as these. He was past all this; he had long ago realised that caring for his children was not a weakness but, in fact, a strength. It was the same with Elara, despite the ill feeling he had now.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sharp crack of a twig snapping in the underbrush. Adar’s instincts kicked in, and he turned sharply, eyes narrowing as he peered through the dense foliage. His vision pierced the gloom more adeptly than any elf, but he knew the advantage lay with the man who concealed himself in shadows. He drew his sword. Himelion was close.

While actively searching, the man had the benefit of hiding his presence, making this a delicate game of cat and mouse deep within the forest's heart. The string snap and pain of the arrow tip were shocking in the otherwise still air; Adar gripped his sword through the pain and circled the area the arrow had come from. He had not asked if the elf had stolen any weapons; he had been too quick to run after him.

The elf was more proficient than he had expected. The arrow had pierced through one of the holes in Adar's armour. Another arrow flew; this time, Adar batted it out of the air with his sword. He was at a complete disadvantage at this moment. The elf could clearly see him, but he couldn’t see them. He needed to think more cleverly. 

“You’re not doing yourself any favours sticking around, there will be more of my children here soon.” 

There was silence, even as Adar pivoted within the small clearing. 

“Your party cannot take on my entire army.” 

“They don’t need to!” 

Yes , keep him talking. Adar could hear where the sound was coming from now. 

“Exactly, they can turn the other way and not worry for their lives.” 

“Kandrë will come for Elara, and she will go with him. Once she remembers herself!” 

He kept the growl of anger from being released and instead positioned himself before the trees that Himelion was surely hiding in. “He will not.” He did not speak for Elara; he knew not what she would do and wouldn’t judge her based on that. 

This time, he missed the arrow, and it tore through his arm painfully. Adar wanted to curse, but this elf was clearly a coward. Not wishing to fight him outright, he would not show that emotion. “You’re a coward hiding in the trees.” 

“I am thinking with a clear head and being clever.” The elf tried, but Adar could hear the fatigue and fear in his voice.

“You are scared of me, ion (boy) .” He was baiting him, and it was a sick game he enjoyed.

When Himelion jumped from the trees, Adar was surprised but not completely unready. The elf charged him, clearly having been set off by some of Adar's words. Perhaps calling him a boy.

There was something frantic in his movements, and that made it somewhat easier for Adar to block his blows. The arrows were a hindrance, but it wasn’t the worst thing he had ever experienced in a fight. Adar didn’t want to kill the elf; Elara would hate him, he was sure. That made things more difficult by a large margin. 

His long sword caught the shorter one Himelion had stolen, but Adar took a blow to the side for that effort, sending pain shooting through the arrow wound near the same place. Himelion moved back, and they circled again. 

“I don’t know how you live with yourself, orc.” 

Adar didn’t take the bait and instead lunged, knocking Himelion’s sword out of his hand and then sending him flying onto his back with a swift move at the back of his knees. Placing his sword at the man's neck, he stood, chest heaving in pain as blood dripped from his shoulder down his arm onto the elf. Himelion cowered and looked disgusted at the black blood that was tainting his skin.

There was a sound, and Elara burst through the trees. Then, Adar looked up for the briefest moment, fear gripping him, and that was enough for Himelion to move, stabbing Adar where his shoulder met his neck with an arrow tip.

Adar didn’t really feel the pain largely, but he saw Elara’s face, the horror present there, and her reaching out to grab him as he started to fall forward, blood… his blood staining the front of her dress.

It was odd; he had experienced a fair amount of pain in his time, but it was not often that he lost consciousness when experiencing such a thing, and perhaps this was different; maybe he would die here like this. Adar let himself admit for the first time since she had come into his life, even as her eyes were frantic that the last thing he ever wanted to see was her eyes, face, lips… he tracked them as best he could with his blurring vision, as his mind rose and fell in and out of what felt to be bottomless water, growing colder…

Before he lost all thought and presence of mind, Adar wondered what a different life would be like, as they had spoken of that morning. Baking bread, chopping firewood and falling asleep with a babe that looked like Elara in his arms…

…

Himelion didn’t give Elara a second glance, especially when the rest of the uruk charged through the trees, just ran. Elara couldn’t have cared; she had been prepared to kill him if that meant she had been able to prevent anything from happening to Adar.

“ Dhe nathathon, Meleth nîn (I will help you, my love). Elara was having a more challenging time not losing herself to fear. 

There was so much blood; the place that had been stabbed was near an artery, and Adar seemed to be slipping away.

One bloody hand reached up to her face as he came in and out of consciousness. 

“ Û! Gi nestathon, Gweston nidhin de chared! (No! I will heal you. I swear that I will do it!).” Elara was lost to the pounding in her ears as she tore at the fabric of her dress and tried to stem the bleeding. His skin was clammy and paler than usual. His breathing was ragged gasps, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth.

“Dalcma!” she called for her friend, who had not been far behind; she needed help. “Please,” the word whispered to Adar near his ear.

Dalcma and Seddic appeared with supplies.

“Break the end of the arrow at his side and… and shoulder- and we must remove his armour-” Elara held the wound at his neck. How was she going to remove it without killing him?

His eyes opened briefly, and he tried to say something. He looked calm, too calm. " Nillë —" A horrible gurgling sound cut him off.

Elara knew that look. It was one of absolution; she had seen it many times before when patients were close to death. Elara felt hot tears running down her face. “ Har… annin! (Stay…for me!) ”

“Seddic, I need you to break this arrow and then pull it through. I have to hold this and stop the blood.” Black covered her hands, soaking through the fabric she used to press the wound. 

“Lady…” He sounded hesitant. This was dire.

“Now!” 

Seddic looked warily at her but nodded; surely, they believed their Lord Father was beyond the ability to save. Perhaps he was… Elara could not allow herself to feel that way. She… had just found him; they had just found each other.

When Seddic broke the arrow, Adar's body jerked violently in her arms, and Elara tried not to cry out; she needed to focus. She could not do this without her composure. Dalcma was still working on the other wounds as she had been taught, and Elara had to trust herself and her friends. As Seddic pulled the stalk of the arrow out, Elara could hear Adar’s gurgled sounds as she tried to stem the bleeding. It was enough to make her stomach turn, which wasn’t a regular occurrence for her. She was used to such things. She used another bit of bandage to continue to hold the wound closed; now they had to make sure the blood he had lost wasn’t going to be a concern.

Glûg hovered near now; she could see others around that she hadn’t noticed in the haze of trying to make sure Adar didn’t die. They were far from camp, and she didn’t want to chance moving him. She stroked Adar's face with her free hand; his breath was coming slowly, and she could feel it.

“We can move some of the main camp here and bid the other follow after the day has passed.” Glûg's voice broke through some of her thoughts.

She could now tell that the sun was beginning to peek through the trees. “Thank you,” she murmured softly, glancing up from where her eyes had been fixed on Adar for a moment to show her appreciation. “I will not leave him.” 

Glûg nodded as if he had assumed that was the case and then went to give orders to retrieve the rest of the camp.

Seddic was still working on getting Adar's side bandaged. Elara forced herself to let go of Adar’s hand and help get the chainmail off him so they could better attend to his side. It would be a long day ahead. They weren’t out of the woods yet.  

…

The wound at his side wouldn’t stop bleeding a day later. Elara had tried everything, but she realised that perhaps foul magic was at play. The spot where Himelion’s weapon had pierced him was just below his chest near his ribs, and there were lumpy scars all over the area. She had often wondered why they collected so there, but she hadn’t wanted to ask him and bring up anything horrible in his mind. Now, she could tell there was a reason his breastplate had a hole in that spot. It was an old wound.

They were finally in a tent, at least; the camp had been moved and set up around them. She hadn’t left; Elara usually helped with all of that, but she couldn’t bring herself to move from his side. Nor had she allowed herself to sleep. Every time her eyes closed, she saw all the black blood drenching his neck and the puddle that Gazad lay in. Then she would see Adar, face ashen and heart no longer beating. It would shock her awake and force her back into her tired mind.

When the tent was pulled open, and Glûg appeared, Elara knew she must look a sight to him. Her usually clean hair was matted with dried blood, and her clothes were filthier than that, perhaps. 

“She-Elf.” Glûg intoned as a greeting. If he was shocked by her state, he didn't show it. “There has been no sign of the captive or any other elves… We need orders, Lady, do we stay? We are close to our destination.” 

“Orders?” She asked, surely bleary-eyed. She didn’t understand. 

“Adar is not awake.” 

Fear sunk in her gut, an inkling of Glûg's meaning. “I … I am not in charge.” 

“We were told to take orders from you should he not be able.” His face was fixed, serious.

Her gaze shifted to her beloved, his face peaceful even despite what he had gone through. She needed to do this for him to make sure they had someone to protect them. Thinking of what she would do if he didn’t make it made her ill. She could not lead these people; she had no idea where to start or what to tell them to do, and Glûg was standing there looking to her for direction.

“Are we too close to the city for fires? Would that give our position away?” 

The uruk shook his head, “not yet.” 

“Build a pyre for-” her voice cracked, “Gazad. Thank you, Glûg.” 

With a nod, he left.

Elara felt a vice around her heart. She must keep herself moving. Applying more ointment to Adar’s side, she tried to focus on spreading the salves and bandaging him. She needed to stay alert and keep her mind active.

He didn’t look so harsh there on the cot, shirtless and covered in bandages; he looked elven. 

Smoothing his dark hair, Elara pressed her lips to his head, praising the Valar that he couldn’t become feverish from an infected wound. If he were an orc or human, he would be dead.

“ Fer-nesto im (heal yourself soon).” She murmured softly in his ear.

Chapter Text

Elara was wrenched out of sleep by a groan of pain. She had finally dozed off, even if she hadn’t meant to. She had been trying so hard to stay awake, no matter how tired she was.

Adar’s gasp of discomfort and his hand at his neck made Elear jump to her feet and look over him. 

“ Baw (don’t), Melindo. ” She wasn’t sure how alert he was, but she gently removed his hand from the wound, and his eyes looked somewhat clear.

Running her hand gently through his hair, trying to soothe him.

He tried multiple times before he could form words; when he did, the sound was gravelly and quiet as a whisper. “I thought-I was dead.” 

“I wouldn’t let you,” she murmured, sitting on the side of the pallet they had placed him on instead of a raised cot. She pushed the hair out of his face and tried not to smile. They weren’t fully out of the woods yet; there was room for concern, but hearing his voice made her feel they had something she could still hold onto. “Are you in much pain?” 

He had to think about it, but eventually, shook his head. “It is manageable.” 

“So you must be in a great deal of pain then.” 

He ignored that comment. “You look terrible, Arimelda .” His voice was raspy and worn from not being used in days. His fingertips lifted from the mat, brushing her filthy skirt.

Elara raised an eyebrow in surprise at the bluntness. 

“Is that all my blood?” He gestured vaguely to his own clothing and skin, all caked in dried blood, groaning a bit when he tried to shift slightly, he gripped his side. 

Elara frowned and felt a sadness creep up on her. “No. Gazad is dead.” It felt like her heart was shattering again, and she couldn’t help it. Tears began to slip down her cheeks. Tears for Gazad, tears for all of the Uruk and Adar.

He tried to sit up and hold her with a significant amount of discomfort, it seemed, and she stopped him. “No, your stitches will tear. I could barely stitch you at all.” She did not wish to talk about his fallen son at the moment. “They have been asking me for directions, Adar. Glûg came to me for guidance on where to camp… I… I know nothing of this, or war, I am not their leader.” She cried perhaps more, allowing her face to fall into her hands. “I- Rhaich! (curses), I did not know if you would survive your neck-” She couldn’t continue breaking down into sobs. 

“ Îdh (peace), Nillë . Ni si an (I am here).” He reached for her hand, obeying her request not to move much. "Tell me where we are and what you have instructed them to do.”

She was still shaking like a lea, and heaving sobs wracked her. Elara had been trying so hard to put on a brave face when anyone entered the tent, and now she was losing her calm in the wake of his solid, firm voice.

“ Îdh, Îdh.” He soothed, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her hand. 

When Elara was calm enough to speak, she recounted what she had asked Glûg and the others to do, how close they were to Ost-In Edhil, and that they had not found Himelion.

“I have ensured we are at distance enough so fires won't be seen, and the ranks know that they are to prepare for... war soon. Glûg has been handling most of that… I-I believe I have turned a corner with him; he trusts me now.” 

This made Adar smile just a bit as if he was pleased. His eyes opened to gaze at her then. “ Mae garnen, Elara. (well done, Elara). ” 

“I don’t know about that. I barely left this tent. I should have been more present, but I wouldn’t have left you.” 

He hushed her, “You did well,” he emphasised, “that is why I asked them to look to you.” He shut his eyes in pain then. 

“You need to rest.” 

He nodded, unable to protest. “Go clean up while I rest, Arimelda .” 

“Okay.” 

…

Elara did as he bid and asked Dalcma to trade her places, watching over him while she washed. They were at least very close to a spring with fresh water. Elara felt sick as she washed the black blood from her skin, and it mixed with the clear, cool water. How much blood would be spilt to find Sauron and to seige Eregion? 

The Uruk had seen too much suffering already; she didn’t think they needed to see more. But they weren’t her children, and she trusted Adar to know what was best for them… didn’t she? Perhaps her role in all of this was to gently guide him back to reality. She needed to ensure his thoughts didn’t drift toward Sauron's insidious desires. Sieging Ost-in-Edhil was not the correct path, but she felt confident. However, she had to convince Adar. 

When she finally finished her task and returned to camp, Elara was overwhelmed by an exhaustion that felt bone-deep. The night air was crisp, and she tugged her shawl closer, her wet hair making her shiver. Seddic was already there, waiting patiently by the fire with a steaming bowl of soup and a hunk of bread. Elara accepted the food gratefully, the warmth emanating from it a welcome comfort against the chill of the evening.

“Thank you,” she murmured around a mouthful of soup. 

Seddic nodded and sat with her in silence, sharpening his axe but keeping her company as well. 

Always the quiet and ever-thoughtful Uruk, how could others not see them as people? It was something she had wondered often now: Was Adar the only one who had really looked at them and seen their potential outside of war and bloodshed? Perhaps. It made her melancholy, as it always did.

When she had finished the soup, Elara got up, and Seddic did the same: "Do you need to rest, Lady? I can relieve Dalcma.” Seddic was always so polite and careful with his words, and Elara felt her eyes stinging with tears as she looked at him. 

Without much thought Elara threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Seddic seemed surprised but he had grown somewhat used to her different customs. Elara laughed at his befuddled expression, wiping wetness from her cheeks. 

“Thank you for offering, but I am alright.” Letting go of the uruk, she could see his sheepish smile. And Seddic?” 

He inclined his head in answer. 

“Thank you for being my friend.” 

“Thank you for stopping to save me, Lady.” He smirked again and moved to go about his way. 

Elara realised then that he was the reason she was here at all. She had stopped to save him and been captured. That is how she met Adar and the uruk. How strange something that had seemed so different and vast could become her whole world. 

When Elara entered the tent this time Dalcma and Adar were speaking quietly and he was propped up, looking less pale. 

“Thank you, daughter,” she heard him murmur, and Elara observed him for a moment without him knowing. His hair was longer than it had been in a while, and his eyes were looking better now that he seemed to be in less pain. She felt deep relief that he was healing as an elf would. This would mean he could be feeling better in a matter of days; she did not know enough about war and siege to lead them towards any such thing, and she didn’t want to do that, to begin with. Elara was certain that his course was tainted by the idea of Sauron in his mind and she was now determined to stop it. 

Elara cleared her throat, making her presence known, and they both looked her way. Dalcma smiled slightly, “You don’t smell of death quite so much anymore.” The uruk was trying to make light of the situation Elara knew. When she passed, her friend placed a hand on her arm in comfort, and it was hard for Elara to keep from weeping again as she watched Dalcma exit.

“How are you feeling?” Elara moved closer. 

“She’s right, you smell better now.” Fingertips brushing over a strand of her hair, still dripping at the ends. 

Elara rolled her eyes, “thank you. I should hope so.” Going about checking bandages and wounds, she found things to be healing well. His side was still taking more time, but the neck wound was closing up cleanly. Every hour, it seemed he was improving steadily. “Why is your side so difficult to heal?” 

She felt him stiffen under her hands. “It is an old wound that wasn’t supposed to heal.” 

Glancing at him, Elara found his face lost in anguish. Pausing her perusal of his person, she took his hand. It was warm and dry to the touch.

She did not push him to continue, but he did of his own accord, blue eyes distant to time, “When I was young, younger than you even, I loved a woman. I thought we had made an agreement that we were to be wed and that we were to be parents.” He glanced at Elara with a careful gaze, “she had misled me and taken another lover; the child was his. When I approached him, challenged him… in all my youthful folly, he injured me,” Adar pointed to the spot at his side where the scars roped and the most recent arrow wound sat unhealed. “Later, when my mind was lost to the whims of Morgoth, he thought it… amusing to exploit that old injury. It has never fully healed and causes me pain often enough. A reminder.” 

“Himelion just happened to take a very lucky shot then.” Elara had many questions but didn't voice them. 

Adar inclined his head in agreement. 

“Thank you for sharing with me.” She felt a bit bereft at the story and, to Elara’s surprise, was just slightly jealous. 

Generally, she was a level-headed person who didn’t tend to feel those sorts of emotions, but for some reason, the idea of him loving another woman sent a wave of prickling dread through her, and she almost felt nauseated. 

"You loved her? This woman."

There was a moment of silence. "I did." 

Elara nodded, looking away from him. Why was this bothering her so?

He gripped her chin btween fingertips, turning her to face him. "More than that, I wished for a family, those to care for." 

Nodding, she smiled sadly. He had gotten what he wished in a way, she realised. Still, the jealousy burned in her chest, and she tried to shake the odd sensation, instead returning to her attendance of his wounds. “I would think you will be fully healed soon. We are to burn Gazad tonight. Will you be able to walk from the tent?” 

“Yes.” Adar clenched his jaw. 

With any other patient, she wouldn’t have allowed them to do such a thing so quickly after being this badly injured, but she knew what this meant to him, what it would mean if his children didn’t see him there at the pyre. She would ensure he didn’t tear any wounds, and he would ensure his children were not without leadership. 

…

He felt bitter and angry, but as of late, that wasn’t abnormal. He was fighting with his own mind on and off, but this was perhaps all his own doing. He wished for a better day for his people, yet Adar felt that he wasn’t going on with the best intentions. Elara, more and more, was making him think deeply about what he was doing and who he was exactly.

Who was he doing this for? That thought pervaded. Yes, his children, but he wondered more and more if they needed him or if he should follow his own path; he seemed to have brought them destruction up until now and even now. Tearing off into the woods after that elf, like a green soldier. It was pitiful behaviour. Not the kind of leader they could trust and put their faith in.

Adar tried again to pull his armour on and released an angry grunt. He was getting stronger and could feel himself healing from the injuries, but it could not happen fast enough. He wanted to be whole again.

“Hush, Melindo. You will not heal faster if you tear your wounds open,” Elara cocked her head, then, “must you wear the breastplate?” 

He never showed himself without it to his people or anyone but her, really. He felt bare without the garb he had worn for so many years.

“You’re not the same as them, and they know that. Perhaps it is best to be more honest with them? Show them you are injured. It is not something that should be hidden. Let them know that you trust them as they do you.” 

Adar clenched his teeth. There was that fight in his head again. Did he trust his gut and Elara? Or did he respond with that vengeance that kept gnawing at him internally? That burning fiery anger and resentment.

“ De er sael (you are wise) .”

Hazel eyes met his, a bit taken aback. Then she waved him off, retreating to help finish dressing the wound on his neck, and Adar allowed the breastplate to fall back onto the cot. Heeding her thoughts.

They looked quite the pair when they left the tent. He in his black clothing, no longer broken up by the lighter metal of the breastplate, and she in a dark dress. Even though she had few items of clothing, Elara rarely wore it, almost brown but not quite something like the sky before rain.

Adar felt weak walking, and it made him uneasy. This was not what he preferred or was used to; injury was nothing new, but vulnerability was. As they approached the pyre, Adar could feel Elara tense at seeing Gazad’s body. He had seen so many of his children die over time that despite feeling the pain each time, it did not startle him so. She looked shaken, and he knew that Gazad had been someone she truly cherished and had cared for. 

“My children,” his voice carried, bringing all sounds to a halt. He recited what he always had; in death, they returned to darkness and yet the words tasted of ash.

Instead of lighting the burial himself, Adar handed the torch to Elara. Tears were streaming down her face, but she took the torch and held her head high as she walked toward the pyre. Adar had to steady himself so as not to fall over, his injuries were still open and painful. He watched her unmoving as the timber went up in flames and the uruk around shouted as they always did at a funeral.

Elara looked small, engulfed by the light and size of what was around her. Could he subject her to a life like this? Death. His heart raced at the thought of her leaving, but part of him felt relief also. Yet he craved her, perhaps more, with every step they took towards Eregion. Caught in this question, ever balancing between what was just and what he wanted.

He did not interrupt her goodbye. Each moment she stood there, he waited, even as the fire was only embers and most of the uruk had gone to their respective beds, the sun beginning to peek in through the trees. Elara finally fell to her knees, her face in her hands, and wept more. That was when he finally approached carefully, easing himself into the dirt beside her. 

“ Savo hîdh neñ gurth (may you find peace in death). ” She finally uttered, and they were silent again for some time. 

“This loss, everywhere- it is so much. How have you lived with it for so long?” 

Adar shook his head and swallowed hard, his own emotions rearing. “Come,” he finally murmured, helping her to her feet. He felt stronger, even after hours here by the pyre. It felt impossible to let go of her as they approached their tent, and Adar was hard-pressed to even let her go as she removed her outer clothing. 

“Let me see your injuries,” she said, sounding tired. He did as she asked, sitting on the cot and taking his shirt off, the movement easier than the day before.

"They look much better. How do you feel?” 

“Better,” tugging her lightly, Adar pulled her to sit with her knees on either side of his thighs. He always wanted her, but recently, he had been nearly driven to want her, and in this moment of sorrow, it felt like a need. 

Elara felt his arousal surely from where she was sat on him, but she didn’t say anything. Even as he began to trace her collarbone with his lips, she stayed silent. Perhaps he was doing something she didn’t want? That made him feel sick; glancing up, he saw her eyes closed and head fallen back. She seemed to need this comfort as well, just quieter than usual.

Again, dipping his mouth lower, Adar kissed her skin, placing bites here and there and relishing in the intake of breath she pulled in through clenched teeth. Dragging her shift out of the way, Adar sucked a hard nipple into his mouth, toying with it between his teeth.

“Ohhh,” her breathy moan felt like a balm, and he continued his ministrations until she drew back, panting, “You’re injured; we cannot…” Every word seemed difficult for her to get out, as she gripped his biceps for stability and he could feel the heat of her core on his cock. 

“ Aníron gi phuithad (I want to fuck you). ” He mumbled in her ear, kissing her neck, biting her delicate skin, “ baur (need).” He corrected and attended to the other breast. Small whimpers escaped her. “ Ci vaer? (are you well enough?) ” She grabbed his head and forced him to look at her. 

“If I am not, I know a very good healer for afterward.” 

Elara scoffed, but it turned into a moan when he reached between them, pulling her shift up and brushing her lower belly so close. 

“Let me pleasure you.” 

She seemed to surrender to that, and if he hurt himself during this, he would ask for forgiveness later. They both needed to forget the outside world for a bit, just enough to get by, and Adar needed her, wanted her, to fill her, to… He shook himself from that thought and instead focused on his task, slipping his fingers between her folds and brushing lightly at the sensitive skin.

“ Cenin i limmida ‘nin lû (I see it is wet for me), ” widening his own legs just a bit to open her up to him. Adar thrusts two fingers inside her and enjoyed the gasp and tightening of her around him. Perhaps, if they stayed like this forever, he wouldn’t have to make any decisions with the weight of his people in mind ever again. Just be in this bliss.

Elara’s face when she was about to cum was glorious, something to be marvelled at, beautiful mouth slightly open and eyes closed, her body moving against his fingers. “That’s it, my girl,” he whispered softly into her ear, nipping at it and sliding his tongue over the piked edge of it. “Let go, let me feel you drench my hand.” 

She did, and Adar's cock grew perhaps harder as she shuddered against him and gripping his forearm, turning and pulling him into a messy kiss. Truly tasting him, he noted, she seemed just as unable to let him go, to stop this as he.

His body protested only slightly as he moved her from his lap to the cot, tugging at her shift without words signally that she should remove it. He felt nearly frenzied when her skin was revealed to him, and she helped him out of his own clothing. He was unable to help himself, reaching down and pressing his fingers in and out of her again, enjoying her swollen, wet centre, all for him.

Elara whimpered and pressed her head back into the pillow. “Adar…” She moaned, almost in warning, like she couldn’t take it, but he knew she could. She loved the tease of it all, and he was not finished; despite his body’s need, it was begging him to simply rut against her. 

Pressing an open mouth to her centre, Adar tasted everything she had given to his hand just moments ago. Using his tongue to lav at her bundle of nerves and sucking it into his mouth, flicking his eyes upward to watch her bow up off the bed. He wanted her more with every gasp and movement of his mouth. When he felt her shudder again against his mouth, groaning his name and tugging at his hair. Adar finally released her with a wet, lewd sound. 

Elara was tossing her head back and forth on the pillow, face flushed and looking thoroughly ravished. Seeing her like that in his bed made him swell more. Removing the rest of his clothes, Adar pressed the tip of his throbbing cock against her entrance. 

Gasping, Elara’s hazel eyes met his, “I… ohhh .” 

He pressed in a bit more, holding himself back. 

“I-,” she panted, “don’t know if I can take it.” She finally got out, even as he stroked her spot just above where he pressed into her body.

“Do you want me to stop, Arimelda ?” He would, in a second, despite this almost compelling feeling he was experiencing. 

“No, please…” Another long and loud moan as he pressed fully inside her. 

“You’re so tight for me…” He leaned forward then to brace himself above her head. 

Elara whimpered at the kisses he pressed against her throat. “And you take me so well,” he thrust against her, staying deep, “your body is so ready for my cock.” 

“You’re lewd,” she laughed breathlessly against his shoulder. It turned into a moan, and she sunk her teeth into his bicep.

He thrust again, beginning to pick up the pace, his body only protested slightly, “and you seem to enjoy my foul words. You’re nearly dripping for me, Nillë .” 

She did not respond, seemingly lost to sensation, wrapping her legs around him and urging him on. Keeping him close to her body, he complied as both of them soared towards the climax. Elara's clenching and soft moans sent Adar over the edge; he could feel each bit of seed escape him with agonising pleasure deep inside her. It felt like rebirth.

Chapter Text

The air was cool and wet. There was rain that would come, Elara knew. The weeks since Gazad’s death had brought much clarity and fear. Elara had forgone wearing a tunic and trousers this day in favour of a dress, but she felt perhaps less capable in that clothing item. There was something about pants that allowed her to feel free if she needed to act quickly. However, the air was chilled, and this provided more warmth than the thin tunic would have.

Making her way towards the vast land that stretched from their camp back within the trees towards the river that barred their way to Ost-in-Edhil, Elara felt fear creep up her throat and rest against her larynx. This was mad; she was faced now with the realisation of how many elves and uruk would die, many. Many of the uruk seemed very used to war. They wandered about camp or followed their orders with little thought other than how average this was. Some, though, didn’t seem so inclined to do this. Elara didn’t blame them; their whole lives had been about violence, and for many of them, it was all they knew. She was not so naive as to not see how many of the warriors seemed bloodthirsty, it made her ill. But she had seen the same thing, festering violence in elves and men. There was a resentment among those not so inclined to this siege that took shape in anger towards Adar. The reverence that usually followed him was not there, replaced with bitterness and wrath. It had fear sticking in her heart.

Seddic appeared at her side and reminded her that not all of them were like this. “Lady,” he greeted her. 

“Set the first station near the treeline where we will be protected from any arrows,” she paused, surveying the land for another safe spot to heal. “There, towards the river, but back away from any fighting.” 

“It will be done,” Seddic nodded, and Elara watched as he and Dalcma made their way with a cart towards the spot she had indicated, there would be so much bloodshed. 

Shutting her eyes, she tried to think if there was something she could do. At least Adar had barred the trade route; there would be no murdering of innocent passersby with any hope, but she knew this was also to ensure nothing made it in or out of Eregion. She truly felt lost at what to do. Her moral mind told her this was evil and wrong, but her heart whispered of the suffering the uruk would face should Sauron prevail... there was no winning.

Returning to the camp, she was met with a few sneers from uruk with whom she had never had a conversation. There were so many here in one place, and there was an agitation in the air in the event of battles to come. Black Speech was spat at her and a few grumbles followed in her wake, Elara felt her skin prickle with tension.

Could they co-exist without this violence and reckless contempt?

From a distance, she could see Adar, his back turned to her and his body lithe with what seemed to be frustration, shouting in Black Speech, angry. His dark armour was set against the landscape's green, showing how different he looked next to his children, just his tall, lean shape compared to their large bodies. Something had happened, but she did not understand enough of the language to know what exactly. Yet, the looks of the uruk around him made her hold back near her infirmary tent. She didn’t want to set them off perhaps more by approaching. 

“K urrauz avo duavieuk ,” his raspy voice wrung out gutturally, dismissing the gathered. When he turned, Elara saw the frustration on his face and the way the gauntlet clenched tight as he walked towards her. 

“What is it?” She asked low, his fearsome face made her suck in a short breath. Reminding her of who he was.

He released the clench of his jaw. “There was an elven soldier from Eregion. They took it upon themselves to kill him and send a message using his body.” 

Elara inhaled sharply, putting a hand over her mouth to stop the sound. Her eyes filled with tears without her consent.

“They are acting out, and my control over some of them is slipping…” He released a low growl of frustration and then shook his head as if he hadn’t meant to say so much of this to her. “I must go, I have to attend to preparations.” 

“I am preparing infirmary stations… Adar," She reached for him, grabbing his upper arm. "Is there no other way?” She tried to search his eyes but found a hardness there that hadn’t been present perhaps days ago. 

“No,” though as he pulled away, she saw something slip in his expression as if he were warring with something.

…

It had been on her mind for some time. The idea that Adar could be at the whims of Sauron even now. The idea of fleeing this place had even crossed her mind, warning the elves. That had been quickly shot down in her own mind; these were her people now, and Adar was, in all purpose, her Veru. She would not abandon them... but what could she do to stop this?

She approached Seddic and Dalcma, who were preparing alcohol for wound cleaning and sat near them to sterilise bandages. They had to be careful. Their supplies were limited, and they needed to use everything they could. That meant ensuring the cloth they had was properly prepared for any injuries.

"You are ill at ease," Dalcma murmured. She was shorning pieces of thick thread to be used in sewing up wounds.

Sighing, Elara glanced around the landscape; there was a soft trickle of rain, making the tall grasses and soil glisten. "I have been ill at ease much as of late."

"You think this is folly?" Seddic came to join their conversation.

Elara hesitated. She wished not to sow seeds of doubt within Adar's children, but she did not think lying to them was at all useful either. "I do."

Seddic nodded, almost nonchalant. "I am used to such things. My father spoke of times long ago when there were wars and uruk would die by thousands."

Elara did not say that it was surely more than thousands.

"But Adar has kept us safe for a time..." Dalcma glanced at Elara, perhaps worried that Seddic would have offended her.

"I worry; Adar is not himself lately." Elara took another deep breath. She felt fatigued, as if she could lie down at any point and take a rest. We must carry on," she finally murmured. Yanking at the stripes of cloth, she dropped them in the solution to clean them again.

...

This could be his fault, all of it. Adar once again cursed himself for allowing Halbrand to leave. His toe kicked up some soil as he stepped harshly against the ground. He could see them from a distance, Elara and his children, speaking quietly together. This was not her fight, and yet here she was. Not only that, but he knew she disagreed with him despite her being gentle about it. She disagreed that they should attack the elven city. Adar felt a mix of emotions about this. Was it her leftover love for the elves? That seemed unlikely. Was it just her wish for peace? He knew not the contents of her mind. What he did know was that she shouldn't be here.

His mind drifted to the past. Another time, he thought perhaps his life was meant to be led in darkness. He remembered with clarity the wine that Sauron had offered him on that dark and nameless peak.

He was not at all the good and just person to have Elara. She was too perfect and too warm for his likes. He squared his shoulders and attended to more preparations.

...

He was furious. She could tell the moment he entered the war tent, yanking the fabric aside with a rough tug. Things were not going according to his plan. Elara had tried to stay out of it, secretly making her own plans. Hurt flared in his eyes as they met hers; his children were restless, and it strained him.

There was blood on his bare hand, and it had splattered on his face; he must have broken up another fight. Some uruk seemed far more inclined to be violent than she had ever seen in her time amongst them up until now, more like the stories she’d been told of uruk as a child. Elara had come here to slip away from the others for a moment of peace, but she saw that perhaps he needed her more than she needed to be alone. 

Adar went to the basin, methodically washing the blood from his hand and face. Then, he simply stared into the murky water.

“ Venno ,” she murmured softly. She was sitting on the rough wooden table, resting her tired legs, and he had not walked up to her. “Adar.” 

He finally turned to her, his scarred face stricken. 

“You need a moment.” 

“I don’t have a-” 

“You must!” Her voice raised, “you cannot lead with your cup empty.” 

“I am not tired,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. It was indeed a testament to how he felt that he was lashing out at all; he was usually so collected.

“You don’t need to sleep anything that would help you at this moment.” Elara sighed, "you need a moment of respite to continue on."

He just gazed at her, and Elara perhaps knew by the dark look in his eyes what it was that crossed his mind. He would never ask for that, never make her think that she needed to do this for him, and Elara didn’t; she wanted to. Lifting her skirts higher, showing off her thighs to him, she spread her legs. He was there in a beat, slotting himself between her thighs and gripping the back of her head, pulling her into a bruising kiss. Elara locked him against her and allowed him to plunder her mouth until he finally broke away, pressing his forehead to hers, panting. 

“I… I don’t think I can be gentle.” 

She gripped his biceps, the cold iron of chainmail indenting her fingers. “Then don't be.” 

He growled and thrust his hips against her, grinding his hardness against the apex of her thighs. Elara cried out in pleasure against his mouth. He gripped her hair, tilting her head up to him and kissing her again. Perhaps this could ground him and allow him some form of release, and there was violence ahead… could this be the last time…? No . She refused to even acknowledge that thought. No . 

He thrust his hips again, and his arousal pressed hard against her, and Elara already felt herself readying for him. It was strange these past few times; her body wanted him, and it ached for him more than perhaps it had before. 

Adar released his grip on her hair and yanked at the ties of his trousers until he was gripping himself in hand, pumping up and down his length. Elara reached out, taking over for him, her small hand wrapping around him and moving up and down as he tossed his head back, shutting his eyes in pleasure. Her other hand grabbed his hip, pulling him up to her. The gauntlet clenched roughly around her waist, and Elara didn't care. She only relished in his feeling so close, the short breaths he took as she continued to work him, spreading the liquid that collected at the tip over him.

"I..." He muttered lamely, his lips dropping to her collarbone, teeth teasing at her sensitive skin. "Elara," he muttered roughly, getting her attention.

"Hmm?" She hummed. Elara was lost to pleasure despite the sensation of fear that had been pressing on her earlier, how easy it was to become lost in Adar, in the way he made her feel.

" Írimënya ," he murmured again.

Elara nodded against his lips and gasped when he thrust roughly inside her, sharp, nearly painful, but not quite just the warm burn of pleasure coursing through her. His thrusts were abrupt and fast initially, only picking up pace as they continued. His motion rocked the table she sat on and made Elara need to grip his shoulder to keep in place.

"Fuck." Rough words said against the column of her throat as he moved, sucking at her pulse point.

Elara moaned and writhed, barely able to keep herself from coming apart as warm pleasure moved in her lower belly; her thighs felt slick from her own arousal. She wanted this to last, scared it would be the last time, afraid of what would come. It was no use; he thrust hard against her, and the drag of his pelvis against her was all that it took. She toppled off the precipice of pleasure and squeezed around him, feeling the sensation of his warm release inside her as he stilled against her.

They stayed like that, embracing each other for what felt like a long time before Adar finally adjusted, pulling back and righting his trousers. He looked at her then, and Elara saw his eyes track her, the yearning present in his blue ones as he looked over her dishevelled, chest heaving. He, too, was wondering if this were to be the last time, the sadness that crept into him when his eyes finally moved from her body to look at her face.

Adar reached out a hand and caressed her cheek, his thumb brushing over her freckles. " Tiro nin: glîn ereb calad vin *rolilt. Tiro nin: a ú-venin uin had hen. Lasto nin: lhoss lind ned in eryn. Law gano nin: len aphadad. ( See me: a lonely ray of light in the moondance. S ee me: I cannot go from this place. Hear me: a whisper of song in the trees. Don’t command me: to follow you)." His hand slipped from her face, and he turned and left the tent.

Chapter Text

Adar had yanked himself from the warmth of bed when the scouts came to retrieve him. He hadn't been asleep for long, they were back to a less nocturnal schedule in preparation for the siege and it had upset the rhythm of his sleep. Next to him, Elara slept on, and he wondered why their lovemaking had continued to be so strange over the past days. It had felt… so compelling. It made him never want to leave her bed, to be with her in every way possible until the sun rose every day. He was unable to see anything past her and this act between them, but he needed to focus.

As he slid the well-worn gauntlet onto his hand, he flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar grip that sent a wave of recollections coursing through him. The cool metal rekindled his identity as a warrior, the resolute leader of his people. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he stepped outside into the cool air. Scents of damp earth and moss mingled in the breeze.

He caught sight of the hulking figure of the uruk who had interrupted his restless slumber, their yellow eyes glinting in the torchlight. Without hesitation, he followed the creature into the shadowy embrace of the trees.

The sound of fighting as he approached confirmed what the uruk had said, as was the whipping of blonde hair and the swinging of the arrow and sword. As usual, Lady Galadriel had wreaked distinct havoc on his children, and many lay dead by her hands there in the vegetation. Adar stalked into the clearing, catching sight of him, the Lady grabbed her bow and made one last effort. Adar stepped forward, crushing that hope with the metal of his glove around her flaming arrow, the sizzle and pop loud in the newfound stillness. 

“ Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo, Heri Altáriel. ”

…

When she ran her hand over the cold bedding in search of Adar, Elara felt a stirring of fear run through her. Her mind was quickly wide awake, and she knew no more rest would come to her. He was often called out during the night, but she never felt able to rest when she did not know where he was. Getting herself dressed, she walked out into the camp. The preparations for the siege met her eyes, and her gut twisted in worry. It was still dark, but she could see the creeping of dawn in the distance. Elara headed into the forest, wishing to be amongst the trees, and perhaps she would find some medicinal plants they could use. There was where she found solace, amidst these times. Adar would wish her to bring Seddic with her, but she wished to be alone with her mind. 

Something in all of this was wrong; her Fëa rippled with uncertainty. Thus far, aside from a few comments here or there, Elara felt that she should not let her own feelings about such things taint what Adar thought he needed to do for his children, but now it was different; she cared too much for him and these people. He seemed desperate each day, more without guard and meticulousness. It was unlike him, and the closer he grew to the sorcerer, the brasher he became. Elara must ensure she did not lose him to this. She was willing to break his trust if it meant protecting him.

Stooping to pick up a few items as she passed, her mind continued down this route. Elara knew that her hope of their freedom hinged on this; something whispered that to her. Despite all this, she dreamed of a future, perhaps a place and time that would allow them to be together. The question was whether Adar would still want her if she did something to offset his plans. Elara didn't know, but she loved him, and she would protect him from more pain and agony.  

She plucked another few flowers from this tiny glen, ones that helped with calming a festering wound and could aid in sleep in crushed into a paste and applied to the chest. The air smelled of coming rain, and as she trudged back to the camp, a sprinkle began to come down, the sky above a hazy grey. The smell of lavender bushes as she passed and the cold raindrops reminded her that she hadn’t had a proper hot bath in so long. It made her want to shiver again just thinking about it. Elara had chosen Adar; she had chosen this harsh life, but it wasn’t easy. That thought permeated as she reached the outskirts, and she could hear the noise coming from within, an upset near the war tent. Perhaps that was where Adar had left to.

Elara searched the camp, settling her eyes on Adar's tall, dark figure amongst the uruk surrounding him , clearly enamoured with something. Elara took a few steps towards them. What was going on- Golden waves flashed in a sea of grey, giving her away. Lady Galadriel’s face came into view, and in a flash, she whirled with the ease of a warrior, holding a small knife to Adar's throat. 

A small yelp left Elara’s lips, and she was ready to run towards them. Adar, though, seemed calm. She could not hear his words from this distance, but watched his mouth move. Elara was ready to run when the elf relinquished him, and instead of attacking again, she followed the Lord Father into the war tent. 

Seddic appeared then, “there are some injuries, Lady.” 

Elara nodded, eyes still trained on the canvas of the tent. 

…

Elara felt anger rush through her as she saw some of the injuries in her infirmary. The walls of Ost-in-Edhil had not even been besieged, yet they were losing lives here. She didn’t know how long it had been, but her hands and clothes were covered in black blood by the time the ones she was able to save were stable. Seddic and Dalcma worked diligently as ever nearby, but she could see distress crease their brows. When Adar appeared at the tent entrance, Elara wiped her hands, taking in his angry face. Surely, this was a conversation to be had elsewhere.

“I will be right back, Dalcma.” She muttered, squeezing the Uruk’s arm lightly and following Adar out. 

He paced a bit in the grass once they had reached a safe distance from prying ears. “I am sure you saw-” 

“Saw you nearly get your throat slit by the Lady Galadriel, yes.” Elara placed her hands on her hips, eyeing him a bit angrily. “You took her captive?” 

“I need her help.” 

Elara raised an eyebrow. 

“I wish to gain information from her. Her allyship could prove... useful, for a time."

"And of after? Adar, I do not think-"

His pacing paused, and he held up a hand to silence her, looking past her. “Gigre?” 

“I have had food brought to the tent,” the Uruk inclined his head, and Adar dismissed him in Black Speech. 

“If your hand is still giving you trouble, Gigre, come see me,” Elara murmured. She had known it had been bothering him after a fire burn.

Gigre bowed his head towards her this time, “Lady Mother,” and left them alone. 

“You’re soft to them,” Adar muttered, clearly a dark mood had taken him over. 

“And I should not be?” Elara furrowed her brow. He was not acting himself. 

Ignoring the question, he continued, his words harsh and unyielding: “Do not come near the war tent. I don’t want her to know you’re here.” It was a command, and he hadn’t given her one in a long while. His scarred face was a mask of stony wrath. 

“Did she say something-” 

“I have spoken with her briefly, but I need more time. He is there, Sauron is behind  the walls of Ost-In-Edhil.” 

Sucking in a deep breath Elara tried to keep her frustration adn fear in check, “as you suspected.” 

“There are rings, given to the elves by Lord Celebrimbor, that stopped their fading. When they reach these grounds, that could be the tool that allows us to defeat him.” 

Elara felt hope flare warm and bright within her. This could be how she made Adar see reason, how she could convince him to ask the elves for help. “Perhaps you could ask to speak with the High King, he may listen-” 

His laugh was something guttural and scornful. “He will not listen to someone such as me.” 

"You could try!"

"I will not allow them any hold over me!" He hissed, blue eyes flaring with rage.

Elara felt her stomach turn at his harsh words, and the lingering smell of blood on her clothing had her running to the nearest tree and losing the little she’d eaten that morning on the dirt. She was sick again and again.

“ Írimënya ,” his voice was softer now, but she could hear the exhaustion in it. His large hand ran a soothing pattern over her back. "Are you alright?"

Elara shut her eyes, trying to tamp down the nausea, wiping her mouth as she stood. “I am fine.” She tried to walk past him, but he shouldn’t be here with her; he had things to attend to, and clearly, this conversation was doing them no good. He caught her by the arm, pulling her against his chest and pressing his forehead to hers. 

“It will be over soon.” There it was again, the glimpse of who he really was.

“Will it?” Elara hissed, "this will be a bloodbath." She pressed a palm flat against his chest over his heart. "Deep down, you know this."

His face hardened, and he looked even more impenetrable to her pleas. 

“Adar,” trying a different tactic, she reached out to grab his hand, despite the dried blood of his children on her fingers. 

Adar stepped out of her reach, turning his back. “I must return.” Leaving her alone, wondering if she had any power to keep him from doing something foolish. 

…

Night fell, and Elara hadn’t been able to fall asleep since returning to their tent after her conversation with Adar, and more wounds needing to be healed. He had been speaking with the Lady in the tent, and Elara knew nothing of what was being negotiated. He was keeping her at arm's length, not wishing for Elara to interfere with his plans. Instead, she lay in bed, cradling a steaming cup of tea in her hands as she attempted to sort through the thoughts racing through her mind.

Perhaps this feeling was merely frustration, a fleeting emotion that would soon dissipate as he worked through his own challenges. She had regarded Adar as clever and strategic, capable of navigating even the most complex situations; why was she doubting him now? Elara wondered if she was reading too much into this, considering her limited understanding of sieges and the brutal realities of war. Who, after all, was she to question his decisions, especially when his instincts had so often proven right?

The sound of a war horn bellowed from a distance, its deep and resonant call sending a jolt through her body. Elara sprang up from the cot, the cool air brushing against her bare skin. Dressed only her linen shift, she felt a rush of determination override any sense of modesty, and she hurried out into the chaos of the camp. Warriors moved about purposefully, their faces tense with anticipation as they prepared for what lay ahead.

Her eyes scanned the gathering crowds until they landed on Adar, standing on a hilltop, silhouetted against the sky as he gazed over the ravine. He appeared deep in thought, his furrowed brow evidence of the weight on his mind. The Lady Galadriel stood just behind him. Their conversation drifted on the wind, soft and indistinct, leaving Elara straining to catch any hint of their discussion. The atmosphere was uncertain, and Elara's heart raced—she felt an urgent need to be by his side, something was wrong.

Elara did not heed his command to keep herself hidden; instead, she took off for where he and the Lady stood. From a distance, she could hear their shouts now. 

“I beg you, do not be a fool. Do not do this! Do not take his lure!” 

“I will make him choke on it!” Any forethought was gone from his face, and he looked… terrifying. 

"No! You mustn't. This is all his design!" Galdriel struggled against the uruk now holding her, shouting at Adar, pleading with him even. "This is what Sauron wants!"  

Adar held the horn to his lips, and the sound reverberated over the camp again, the sound of war chants rising.

“ Meleth nîn, ” Elara tried to shout over the roar of the uruk and the wind that had picked up, but he could not hear. Instead, Grishlak grabbed her around the waist and hauled her backwards. 

“Let me go!” 

“Lord Fathers, orders.” He muttered with a slight chuckle in her ear, like she was an unruly child. 

She saw Glûg and met his eyes. He looked sad, even unwell, but he didn’t fully meet her gaze. He, too, was compelled to obey the orders he had been given. 

…

The sound of war chants had taken over the camp. Eregion would fall, and he would take Sauron as well. Adar was sure now he was here, and if he executed his plan correctly, he could bring what he had always wanted to his people. Galadriel’s warning rang in his mind, but he tried to force it away as he shouted orders and readied battlements. 

…

Elara paced the tent, furious and livid. How dare he? There were guards posted outside their tent, so she couldn’t leave. She was overwhelmed with fear and worry. This would be the end of them, she could feel it; if Adar followed this course, he would die, they all might. Surely, elves would come for Galadriel, wouldn't they?

It suddenly hit her, another wave of nausea. Without warning, she ran to the empty wash bin and was sick inside over and over. After a moment, she felt his hands in her hair, pulling it out of the way—Adar's familiar smell wafting over her.

When she could finally speak, she seethed the words, “ Leithio nin (release me) .” 

He did, and she felt the distance he made when he stepped back like a chasm. Wiping her mouth, Elara reached for the bowl, refusing to look at him. Instead, she went to the entrance, conveniently without guard now that Adar had returned and disposed of the waste. She left the basin to be washed and returned to find him looking at her with concern.

“Are you unwe-” 

“I don’t wish to speak to you.” How many times must they have these rows where he didn’t trust her and didn’t act as if he needed her at all? Even after she had healed him, she showed that she would defend his children and help lead them. She was trying to save them even now.

“Elara-” 

“No! Am I to be your prisoner again ? To be guarded when you cannot watch me yourself?” 

He was silent now, face set. 

“I will not be treated like an uncontrollable child, Adar. You said you care what I think, yet you will not listen to me.” Her chest heaved, and she felt another wave of nausea hit her. Swallowing hard, Elara tried to slow her heart rate; this would do no good if she were ill. 

“You believe I follow the wrong course, as well?” 

“I will not tell you what I believe, for it does not matter.” 

His blue eyes flared with rage. “You knew who you were dealing with.” It was said so low she almost did not hear it. 

“What?” 

“What did you expect?” His voice raised now, bitterness evident in his tone. 

“I expected you to show sense, as you have nearly every moment I have known you until very recently!” 

His laugh was menacing. “You think I should listen to the elf then? Because they have shown such care for my people, I saw the blood from the wounds you healed at her hands.” 

“And you think there will be less bloodshed attacking this city? Your people are fearful, Adar!” 

“Of Sauron! We must be rid of him.” 

“No, Adar, this doomed mission and perhaps you, as well.” 

He looked as if she’d stabbed him, like nothing she could have said would be worse than this. Then his face set in an empty frown. “You do not understand such things. Perhaps, you should return to the elves.” 

Elara gaped at him. What was this? He was… he was not himself, surely. “You would have me go back to him ?"

He did not reply then, his face lost in thought.

"Leave you? I mean so little then?” 

His eyes flickered, and she saw the briefest hint of his soul there. This was Sauron, she was sure; he still had some hold over Adar.

“You do not mean this. We need to bring them peace. Ruining Eregion and sending your children to be slaughtered will do no good. I know you do not wish for that.” 

“I am a villain, Elara! I was fooled by Sauron and Morgoth; you may see light wherever you go, but that does not mean it exists in me.” He sounded defeated when he reached that point, deflated of all the anger and fear that had seemed to bubble up within him, to raise his voice. 

“You are not, " she said quietly, dropping her face into her hands. Perhaps there was nothing she could do. “I cannot be held here. If your children are injured, they will need a healer. That is why I am here, is it not?” 

“You are free to do as you wish.” 

When she looked up from her hands, he was gone. 

… 

Adar shook his head as he returned to the war tent. It was as if he couldn’t clear his mind entirely. With a short shout of rage, he struck a tree trunk nearby. A fierce anger, long dormant within him, flared back to life as he recognised the opportunity before him. He could see the fear and concern reflected in Elara’s eyes, a haunting reminder of the darkness that had plagued his past. Each glimpse of her anguish transported him back to the brutal experiences he had suffered at Sauron’s hands, where the sounds of countless battles long past rang in his ears and the memories of his children's slaughter marred his soul. This relentless cycle of violence and loss had to end. Adar could see no other way but through. He would be the one to bring it to a close. That is why he could not give in to her pleading. It had to end. He would end it.

Chapter Text

Elara tried to soothe her stomach with ginger, chewing a piece of the spicy root to ensure she could eat. She needed to feel strong when she attempted this. Elara had made a decision. She was about to do something that could jeopardise Adar's trust in her. She had watched him leave the camp and go toward legions preparing to bring down the city walls. Elara knew she must act; she had very little time.

Stepping from her own tent, she strode towards the war tent and saw Dalcma running towards her.

Damn!

“Lady, I worry... I am unsure if we will have enough supplies.” This was the first time Elara had seen the Uruk distressed in such a way, with a grave and fearful face. 

“I will come look at the stores soon- I will ensure there is less bloodshed. I must do something.” It felt like a promise she was making to her friend, even if Elara didn't know that she could keep it.

“Do you mean to let her go?” Dalcma jerked her head towards the tent, the one that held Galadriel.

It felt right to choose not to lie to Dalcma, despite her worry that she was adding another layer to her betrayal of Adar. “I- I don’t know. I wish to end this before we lose too many of our people.” 

Nodding, her friend turned back towards the infirmary. Something about her shoulders had eased, and Elara hoped she could provide the relief she had given Dalcma and stop this bloodshed.  

Guards stood at the opening, but Elara knew there was a piece of tent that Adar used when he wished to avoid using the front. Slipping inside, she found the Noldor Lady sat in the chair, face turned down in a frown.

Elara placed a finger to her lips when Galadriel spotted her. The elves' eyes lit up with some relief. They would need to be quiet. The uruks outside were talking, but it was only loud enough to cover some conversation. 

“We thought you were lost.” 

Inclining her head, Elara stooped down close to Galadriel. 

“How are you walking freely?” 

“I am a healer to them,” she would not say more now. “Do you believe his army has any chance at killing Sauron? Be truthful with me.” She had never known Galadriel well, but she knew her to at least be wise enough to see something like this for what it was. 

She shook her head, delicate features turning stormy. “No. I believe Sauron means to use Adar’s army to his advantage. I believe Hal-Sauron will take the orcs and use them for his own."

“I do not think Adar can thoroughly see this folly. Sauron has some hold over him.” 

Galadriel seemed unconvinced. “You think he wouldn’t be doing this?” 

Elara snorted softly, “he has a keen military mind; he would see this as a mistake were he in his rational mind."

Galadriel studied her, narrowing her eyes slightly. “You know him…” 

“I have observed him.” Elara tried to sound unattached. She still did not know how much she could trust the Lady, and there was the issue of Himelion and Kandrë—they were still out there as well.

“There are rings... made for the elves. I believe I can kill Sauron, but I must reach the elves, tell them of what I have discovered." Galadriel's eyes moved about the room, thinking, strategising. "I know that the High King and Elrond will follow my path here and to the destruction being wrought on Eregion.” 

Elara shut her eyes, feeling the weight of what was to come. “I will allow you to go to them if you swear to help me ensure that Adar can return to Mordor with his children.” This was a lofty request, Elara knew.

“I am not the king.” 

“You have the king's ear, and I believe I can keep Adar from continuing this siege or, at the very least, stall him." 

Galadriel looked confused and perhaps suspicious. “You should go to the King. It would be easier for you to escape, as you seem free to wander the camp, and I believe I can reason with Adar.” 

Elara wanted to laugh at that. This is not what she wanted. Surely, if she met the King, there would be distrust, and Kandrë… “I would seem suspicious that they do not know me."

“Go to his chest there.” Galadriel pointed vaguely at the box. "He has a weapon. If you take it, they will know that you were here, they will know that I sent you.” 

Elara hesitated; she felt she was betraying Adar in the worst way, invading his privacy. Yes, but she was also colluding with elves, going to his enemy and bringing them to his doorstep. Would this protect them or would it backfire?

She could hear the sounds of Uruk and the roar of the creaking machinery outside. This would end in disaster if she didn’t do something. She had to try.

When she lifted the lid and saw what was inside, her hand flew to her mouth. Elara had not known about this thing the entire time she had been at the camp, but as she drew close, the evil seemed to seep off of it, easing into the air and making her lungs ache. Elara felt her stomach turn again, but she was able to press fingers to her lips to keep from being sick again. 

“Take it and go to the High King.” Galadriel’s voice felt like background noise to her, floating in the air around Elara. She would betray Adar?

Swallowing, she shut the box. This was not betrayal, she wished to save him to save the uruk, but could she risk this? If she returned, her father would not permit her to leave again. Even if the uruk survived and Adar with them. Who would heal them? Dalcma and Seddic, her mind whispered, you have taught them well, and they can pick up where she left off. Elara would suffer her father, the elven judgement and Kandrë, all of it, if she could keep the uruk and Adar safe.

She turned, ready to address Galadriel, prepared to do what she must when the tent flap was thrown open, and Adar strode in. his face was the unfeeling mask of the Commander, and as his eyes surveyed the room, she saw them harden perhaps further than before, flicking up from her to Galadriel. 

“Glûg, take the Healer to her station.” Cold, so cold that the rasp of his voice made her shiver, and it wasn't how she normally experienced it.

The window was gone, and Elara had lost the opportunity to do something. She reached for his arm, and he shook her off. "Please, Adar-"

"Silence!" Adar roared, he didn't look at her, instead staring down at the elf in his capture.

Glûg gripped her arm, pulling her toward the entrance. Elara felt her stomach turn as she heard the sounds of preparations to siege coming back into focus outside the tent. She could hear the uruk chants in the distance, the words melodic and dark nampat. The smell of blood would soon reach the air, and black smoke would billow if Sauron had his way. 

The General didn’t look at Elara as he deposited her near the entrance to the infirmary. Briefly, she wondered if she had lost all trust that she had gained from Glûg. His shoulders were taut as he walked away, not turning to look at her. 

Seddic was there caring for soldiers who had obviously been in some sort of brawl with each other. Violence was taking over the legions, whether they started waging war on Eregion or not.

Elara busied her hands with healing, but her mind wouldn’t stop. She continued to think about all the things that could happen.

Stooping down, she went to press a bandage to a wound, the uruk below gave a roar and shoved her back. Elara stumbled, hitting the post behind her, shaking the canvas.

"Get your hands off, flithy elf." His teeth bared, and he looked murderous, yellow eyes glinting with a lust for her fear.

Seddic stepped forward, blocking Elara from the uruk's view and speaking harshly in Black Speech.

"Lavor ukhould be vadokan!" The wounded uruk spat, dried blood at the corner of his mouth mingled with spittle.

Seddic shot back harshly, "you need to show respect."

"Jiak liwo noav ukhow nauk-ukpecav avo adar'uk elf whore!"

The last few words were obvious enough for Elara to know what he was saying. She brushed a hand to Seddic's shoulder, calming him. She didn't want more bloodshed on her account. "Peace, Seddic."

"Yes, Ladausan moavhas."

Since finding herself alone in that camp at the beginning of their journey, she had not had one of them speak to her as such. Something was wrong.

The smell of blood still hung heavy in the tent, humid and distinctly different from elven or human blood. Elara was reminded by that very physical scent of who she was dealing with. These were the tales she had heard of orcs, not what she had come to know, but what she had expected.

A wave of queasiness hit her for not the first time since returning to her duties. This time, she could not force it down and keep herself from being sick. Running to the tent door, she doubled over, heaving onto the dirt, then again, with nothing left in her stomach. When she finally rose to her feet, Dalcma stood a few yards away, looking at her strangely. Elara ignored her; she could not think about the itching in her brain at the moment. She was wondering too, but now was not the time for such things.

They worked until dawn came, preparing, and Elara felt weak on her feet. She had not seen Adar and dared not return to the tent where Galadriel was being held. It felt like all hope was lost for the elves and the uruk. 

…

Growling in irritation, he barked another order to the scout who had brought him news of an elven legion approaching. The High King was bringing forces this way. He had expected this; you do not capture Commander Galadriel and expect nothing to come of it. Adar felt as though he hadn’t slept in weeks, but it had been days. Elara … his mind drifted, and he shut his eyes. The look on her face, she was disgusted with him, and had directly disobeyed his orders, if she had been uruk, if she had been anyone else...

Breathing in deeply through his nose, he tried to focus. The elven rings were what he needed; that is how he would defeat Sauron. Perhaps, he should have taken Galadriel up on her offer to work together? But how, then, would he ensure the survival of the uruk? He knew that the elves had never been their allies, and there wouldn't be peace made by them. Any trust in elves he once had was gone.

Despite that, Elara needed to be returned to the elves. She did not belong with him; he had tainted her, but perhaps she could still live out her days with her people, or sail west. His thoughts were dark and wretched of late, steeped in fear and worry for a future under Sauron. If he succeeded, he still knew the life they would lead, and it would be hard, if he didn't... he would not let Elara suffer Sauron. Adar would do anything to keep that from happening. Even if she had meant to betray him, Adar was not so quick to stop loving.

Perhaps he was being too soft. He wasn’t the commander he used to be because of Elara, which was why he could not keep his head on. Something deep in his f ëa protested this, a voice that whispered that she was the reason he was good, that he needed her and she needed him, that he needed to stop this madness, spare Eregion. Even as the feeling cropped up, it was squashed by fear, a greater, more encompassing fear in his chest. The memories of when he had been at the behest of Sauron, the pain and agony. He had to end this; he would not be a slave to Sauron once more.

Shaking himself again, stomping towards another section of ground, surveying the banks. They would need to damn the river if he were going to make this happen. When the elves arrived, he would meet them head-on and have two prisoners to bargain with. 

…

More ginger tea. Elara had to eat something, though she felt her stomach turn with every bite. Something was happening; she could feel it in the camp. She shut her eyes and tried to think of anything else she could do. The situation had no reason. Adar was lost to the mind of his once master, even if he didn’t know it, even when he thought these ideas were his own, though they would not be their salvation. She reached down again to ensure she still had her knife, tucked safely into her boot; her sword was still in their tent. 

Dalcma cleared her throat. Elara glanced up at her. 

“Did the tea help?” Dalcma didn't say what they both now knew.

“Mm, a bit. I do not understand.” Elara murmured to herself mostly. She had always assumed she would be like an elf in this way... it had been so with Kandrë. Had she wanted this? Somewhere in her mind, had she willed this to happen? Elara searched her memories and thoughts for any indication. Still, she fought not to voice it.

The camp had quieted as noonday took shape over the hills and rocks surrounding them. Something was changing, plans were altered, and Elara did not know how or in what way. Adar was not going to tell her, and she still had not seen him, but something in his course was changing. It was like he was now preparing for something else.

“Perhaps, you should tell him?” Dalcma looked hopeful, as if this would change anything.

Elara scoffed, “he cannot be reasoned with at this time.” 

“Hiuk hearav iuk ukavill for lat.” 

Furrowing her brow. Some of the words made sense: his and heart ...

Elara opened her mouth to speak, but Glûg appeared, striding towards them with purpose.

“Lady,” he gestured to the other two uruk standing nearby. They held shackles.

Ah , she understood.

Dalcma stood in front of Elara. "No."

"Stand down," Glûg ordered.

Elara placed a hand on Dalcma's shoulder, squeezing her friend's arm and stepping past her. She followed Glûg as the other uruk ensured she could not leave. Over her shoulder, she caught eyes with Dalcma.

Chapter Text

The sound of galloping hooves and the response of angry snarls from the uruk was enough to know the elves had arrived. Just as Galadriel had said, they would not leave her or this city completely defenceless. So, of course, there would be bloodshed.

At least this would halt them from beginning to siege Eregion, only momentarily. As she sat in the command tent under heavy guard, Elara felt as though any hope she had to fix this had been dashed. She stood and began to pace. An uruk grunted, pointing his weapon back to the chair she had been in. Elara obeyed without fuss, folding her arms over her chest, something angry coiling there in her heart. At the very least they had not been instructed to keep her shackled. 

Adar didn’t want her anywhere near her kin, and that made icy fear slip down her spine at the thought. What would he try to do? What was he planning? She was tapping her foot erratically, trying to think. What had Galadriel said about the rings? Could they rid this world of Sauron? Were they safe, or had they been tainted by him too?

The sound of the tent flap moving had her leaping to her feet.

"I said sit down!" Snarled the uruk by the door, his voice booming, drawing his short sword.

"Ukavop!" Adar put a hand on his son's chest, "Leave us."

The guard obeyed, stepping from the tent with a withering look at Elara.

Adar's face was stony. Elara tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders, squaring them to him, trying to show strength. 

“You disobeyed my orders.” His voice was like gravel crunching underfoot, and he strode toward the cabinet near his table with purpose, removing a bottle of elven wine. 

She allowed his statement to hang in the air around them, knowing that he wasn’t finished with what he wanted to say to her. He uncorked the bottle and, to her surprise, pressed it to his lips, taking a long drink. He hadn’t partaken in anything like that often, and she wondered perhaps if he was reaching a breaking point, and she realised too late just how far he had gone into the darkness that were the depths of his mind. 

“If you were anyone else, I would have needed to make an example out of you.” 

To this, Elara snorted. "As you said before." She knew he was not to be trifled with at the moment, and she didn’t care. “Not so long ago, we were equals.” 

He didn’t acknowledge that they had spoken of many things when Gazad was killed; it seemed he remembered none of them nor the promises he had made to her.

“I meet with the commander of the elven forces, and I plan to make a deal. You will be sent back with them, safely to live amongst your people.” 

Elara’s jaw dropped open, “you cannot mean that.” 

“I do.” Adar’s shoulders were set and firm, his eyes looking at the ground, the wall behind her, anywhere but at Elara. 

“You cannot mean that.” She repeated. This time, she stepped towards him, and her eyes began to prick with tears. Before she realised what was happening, tears began to roll down her cheeks. Trying to catch them with her knuckles, it was no use they flowed either whether she tried to stem them or not. “This has been the first real place that I have been able to call home.” 

The sound he made was a scoff. “And you would betray it?” 

“I did not-” She broke off; that is what it had felt like, though; she had felt like she was trying to betray them for their own good. Setting her mouth in a line, Elara stared into his eyes. “I am trying to do what is best for the uruk. You cannot see clearly.” 

A look of consternation, “you think you know better than I what is best for them?” 

She felt as if she were walking on tentative ground, and her fear of men was clawing up her throat, begging her to be silent. The worry that they would all inevitably snap and she would yet again be a victim of their whims. But this was bigger than her, and despite everything, she trusted Adar, even now, that he wouldn't ever do something like that.

“I think you know, but you are incapable of accessing that part of you.” 

This time, he grits his teeth. “Absurd, you do not know what is needed.” 

“I know that allowing them to be slaughtered on a battlefield needlessly is not it.” She stuck her chin out defiantly. 

Eyes flaring, he spoke, and the words were wretched and angry. “They have been through far worse. What do you know of suffering? You will return to your flowers and fields in your protected Elven realm where nothing can harm you.” The words were out, and she knew that he had seen his error. His eyes lifted, meeting her, and he looked not only ashamed but disoriented, like he hadn’t even realised he’d been speaking. “I-Elara-” 

Dread settled in her chest, a fear that had been collecting, but until he said this, she honestly thought that perhaps they would weather this. She repeated herself. “You would send me back to him?” 

He stepped forward; they were close now, and she could feel his breath on her face. And she needed to tilt her head up to look at him then. 

“ Adar ,” she implored. She refused to mention what had been brewing in her mind, what might be happening in her body. 

“I will ensure that any negotiations I make ensure your safety.”

There was silence, the moments ticked by and they stood there, looking at each other. Finally, Adar stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on her face.

Elara felt that perhaps he was going to take back what he had said; maybe he had seen something. Instead, he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, the slightest press, then he pulled back before she could reach out and hold him to her, forcing him to stay. His eyes were ancient and tired as he pulled the tent flap back and stepped out. 

Over his shoulder, he spoke, and there was just the slightest hint of emotion in his words. “Galo Anor erin râd lîn, Nillë (may the sun shine upon your path).” 

The sound of rain pelting the tent covered the sobs as she wept. 

…

Adar's jaw was set, his face impassive; he knew the image he portrayed to those he opposed. Looking nothing but fearsome and loathed, especially to elven eyes, they saw him as nothing more than a ruthless orc. That was the look that Elrond Peredhel levelled at him as he sat at his table. Another two elves stood rod straight near the entry, his companions and just as revolted as their commander.

Glûg watched over their weapons, and Adar could see his keen eyes observing and taking in things he hadn't seen before. There was curiosity, as well as hate in Glûg's eyes. This was a diplomatic meeting, but his Uruk didn’t see it that way; elves this close only signalled violence to them, and Adar couldn’t keep them from snarling or their words hissing in black speech. 

“I expected to meet with your High King.” Adar leaned back, and he felt anything but relaxed; however, on the outside, he forced himself to portray it, acting as ease.

“I have come in his stead. Surely, you don’t expect him to debase himself by entering this hovel.” Elrond spat it, seething righteous anger.

Adar smirked; this elf was young; there was a fire about him. A newness that Adar hadn’t known for a considerable time. He was riled, and Adar could sense impulsivity. Like his friend, the Lady Galadriel, he had a bite to him, effortlessly flinging words meant to wound. In different circumstances, Adar would commend the two of them for their spark. As it were, they were the enemy, or perhaps the stumbling block towards his true enemy.

The lady herself stood tied to a pole nearby. An uruk with a blade pressed to her throat was on strict orders not to hurt her, but neither she nor her friend needed to know that. Adar was not bloodthirsty like they all expected him to be, but he wasn't unwilling to spill blood as needed, either.

“Do you have the ring?” 

“Do not tell him anything, El-” 

Adar waved a hand in her direction boredly. “Cut out her tongue if she speaks again.”

Eronds face shifts to a grimace, “foolish act had I brought it here.” 

So, he wasn’t so naive. 

“Then I believe we are at an impasse. The ring for the lady’s life. That is my only offer."

“I will not give you the ring, Orc .”

Adar sat back steepling his fingers.

… 

She paced nervously within the confines of the dimly lit tent, the silence amplifying her anxiety. Outside, she knew guards stood watch; she had already confirmed their presence, or she would have dashed out the moment Adar left her side. The words he had so fervently spoken to her in Sindarin replayed in her mind, stirring emotions. She fought against the urge to let tears fall, determined to remain composed in the face of despair. Elara’s heart sank as she grappled with the chilling thought that this might very well be the end of their connection—that the man she loved had been irreversibly altered by Sauron’s dark influence. The memory of his gentleness and stoic yet fervent care felt like a distant dream, now overshadowed and tainted by the dark influence.

Elara regretted her hesitance. She had failed to act when it mattered, allowing her worry of betraying the uruk to seal her fate. Each passing moment was a bitter reminder of her inaction as she longed for the strength to save Adar.

Cursing, she kicked the ground beneath her, unable to hold back the anger that she usually kept so well in check. Reaching down, she brushed her fingertips over her stomach... What was she going to do?

The sound of a rustle outside made her glance up; she could hear guttural snarling in Black Speech. Eyes shooting around the tent, she tried to find a weapon. The uruk were particularly volatile at the moment, teetering on the edge of chaos, and she knew from experience how quickly their fights could turn gruesome. Elara had witnessed enough brutal brawls to understand the savage nature of their anger.

Adar had meticulously cleared the room of weapons, but her eyes landed on a heavy metal basin sitting in the corner—better than nothing. Clenching the basin tightly, she steeled herself and moved towards the door, face descending in a scowl. Just as she reached the tent flap, it was yanked open abruptly, causing her to stumble back. She barely managed to avoid colliding with a broad chest, her heart racing as she looked up to see who had entered the tent.

Kandrë stood before her, gripping the hair of a severed head- one of her guards, wiping black blood from his sword on his trousers with the other. He held a finger to his lips, glancing behind him. Elara could see another uruk dead on the ground outside.

How had he gotten in here? Fear gripped her heart as Elara backed up into the tent.

"What-"

"Quiet." He whispered, then tossed the head. It rolled, and Elara felt her stomach turn.

Her voice shook. "Don't come near me." Fear was coursing through her in a way she hadn't experienced in some time. A fear that came for years and years. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and its rhythm muddied anything clever she could think of at the moment.

Kandrë tsked. "Elara, I am here to save you." His blue eyes were full of faux concern.

"How did you get in here?" She looked around the room again, trying to find anything that would help her. Then she decided she needed to scream. More uruk would come.

He surged forward as soon as her mouth was open. Clamping a large hand roughly over her face, fingers digging into her cheek. A slight sound still escaped, but not enough to alert anyone.

"I will kill any of those monsters. I know you aren't a prisoner here. Himelion told you father and I all about what you have been up to with their leader." He spoke slowly, tugging her against his chest and holding her in place.

"No- you don't understand-" Her voice was muffled, and he pressed harder against her lips.

She struggled, but he held firm, even as her foot connected with his knee.

Kandrë released an irritated grunt. "Perhaps Adar-" he spat the title. "-will rethink his plans to sack Eregion when I have his whore to bargain with. If you cooperate, maybe I won't kill him."

Elara put all her weight into trying to free herself, and he only held tighter, making her squeak in pain.

Pulling a knife from his belt, he held it to her neck. "I am going to save our people, Elara, and you are going to help me."

Elara's eyes widened, the cold of the steel pressed to her throat.

…

They were at a standstill. Of late, Adar's mind had been filled with rage, but near this elf, he felt perhaps more clear-headed than before. Elrond's eyes were piercing, and despite the knowledge that he shouldn't feel anything but hate towards this elf, he felt a sense of calm.

"What would you have me do, surrender to you? When my numbers are greater?"

The elf's face was sullen and perhaps trying to look bored. "And you would expect us to allow you to sack an elven city?"

Adar smiled cruelly, ready to reply.

A scuffle outside brought everyone to attention. Adar’s eyes flew towards Elronds, then, and the both of them were at their feet, all of the elf's men mirroring him, hands on their weapons.

" Dartha -" Elrond held a hand, pausing the violence that could ensue in this tenuous situation.

Adar exchanged a look with Glûg. Saying without words- 'I told you to keep them in check.' They both moved for the entrance.

The tent flap was pushed aside, then, strolling in, almost casually, an elf with golden hair Adar hadn't seen enter with this party. He held Elara across the chest in one hand and a knife in the other hand covered in black blood. The blade of the weapon pressed firmly against Elara's throat.

Elara looked frozen, shocked, as if she’d seen a ghost. Adar felt his blood go cold. An inkling of what was going to happen pricked at his mind.

Commander Elrond jumped to his feet. “What is the meaning of this?”

Adar tracked the tone, the movement. This was not planned by his guest.

“This is my wife, Commander, I joined your company to find her and I have.” 

Elara’s face twisted in rage, and she pulled, struggling against his grip. The man tightened, transitioning his free hand to her waist and yanking her forcefully back against him. His gentile mask slipping. “Don’t move, my dear. We spoke about this.” The blade didn't shift, still biting into her throat.

“Let her go,” Adar's anger was boiling, raging, but the words came out icy and clipped, a sure threat present in them. “Now.” 

Glûg advanced on the elf, but he pressed the knife tighter against Elara, making her cry out and blood to dribble.

“Stand down,” Adar muttered, frantic fear pulsing. 

Glûg looked at Adar as if he were insane. "Lat wanav alnej avo do noavhing?"

"Stand down."

“This is a mission of diplomacy,” Elrond exclaimed, his voice tense as he stepped forward, one hand raised in a motion to stop. “You need to let the girl go, soldier.”

“No,” interjected the man standing behind Elrond, his voice low but firm. “This is my daughter. No longer is this just about Ost-in-Edhil; he has taken her captive against her will.” He gestured fiercely toward Adar, his eyes blazing with disgust and righteous wrath. “I demand retribution for this wickedness.”

“Stand down!” Elrond reiterated, repeating Adar’s earlier words with a commanding authority, grappling to diffuse escalating tension in the air. "The High King has given me command, and I am commanding you to stop this."

"We will make a deal with this beast-" The man who held Elara sloppily pointed his weapon towards Adar.

The Lord Father paid attention, tracking the movement. Assessing the risk.

“Adar…” Elara's voice was careful, but her captor only yanked her roughly, stopping her words.

He’d had enough; despite the knife, Adar stalked up to Kandrë, who, as he'd anticipated, turned the knife towards Adar away from Elara. Adar allowed the elf to sink his blade into the dark breastplate; perhaps it pierced skin, but he knew not at that moment. Not waiting, in a quick movement, his hand shot out, gauntlet wrapping around the elf's neck, the other hand bending the elf's wrist, prying Elara from his grasp, and moving her behind himself.

Stepping back and facing the gathered elves, all looking somewhat concerned as uruk guards converged on them. He felt Elara’s grip on his waist from behind, and he cursed himself for not seeing this, not stopping this from happening.

Kandrë lunged at Adar, but it was easy to catch his green, brazen tactics, moving forward with little grace. Adar stepped out of the way, allowing him to crash into the nearby table, all while Adar pulled Elara with him, keeping her close.

Kandrë got right back up and lunged again; this time, Elrond jumped into the fray, grabbing Kandrë; the scuffle was minor; the elf to Elrond's side, Varohil didn’t even need to get involved, but just as Elrond and his companion grabbed the man, pushing him roughly, into a chair and holding him down. Kandrë reached out to Elrond’s neck, the snap of metal was heard, and a sparkling object flew through the air, landing before Adar's boots. 

Stooping down, time seemed to slow; Adar reached for the silver ring, the gemstone shining even in the dim light of their rough tents. He felt its brilliance, even without having yet touched it, but when he did, Adar could sense the peace that it held within the balance. The glow of it felt as if it were splitting his soul into pieces. Carving out new openings and ones he hadn't reckoned with but had always been there.

In that moment, he remembered what Sauron had promised him long ago, the balance that he wished for this world. The ring whispered of true peace and harmony in this Middle-earth. Time was delayed, and the tent around him moved slowly. He was cocooned within a warm and secure space that could not be penetrated by such strife. He wanted more of this feeling; his Fëa ached for it.

Slipping the ring onto his littlest finger, Adar felt his mind become whole; the rips that allowed Sauron in were mended, stitched back together like they had been once wounds that were now healed, scarred over. His skin felt different; the tension that had been in his shoulders for millennia was now lighter; old injuries he felt all the time ceased to pain him.

His eyes finally moved from the ring, accessing his own hands, the bare one clear of any scars, smooth elven skin, unblemished and a warm colour, not the pallid grey he had come to know. His gauntlet flexed, his hand not paining him. He felt whole and clear; his mind had changed somehow. Adar felt like himself , but he was not lost to the sourness of war and suffering that he had been for so long before.

His eyes finally lifted, and he saw Galadriel and the other elves looking at him in awe. And he remembered all that she said. Sauron realised then that she spoke the truth. He would not defeat Sauron like this. This is what Sauron wanted. 

Turning, Adar saw the few uruk in the room's horrified faces, and he knew he must look like their enemy, the elves. Glûg stared in what could only be described as horror and disbelief.

Elara’s eyes met his, and he saw tears there; his heart beat so fast, so unsteady in his chest, even as he felt the healthiest he had in his whole life; what had he done? This woman was the most precious thing he had ever had; she had done more for him and cared for him when all others would have forsaken him, and he had thrown that away and threatened her. Adar's heart ached. He could barely look at her.

Still, she came to stand nearer to him, her hand slipping into his. When he looked back at Galadriel, he felt the rings plea to go to her. It felt scary, perhaps, and he knew somewhere in his mind that this ring could help his people, help him, but Adar was too clear-minded now; he didn’t give it a second thought.

Slipping Nenya from his finger, he moved, holding it between his forefinger and thumb. 

“Unlock her,” he told Glûg, motioning to Lady Galadriel. 

His second in command complied, and when she was free, Adar stepped forward, and so did the elf, something unspoken passed between them. “Last I looked like this, I was known by another name…” 

“What was it?” Galadriel asked, the charge of the moment not dimming her curious nature.

“A meaningless name, a name I was given. Adar,” he spoke it with the reverence it deserved, “is the name I earned. Help me earn it back.” More passed between them without words. Galadriel understood what he meant, understood what he was willing to now do.

His eyes slid past Galadriel to Glûg, and he gave his son a slight nod.

Placing the ring in the lady’s hand, he murmured, “Let this ring heal the rift between Elf and Uruk. Let us create a lasting peace in Middle-Earth.” 

He felt his wounds returning, and he saw the pallid skin of his hand, but even as he stepped back towards Elara, he felt her hand; his mind stayed clear. The efforts of the ring were genuine and held up. They would end Sauron together. 

There was a silence in the room that stretched on; Adar felt it heavy in the air; he was taking a risk, but all the elves, including Elrond, with the exception of Kandrë, seemed to feel it too. Even Elara's father's face had transitioned to one of surprise, perhaps even awe.

Elara squeezed Adar's gauntleted hand, and he remembered what had taken place; he felt a darkness creep in towards the elf that had hurt her. He could still feel anger and violence, but his mind was free of Sauron’s manipulation. 

“I think perhaps we all need to have a longer conversation,” Galadriel murmured from her place, no longer chained to the pole. She had been watching the exchange, eyes roving over he and Elara. Clearly recognising the way she clung to him and the way his hand had, without thought, entwined with hers.

Chapter Text

This time, a large tent was placed in the centre of the valley between them. A point of ground that seemed to now be considered neutral. Elara felt her stomach roll as she prepared to go with Adar. They had spoken very little; he asked if she would attend, and she agreed. Her fear was thick as mud in her veins after what had happened with Kandrë and her father. She had hoped to never see either of them again. 

Galadriel had been unlocked as Adar requested, though still under heavy guard. The elf had been courteous about it as if she, too, had understood the shift in Adar; her trust for him had changed, moulded into something more sure. Galadriel seemed to know innately what her ring was capable of. The tide had truly redirected in the Lady's favour. 

Elara was grateful that no uruk or elves were dying, but something roiled in her at the thought of before. The possibility that it could all go badly again, and she was angry. She wanted Adar; she considered them to have made a very serious commitment to each other, but now she didn’t understand fully what grasp Sauron would have over him, even after this. Could she truly trust him ever again?

The morning was bright, and Elara had to squint against the sun. Nerves plagued her. Kandrë had been taken away in chains, but her father was still around, and he was so good at blending in and pretending to be gentile and kind. Shutting her eyes tightly, she touched her forehead; she was feeling faint. It had been happening on and off, as well as the nausea, and she was not ready to analyse that further. She swayed, tired on her feet and woozy.

Dalcma appeared at her side while Adar, a few yards away, watched them, curious. “Are you alright?” 

“Hmm? Oh yes, I think so.” 

Elara accepted the water Dalcma passed to her, the cool taste of it making her feel calmer. Dalcma put a reassuring hand on her forearm, and Elara smiled faintly at her friend before turning back to Adar, whose gaze hadn't shifted from them.

A breeze lifted Elara’s hair, and he seemed to smell her scent, his face turning to something else, a look of puzzlement present there. Looking away from his perceiving eyes, she wandered over to Galadriel. Elara liked the Commander. She was fierce, and it seemed just as invested in vanquishing Sauron as Adar, though her methods differed.

“That is why you decided to come with my company to the Southlands.” The Commander calling back to what had started Elara's journey, why she was even here amidst all of this.

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement. “Yes.” 

“I am sorry that you never felt that elves could help you.” She did look sorry. It wasn’t just platitudes; Galadriel seemed to see the fault that elves held now, too. Elara wasn't sure of how or why, but the Commander of the Northern Armies was done pretending elves were infallible, including herself, it seemed. 

Elara sighed, hazel eyes drifting back to Adar as he and Glûg prepared. “I didn’t know how to voice it. I am sure some would have helped.” 

“If a deal is brokered, will you stay with the orcs?”  Galadriel had followed her gaze, watching Elara observe the Lord Father, her voice curious, genuinely wondering.

Elara can't help but snort, “I do not think I would be eagerly accepted amongst elves now.” 

“Oh?” 

“I am sure you realise what has been going on between myself and Adar.” Really, she didn't have the decency to blush. It was a simple fact now. 

The Commander pursed her lips, now seeming to be surprised. “I am sure there are ways around that. You could always explain that you were not in your right mind; being in captivity can make you more amenable to such things, perhaps? Though I think you were… in your right mind.” A wry smile took over her ethereal face, and then she became more serious, “You cannot help whom you love.” 

“No, you cannot.” Elara couldn't say anything more about it then, giving Galadriel a melancholy smile. 

Adar’s deep voice cut through their conversation, “we go to the elves.” 

…

When they reached the spot where the elves had placed tents, Elara looked out at the walls that stood firm around Eregion. There was an ill force here, and she was positive that she was not the only one to notice. She saw Adar’s blue eyes drift in and out of focus, looking at the walls, then he would shake his head and look towards the tents. Lady Galadriel seemed to sense it as well; she knew what lay there, and she, too, wished to be rid of it. There was no doubt that Sauron was there.

The High King stepped from the structure ahead, looking less Kingly than Elara had ever seen him. Long robes had been replaced with armour and crown missing, a helm held under his arm, at his side.

“ Mae l'ovannen (you’re well met) .” 

Adar bowed his head in greeting, a show of respect. “ Le suilon , High King (we greet you) .” 

“I have been told by Commander Elrond that you wish to negotiate.” All business. The King looked confident, but there was a curiosity in his eyes that couldn't be missed. He was interested.

Adar inclined his head. “Yes.” 

“Come.” 

Elara was stopped before entering the tent by a guard. He shook his head. Elara was not permitted into this meeting.

Adar halted, “she goes as well.” 

The guard glared at Adar but acquiesced to his wishes. Elara felt the lightest brush of Adar's hand against her back. Guiding her into the war council. Taking in the surroundings, she saw, as expected, that her father was there.

The fact that he was once again participating in war was something surprising; he had always wished to avoid that in later life, but Elara knew that if he were asked, he would not deny the request. He was a loyal and proud man. She met his eyes this time when they were seated at the table. Glûg looked to Adar, who motioned for him to stay standing, and she watched Glûg stand directly behind Elara, there to protect her.

Her father looked disgusted as Elara leaned in to listen to Adar, his lips barely brushing her piked ear. “Glûg's sole focus will be you if something were to happen.”

It calmed her racing heart just a little to know that the uruk was tasked with protecting her, should something like before happen again. Though her fear for Adar was also present.

Wringing her hands, she tried not to look at her father then, though she could feel his green eyes staring into her very soul.

“We have reached an impasse,” murmured the King, “I am told that you also wish to destroy Sauron. Is this true?” His gaze was steadily fixed on Adar; voice betraying that there was no room for niceties; this was all about the task at hand.

Elara wondered how old King Gil-Galed was, whether he was older than Adar. There was a certain respect that he seemed to look at Adar with that Elara could not entirely place. Her eyes drifted to his ring, the claret stone shining, and she wondered if, like Galadriel had said, it helped the wearer see more clearly and remain calmer in situations such as these. Gil-Galad did not seem to be disgusted by Adar or Glûg like the guards outside or her father.

“I do wish for that,” Adar stated.

“Then we can come to some agreement?” 

“I also wish for my people's peace. I cannot guarantee that without the destruction of Sauron; however, I also know how my people are looked at and how they are treated by the elves. I cannot make a deal to aid you without first ensuring the safety of my army and our people as a whole.” 

“You destroyed the Southlands. Why would I believe your intentions now?” The King almost shrugged in nonchalance, "why would I negotiate with anyone who did something like that? Who had the intention of sieging an elven city?"

Adar, to his benefit, looked contrite. “I have regrets about how I went about securing a home for my children, but I do not regret doing it. They are people. They need a place in this world. They weren’t created by their own choosing, and everyone but I had forsaken them.” 

Elara allowed a hand to drift to her lower belly beneath the table. She knew that Adar felt a responsibility towards them. He rarely talked about their creation or how this all started for him. Now, she began to wonder about the potential child growing inside her. Who they were? Elven, uruk? Fear began to crowd her mind. What was she potentially bringing into this world?

“This was done to them by Morgoth and in some part by me; I am responsible for them. No one was would have been willing to listen to me. I had no other options but to take matters into my own hands."  

“You willingly created the Orcs then?” Gil-Galed had leaned forward, and there was an air in the room, a tension; everyone was interested in what Adar would say. 

“No, I didn’t do it willingly or with knowledge of what would happen.”

“How can that be?” This time, it was Elrond who spoke. 

Elara felt herself becoming more and more unsure of how this would go and if Adar’s mind was in a place that could handle this. He had been so unable to see what was right in front of him only days before, so why now would he be capable of resisting the pull of Sauron. 

The ring , she whispered in her mind, it has changed him.

“I was young once, unable to fit in the society I was born, I lost things, and I thought that perhaps what he was offering was of some note, that it would be good that his vision for the world would make it better.” 

There was a general sense of unrest in the room, and Adar sighed then. 

“I did not encounter Morgoth himself for years; it was his servant that kept me, and he would whisper his ideas to me, all of which seemed on the surface good and just. I was deceived, as many before me and after, I am sure.” 

Elara felt her heart ache for Adar, for who he had been and who he was now, for the uruk, all of it. There was a sadness that clung to him and his people that may never go away, no matter how many years they spent trying. 

There was an interested look on Gil-Galed’s face, almost like he understood, though Elara couldn’t fathom why she would think that. He was the High King of the elves, and surely he thought Adar, a villain as Galadriel and Elrond had, as well. 

“We can perhaps make some sort of deal with you, I do not wish for more bloodshed than is necessary, and there has been much and surely will be more still.” The King brought his clasped hands to his lips then. “If we can ensure compliance with the orcs will you fight with us to vanquish Sauron, rid these lands of him forever? If we can come to an understanding, then I believe we can ensure your people have somewhere to call home.” 

Adar bowed his head slightly. Elara could see just the tail end of it, but he grits his teeth as if he were fighting something. Making peace with elves was not easy.

Elara reached beneath the table and grasped his hand, trying to push every bit of her fëa towards him, wanting him to take from her strength when he needed it. She ran her thumb over some of the scars on the back of his hand and tried to soothe him.

“I believe that can be arranged.” Adar finally replied. Sucking in a deep breath, he released it, and she felt the tentative squeeze of his hand, not much, but enough to know that he was trying to do right, that there was still the person she knew in there. 

...

The evening had long since worn on, and Adar felt concerned; every moment that they sat here listening to each other spout things was another moment that Sauron could be thinking, could be deciding what to do with them. It felt like a waste, but he knew these people were keen on politics; they enjoyed it or, at the very least, thought it was necessary. He knew that brute force was not going to accomplish what he had thought it would for so long. So, he had to endure this deliberation. 

“My daughter is a great healer, High King.” The man at the far end of the table spoke, gesturing to Elara. It was the first time he had referenced her since they had gotten here.

Elara went rigid next to him, her face changing into something more uncomfortable. Adar felt rage run through his veins, and he looped his arm around Elara’s waist beneath the table. This man had allowed his daughter near… Adar could barely imagine.

Elara moved in imperceptively closer to Adar, and he felt his heart lift; he didn’t deserve her after what he had done; he had given in to Sauron’s taunting. The ring had made it easier for Adar to see past all of this and acknowledge his fëa what it called to, not what had slithered its way into his mind.

Adar knew she could speak for herself, but he also knew how hard this was for her. Being face-to-face with her father and her previously betrothed. “She is our healer,” Adar murmured. “Only Elara will decide who she wishes to heal.” His gaze was level, pinning her father with a stare.

“She is my daughter,” the hiss was directed right at Adar. The man's green eyes piercing.

Adar barely acknowledged him. “Indeed, not your property .” 

Elara spoke then, this time to the High King. She sounded tired. “I will heal all those who fight against Sauron, and if there are any in Ost-In-Edhil that need it as well, should we reach them.” 

Gil-Galad tracked the interaction between the three of them; you could tell the way his canny eyes followed, but he simply nodded at Elara then. “I am grateful for your assistance; this is a large army for your skills; I can spare a few soldiers to aid you.” 

“Thank you, it would be appreciated. We have Dalcma and Seddic, whom I have trained to be healers. If your men have never done healing, I will need you to instruct them that they must defer to me and the uruk healers. Is that possible?” 

“You taught the uruk healing practices?” The King looked intrigued. Elara’s father looked enraged. “They are receptive to such things?” 

Adar felt fury boil within him at that. 

“I do not mean offence; I am simply wishing to understand.” King Gil-Galad had caught his frustration, it seemed. 

“Very receptive. The two I have trained have a natural inclination for such things. Like humans, or elves.” 

Gil-Galad nodded. 

“How are we to know that you will keep your side of the bargain?” 

This was the first time Lady Galadriel spoke, murmuring, “I will go with the Lord Father as insurance,” and the King narrowed his eyes. 

“Are you sure that is a good idea?” 

“I trust that he will not harm me, and that ensures he has something to barter with should you decide to betray him.” There was a slight smirk at that.

Adar got the impression that Commander Galadriel was just as irritating to the High King as she was to Adar. 

“ Savo chûr an dagor (be ready for battle) .” The High King finally spoke and stood, dismissing the gathered. 

“Elara,” he held up a hand, pausing her as she stood, “ Law edílef (we’re not done) .” Gesturing for her to sit. The King's eyes then met Adar’s. Clearly, wishing to speak with Elara alone.

Elara touched his hand, just briefly, meeting his gaze. She did not look worried.

Adar felt ill at ease then leaving her, but she gave his hand a slight squeeze. “I will be right outside,” he murmured, leaving the tent.

Glûg, too, stood a few yards away, clearly interested in watching the goings on of an elven camp. There were suspicious glances sent their way, but for the most part, they were left alone. Galadriel walked up not too long later, Elrond at her heels. Clearly, she had changed into something cleaner and replaced her gambeson with a firmer breastplate, one that she could still move in. It was a good choice. 

“ Sevig chûr? (are you ready) ? It was surprising how easily she seemed to be around him now. Adar was shocked by it; her friend, as well, seemed a bit unnerved by her lack of concern. There was something about Lady Galadriel that had always made him want to smirk; she was bitter and angry, and it reminded Adar of himself. He liked her. Maybe he always had they had just been on opposite sides of a conflict.

“ Ui (no) .” 

“Is Gil-Galad speaking with Elara?” 

Meddlesome woman . 

Adar nodded once. He was not talkative at the best of times and around elves… perhaps not at all. 

Placing a hand on a hip, Galadriel, though much smaller than he, squared up to him, as she usually did, innately knowing that he wouldn’t hurt her or perhaps not caring. Knowing she could hold her own. She seemed newly hopeful now, the tides having shifted, making her less irate. “You should really try and be less brooding. Girls tend to like a man with emotions.” 

Elrond, behind her, looked stunned, frightened that his friend would say something so brazen to the Lord Father of the Uruks.

Again, Adar found it amusing. Galadriel was old, not as old as he, but she had not lost her personality in the way many elves did as time passed them. She held fire in her.

“Is that so?” 

“Mhmm, and by the way you look at the healer, you would do anything for the Lady.” 

This time, Adar glared; he didn’t want to be telling these elves of his personal business and certainly not talking to them about Elara. She was too precious to him. His ego hurt from that as well; he knew himself to be a sullen and surly person; for the most part, Elara hadn’t seemed to mind. It made him feel a bit self-conscious, though there was the very real possibility that Elara would want nothing to do with him now, at least in the way it had been between them after what he had done. He wanted to blame Sauron, but Adar had a part to play in this. He didn't deserve her.

“I care for her,” was his reply to Galadriel, quiet, almost whispered.

Galadriel spoke as if she had already known this and just wanted to hear him say it anyway. “I know she cares for you, too; I can see it. I would assume the High King is just ensuring her safety.” 

He did not need platitudes from the elves. In fact, he would prefer it if he didn’t have it at all. Elrond had looked on this exchange a bit confused and unsure; his gaze shifted up as the rustle of tent fabric could be heard from behind Adar.

Adar did not look. He didn’t want to see his doom if Elara decided to stay with the elves. He knew her well enough now to know that she was not going to abandon healing duties, but she still could choose to leave after, and he would applaud her for it, despite what he wanted.

He could feel her walk up to him, her warmth and presence there in the slight air between them. Glûg wandered back over. He had been clearly enjoying looking at the elven camp and all that came with it. As usual, recently, his second in command straightened and looked to Elara like she were some angel; it was an interesting change from the way he had looked at her initially when she first arrived. Adar could see now that she was respected by him, in part because she had challenged Adar's folly.

“Well met,” Elara murmured softly to Elrond and Galadriel. She did not touch Adar, but she was standing very close to him. Not seeming to be distrusting of him. 

Elrond bowed and stepped forward to Elara, placing a light kiss on her hand, everything regal and gentlemanly. “Well met, Lady, I do not think we have ever met properly before now.” When he lifted his head, that little curl on his forehead fell into his eyes, the picture of elven beauty.

Elara’s smile when Adar finally looked was genuine and sweet. Her round cheeks, with their light freckles and dewy skin, showed in the torchlight around them. “We have not. I did not frequent court when in Lindon.” 

Adar felt like a rock was sitting in his stomach at the handsome elf interacting with his-Elara. This was perhaps a nightmare he had experienced before, precisely what he expected actually. 

Elrond's answering smile was gentile, a turn up at the corner of his lips that spread into something wider. “Well, I am happy to meet you now.” 

Lady Galadriel, when Adar glanced at her, seemed to be just as irritated with Elrond’s enthusiasm as Adar. Though it didn't seem to be out of envy as Adar's was, it seemed more irritation at the ease with which Elrond spoke. This charm and ease did not seem to come easy to Galadriel or Adar. They were harsher people, often saying what they thought brashly and without poeticism. That was a wild thought; they were more alike, he and Galadriel, than he ever would have thought. 

“Perhaps we should get on with what we need to do?” Her tone was impatient. 

Elara seemed to snap to attention at that. “Right, the High King has asked me to go with you, Commander Elrond and see the ranks you have to ensure they know my face. He would also like me to bring my healing companions along; they are very skilled, but we don’t want your men to feel uneasy that they are uruk. The High King thinks that perhaps it would be helpful to have them meet beforehand."

Elrond looked uneasy at that, almost as if she had told him something far worse. “I worry that they will feel uneasy either way.” His eyes looked up to Adar. “We have been enemies for a long time.” 

“Perhaps this can be a new beginning,” Elara interjected; her voice was hopeful and kind. As usual, she was too good for this world... too good for Adar himself. 

Elara tried again when Elrond looked at her sceptically. “I don’t think anyone expects perfect work in unison at this point, just general understanding and no violence.” 

“Is that something you can guarantee?” Elrond looked to Adar. 

“I can instruct my people, but they have their own free will, as do yours. I will do everything I can to ensure there is no violence.” 

There was a brief pause, then Galadriel spoke, commanding the space as she usually did. “Good. I go to speak with the King and see what we are going to do about the city and Celebrimbor.” Not one for niceties, she barely glanced at them before stalking toward the King's tent. 

“We will go to our encampment and return.” 

Elrond nodded. 

Adar glanced at the woman beside him when Elrond turned, and she wasn’t looking at him; instead, her face hardened into something almost unrecognisable as Elara. The soft features were angry and distant then. She did not wait for Adar, just started walking back towards their camp. He followed, and his heart was in his throat. The High King had no doubt impressed upon her to return to her people when all this was done.

Chapter Text

It is apparent when they reach their own camp that the uruk are disturbed. They were fearful, yes, but also not acting like themselves, or some of them weren’t. Agitation seemed to hang in the air around them. Adar disappeared amongst the tents, clearly on a mission, and Elara huffed, heading for the infirmary. He was refusing to acknowledge what had taken place between them, and she was not going to make the first move; he had to do that. There was some understanding after the ring when her father had spoken about her as if she were property, but she needed absolute acknowledgement from Adar that he had done something wrong and that he would listen to her in the future.

Her feet carried her swiftly, and all the while, she thought about what had changed, what she knew. The High King had been kind and gentle when he spoke to her. Her father had always respected Gil-Galad in public, but in private, he would winge about what the King did wrong. Now, Elara knew it was most likely in jealousy of his position. The High King was just and good, and though perhaps all beings made mistakes, she felt certain that he did his best to make good and sound judgment. Something had tipped Gil-Galad off to her condition. Now, having seen the power of the elven rings, she wondered if that had been it. Adar had been transformed by the item, and then Gil-Galad had known… things that he couldn't have. She shivered.

The infirmary was empty when she reached it, Dalcma and Seddic nowhere to be found. Breathing in deeply, Elara sat; she needed silence for a moment to feel and ruminate on what had taken place. 

“Have you been harmed?” The King had circled the table, coming to stand near her chair, then pulling out the one beside it to be level with her instead of above, like a peer would.

“As I have said,” Elara started… ready to defend Adar and the uruk.

He held up a hand, the rings shining in the candlelight that streamed from the top of the tent. “I am not trying to insinuate; I just wish for honesty. I am certain that you’re with child.” 

She had swallowed. How had he known? Glancing down, she gazed at her flat abdomen and then met his blue eyes. “How?”

Shaking his head, the King spoke, “It is not important; I wish to know if you were hurt."

There was a slight pause, her taking in what was being asked. Then she straightened her shoulders. This would surely damn her fully in the eyes of the elves. “It was all of my choosing.” 

The King nodded. “May I touch you, Elara?” He asked, gesturing to her stomach. “I know some history of how the Moriondor were created. I am unsure how this would impact you or your child. I wish to ensure your safety.” 

This caught Elara’s breath and attention; she had not even thought of that. Sometimes, it was easy for her to look at Adar as simply an elf, but he was not; his blood ran black like his children. “I am half-elven,” Elara murmured. 

“Yes…” The King seemed uneasy, and now she knew why. Perhaps this was far more than just an unplanned condition. It could be a grave mistake. 

“Did you make the choice to have this child? I am uncertain, based on your origin.” 

Elara shook her head, “no, I-I don't believe so. It just happened… like humans.” 

“I see.” 

“The ring, I believe I may be able to sense the fëa of another being, what it may be, how it means to… be.” His eyes met hers again, trying to express that he didn't perhaps even have words for the power the ring had.

Nodding, Elara realised she must have him do what he could. There could be more at stake. “Please,” she murmured. 

Fear cropped up within her, a dread that she had not realised. She cared for the uruk; of course, she did, but she had not grappled with the idea that she could give birth to one. That it could look like Shel’s children… She felt a sense of agony and shame. This was a result of the fear that she had been raised with. Not only that, but was her body meant to produce one of them? What did all this mean? Thoughts that she had not even begun to realise came up quick. Evolution, surely there was the time between Adar and what had been created from him; of course, he had nearly said so on occasions, but...

The King placed a hand on her forearm, steadying her, grounding her back to reality. His collected eyes made her focus on the moment and calmed her fear.

She felt nothing as the King had touched her stomach, though he seemed to feel a great deal, his face changing as if he were sensing things that she could not.

“I believe…” Then he paused, his brow furrowing. 

Elara held her breath. That is when she felt the sensation of the ring, the way it caused her insides to warm, the feeling it gave of her being whole… so comforting and astonishing that she gasped. 

The High King opened his eyes and looked at her, then withdrew his fingers. “Your child will be elven or something akin to that.” 

“How?” 

“I am not sure, perhaps it is the ring or what Galadriel's ring did to Adar… but something has changed, and Adar is not the same as he once was when he touched you in the tent… perhaps something shifted.” The High King shook his head, "I have no way of knowing; I can only trust in what the ring knows."  

This was all far above her head, leaving her spinning and unsure. 

“I am grateful, High King.” She bowed her head and then perhaps felt self-conscious; he knew what she had done and with Adar, but he seemed different, wiser. Of course, he was older than her, her father even, but there was a knowledge that it seemed only the ring could bring to him. Shame didn't seem to exist in him, not in the same way.

“I hope for peace and an end to the suffering of all peoples.” The King said, and she believed him. 

“I will ensure I can keep death from as many of our people as I am able,” Elara stated then. 

Her mind was back in the infirmary then, having been distant and in the past of just the last hour. She looked about the rugged place and tried to centre herself. There was much that needed to be done, and now she was thinking about something, wondering. 

…

“We need to move these tents closer to the tree line- yes, there.” Elara was letting some of the uruk know where they were moving the infirmary and directing how it should be moved. 

“This makes me uncomfortable,” muttered Dalcma.

Reaching out, she touched Dalcma's forearm, eyebrow raised in question.

“Well, if Sauron is what I have always been told he is, then wouldn’t he be watching us, seeing what we did and how we moved in, especially now that the siege had stopped? If we attack he will be ready."

Elara’s mouth fell open, and she felt a bit stupid at having not thought about that. “Stop,” she called to the other uruk. “Just leave it here for now… I must do something.” 

She headed for the command tent, then stopped to tell her friend, “thank you.” 

The air was much chillier than she expected, a cool breeze blowing through the air that felt uncomfortably cold. The tent flap was pulled, but Elara didn’t bother with making herself known; she entered of her own accord. The three of them, Adar, Elrond and Galadriel, seemed deep in conversation; guilt pressed on her a bit at having barged in. 

“What is it?” Adar was on his feet in a second, striding over to her, brow furrowed with worry.

Elara bit her lip and stepped out of his reach when he tried to touch her automatically, it seemed. 

His face changed, showing sadness, but understanding also seemed to dawn upon him. He knew why she wasn’t okay with this closeness between them. Elara felt a pang of guilt for not just getting over it, but then there were the memories of Kandrë, constantly allowing him to walk all over her with no repercussions. Adar had lost her trust; he had ruined it. There needed to be words between them before things were as they once had been.

“Dalcma,” her mind felt hazy, “-I was moving the infirmary supplies and tents as the High King had asked, but Dalcma brought the point to my attention that should we do that, Sauron’s interest will be peaked. He already will know that their siege stopped and not know why; we must do something to distract him, or we will be left in the open.” 

Galadriel’s blonde eyebrows raised at that, and she, too, seemed to realise the error of their ways. “How could we have not foreseen this?”

“He is controlling us even from afar,” Elrond’s voice was fearful, and Elara watched his eyes dip to the ring on Galadriel’s finger with some hesitancy. 

“And we still do not know how we will reach Celebrimbor, what we will do to find him.” 

Elrond looked stricken as if she was saying something that spoke to years and lifetimes of worry. 

“Perhaps there is another way into the city?” Elara realised that they must be too close to the situation to really find a proper solution. 

This seemed to spark something in Galadriel, then: “There are dwarven tunnels beneath the city.” 

Adar pursed his lips, “Some of our people need to begin attacking the city, and while that is taking place, another few need to enter the tunnels and find Celebrimbor and Sauron.” 

“You have the crown,” murmured Galadriel to Adar. 

Elara winced, remembering the horrid thing. The feeling that came over her when she had seen it.

“Then you and I must go.” 

“Who will command my army?” Asked Adar.

“Glûg can, I am sure,” Elara supplied, “and Elrond will be here as well; we can keep the peace with the King's help.” 

A look of irritation crossed Adar’s face, but he seemed to acknowledge that this was the best course of action; he and Galadriel knew Sauron; they had their weapons against him and their memories of him.

That was when fear washed over her; if Adar went to him, he would be in danger. Sucking in a sharp breath, she realised what she had proposed to him. 

“I will go and speak to Gil-Galad... again." Galadriel gathered her weapons and headed for the door. “Be ready, uruk.” 

Elrond nodded to the two of them and slipped out as well, leaving Adar and Elara alone. 

“Sit, you look tired.” 

Elara was tired; her eyes felt heavy, and each step seemed to be more tiring than the last. Sleep hadn’t come easily to her, not in days, and the night before, there had been no time. 

“Have you slept?” As if he were reading her mind. 

Elara shook her head. 

“Eaten?” 

“No,” her voice was soft as she realised how bad that truly was. 

Adar didn’t respond; he left the tent, and Elara decided that, while he was doing whatever it was, she could rest her eyes for a moment. At least she was safe, surrounded by uruk warriors and elven ones just across the valley. Shutting her eyes felt like bliss. 

Lost to sleep until she heard the softness of someone's boots on the soil and the metallic clang of a plate being placed on the wooden war table. When Elara finally pried her eyes open, Adar was stooped down near her chair on his knee, studying her. 

“Are you alright, Meleth nîn? ” His brows were furrowed in worry, and he took her hand, smoothing his fingers over her knuckles.

Elara felt a bit of outrage crop up at his addressing her like that. She narrowed her eyes at him and removed her hand from his. “I am fine.” 

She did not need to look at him to know the hurt that was surely flashing in his blue eyes. It was all petty, but she was angry with him; she didn’t want him to simply move past this as if it had been nothing, as if he hadn’t hurt her with what he had said and done. 

His hands dropped to his sides, and he moved away from her, pushing the plate, bread and cheese on it, towards her. “Eat,” he muttered, moving towards the back of the tent; she could hear him rifling through things as she began to eat, her stomach growling.

Anger burned in herm, but it was hard to deny that Adar had some kinda clarity now; he was different, not at all the same as he had been. 

Sighing, Elara tried her best to finish eating with a quiet mind. It was not easy; she felt more tired than usual, and despite her relief at the King’s words, she was looking down the long path of life, utterly confused at how it would go and whether they would even survive this test that was before them.

The wall of the tent bore the brunt of her glare when he returned; she didn't look at him. Still, he came to kneel next to her seat, his scarred hand reaching out tentatively to take hers. She didn’t pull away. Elara wasn’t sure why; perhaps it was fatigue or the day's events, but she couldn't muster the courage to escape him. She wanted him, his strength and presence.

"I wish to convey the depth of my remorse. My words and actions inflicted significant hurt on you, and I know I cannot erase that pain. I am not the same person I once was. The experiences I had at the elven camp profoundly altered my perspective, but more than that, it was your influence that truly transformed me." He paused, pulling in a deep breath, "I have not been the same since you came into my life. I am sorry that it took me so long to surrender to your good influence."

Elara scoffed, her gaze flicking to his at those words. It stung to have him say something like that, when she had been trying so hard to get him off course, and the thing that changed it was the ring. 

“The ring gave me clarity, but before that… you were the one that stopped me.” His deep, husky voice scraped over her skin. 

Sucking in a short breath, Elara realised that was partially true; he had stopped before putting on the ring, and hadn't begun to siege the city.

“ Melinyel Amin mela lle (I love you). ” 

Her eyes dropped from his; the details of the Quenya were lost on her, but she understood the sentiment said in his gruff but soft voice.

Elara just didn't know what to do; he was oft so unable to be forward with his thoughts that when he was, it was… disorienting almost. He truly did seem like a changed man.

Still, she didn’t feel ready to decide what she should do, and it wasn’t a good idea to tell him what she knew before he went to battle; it would only distract him, and despite all of this, she still loved him deeply. 

She gave his hand a squeeze, then pulled it from his grasp to caress his cheek. She wasn't furious anymore, even if she didn't understand where to go from here. Her care for him went too deep to stay angry. "Thank you for telling me these things." The murmur was soft and tenuous. She wanted to convey to him that this was but the first step in reconstructing the trust and care between them.  Elara had to set her teeth together; they were cooking outside, and her stomach turned at the smell.

“I was thinking,” Elara changed the subject and got to her feet, reaching for the knife in her boot.

“Are you so angry that you wish to stab me,” he was jesting a small glint in his eyes. 

“Perhaps,” she mumbled with little malice. A lightness fluttered in her chest, a hope for a better future between them. “I want to know what your blood looks like now.” 

Adar’s brow descended this time. “Elara…?"

“I think that the ring may have done something."

He shook his head, “I will have black blood till I die. It is not possible to change that.” His throat bobbed when he swallowed, "I made a choice, and it will follow me."

“Can we not look?” she held the small knife out to him, “I do not want to cause you pain. I simply think we should know to what extent you are changed. The King-”

He waited for her to continue. 

“It is unimportant.”  

Adar looked sceptical but nodded; he seemed to think for a moment, then, in a fluid motion, took the knife and sliced his forearm lightly just above the gauntlet. The blood rushed to the surface of his skin and dripped off his pale arm… red . Adar gaped at his arm; his eyes roved over the arm as the blood continued to drip. His bare hand reached out, fingers touching the blood, pressing at the wound and spreading the fluid around in macabre awe.

Elara pulled a small cloth from her pouch and dabbed at the wound, stalling the blood. 

His chest was rising and falling quickly, and his hand moved there, holding over the breastplate. Adar was nearly gasping. He toddled a bit on his knee and then had to sit in the chair behind him. Closing his eyes and steadying his breath. Elara knew that this must have been jarring. She knew not how she would react to something like this. He was changed not just in his mind but also in his body.

They were silent for some time, minutes ticking by as this newness settled in.

“Thank you, Nillë. ”

“I did nothing,” she murmured.

“The ring changed me, yes, but if you were not here... nothing would have been holding me from his full control. You were able to begin pulling me from the darkness, to give me pause, the love I have for you-" he paused, overcome. His eyes roving over her face, emotions coursing over him as if he had so much to say and knew not where to even begin.

"I may not have had reason to speak with the elves. I... I am indebted to you, the uruk-" he emphasised, "are indebted to you." He was gaping at her, looking at her as if she were something so extraordinary.

She didn’t know what to say to him. This was so much, too much. Part of her wanted to tell him what the King had confirmed, but it wasn't the time. With little else to do, she burst into tears. Fat tears streamed from her eyes and slid down her cheeks. She was sobbing. 

“ Arimelda ,” she heard him jump to his feet. She couldn't see through her blurry vision, and she didn’t pull away when he circled her in his arms. They had more to discuss, and there was more to address, but she couldn’t do this on her own; she couldn't keep this up, worrying about him and their future child. They had to do it together.

Sucking in a large gulp of air, she tried to open her mouth, meeting his searching, confused gaze. She had to tell him, tell him she loved him and that they were going to-.

Lady Galadriel burst into the tent, her beautiful face twisted into something distraught and frightened. “We must go now, Lord Celebrimbor- the city- we must go. Sauron has the city at his whims.” 

Adar looked again at Elara, and she tried to collect herself as they followed the elven commander out. There, from afar, they could see it; the elves of Ost-In-Edhil had begun to attack them again from behind the wall. Arrows flew through the sky, and Elara watched in horror as a few unsuspecting elves and uruk below were struck down. 

Elrond and Gil-Galad were rushing into the valley between their joined armies, “ Caro lírath! (form ranks) .” 

"Now, rankuk!” Adar’s deep voice was guttural as he shouted to his men. 

Glûg appeared close by, and Adar was shouting orders to him in Black Speech. Elara searched for Dalcma and Seddic in the chaos. When she found them, they were already prepping healing bags near the infirmary and spreading out as she had told them to. 

“We must go,” Galadriel spoke to Adar, the anxiety evident in her voice. "Do you have the crown?"

“I do not know that my people will observe this truce. I have had no time-” Adar was frantic in a way that Elara had not seen him before. Fear... no terror was obvious in his scarred features.

Elrond and the King had come to stand near them. Ready for battle, as it was beginning to be raged near the river. Arrows were coming down, hitting the banks. Sauron had given orders to the elves of Eregion; they were attacking, not knowing their true foe was inside the walls.

Elara moved closer to address Glûg, “we will ensure they follow orders, go. Put an end to this. Lenna varna (go with safety) .” She searched Adar's eyes, trying to show some kind of strength, letting him know that she was with him, even as he went to do this impossible task.

She didn’t protest when Adar pulled her hard against his chest, even amidst all these elves and uruk and kissed her mouth. He held her slight frame against his chest and lost himself to her lips. She sagged against him, wishing for it to never end. A long searching kiss that spoke to the dread that perhaps there would not be another. 

When he pulled back, there was something like puzzlement in his blue eyes, but she did not have the time to study it, so he released her and turned for Galadriel.

Chapter Text

The tunnels stretched long and dark, their stone walls damp with the chill of the underground. An eerie silence enveloped the passage, broken only by the distant roars of battle echoing from the surface, hinting at chaos and destruction above. Adar felt a profound agony at having left Elara behind, vulnerable amidst the violence and turmoil. He understood the stakes; Sauron must be defeated to bring an end to this nightmare. Despite his recent change of heart, he remained steadfast in this belief, convinced that the fight could not pursue the same reckless path. It had to be approached differently, with a strategy that would ensure not only victory but also the preservation of what remained of their world. How he had been changed by that ring.

They had been walking for a long while, but he knew not exactly how long, as it had passed in the same blackness as before, not allowing him any sense of when they were in time. He could see; his vision was not so impaired at night, unlike humans or other creatures, but still it felt like an endless stone.

“Did she change you?” Galadriel’s voice was intense from somewhere in front of him, “More than the ring was it her?” They hadn't spoken much, just a grunt here and there to ensure the other was still following or leading. It caught him off guard, or maybe it was the question itself.

There was a part of him that wished not to speak to the Commander about Elara, but he knew it was for nothing; Galadriel, if nothing else, was stubborn, and she and Elara had seemed to have found common ground. Still, a selfish part of him wished Elara to be only his. He wanted to claim her and never let anyone else look on her, she was too precious for any of them. Rediculous a thought as it was. “I did not heed what she asked of me… initially, but it was the altercation with her that made me see more clearly, her safety. The ring just cleared my mind of Morgoth’s terror and Sauron’s games.” 

“So, yes, could have been your answer.” He could almost hear the smirk on her face. “Love finds us all eventually...” There was something wistful in her voice that told of a love she had lost, perhaps long ago. "...And refuses to let us go." The second half of her statement sounded bitter and fearful.

Adar felt his chest tighten at the thought of walking this world alone after the love he had now known. “She may never wish to see me again after all this is over and done, if Sauron doesn't kill us both.”  

Her laugh was pointed and a bit shrewd as was her way. Adar was loath to admit it, but he liked Galadriel and her spark; she was unlike many elves, not so distant and bland from too many years of life. “That was not how I imagine clinging to someone you’re thinking about leaving.” 

“I know she cares for me, it is not that. I broke her trust.” Why was he even telling the elf of this? 

“I think she has already forgiven you, knowing that it was Sauron instilling himself in your mind. I think she is scared of it happening again.” 

Adar swallowed around the lump that was beginning to form in his throat. “It could.” Despite the red blood now running through his veins, that fear was still there.

Galadriel’s hand was on his arm then, her pale skin visible up close against his dark armour. “It will not, Nenya has sealed those cracks, I know it. At least she made them stronger, harder to break.” 

He didn’t reply. What was there to say, really? They continued their walk in the darkness. His thoughts drifted to a future, a hope of something better than the life he had been leading for so long.

“ Daur (stop/halt) .” Her voice was quieter, and they were getting closer to the city. “I think it best if you put on the ring, Adar.” 

He wanted to, just to feel his skin again, but he did not deserve such a treasure. “ Û (no) .” 

She gripped his hand and pushed the ring onto his smallest finger. He could have drawn his hand back, but he didn't because he wanted the ring to heal him again. Wanted a few moments without the ache in his hand and the scars itching his skin.  

“As we enter the city, you would draw too much attention looking as you do.” 

That was true. 

“I did not see my face when it changed me, was it so different? I remember not what I looked like before.” 

There was a pause, “you did look very different, but kept your innate features and the dark hair.” Another pause as they walked, “I have seen very few elves with such striking dark hair, Fëanor being one of them.” 

His hair had been dark when he was born. He knew, despite the passage of time and the change of his mind, small things were slipping into place after wearing the ring, things that he had not remembered for a long time. Adar could feel it; he could sense the transformation of his skin, where the scars had vanished, and his skin was once again lovely and pure. 

“He will try to do everything he can to ruin us.” 

“I know this.” He did all too well; he was most likely one of the few beings to still walk this earth who knew innately what the depravity of Sauron's power was capable of.

“I am weak,” the Commander muttered lowly, nearly so Adar could not hear her.

“You are the Commander of the Northern armies, from the house of Finarfin, a Noldor, you are not weak, Galadriel.” He said it because it was true. Despite their differences, he had never doubted that about her.

The sharp intake of her breath was all that filled the moment, “I let him in and now I am a slave to his ideas, his whims.” 

“You said to yourself that the ring has sealed those cracks.” 

She did not respond; it was one thing to know something was true and another entirely to actually believe that you were whole again after such a thing had happened. 

“I will not let you fall to darkness, elf, all of our peoples depend on it.” 

She did not reply, but he could make out the shape of her head lifting just a bit in the darkness. 

…

The city must have been given orders not to relent; there was war and violence at every turn, and if Sauron was watching, as Elara was sure he was, given what she had been told about him, he would see that the elves and the uruk were fighting side by side. That was as good an indication as any that Adar was no longer under his spell.

Elrond appeared covered in grime and blood as she was bent down trying to wrap a nasty arrow wound. “We are struggling to keep the orcs in line.” he was nearly out of breath; clearly, the battle was becoming taxing even to elves.

Elara looked back at the patient she was treating, but asked Elrond the question. “Where is Glûg?”

“Doing his best to keep them in order, but it isn’t working. They are beginning to turn on their own kind. Glûg almost died trying to keep an orc from killing an elf.” 

Her head jerked up at this, “What?” Uruk’s were loyal, at least they were as far as she had been able to tell in her time with them; this was not normal. 

Without thinking much of it, she shouted to Dalcma and Seddic in Black Speech, “ Be alerav. ” The words 'be alert' came to her with ease, and her comrades nodded. She was beginning to understand parts of their language.

“Let’s go,” Elara murmured to Elrond then.

She followed him and felt bile rise in her as she reached the scene, dead uruk and a few elves as well littered the ground. Gil-Galad was also present, surveying the scene, while Glûg stood nearby, looking fearful. When he saw her, he ran forward. 

Elrond pulled his sword out, clearly preparing to protect her if needed. 

“Peace, Elrond,” Elara placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Lady Mother,” Glûg greeted her, his eyes wide and wild. “I do not know- I have tried- there is something wrong. I swear that-” 

The King appeared behind him. “he speaks true. There is some foul magic afoot,” he said, flexing his ring hand. “I can feel it.” 

“Is it Sauron?” 

Elrond looked sceptical, and she got the impression that he didn’t much like the rings or trust them. 

“There is no other explanation; Morgoth once controlled these people. Perhaps his successor can as well.” The King looked on at the field surrounding them. Far enough from he fighting, but you could see it all in the distance, closer to the wall.

Glûg looked terrified then; he had no doubt been told stories since he was a child about what Adar had saved them from. "It is not all of them." His eyes looked at Elara, trust clear in them.

“What do-” her voice was cut off by the sound of shouts and fighting. “Glûg, we must do something to understand who we can trust…” Then she paused, fearful that any of them could turn at any moment, “you know that I would not lead you astray, yes? I will protect you as Adar has? I swear it.” 

This seemed to ease Glûg's worry. "I will see if there is something to be done." The uruk General bowed his head and began to make his way towards the ranks. 

“I believe we can trust Glûg and my healers, I do not believe they are easily manipulated… but I do not know…” Pausing, she thought on how, as they got closer to the city, to Sauron, some of the more bloodthirsty uruk had been harder for even Adar to control.

“Galadriel and Adar are our hope now,” Elrond muttered, almost resigned to death. His face set in a grim line.

Elara headed back towards the uruk camp. “I will do what I can, keep them attacking the wall, we must get inside the city.” She muttered over her shoulder. They couldn't allow Adar and Galadriel to be alone. They needed help.

"Damn the river." It was Gil-Galad, his order loud and clear to Elrond.

The infirmary tent was abandoned; all the healing needed to be closer to the city, but she still needed supplies and had to retrieve what she could. They would not return here soon, not if they damned the river and entered the city. Fear gripped her heart; she would face more violence. There was no other way. She whispered a small plea for safety to the Valar. There was a crack in the trees nearby, perhaps a stick, but her heart raced. Placing a hand on her stomach, she tried to calm herself, trying to feel her child's presence and gain some peace. There was nothing there in the trees, and she continued on. 

As she entered the tent, she heard another sound, this time something she knew… fear chased down her spine. Whirling around, she caught a glimpse of sandy blonde hair, something was thrown over her head, and a dull thud echoed through her ears, an ache settling at the base of her skull before she saw blackness. 

…

The section of the city closer to the forge was quieter, fewer elves in fear, running from place to place. That, as everything else they had encountered, seemed to be Sauron's intention. Adar had never seen this city before, and perhaps before the ring, he wouldn't have cared what happened to it. He would have simply thought it another pretty elvendom that he regarded with the same hostility he felt for all the elves. That it mattered not if something was beautiful, but that it was just a means to an end. Now, that thought didn’t cross his mind. This City, these people did not deserve to suffer in this way and not only that, but to ruin such a beautiful place… it was heartbreaking.

Thoughts of the Southlands came to him, and Adar cringed inwardly. How could he have done such a deed? Elara had known what he had done, and yet she still chose to love him. Adar did not even know that he could love himself, or if he ever had to begin with. It had been about surviving, keeping his people alive out of some sense of duty, perhaps more than that. Still, he had not been happy and hadn’t been even close to understanding, possibly what the meaning of that word was, until Elara came into his life. Now, with his dulled senses restored to their former splendour by Morgoth, he was alight with feeling, emotion, and shame. The shame knawed at him, sent his skin crawling. He should be good for Elara; he should have been good for himself all along as well. Saving the uruk... he felt no guilt in that, but the way it had been done, there was much to want from all of it.

“What other way could Celebrimbor be allowing this, if he is not under Sauron’s spell?” Galadriel's voice penetrated his own thoughts. 

“I know not.” 

She turned to him then, “are you well?” Her eyes spoke of the worry that he was not ready to face these demons ahead.

“I am distracted, I must centre myself.” 

She nodded then, “yes you must.” Then she rolled her eyes, “men are all the same, whether they are the Lord Father of the Uruk or not.” There was a scoff at the end. 

Adar peered at her. “What do you mean?” 

“You cannot see past a woman, none of you.” She smirked at him then. 

Adar looked away, down at his hands, “she and my people are all that I care for and about. I know not if she will want me, my mind is there.” The words coming out of him were too true, far too honest, and surely that was the ring making him a more astute person than he was without it. It had a way of asking you to reckon with parts of yourself that you would otherwise ignore.

"My mind just strays to her. She calls to me even when she is not here." Adar wanted to yank back his words, a grimace twisting his lips. He needn't share this with Galadriel.

“Surely you must know?” Galadriel's brows drew together then. “She will not leave you.” 

“Know what? She is upset and rightly so, I betrayed her and-” 

Galadriel snorted, “you’re not a stupid man, and I thought uruk had a better sense of smell than elves. She is with child Adar, she carries your babe, it's obvious to anyone with an idea of such things.” 

His mouth fell open, and Galadriel did not wait, just continued to walk. His mind scanned the past few days… it had been there, all the signs and her scent had even changed. He rubbed a hand down his face. There he was about to face certain death, and this revelation was given to him. 

"You're surprised by this?"

"No, I am surprised I was distracted enough to not see it." How? How had this happened?

He could see her eyes flash with sympathy for a mere moment before they went focused again at an explosion renting the air, a wall being torn to bits in the distance. They were trying to enter the city: the uruk and the elves.

Suddenly, fear gripped his chest; he needed to leave and protect Elara. He should never have left her- Galadriel's hand descended on his shoulder.

“We must find Sauron, that is the only way to end this.” Galadriel murmured, meeting his distant eyes, “and you must keep your head.”

…

Elara felt pain radiate from her head as she came to. What was going on? Her mind was unsure of what had happened last, in a dreamy, half-awake state. It wasn't the first time she'd woken from a blow to the head, but this felt worse, groggy, and the back of her neck felt sticky with dried blood.

“Elara,” the voice made her think, then it was familiar. Her mind slipped again from consciousness. She wanted to call for Adar; surely he was around, and she felt vulnerable, wanting him near her, still not fully grasping her current state.

“Elara,” her name again. 

“I…” She forced her eyes open, and it was dark; it had been early evening before, the sun had still been out… She tried to think as the world around her came into focus. What had she been doing? What had happened? 

A sharp stab of fear went through her. Something had happened; she was not in the uruk camp or with the elves. Kandrë was standing in front of her, and next to him were her father and Himelion.

…

The sound of elven trumpets amidst the crude horn of his own uruk had Adar glancing up. Celebrimbor had made it further than he or Galadriel had thought. When they had run into the man just near the forge, he looked as if he had been tortured, and his words to Galadriel were pitiful and sad: “I built this city…” The words of a ruler who had fallen for Sauron’s ruse. It was as certain as the sun in the sky to Adar; he knew that same feeling of distress that Celebrimbor must have felt. The sense of utter defeat, having given in to your demons.

Galadriel had refused to take the rings, instead ensuring that his guards went as well to the elves through the tunnels. They all should have fled, for it was just Adar and Galadriel alone with Sauron; he stared at them through eyes unlike those of Halbrand or the Sauron Adar had known. His visage changed again to something like the man who had pinned Adar to the ground in the woods, but different as well, elven and fair. It made Adar’s stomach roil as the blonde elf faced them. 

“Galadriel.” He murmured, voice thick and syrupy.

Adar saw her flinch if only the slightest bit, just the hint of a change in her. She should have kept the ring. “Our armies are converging on this city as we speak. Surrender.” She shouted at him. 

Adar knew this was folly; he would not go down so easily. This man always had a plan, always steps ahead. Instead of waiting for him to strike, Adar decided an offensive manoeuvre was the best, running at him with the crown in hand. With minimal movement from the delicate elven hand, Adar was thrown back, his body colliding with a nearby stone pillar. At least this allowed Galadriel to strike at him with more surprise; Adar's back could take it. 

Instead of addressing her as they met each other's blows, Sauron spoke to Adar. “Are you so sure that your children do not still serve me? Their true master.” 

“They do not,” Galadriel responded. “They are loyal to Adar.” 

“Are they truly, Adar ?” 

Something unsettling and evil curled in his chest. Did he have some power over the uruk still? Or was this some mind game that he was playing as he usually did?

He didn’t think it was wise to reply; instead, he ran at the elf, who met him sword to sword. Adar tossed the crown to Galadriel when she disengaged from Sauron, and she caught it, swinging at Sauron, missing in her boldness. Two against one had to count for something, and yet they were failing.

Chapter Text

The pounding in her heart had not ceased since she realised where she was and who she was with. Her mind thought of the battle she could still hear raging in the distance. She met her father's eyes then. There had to be something he felt for her. His eyes were hard and unyielding, yet Elara tried. 

“We must get back there, the King-” 

His face hardened perhaps more, “I care not for a king who would put his people in danger and who would help orcs. He is not my king.” The words were spat, anger and resentment flaring in his eyes. 

Elara felt her stomach turn in discomfort. The eerie sense of dread. Was she being taken prisoner by her own father? He was looking at her with a level of disgust that was nearly unbearable. Like she was something evil and horrible in his eyes, there had been times in the past when she thought that, but it was not so; this was genuine disgust and hatred. 

“Father-” 

“Do not speak.” He stepped closer, looming over her. “You’re no daughter of mine.” 

She had known it all along, the years she had tried to be what they wanted, and still, deep down, she knew that he didn’t think of her as his blood. Even if she was, he didn't believe it in his heart. Yet, hearing it from his lips, seeing the harsh truth of it in his eyes. It shattered her.

“I wish to return to the fight.” 

Snorting, he stepped closer, kicking up soil in his haste, pelting her skirts with dirt. “We are not returning to the fight.” 

“Then let me go to them. They need a healer. I will not tell the king where you have gone.” She was trying to sound diplomatic, not pleading. “I think we all need-” 

He cut her off, addressing Kandrë. “Perhaps we should give you a moment alone with your wife…” His words trailed off as if he wanted to add something, but he stayed silent. 

Himelion looked on with a look of sadness crossing his handsome face. 

Elara felt her blood run cold at that. “Father-” 

“Do not speak to me as such! How dare you?" A snort of derision left his mouth, "would you now call me Adar?” 

Elara flinched as he got close, her head turning in submission as it usually did when he acted in such a way. Her father had never hit her, but his words were painful. In fact, there were only a handful of times that she even remembered him saying something encouraging to her. Never that he loved her, ever . It had only been when Kandrë had first taken an interest in her, and she had initially thought it was a good thing that he liked her. He came from a good family, and her father had been very proud. Still, any praise he had for her at that time had been tinged with the idea that she would somehow mess this all up for him eventually. Elara supposed that she had. He would have preferred his daughter to withstand the abuse, pretend it wasn’t happening, not go off and settle down in an orc camp with their Moriondor father. 

No doubt that is why she had been so susceptible to Kandrë; she hadn’t known how to be loved by a man ever. She had seen it in her human village, but she had not known it, not until she was captured by Adar.

Adar… he could be dead, meeting with Sauron was no easy feat, and she had not made peace with him before he left. It was all coming into stark realisation that he was the one who had been honest with her and never cruel to her, even in the moments that he had been led by Sauron. The ring had changed him, yes, but it had been his concern for her that had altered his course. She wanted to weep. 

Instead, she held her head high. “I am not a child, I would like to go back to the camp,” she said with surety. 

“You are going home.” This time, Kandrë spoke. How had her father even reached him? Elrond had said he was being punished… His eyes blazed with anger, bordering on something manic and possessive. 

“Please, this is madness. It will not end well.” Getting angry had never worked with Kandrë; it always made him worse. Pleading made her insides feel like they were made of stone, but she had to do something, had to try and escape. 

Himelion, for what it was worth, looked on, perhaps a bit shamed at what he had helped achieve. Elara felt hot rage in her chest when she thought of Gazad. She had no pity for Himelion. He had chosen his vile friend over her well-being, and then later, he had chosen to harm those she loved. The three of them were all at fault for some of this. Despite her nature to give the benefit of the doubt, she did not think it was deserved by any of these men any longer. She was good and kind, but she would not tolerate injustice and harm. 

“Let us allow Kandrë to talk some sense into his wife.” Murmured her father, he pulled at Himelion’s shoulder. 

No! She wanted to scream, but fear climbed up her throat. Elara looked to Himelion, trying to plead with him using her eyes alone. He had to feel some kind of sense of duty in there somewhere, right? 

Himelion gave her one last look of remorse. Guilt? She wasn’t sure, but he turned and followed her father away from the two of them. Elara looked to the ground then, and not at Kandrë. She tried to think of what to do, what she could do, what she was able to do. Tried not to think of her friends and the elves fighting and her not being there to heal them. Dying. They were dying, surely.

“Please, they need help, I must go to them.” If she pleaded with him, maybe it would stroke his ego. “That is what is right and good, Kandrë.”

“Let you return,” he scoffed, “so you can go back to those horrid creatures, ensure there are more of them in the future. They are sworn enemies of elves, Elara.” He looked down on her with an expression that could be mistaken as sad if there wasn’t contempt there beneath the surface. “We should rid them all from this Middle-earth.” His teeth clacked together, face twisting in a grimace. 

“They are just trying to survive, and our King has asked that they not be harmed; we are allies in this fight against a common enemy.” 

“Our King?” Another scoff, “Our king, you are not one of us, no wonder that you decided to sully yourself with these creatures, healing them, you are not elven.” 

She did not respond; that would no doubt make it worse. 

Reaching down, he gripped her chin in his thumb and forefinger, his touch not gentle, rough and firm. “You always were too much like your human mother, that is what your father always said, and I think I see now that it is true; there is no way to make you more elven.” 

Elara felt fear run cold and icy down her spine at his words and the angry look on his face. She knew what Kandrë was capable of, how he had hurt her in the past. She had always healed swiftly, and there had never been marks left where others could see, but now… she was not just worried for herself… The manic look in Kandrë’s eyes was something new and deranged.  

“I will return with you, if that is what you wish, I will do it.” She said hurriedly. It had been a matter of days, but she would protect her child with everything she had. 

He laughed then, “me? Go back to being with you, after you have made yourself the whore for that monster?” He spat at the ground near her, yanking his hand back from her chin. 

The words hit her with little feeling. She cared not for what Kandrë thought of her. She had lain with Adar; she loved it. Having him bed her was not something she felt ashamed of. So, Elara just stared back at Kandrë, unflinching at his words. 

“I cannot trust you; you are going to need to prove yourself to ever return to my good graces.” His gaze sharpened, assessing. Stepping forward, he looked down on her, “You’re revolting. How could you ever even touch him?" Then he seemed to pause, thinking, "Did it feel good? Is that it? You liked his orc cock inside you. You always were willing to please, perhaps you thought if you fucked him, he would let you go?” He tsked at her. 

“You’re nothing, Elara. I was trying to make you into something, but now… You are back where you started, some half-breed from a human village, with nothing and no one. Worse now,” leaning down towards her, he sneered, “you played the part of the orc-slut.” His hand struck out before she could even see the start of it. The blow hit her across the face, and sharp pain radiated across her cheek. Elara could taste blood in her mouth and he circled her. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, trying not to react, it was always worse when she did, though this was uncharted territory; he had never slapped her across the face before. Always hurting her where no one could see. With horror, Elara realised just how much danger she was in; there were no repercussions for this, whatever he planned to do. 

His next blow came before words, his hand gripping the back of her neck and forcing her head forward. Pain radiated. Still, she tried to keep calm, not to move too much, or give away how much pain she felt. He liked to know, and she wouldn’t give it to him.  

He held her head there and spoke near her ear, his breath skating across her cheek, “you are worthless.” 

He shoved her forward from her knees into the dirt. Elara pressed her eyes closed, hair shielding her face; she could not have him see her cry. 

“Well?”

Elara lifted her head, “I-” He kicked her hard in the side. Fear for her baby shot through her. Did she stand and fight? Would that be better? Would she have a chance? Her mind was moving fast, ideas swirling even as he stalked around her. What was she to do? She had no weapons, she was vulnerable, and perhaps this was all her own fault. Old wounds surfacing in her mind… maybe she was worthless. 

You need to get up, you have to.  

Kandrë was stalking her now, “You would be blessed that your father is even trying to ensure that you can come back to the elves. If you were my daughter, I would… well, perhaps that isn’t worth saying.” A dark chuckle escaped his lips, then he yanked a fistful of her hair back suddenly, holding her face up to his. Elara made a slight sound, her scalp stinging. 

“Are you just going to sit there and take this?" He pulled harder, forcing her to look at him. "No mouth? What happened to that mouth, I like so much?” The thumb of his other hand drifted down, tracing her bottom lip.

Elara clamped her lips shut to keep from crying out or feeling his touch.

“Was it too full of orc cock? Was he the one who finally taught you a lesson? Kept you in line." He loved hearing himself talk.

Elara could feel tears on her cheeks then, hot, rolling down her face without her consent. 

Kandrë released her hair, and Elara dropped to her palms again. Her eyes watered and her head throbbed, but she had to do something. She wouldn't allow him to do this to her, not without a fight. Elara wasn't that same girl anymore.

Forcing herself to her feet, she tried to take a defensive stance, but he laughed aloud, humorlessly, at her, throwing his head back. “Are you a soldier now, Elara?” 

She did not budge, keeping all the times he sparred with Gazad in her mind. He swung at her suddenly, and she moved out of the way. She had never tried to fight back against Kandrë, never thought she had the option. He seemed unperturbed and tried again; she did the same, evading him. She had spent so much time training on her way to Eregion, and now she needed to put it to use.

Her mind fought with her, all the years she had been conditioned by him to listen and obey.

She swung this time first, landing a blow to his face before he could block it. Then, when he was distracted, she reeled back again, punching him hard in the face. Blood ran from his nose. She tried to jump back away from his reach, but Kandrë’s eyes blazed, retaliating swiftly, hand shooting out and grabbing the back of her neck, catching her. He held the back of her head and kicked a leg out from under her; she fell to her knees. Her plan was failing.

The words were on the tip of her tongue: ' Kandrë, please, just let me go. I… I will go with you, I swear it ,' but she didn't speak them, didn't beg. She knew that he wouldn’t stop, deep down she had always known that, and yet Elara had always thought that perhaps this would be the last time, that she would convince him that she was good enough and he didn’t have to do this anymore, but now he knew that this is what he wanted, he enjoyed this. The difference now was that Elara was changed. She was transformed. No longer was she his, and really, she never had been. Elara was her own person, and she would not cower before him.

He shoved her to the earth again and let go. The pain in her skull from where he had been yanking at her hair radiated. 

Reaching down, she pulled her small knife from her boot. 

“Let me go!” She held it out in front of her; her courage was there, still, not failing her yet, despite all of this.

“Why would I do that?” He laughed, pulling his bow from where it was stowed on his back and notching an arrow in it, pointing the tip at her as he grinned. 

She felt bile rise up her throat, a sour, curdling feeling in her stomach. Elara hadn’t thought he would do this. He moved just a hair to the side and released an arrow, without warning. The feeling of it sinking into the flesh of her arm made her gasp and lose grip on her knife. 

Kandrë was laughing loudly. “Maybe you should beg."

"Kandrë-"

The snap of a bow string and an arrow pierced the ground next to her. Elara shut her eyes, trying not to be sick.

Blood was trickling from her arm, and perhaps this was it; maybe he had meant to kill her all along, so at the very least, he had done it. Clearly, her father cared not. Perhaps he wanted that as well. Kandrë advanced, and Elara felt the strange sensation that maybe this was how it had always been meant to end. The thwack of an arrow meeting flesh and bone filled the air. Elara closed her eyes.