#Lords of Angband 🖤

[morphym37]

but i love them sm :')

[hailturinturambar]

Twisted in the Dark.

Pairing: Adar x Reader

Word count: 3.984

Request: “Hi dear, can i ask for Adar with a reader that is a fairy?” “May I kindly request Adar×OC, where OC is an outcast in her world. But while initially she might be captured by Adar/his children, eventually she finds true purpose and chooses to stay in their camp (#28. I choose you). And Adar, after countless ages of loneliness, finds a soulmate🥹 Smut is welcomed, but it's mostly up to you. Thank you in advance 🖤?”

Author's Notes: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes or confusion. Requests are open, check the information before requesting. I decided to combine the two requests, because one is small, and the ideas combine to create a single story. The reader is similar to an Elf, even with the idea of ​​being a Fairy. Because, for Tolkien himself, Elves are in the same boat as Fairies, you could say.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. Unprotected sex, p in v. Oral (female receiving.) Masturbation. First time. Capture. A little violence. Anguish.

Summary: Starfolk, they were called, the Elves blessed by the starlight of Varda. When the Two Trees of Valinor were destroyed, the few Elves who survived were lost in Arda, their light long forgotten. Until one day a group of Uruks found the last of the Elves and took her to the Lord Father, Adar.

In the beginning of days, when Arda was young, and the Valar awaited the coming of the Firstborn, Varda, Queen of the Valar, in defiance of the darkness that had covered all Middle-earth, created the Stars.

And beneath the Stars the Elves awoke throughout Middle-earth. But not all the Elves reached Valinor. Near the domain of Melkor, a small company of Elves arose. Cut off from all the Elves of Middle-earth, ages would pass before they could find their kin.

Starfolk, they were called. And in the darkness of Arda, they cried out for Varda's protection. Blessed by Varda, they went, and the Starlight shone on each of their faces. The other Elves knew nothing of the Starfolk. And they were forgotten by their kin.

To Varda they cried ever, and they loved her above all the Valar. The light of the Stars guided the Elves, and they were more outcast than their kin left in Middle-earth. Kind and intelligent, they lived in isolation, near Angband, for they knew no more where they should go.

When in the First Age, the armies of Morgoth departed from Angband, the Elves found no peace in Middle-earth. The Starfolk were numerous, but many were only maidens and children. They knew no arts of war, and were routed by the forces of Angband.

Few Elves survived the first attacks, and the survivors fled far and wide, crying out to the Valar for help. Varda, in her benevolence, allowed her Maia to guide the Elves to Valinor to live in peace and safety with their kin.

However, not even the peace of Valinor could last. The other Elves, with fear and distrust planted in their hearts because of Melkor's words, did not accept the Elves who finally arrived in Valinor.

Once more they became outcasts, rejected by their own people. They wandered alone in Valinor until the Darkening. When Morgoth, accompanied by Ungoliant, arrived in Valinor, the light of the Starfolk was extinguished along with the Two Trees of Valinor.

Consumed by their grief and sorrow, they followed the deserting Elves and the House of Fëanor. Once more, to become outcasts, lost, wandering the darkness of Middle-earth. They took no part in the kinslaying, and many of their people were slain. Few survived long enough to glimpse Middle-earth one last time.

As the ages passed, they were forgotten. But to Men, they were the fairies. Because of their eyes as silver as the Stars, and their skin as bright as the Stars, the light of Varda never left them, even in their exile.

The fairies, according to Men, were a smaller group of Elves, condemned to wander alone. These legends, however, were not true. But the Elves accepted the lies of Men and hid themselves in the darkness of Middle-earth.

Morgoth had been defeated, indeed, but the Elves were still in danger. For Sauron, Morgoth's most trusted lieutenant and captain, had risen from the ashes. And he thought himself Morgoth reborn and desired to control Arda.

To the Fairies, Sauron was more dangerous than Morgoth, because he believed in the legends of the Starfolk and he knew, above all, that those Elves were extremely powerful, knowledgeable in the mysteries of the Unseen World. But Sauron never found them and the Fairies were forgotten even from the minds of the Elves.

For many ages they lived in secret, hidden among Men, concealing their true nature. When Adar's forces reached The Southlands, the Elves fled once more, fearing the Orcs. Many Elves fled, however, some could not bear the burden of the journey and were captured by Adar's soldiers.

When the Orcs came, she could not run away, worried about protecting the children of her people. She did not try to fight back, nor did she even fight back when the Orcs dragged her back to The Southlands. She knew what awaited her there.

Devastation, death. Ruins. Because they called him Adar, and he ruled the lands of Men. The Elves and the Men of the Sea stood no chance against the Orcs of Adar. But she did not fear them, she knew pain well enough not to be frightened by an army from Mordor.

But they feared her. Because the light of the Stars shone in her, a light, a purity that seemed to touch their doomed nature. It repelled them deeply. But Adar demanded that all Elves he found be brought to him, lest they meet Sauron.

“Keep walking, Elf.” One of the Orcs spat at Black Speech, pushing her to the ground with force.

They had destroyed these lands, she realized. The darkness was total, as if the fires of the mountain surrounded them with such evil that it was almost impossible to breathe. The shackles and chains did not help, tightening around her neck, and her wrists.

She stood up, glaring furiously at one of the Orcs. But her attention quickly shifted. In the center of the camp, resting on a makeshift throne, an Elf watched her. No, not an Elf. Moriondor, he was. One of the first Elves corrupted by Morgoth. Adar, Father of Orcs.

“Do you swear fealty to the Lord of Mordor?” a man roared beside her, pushing her closer to the throne.

“What?” She looked at him, confused.

“Kneel before Adar.” The man bellowed, spitting in her face.

“No.” She said.

Adar, on his throne, watched her more closely, interested. He had heard, yes, about those Elves. Bright Elves, they were called in Angband. Dream Elves, too, because Morgoth did not believe in their existence.

But there she was, a Starfolk. Standing before Adar. As bright as Ithil. Brighter, even. Honestly, Adar should have been furious. He was, a little. But he was also staring at her in fascination. An Elf from a people who were nothing more than legend.

“You wretch,” Waldreg roared, hitting her hard in the face.

“Waldreg.” Adar said.

The Uruk's voice was calm, even. But booming and frightening at the same time. And the man stepped away from her, bowing to the Lord Father. Silently, Adar beckoned to her Children, and they approached her.

“If it is loyalty you seek,” She said angrily. “You are mistaken, Adar.”

It was venomous, her tone. As if she despised the name he had adopted for himself, the role he played to all the Uruks. Their children. But Adar smiled, amused. She was too angry for an Elf.

“You are at a disadvantage, I fear, My Lady,” Adar said, rising from his throne. “My Children, there are too many of they, and there is nowhere to run.”

“I would rather die than swear fealty to you.” She screamed, as one of the Orcs grabbed her arms. “You are like all of them. Like all who came before you.”

“You will see, Little Fairy,” Adar whispered, walking toward her. “That death, at my hands, may be more merciful than life under the rule of my predecessors.”

She laughed in disgust, but didn't answer. She let the Orcs lead her away from Adar, while they pulled her chains hard, furiously. She didn't care, why should she? It would take more than shackles and chains to break her strength. Her spirit. Her people knew suffering. They knew how to survive, that she would prove to Adar.

For months, she could hear the cries of the visitors from Mordor, being branded with the Mark of Adar, new members of his army against Sauron. His new servants. But she was left alone, in her solitude. Adar never came to find her.

Being captured was not kind to the Elven fëa, being forced to live away from the moonlight, from nature. A common Elf might die if he were in her place, but not a Starfolk. They had grown close to the First Dark Lord.

She was treated as well as a hostage could be; they wouldn't let her die. Worst of all, she realized over time, was the loneliness. Trapped in that cold dungeon, away from all the other prisoners, she felt terribly alone.

She could still remember the songs she had sung at night with her family, in the forest, surrounded by trees. Here, however, there were no trees. Or music, or even happiness. And she longed miserably for company.

Nearby noises made her alert, and she lay back against the cold floor, closing her eyes. The orcs rarely believed her, but she preferred to pretend she didn’t know when they were coming.

“Come on.” The grotesque voice sent a chill through her, and she turned to the Orc. “He calls for you.”

He didn't wait for her to get up, forcing her to stand. The handcuffs hurt her wrists, but she never complained. She never spoke to them, not even to the man who always tried to make her more unhappy.

Outside the dungeons, the camp was silent, the Orcs all gathered together, torches in hand, focused. They were preparing, she thought, for what, she did not know and deeply feared the answer.

From the first moment she arrived at the camp, she had not known Adar's tent. The horrors that the Men told about the people of Adar had traumatized her. And even though she was brave, she did not want to meet the Lord Father.

But just like her, Adar also knew loneliness. What it was like to be the only one of his kind, alone in the world, without peers, without a gentle touch. And Adar, he still thought about her. Ever since the moment she had not cowered before Waldreg.

Waldreg, of course, was no longer a problem, to either of them. But that did not diminish Adar's appreciation for her. For that lonely Elf, but brave and confident, even though she was alone in the hands of the enemy.

One of Adar’s Sons obediently entered the tent, pushing the Elf forward. For the first time, Adar saw true fear in her eyes. In her bright, starry eyes. She fears for her fate, Adar thought, seeing how uncertain she looked in the tent.

“Come, Elf.” He whispered, never taking his eyes off her.

She looked more hurt than scared. Adar sighed, walking over to her. Uncertainly, she followed his movements, watching as his pale hands removed her handcuffs and chains.

“You are brave, Little Elf.” Adar said appreciatively.

“I’m not afraid of you.” She roared, pushing his hands away when she was finally free.

Oh, yes. She was angry, and for some reason, she seemed even more beautiful to Adar at that moment. Calmly, Adar approached her, attentive. She was breathing hard, and Adar could have sworn he could hear her heart. So fast, so scared. But still, she hadn't run away.

“I don’t want you as a prisoner,” Adar said. “I don’t need prisoners. I have servants and my Uruks.”

“Yes.” She scoffed. “Your children, yes, my captors.”

“And yet,” Adar whispered, stopping in front of her. “You have more in common with them than you think.”

She gasped, offended by his words. She was nothing like his children, the Uruks. The Orcs of Adar. She was of the Elven people, blessed by Eru. Furious, she glared at the Lord Father, crossing her arms.

“Tell me, Adar. Why are we alike?”

“You’re as alone as we are.” He said, studying her.

She bit her lip, disgusted. Because she had seen the truth in his words, even if she didn't want to admit it. Because just like all of her people, she lived wandering, alone. Without a home. Without a place where she truly belonged.

“My family was good,” she said, her voice shaking.

“And where are they, then?”

“They were killed by Morgoth!” she roared, turning her back on him.

All her strength, all her courage, had finally deserted her. She had been strong for so long, lied for so long. She had forgotten what it was to belong to a family. She still grieved for her kin, who had fallen by Morgoth's dark hand.

But she didn't trust the other Elves to seek shelter. So she found a small Starfolk family and lived with them. When Adar's forces arrived, she did her best to save them so they would have a chance.

Maybe she would never be able to be with them again. That possibility scared her. It made her feel small and helpless. So alone, again. She covered her face, trying to hide her tears. She didn't want to be considered weak, especially in Adar's camp.

“I know the pain that lives in your chest, Elf.”

Behind her, Adar whispered. He understood her, indeed. He knew the extent of Morgoth’s evil, the extremes he would go to in the name of power. In the name of glory, all were insects before him. Unworthy of life. Of power.

“I was known by another name, long before.” He whispered.

She held back her tears, hearing his words. Turning her back, she rubbed her eyes, trying desperately to wipe away the tears, before looking at Adar. He was looking at her, with all devotion, with all attention. And there was so much pain in his eyes.

“That Elf is no more. And I am all that is left.” Adar, carefully, so that she would not be startled, held out his hand to her. “There is always another life, if you are able to accept it.”

“A life alone in the darkness, abandoned by my people?” She asked, hurt.

“There’s a life for you here,” Adar said. But it seemed to her that he wanted to say more. “With me.”

She didn't answer. Honestly, she didn't look at him, because she didn't know how she should react to his request. She knew the legends, from the time of Morgoth. Captive Elves were considered untrustworthy once they were found and returned to their people.

The Elves, she knew, had never accepted her, and they would never accept her now, when she had spent so much time among the people of Adar. But could she choose that life? To live surrounded by ruin and death and war? After all, what else could there be for her but that? For all of Middle-earth, war was all there was. She had no home. Not anymore.

And Adar knew what it was to be alone, the last one left. He had felt it ever since the fall of Sauron, when he had betrayed his last kin for the good of the Uruks. But it had not made the choice any less difficult, any less lonely.

He saw the same darkness in her. The same loneliness. Adar would not make promises of love and protection like the Elves, he no longer knew that life, those customs, but he could take care of her, with everything that was left of him.

“I choose you.” She whispered, as a lone tear ran down her face.

Adar's hand gently touched her face, wiping away her tears. It was curious, how Adar was feared by so many in Middle-earth, yet he was showing tenderness, for her. For an Elf, whom he should hate. Who he should despise.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the touch. How many ages had she lived without a comforting touch? Longer than she could remember. Slowly, she felt Adar’s lips against hers. It was different than she had expected. Cooler than an elf’s lips, but the light of elven life still burned in him.

Sighing, she kissed him back, letting her hands reach his dark hair, her fingers running lovingly through it. And Adar kissed her with more passion, with more desire. Because he no longer remembered what it was like to feel a gentle touch.

Adar kissed her as if she were air, and he were drowning. As if she were salvation, and he stood at the feet of Morgoth. It felt so right, her lips were gentle, warm as the Stars. Like everything that existed in her essence. Yes, he was intoxicated.

Mainly because she had chosen him, because she had chosen to stay. With force, Adar's arms wrapped around her body, lifting her off the ground. She let her legs wrap around his waist, intensifying the kiss.

So this was what the Elves called a soulmate? Adar thought. This was it, then. Indeed. Finding the one person in the world who understood you completely, who knew what loneliness was, and wanted to stay with you, even in the darkness.

Adar kept his grip on her firmly, walking to the back of the tent. He was not to be interrupted, the Uruks knew that. She moaned as he laid her down against the cold bed of the tent, feeling his black armored body lie on top of her.

He whispered, and it took her a moment to comprehend his words as his lips trailed down her neck. Yes, My Star, he had whispered in Black Speech, and she smiled in surprise at that.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling hard as he kissed her skin, as if trying to remove the essence of the stars from her, and intoxicate himself with her light. She moaned, feeling his kisses grow stronger, more passionate. His tongue traced her skin hungrily.

And she let him drown in her glow. Adar’s lips moved away from her neck, down against the slight cleavage of her dress. She was grateful, without words, for every time the Uruks let her out of the dungeons and gave her clothes. She looked so much better now than she had when she had been captured.

Adar’s movements were delicate, careful, as if he was afraid she would break against his touch. Against his rotten nature. But she didn’t think so, not anymore, not when he had exposed his loneliness to her.

She moaned as he pulled her dress away, leaving her naked before him. She closed her eyes, uncertain. She had never been like this before, with anyone else. She hadn’t had time for love in her old life. But Adar wanted to take his time with her.

His lips descended over her breasts, adoring her body, like a desperate being, like someone dying of thirst and she was the only drop he had found. Her skin was divine, more divine and majestic than the entire land of Valinor.

He let her body be his temple for him to worship, running his tongue against her breasts, biting lightly, touching with such fascination that she moaned his name so loudly, she even surprised herself.

“This is all about you, my dear.” He whispered, kissing her down.

She arched her back as his kisses descended, exploring every inch of her skin, touching with his lips everything she was giving him with pleasure. Adar held her thighs, mesmerized by her silky skin. As pure as the Stars, he thought.

“Adar.” She moaned, gripping his hair tightly.

Now Adar's kisses were trailing down her thigh, his tongue tracing her skin. It was too much for her to bear, her body felt on fire, desperate for him. For his touch, for everything he could do to her skin.

“Please.” She whispered.

And Adar was more than willing to fulfill her every request. When his tongue touched her, she closed her eyes, contemplating the Stars with all her might. Because his tongue was passionate against her, licking with hunger, exploring with desire. And she wanted nothing more than to be his.

She felt so good, like she could disappear with the slightest touch, feeling him devour her, like he had been waiting a long time for this. Honestly, he had. Adar had been enchanted by her since the second she arrived at camp.

Adar couldn't get enough of her, of the way she tasted, of how contented she sounded as she moaned his name. It was as if the light of Valinor had shone upon him once more. He let his hands slide against her thighs, squeezing them tightly, with desire.

“Adar.” She moaned, tugging on the Uruk’s hair as she felt his fingers against her.

Adar played her like a melody, a pure and bright melody forged in Valinor. She had not known Valinor, but her kin had. And she wondered if the heaven of the gods was so good.

She was breathless, too intoxicated by his touch, by his lips. It was too many sensations at once, but it felt so good. For the first time, something in her life felt right. Complete, and she didn't want the feeling to end.

Moaning, she cum against Adar's lips, but his touch lingered, him as intoxicated by her taste as she had been by his touch. Tears streamed down her face, and she gasped, feeling his kisses ease as he let her compose herself.

Adar's kisses were gentle against her face, and she sighed. Adar could have sworn he glimpsed the true stars in her eyes when she smiled at him. Maybe he was just fascinated.

“There’s no going back for people like us after this.” He whispered, caressing her face.

“I know what I want.”

She said confidently, kissing him. Adar would not resist her affections. Let Eru choose their fate, that even corrupted and abandoned, they could belong to each other.

Her hands roamed over his armor, trying to remove it. Adar pulled his lips away from hers, and she frowned. It was adorable how she looked so eager, so desperate for touch. For his. She knew, deep down, that she wanted to be his, was tired of being alone.

She kissed Adar as he removed his armor, his pale body against hers. He was quick to return the kiss, wrapping her legs around his waist. In all of Middle-earth, an Uruk and an Elf would never have been considered possible, acceptable.

But there, alone, none of that mattered anymore. She moaned, scratching his back, feeling him against her. Yes. This was right, this was what she had always wanted, and now she could have it, beside him.

In that tent, she let his presence dominate her, let Adar be all she thought about, all she could feel, because she was too caught up in the feel of his body against her, the way he loved her body, as if they had no more time.

She moaned, kissing him again, she could never get enough of him. Outcasts, they were, wandering alone in Middle-earth, without a true home. It was different now, being together, being entwined in the darkness.

Her body arched against his, seeking out the sensation even more, the everything he was doing to her. Lost in Adar’s embrace, she gasped against the kiss. Her hands reached for his scars, admiring each one. They were the same, she thought. She could see that clearly now.

Adar lost himself in her touch, feeling a new, strange feeling. A feeling he no longer remembered. And when she kissed him again, he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his miserable eternity by her side.

She moaned, cumming against him, her legs holding him even closer to her, as if they could become one. For Adar, this was everything he had ever hoped for, desired. True companionship. Her touch was intoxicating, gentle, hungry, and Adar could no longer contain the feeling, cumming against her, joining himself to her.

Breathless, she smiled, bringing her hands up to his sweaty hair, pushing it away from his face so she could stand next to him. She smiled, kissing his cheek tenderly. Devotedly.

“Adar.” She whispered.

“My star.” He said.

She smiled at him, kissing Adar with such love, a love seen among so many Elves in the days of Valinor, but so hard to find in the times of war in Middle-earth. And in the darkness of the tent, wrapped in her arms, Adar decided that even if Sauron came again, he would fight. He had plenty of reason to fight now.

I hope you guys enjoyed this. Honestly, it's pretty hard to create a character from scratch, but I loved writing this story.

tag: @valar-did-me-wrong @redrosesandcharmingsouls @eowyn7023

[xximmortalkissxx]

Where the Shadows Lie

🖤 Bonus Chapter: A Pact Forged in Darkness 🖤

I wanted to get something posted while I'm still working on Chapter 2 of Where the Shadows Lie. I thought a peek into Móriel and Sauron's past might be fun. This is without a doubt a porn with plot filler episode.

Pairings: Sauron/Mairon x Móriel (Original Character: Daughter of Morgoth) 

Summary: In the shadowy halls of Angband, Móriel returns home from battle to claim her reward: a weapon forged by her arch rival, Sauron. Tasked by Morgoth, Sauron crafts a spear as powerful as it is beautiful, while Móriel secretly watches, captivated by his mastery and the fire in his eyes. When he finally presents her with the spear, a charged duel incites, igniting into an explosive tumble that neither saw coming. In that stolen moment, they both realize that the secrets to their ambitions may very well lie within each other.

Warnings: (18+! Smut: Slight Knife Play, Fingering, Sex, Anal Play, Biting, Brat Taming) Brief mentions of violence.

Word Count: 2k

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune

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The steady sound of footsteps on stone echoed softly as Móriel strode into the vast and ominous main hall of Angband. Her dark armor was still marred with the stains and viscera of battle, accompanied by the smell of smoke and ash lingering on her skin. The Daughter of Morgoth's radiant gaze was fixed ahead as her father’s looming throne came into view. 

The Dark Lord Morgoth sat shrouded in shadow, his dark piercing eyes following her every move as she approached. At the base of his throne, Móriel  knelt and bowed deeply, the small decorative blades dangling from her hair ringing as she waited for his voice to rumble through the darkness.

“My Daughter returns victorious,” Morgoth began, a dark amusement glinting in his cold eyes, “Word has reached me of your ruthlessness on the battlefield, Móriel. The children of Ilúvatar, reduced to carrion at your feet.” The Dark Lord paused and Móriel bristled in anticipation. “Though if all the tales are to be believed, you have begun to reap veneration amongst my thralls as well as you reap lives.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, her father brooked no rivals even as he surrounded himself with vipers.

“Is that not so, Lieutenant?”

The sound of footsteps resonated through the hall, then stopped beside Morgoth's throne. Móriel  kept her head low, but her eyes flicked up carefully to catch the new arrival. Sauron, as always, with his venom dripping into her father's ear.

“The victory and veneration are yours Father, I am but your weapon, a blunt instrument,” Móriel replied smoothly, her voice dipped in reverence. “To wield as you will.”

A malevolent smile creased Morgoth’s lips, pleased yet observant, as if evaluating the truth behind her words. She felt the weight of his gaze on her, and inwardly, she hoped her staunch loyalty appeared genuine. Her very existence depended on it.

Beside the throne, Sauron stood silently, observing Móriel with a bemused smirk. His eyes held her with an unsettling glint making her wonder just how much he truly saw. After a prolonged silence, Morgoth finally spoke, his voice reverberating like thunder. “Such devotion deserves reward in kind. You shall bear a weapon tailored to your reputation.” 

He looked to Sauron, and the order was clear.

“Make it for her,” he commanded. “Forge a weapon of true power.”

Sauron inclined his head, his expression unreadable. “As you command, my lord.”

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In the days that followed, Móriel found herself drawn to the forge where Sauron labored, watching the steady, controlled tension of his body as he bent metal and magic to his will. She was captivated by the dichotomy of the being before her. His copper hair, which was always kept orderly, now had stray tendrils falling across his face. Where there had been cold, calculating composure, he now held a furrowed brow and a gaze lost in fervent thought. Keeping to the shadows, Móriel observed longingly as Sauron poured the dark sorcery of his craft into the weapon, her weapon, a zealous fire reflecting in her eyes. 

The spear, once completed, was a masterpiece-deadly and elegant. Its shaft was lined with runes of binding and power while the tip was a mosaic of both light and dark steel, a subtle homage to its mistress. The very shadows seemed to dance along its length and Móriel could feel them pulse with corrupted magic. Sauron wiped his hands on a rag coated in soot, his lips curling into a smile as he sensed her approach.

“You can stop lurking, Móriel,” he said without turning, his voice edged with amusement. “It is time for you to claim your prize.”

She stepped closer, her golden eyes illuminated by the flickering light of the forge. “It is remarkable,” she murmured, her fingers leisurely trailing along its length. “And…beautiful.”

Sauron tilted his head, watching her with an amused smirk. The blaze of the fire behind them caused the sheer fabric of her dress to become almost entirely translucent. He studied the contours of her body, the way the dark edges of the fabric embraced her figure, leaving just enough to tantalize his imagination.  

“Beauty is a word for fragile things. I made this to be unbreakable, akin to its bearer.” He took the spear into his hands, his gaze lingering on her expectantly. But as Móriel’s fingers grazed the shaft, Sauron swiftly pivoted his body and spun the spear from her grasp, chastising her with the shake of his head and the tsk of his tongue. 

“I said you would have to claim it,” he corrected pointedly, positioning his body in preparation for her next move. 

Móriel’s eyes narrowed, but there was an amused smirk on her lips.

“As you like,” She replied nonchalantly, circling him slowly like a predator moving in on their prey. 

Sauron dodged her initial strikes with ease, moving with an effortless grace as he kept the spear just shy of her grasp. Móriel in turn pursued him like a shadow, making their duel look more like a dance than a true conflict. With a malicious grin, she snatched one of his forming hammers and sent it flying in his direction. Sauron easily repelled the tool with the spear but was too slow to counter Móriel as she seized the shaft and pushed him firmly against the stone wall. 

“I could get used to this Mairon,” she purred, tightening her grip on the spear. “Yield to me, now.” She commanded, her eyes blazing with impending triumph.

Sauron met her eyes with an amused glint and slowly loosened his hold. Móriel took the opening, blind to the obvious deception, and was met with the shaft of the spear connecting with her throat. Sauron spun her around effortlessly and pulled her body firmly against his. Móriel seized the shaft, but it was hopeless as Sauron tightened his grip and continued to choke her.  She thrashed against him at first, then as he pressed the spear harder against her throat her thrashing evolved into something else entirely. She began to squirm, rolling her hips against him eagerly. Before she could catch herself, a choked moan escaped her lips. Móriel could feel the vibration of Sauron’s snicker against her back and the warmth of his breath.

“So greedy,” he murmured, running his teeth along her ear. “but I am nothing if not generous. Yield to me now and I can ease that ache between your legs.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, Móriel loosened her hold on the spear and eased her body against his, rolling her head back against his chest. A wicked grin settled over Sauron’s face in response, relaxing the spear from her neck. Móriel's eyes darkened with delight, she had always been his most adept student. Seizing the spear firmly once more, she plunged them forward and used their gathered momentum to wrench the spear from his hands. As they landed, Móriel straddled him with the tip of her spear resting against his bobbing throat. 

The silence in the forge was deafening as they held each other’s gaze. Móriel’s heart raced as she tried to read him, to see beyond his carefully crafted mask. At best she expected indignation, at worst unbridled fury. But all she could see when she looked into his eyes was amusement and desire. The tension between them crackled like the air before a lightning strike, and before she could think better of it, Móriel found herself leaning in, drawn to the yearning dancing in his eyes. Their lips met, soft at first, hesitant- as though both feared to cross the threshold they had danced around for so long. It wasn’t long however before the kiss deepened, passion igniting between them as the spear clattered loudly to the stone floor. Sauron ran his fingers through her hair until his hand cupped the back of her neck, while Móriel held his head firmly in her hands, running her fingers over the tips of his pointed ears. 

When they finally broke apart, they stared at each other, both searching desperately for words.

“I have claimed what is mine,” Móriel stated, breaking the silence between them, “now claim what is yours.” 

Sauron’s eyes widened with a zealous fire at her words, Morgoth’s most prized possession, his for the taking- it brought him a vindictive sense of satisfaction. 

“Gladly.” he replied, grabbing the soft flesh of her leg and rolling her under him. Removing a small knife from his leather apron, Sauron cut through the sheer material of her dress, making sure the tip of the blade kissed her skin until she lay bare beneath him. Móriel’s breath caught, her arousal palpable at his blade’s gentle touch. Once his knife had finished its work, Sauron tossed it aside and slipped his hands between her legs until he found purchase against her cunt. He hummed in delight, she was already so deliciously wet for him as he massaged her clit vigorously. With each stroke, Móriel moaned his name loudly and bucked her hips against his hand, begging for him to fill the emptiness aching within her. 

“Shh, my Zahovar. Do you want your father to hear you?” Sauron teased as he dipped two of his fingers within her and began pumping rapidly. Móriel moaned his name louder in response, delighted by her new epithet. Zahovar - or jewel in the Black Speech. Sauron had taken her bait, now seeing himself as her new possessor. 

Just as Móriel felt a warm electric tingle begin to spread from between her legs, he removed his fingers and slowly licked along their crease. The vexed huff she gave in response caused Sauron to chuckle darkly. 

“If I am to claim you, it is only right that I decide when you reach your full pleasure.” he drawled, plunging his fingers into her mouth. Móriel wrapped her lips around them, her eyes locking on to his, as she bit down hard. 

“Ow.” Sauron responded stoically, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“To claim me, you will need to endure more pain than that.” Móriel hummed cheerfully, giving his fingers a gentle kiss.

“Móriel, I have toiled at a forge since the beginning of time itself. The burn of your skin will do nothing to dissuade me.” Sauron replied, trailing his hand down her jaw and gripping it tight.

“Now, on your knees.” He commanded, kissing her sloppily against the mouth. Móriel rolled over slowly and arched her back towards him. She could hear the rustling of clothing and quickly felt his fingers dig into hips as his knee spread her legs apart. With a firm hand, Sauron pushed her upper back down until she could feel her face and breasts press against the cold stone. Móriel tried rolling her hips against him, begging to feel any part of him touching her aching cunt. With a loud crack, Sauron’s hand clapped against her ass causing Móriel to cry out with pleasure. 

“Please, try that again.” Sauron threatened, his free hand hovering over the red mark forming on her skin. 

“Do you promise to be rougher?” Móriel mused wistfully, earning the rumble of a sinister laugh and a thumb plunging into her rosebud, as she was sharply tugged against him. A surprised yelp escaped her lips as it hooked inside her.    

“For you? Always,” he replied with mock affection, edging the tip of his erection against her dripping cunt. “But only if you obey me.” 

Móriel groaned in frustration, but kept her hips still, allowing him to maintain control. His pride would be his undoing, but Móriel was patient; this could be her chance to dissect something from the great deceiver; raw, intimate, and useful.

“Very good-” Sauron noted before letting out a deep groan of his own as he drove himself inside her. She sighed with ecstasy as he continued to thrust, his groin slapping against her ass with so much force that his thumb shared the momentum. Móriel listened with delight as he moaned strings of curses in the Black Speech, his voice low, almost a growl. Quaking around his cock, she released a lusty whine and begged him to let her touch herself. Her new reverence earned a rumble of approval, and Móriel wasted no time massaging her clit as she was pounded into the stone floor furiously. 

Soon, the intense tingling warmth returned, and Móriel felt herself losing all control as she bit down a scream and gripped herself around his erection. Sauron groaned, his pace becoming sloppy as he chased his own climax. Móriel continued to pulse herself around him, taking pleasure in the little noises he made in response. Nearing his own orgasm, Sauron slipped his thumb from inside her and his hands tightened over her hips like a vice. With a final curse, he pushed himself into Móriel as far as he could, shuddering inside her as he released his seed. 

Panting, Sauron pulled her onto his lap and leaned against the cold stone wall. They stayed there for a time, his arms wrapped around her possessively, until the shuffle of feet and the sound of voices carried down the hall. Neither made an attempt to cover themselves and stayed planted where they were, Moriel nibbling along Sauron's neck as a lone orc came into view.

“The Dark Lord has commanded your presence.” he stated brusquely, lumbering into the chamber with a look of disinterest. Through his eyes, the couple stood on either end of a work table, Móriel's hand running a whet stone across the edge of her new spear.

“We will be there shortly-” Sauron replied, a slight hitch in his voice as Móriel bit harder against his throat. The orc nodded and left, slamming the heavy door behind him.

“That was close,” She cooed in his ear, as though she hadn't just attempted to break his concentration. “It would have been tragic if Father found out about this. The thought of you being torn apart and put back together, again and again…” Móriel trailed off, as if caught in a wistful dream.

“With you alongside me my radiant Zahovar,” Sauron retorted, his mouth pressed firmly against her ear. “Presently, all Morgoth sees between us is rivalry. Two of his most loyal servants vying for power against one another, and distracted from greater ambitions.” 

“Is that not the way of things Mairon?” Móriel asked, slipping her hand into his with feigned affection. “Or do you wish for more?”

“As a god, your father's strength is undeniable. But all he wishes is to destroy.” Sauron replied.

“I wish to create. A perfect unending order, encompassing all of Middle-earth. Guided by more… deft hands.” he added, lacing his fingers with hers.

“Your hands.” Móriel scoffed, her eyes burning with indignation.

“Our hands,” Sauron corrected, giving her hand a tender kiss. He noted the flush on her cheeks and the fervor in her eyes. Móriel was her father's daughter in most respects. The concepts of mercy, kindness, and empathy were foreign to her. But Morgoth was only half of her lineage. Móriel's hunger for power and veneration was born of something different from her father’s. She was singular. In all creation, there was no being like her. The origins of her birth brought power, but there was terrible loneliness and fear in her as well. These qualities made her far more pliant than Morgoth ever could be, and Sauron was determined to use them to his advantage.  Móriel and the terrible might she wielded would be his, in time, just like the rest of Middle-earth. 

[mimilind]

1. Raft

Summary: What could have been, if Galadriel chose differently on the raft with Halbrand, and what led up to his offer.

Part 1 of Perfect Balance of Darkness and Light. 

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Pairing: Galadriel x Halbrand

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 1080

Parts: [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ] 

Full story: [ AO3 ]

Contains spoilers for season 1 of Rings of Power.

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1. Raft

Galadriel found herself in another dream, or if it was a vision. She was standing on a tiny raft on a wide ocean, and next to her sat Halbrand, just like the first time they met. Everything felt real, even the gently rocking timber under her feet and the tangy smell of salt in her nostrils. The wind ruffled her golden curls.

It was him all along. All this time she had traveled side by side with her greatest enemy, the one she had sworn to kill, and instead she had helped him, even saved his life. The irony. 

Halbrand was Sauron, servant of the Dark Lord of Angband. 

“Look at me!” he begged.

She looked at him. The man who had been her friend, her ally through her recent hardships. They had fought side by side and it had been fantastic.

He still looked the same; that same open face with the intelligent eyes, the same scruffy chin and damp strands of hair. He looked so human. How could she have been so mistaken? So fooled? He had tricked her from the very beginning.

Halbrand sounded earnest as he began explaining. He had wanted to repent, sought forgiveness after what he did in the Dark Lord’s service, and then he had met her.

“I told you that I had done evil and you did not care,” he said seriously. “Because you knew that our past meant nothing weighed against our future.”

“There is no such future.”

His eyes gleamed. “Isn’t there?” he whispered. 

Something happened in the water below them; their reflection had changed. When the water stilled Galadriel saw two shapes in Halbrand’s and her stead; a tall, dark king with a high crown, and on his side a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn, tempestuous as the sea. 

She knew this could be their future – if she let it.

“All others look on you with doubt,” said Halbrand, his voice warm and silky like dragon skin. “I alone can see your greatness.” 

He touched her cheek and she felt currents of his power pass through to her. It was dark and different, yet hauntingly familiar. As if he represented another side of herself. The darkness within.

“I alone can see your light,” he whispered.

Galadriel tried to resist his tempting offer, knowing now that he was no ordinary human but a Maia, an entity that had existed since before the breaking of the first silence. 

“You would make me a tyrant.”

“I would make you a queen. Fair as the Sea and the Sun. Stronger than the foundations of the earth.”

His charisma was so strong, his words ringing so true. She felt her confidence waver. 

“And you. My king? The Dark Lord.”

“No! Not dark. Not with you at my side.” He was very close now, his face blocking the sun. His eyes drew her in. 

Could it really work? Could she be the light that balanced his shadows?

“You told me once that we were brought together for a purpose,” he continued, taking her hand and pressing her dagger into it. “This is it. You bind me to the Light. And I bind you to power. Together we can save this Middle-earth.”

“Save? Or rule?”

“I see no difference.”

Suddenly she did not either. As rulers, they could do everything. Save the elves from fading; restore respect for her kind in Númenor; heal the damage done to the people of the Southlands; mend the ruined, scarred lands… They could do so much good.

She met his gaze, allowing him to witness her inner conflict. “How can I trust you?”

He pressed her hand again. “How can you not? You know me, Galadriel. In your heart you always did.”

Time stopped; the sea was absolutely clear. No wind, no sounds, nothing moved. The whole world held its breath. 

“Yes. I know you,” she whispered. Then she let the dagger slide through their joined hands and drop to the raft floor with a clatter. “My fight is over.”

He drew in his breath, his eyes widening as in surprise. But then he smiled, a genuine, almost boyish grin that ignited something inside her. Her heart, for so long cold and set on revenge, began to beat faster.

Around them the vision slowly changed. The sea gave way to a river, surrounded by lush trees and grass littered with blue and yellow irises. Its surface rippled in a sweet scented breeze.

They were back in Eregion, and in her hands was the now useless scroll that proved Halbrand was not who she had thought. She tossed it into the water.

He wore elvish clothes again and his hair was neatly combed. When did he become so attractive? But perhaps he had always been; she had just not noticed it before.

”What happens now?” she asked. 

“We finish making the Ring. Then I put it on your finger. And then…” He took a step closer. “… we rule.” 

He held out his hand, palm up, and she placed her own in his. It was warm and hardened from work. A blacksmith’s hand. 

It struck her he had a blacksmith’s body too, broad and strong. Beautiful.

As if he had heard her thoughts, Halbrand pulled her very close. “You are so beautiful,” he breathed. “I need you.”

Her gaze landed on his slightly parted lips. “And I you.” 

The distance between them gradually diminished until it was non-existent. 

Their lips met. He tasted fresh like rain and his touch was soft. Allowing her to set the pace, to remain in control. Would he always be so pliant? Did she want him to be?

She felt his hands on her waist as he drew her closer, and their kiss deepened. 

Voices in the distance made her pull away, consciously smoothing down her dress. 

Halbrand chuckled. “Worried over your reputation?” 

“No,” she said, not entirely honest.

“Good. Don’t be.” He sat down on a stone bench, pulling her onto his lap. “I want everyone to know you are mine.” 

When he kissed her again the pliancy from before was gone. Now his lips were demanding. The lips of a man – or Maia, rather – who knew what he wanted and took it.

And she allowed it.

In a moment of foresight, she saw that this was how they would always be; sometimes with him in control, sometimes her. 

Darkness and light, balancing each other. A perfect match.

🤍🖤 🤍🖤 🤍🖤 🤍🖤

A/N:

Just a little something I had very fun writing. :) Let me know what you think!

Parts: [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

[cilil]

Ive been reading through @edensrose's rp blogs and Ive noticed that your original character is written a lot. Im very curious. He looks very interesting. Would you mind telling me more about Navëquen? Please? 🤭

Oh, it'd be my pleasure! Thank you so much for your ask!💖

Navëquen means he who/person who judges in Quenya

Appearance-wise, his accustomed fána is humanoid and tall (8’3’’/~2.52m) with long black hair that he pretty much always braids, dark eyes with a slight emerald hue and a pale complexion

For animal fánar, he prefers corvids, mostly ravens, crows and magpies

Navëquen is a Maia of Námo and focuses mostly on the justice side of things. He serves as a prosecutor and later Námo's personal attendant as well, taking care of him whenever he's experiencing his future visions

Unlike his lord and his counterpart Vanimóre however, Navëquen doesn't possess any future sight. Other Maiar of Mandos sometimes say he's "blind to the future"

While Vanimóre's right eye sees the future, Navëquen's left eye sees the past, in particular past evil deeds

Aside from this, he also learned spirit magic and sword fighting from Námo, including his patient, defensive and precise style

Navëquen is very intelligent and observant and has an excellent memory, even by Ainur standards

He has a strong sense of justice and does his best to achieve it via the law, though at times he gets frustrated by its shortcomings. Additionally, he doesn't like making exceptions

Navëquen mostly appears to be calm and collected, even seeming cold and aloof to others; this is due to him trying to follow Námo's example and practice neutrality

Deep down, he does have strong opinions on many things, but won't voice them unless prompted. His statements may at times come off as odd or cold because of his tendency to approach matters from the pragmatic perspective of the law, sometimes also with a hint of cynicism

Navëquen isn't very good at recognizing and expressing emotions. His coping mechanism is his journal, in which he writes down his thoughts, feelings, observations, and he likes to draw as well

It takes him a while to warm up to people, but once he does, he can be quite sweet, caring and protective and grows very attached to them. His trust is not easily earned

Vanimóre is - or was, after his fall - his closest friend and Navëquen continues to have strong feelings for him. Yes, they're essentially soulmates <3

Because of this, he agreed to go to Middle-earth and attempt to save Vanimóre when Námo asked him to, but unfortunately ended up being captured and held in Angband for a while

Navëquen also has a bit of a crush on Námo, which is one of the reasons he's very loyal to him; the other main reason being that serving his lord gives him a sense of purpose and belonging

Now for a bit of fun trivia~

Navëquen is ambidextrous, which he uses to complete several tasks at once. When he has a lot of work to do, he may temporarily grow additional arms

He likes to braid ribbons, charms and other fun accessories into his hair

Those close to him call him Navë for short. Vanimóre also likes to call him Quenquen or Creeps

Over the ages, he has already filled several journals and sketch books

As some of you may have noticed, Navëquen has a bit of a type (pretty, dark-haired men). If you are one or can at least assume such a form, you have his attention

Here's his masterlist🖤