#saurdar

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

Adar’s origins

What it means that he was the father of Uruk

His messy relationships (romances) with Sauron and Galadriel

His complicated feelings about being an elf

His is deep, deep trauma

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His mouth twists.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, lord," Mairon breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh - please, my lord, please - "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you are naught but an instrument of his will.

[Context: in reference to THIS ASK]

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

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

A little something for the #TROPBloodMoon Challenge! Prompt: Red

Summary:

Before him, Sauron’s hair gleams scarlet, and his smile is sharp. He is as he was in the clearing. He is as he was in Forodwaith. He is as he was in the barn. He is as he was on the mountaintop when the fierceness of his light blinded Adar at the first. Sauron is all shapes and none, and Adar would know his form, the particular pull of it, that heady, disarming tug, were all his senses robbed from his body. --- Or, as Adar is dying, Sauron meets him in his mind. Or, in Adar’s last moments, Sauron.