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Chapter Text

“You bear the beauty of your foremother, Melian of the Valar.”

The battlefield was a graveyard of ash and ruin. The proud elven city had fallen, its once-gleaming walls reduced to crumbling stone, its defenders scattered. Fires licked at the wreckage, and the anguished cries of the wounded echoed through the smoke-filled air. Elrond staggered through the chaos, his silver armor tarnished and splattered with blood, his legs trembling beneath him. He had fought valiantly—his blade cutting through orc after orc, his commands rallying his soldiers to hold the line—but it hadn’t been enough. The orcs were too chaotic, too strong in the dark of the moonless night.

Eregion had fallen.

His heart ached as he looked around, seeing only ruin and flame. The losses were staggering, millennia of civilization extinguished like the fires of their great forges. Every breath Elrond took was heavy with grief, guilt, and exhaustion. Yet he pushed forward, scanning the ruin, searching for hope, for something—anything—that could still be salvaged.

But the battle with the hill troll had drained him completely. He stumbled and fell to the dirt. He pushed himself to sway on his knees, Nenya escaping the cover of his collar to dangle on her silver chain. The perfect gems sparkled in the firelight. 

Cold, sharp fingers traced his cheek with predatory fascination, sending a chill down his spine. Before Elrond could react, a gauntleted hand encircled his throat, lifting him effortlessly into the air. 

Elrond choked, his hands flying up to claw at the unyielding grip as his feet left the ground. He struggled, kicking fiercely as his vision swam, the air forced from his lungs. Adar loomed above him, his dark, angular face twisted into a satisfied smirk. The Moriondor’s piercing gaze swept over herald-turned-commander, drinking in the sight of his blood-streaked face and trembling form.

“Found you,” Adar purred, his voice low and mocking, “I told you I would.” The corrupted creature smirked as his eyes swept covetously over the peredhel. “Don’t you make a pretty little picture. I’m quite impressed.” 

Elrond glared, his fury shining through even as his strength failed and pain burned through him. “Monster,” he spat through gritted teeth, “are you satisfied? You’ve destroyed so much. I should’ve struck you down in the tent.”

Adar’s smile widened, his amusement evident. “Such fire, even in defeat. You make your forebears proud, little nightingale. So achingly beautiful despite such ruin.” His fingers tightened slightly, drawing a strangled gasp from Elrond’s lips. “I shall enjoy you immensely.”

Elrond’s vision blurred, his limbs growing heavy, but he continued to snarl at the Uruk. Adar quirked an eyebrow up at the spirited display, chuckling soft and dark. Daring, darling little creature. He lowered Elrond to the ground, catching him possessively about the waist as his knees gave out. Elrond gasped as he was pulled against the dark elf’s chest, the sudden intimacy making his skin crawl.

Adar leaned in, his lips brushing Elrond’s ear as he whispered, “I warned you, gwinig, that if I caught you, I would take both you and the ring as my prizes.” His hand shot to the chain around Elrond’s neck, yanking it hard enough to snap the delicate links as the herald gasped in pain. Nenya, gleaming faintly even in the dim light, swung in Adar’s grasp. “You’re mine now.” 

Elrond’s breath hitched, furious tears burning his glowing, stormy eyes. If looks could kill, Adar thought, I’d be dust. He smirked and slid the ring onto his finger. 

Without releasing his hold on Elrond, Adar barked sharp commands in Blackspeech. “Secure the city. Round up what prisoners you can. Leave nothing unchecked. Burn it all.” His voice carried with an authority that left no room for argument. His soldiers scattered, the air filled with the clanging of weapons and the snarling of orcs. 

Then, with a possessive growl, he turned his attention back to Elrond. Tears spilled down his prize’s pretty, mud-smeared face, no doubt weeping for the loss of knowledge and beauty. Delicious. 

The half-elf flinched as Adar’s rough hands pulled him from his armour, piece by piece. He tried to resist, twisting in the dark elf’s grip, but his exhaustion weighed on him terribly. 

His battered tunic clung to his lithe form, the fabric torn and streaked with blood and soot. Stripped of his battle regalia, Elrond was smaller, delicate— so ethereal.

Adar sucked in a sharp breath has both his hands totally encompassed the peredhel’s slender waist. He studied Elrond, his gaze hungry, covetous. “Such beauty,” he mused, running a hand down to his hip. “Even filthy, you shine like the starlight of your foremother.”

Elrond gritted his teeth, refusing to give Adar the satisfaction of a response. His mind raced with strategies, escape plans, anything to turn the tide—but all he could feel was the crushing weight of his failure. 

An orc general appeared at Adar’s side and passed him a set of silver manacles. Horrified, Elrond attempted to struggle, but was easily subdued by the taller, stronger creature. Adar smirked darkly at his little prize’s efforts as he bound Elrond’s lovely hands before him. 

Without ceremony, Adar threw Elrond over his shoulder like the war trophy he was, his grip firm and possessive. Carrying Elrond like this, Adar strides back toward the main encampment, his footsteps sure and victorious, the sound of Elrond’s lithe form bouncing against him almost mocking in its helplessness. There is no mercy in Adar’s actions, only the cold satisfaction of conquest, and as he approaches the tent, the orcs watch with twisted glee at the sight of their lord’s prize—the broken commander of their enemies, now his to do with as he pleases.

The main tent looms before them, and as Adar enters, he deposits Elrond on a fur skin rug and steps back to admire his prize. Elrond, curled on the ground in exhaustion, his delicate form battered and vulnerable, gazes up at him with supernova eyes, still smoldering with defiance despite the overwhelming weight of defeat. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, his body aching, but there’s something in his gaze—something untamable. It only fuels Adar’s desire further.

Adar takes his time, standing over Elrond for a moment, enjoying the sight of the once-proud commander now reduced to a defeated creature, bound at his mercy. His fingers wind through those pretty curls idly, his eyes drinking in the scene, the quiet triumph of his control. So vulnerable now, and yet his spirit, even bruised, still flickers like a distant flame.

With a low chuckle, Adar moves toward his war table, the clank of his boots echoing across the tent. He begins to address his forces, issuing commands to ensure the completion of his conquest, the subjugation of the city, and the consolidation of his victory. But despite the intensity of the war strategy laid before him, his eyes occasionally flick back toward Elrond—who seethes on the ground, his bound hands curled into bloodless fists. 

Adar admires the contrast: Elrond’s defeated beauty, so exquisitely fragile, bound by silver chains, a prisoner at last, the scion of Melian now reduced to this deliciously low state. His haughty gaze doesn’t soften; it’s the eye of a conqueror gazing upon something precious yet now owned. The more Elrond sulks, the more it amuses him.

Just as Adar leans over the table, an orc general enters the tent, the thick smell of smoke and blood clinging to him. The orc’s eyes flicker briefly to Elrond’s petulent form on the ground, clearly awestruck by the sight of the elf. He hesitates for a moment before turning to report.

“We captured a few survivors from the battle, my lord,” the general grunts, a savage pride in his voice. “Among them, the wood elf who escaped us before and the Commander’s guard. They are bound and await your orders.” 

Elrond’s breath catches at the mention of such young soldiers. His eldritch eyes growing bright with horror. 

Adar, without missing a beat, turns to the general. His voice is low, commanding, and absolutely certain. “Bring them before me,” he orders, the satisfaction evident in his tone. The orc general nods quickly and departs, leaving the tent as swiftly as he entered.

The moment the general is gone, Adar turns his attention back to Elrond, whose eyes have not left him for a moment. The tension between them hangs thick in the air, but it’s only a matter of time before Adar claims the next step in his victory.

With a wicked gleam in his black eyes, Adar strides toward Elrond, his dark presence looming like a shadow. There’s no warning as his strong hands descend upon Elrond, and without effort, he scoops the eldritch creature up in one swift motion, lifting him as if he were nothing more than a conquered maiden—a delicate prize to be flaunted.

Elrond’s breath catches in his throat as he’s carried effortlessly up the dais to Adar’s throne. His limbs shake in the air, dizzy from the effort of being handled with such ease. His bound hands restrict his movement, making him feel all the more helpless. The gall of it burns in his chest, but his body remains weak, exhausted by the battle and by the weight of what’s been lost. His eyes flick toward the entrance, helpless in the wake of his new fate.

Adar places him down gently—but not with tenderness. He positions Elrond carefully on the ground, settling the elf between his legs in an incredibly domineering position. Elrond’s back rests against Adar’s thighs, his body curled in the way of someone utterly subdued.

The weight of Adar’s presence looms over him, possessive and powerful. Elrond is completely at his mercy, forced into a position of ultimate vulnerability, a broken prince beneath Adar’s unyielding control. The orc general returns soon after, but Adar doesn’t acknowledge the arrival immediately—he remains focused on his prize, watching with satisfaction as his captive remains silent, too exhausted to fight.

The sight is almost too much to bear—Elrond, once so assured, now caged and imprisoned at the foot of Adar’s throne, and Adar—powerful, commanding, and utterly in control—sits above him, the dark creature’s possessive gaze never leaving his captive’s lovely form. Elrond squirms under his ravenous gaze.

Sit, little one,” Adar commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Your people will see what happens to those who defy me.”

Elrond’s stomach churned, but he forced himself to remain still. His people’s safety depended on him. For now, he would endure. His mind, however, remained sharp, his thoughts racing with plans for escape.

Adar smirked, his fingers trailing along the curve of Elrond’s nape. “Such fire, such beauty,” he mused. “You are a worthy prize indeed.”

Elrond said nothing, his tired eyes fixed on the tent’s entrance as the prisoners were brought in. His heart clenched at the sight of Vorohil and his other comrades, battered but unbroken. Their gazes locked with his, their expressions a mix of relief and horror.

Elrond,” Vorohil whispered, his voice breaking. He stepped forward, only to be yanked back by the guards. His brow furrowed with anguish, his gaze flicking between his friend and the Moriandor.

Adar leaned back in his throne, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as he surveyed the captives. He rested one hand casually on Elrond’s nape, keeping him firmly in place on the dais. The peredhel stiffened at the touch, but he dared not move.

The orc general saluted stiffly. “We’ve taken the city, my lord. These are what prisoners we rounded up.”

Adar’s smirk deepened as he gestured at the kneeling elves. “You will be hostages for our march to Mordor. Your fates depend on your herald’s compliance. You may take comfort in knowing your lives serve a greater purpose.”

The elves exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of fury and dread.

Vorohil’s control snapped. “You bastard!” he roared, his voice raw with fury. He surged forward, shaking off the orcs holding him despite his injuries.

“Remove him,” Adar said smoothly, his voice calm but commanding.

The orcs struggled to subdue Vorohil, who fought with enough ferocity to require four guards. Blood soaked through his torn shirt, yet he didn’t falter, his rage giving him strength.

Elrond jerked forward instinctively, horror twisting his features as he saw the crimson spreading across his friend’s chest. “Vorohil, your wounds!” he cried, his voice raw.

Adar’s hand shot out, fisting into Elrond’s curls and pulling him back against his chest. “Enough, little bird,” he murmured, his voice a low, warning growl. “Your resistance will only make their suffering worse. Is that what you want?”

Elrond’s whimpered softly. The threat was unspoken but clear. He swallowed hard, his stormy eyes burning with helpless fury as he stilled in Adar’s grip. His heart screamed at him to resist, but his people—his kin—depended on him.

Adar tilted his head, his dark smile widening as he felt the peredhel’s body relax against his. “Good boy,” he said softly, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of Elrond’s jaw. “You learn quickly.”

The orcs finally subdued Vorohil, dragging him toward the exit despite his curses and struggles. Elrond’s heart ached as he watched his friend being dragged away, his fiery resistance ultimately futile.

“Take them back out,” Adar commanded. “They are of no use to me presently.”

The orcs complied, hauling the remaining captives out of the tent. Vorohil’s shouts echoed long after the flap fell closed.

With a casual ease, Adar pulled Elrond into his lap. The pretty little nightingale tried to resist on principle, his hands bound and trembling against the broad chest, but Adar’s grip tightened, his lips brushing against the shell of Elrond’s ear.

“You’re exquisite when you fight,” Adar murmured, his voice a mixture of admiration and menace. “But I have no need for your pride. Submit, and your people will live. Defy me, and you will watch them suffer.”

Elrond closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought the rising shame and helplessness within him. The lives of his people—their safety—were worth far more than his pride. Slowly, reluctantly, he allowed his body to relax fully against Adar’s chest.

Adar hummed in satisfaction, his fingers tangling in Elrond’s curls. “There’s my little bird,” he said, his tone deceptively gentle. “So delicate. So lovely. You were made to be admired, weren’t you?”

Elrond opened his eyes, fixing him with a glare, but his silence spoke volumes. The shame that burned in his chest mingled with something far darker, something he refused to name.

Adar, perceptive as ever, chuckled darkly, his hand trailing down to trace the curve of Elrond’s shoulder. “You’ll come to see the beauty in your submission,” he whispered. “You’ll see that there is strength in yielding. And when you do…” His voice softened, almost tender. “You’ll wonder why you ever resisted.”

Elrond bit down on his retort, eyes glimmering with tears. He would endure this for his people. For all the lives still in danger.

But as Adar’s hands lingered, tracing lazy patterns against his trembling body, Elrond’s resolve wavered. The touch was possessive, claiming. A cruel reminder of his captivity.

And yet…

Deep within the recesses of his mind, he felt the faintest flicker of shameful warmth.

Chapter Text

Adar buried his face in Elrond’s silken curls, inhaling deeply. Beneath the smoke and blood clinging to them both, the scent of petrichor and sage—clean, earthy, and unmistakably Elrond—rose to meet him. It was intoxicating. A dark hunger flared within him, fueled by the thrill of victory and the heady pulse of arousal coursing through his veins. How luscious, how utterly delectable.

His hands moved with deliberation, skimming down his prize’s slender waist, tracing the subtle curve of his hips, and lingering on his thighs. A soft, startled squeak escaped the peredhel’s lips, the sound a melody to Adar’s ears. He relished the way Elrond squirmed beneath his touch, his protests manifesting in whines and futile struggles.

Leaning closer, Adar mouthed at the graceful arch of Elrond’s neck, the elf’s pale skin flushed and tender. He delighted in the marks left by his roughness, trophies of his claim. His strong arms pulled the lithe body flush against him, the tremble of his pet’s form igniting a possessive growl deep in his throat.

Grinding his hips against Elrond’s plush backside, Adar indulged in his spoils of war. The elf’s reactions only stoked his desire further. “Such spirit,” he murmured, his voice a low, menacing purr. “Let’s break you of it, my darling.”

Adar’s smirk widened as Elrond stiffened further in his hold, his words shaking. “Torture me all you want, monster,” Elrond spat, glaring over his shoulder, his storm-gray eyes aflame with defiance. “I will not break.”

The Moriandor chuckled darkly, the sound deep and resonant, vibrating through his chest. “Ah, gwinig,” he murmured, brushing his lips along the delicate curve of Elrond’s neck, the elf’s skin impossibly soft beneath the smoke and grime of battle. “You misunderstand me.”

His kisses trailed upward, slow and deliberate, until he reached the pointed tip of Elrond’s ear. There, he paused, his voice dropping to a predatory whisper. “I have no intent of inflicting pain, sweet one.”

Elrond’s breath hitched audibly, his body trembling despite himself. The warmth of Adar’s mouth against his ear and the possessive strength of his grip were overwhelming, a stark contrast to the cold fury that had carried him through the battle. Before he could muster another retort, a pathetic whimper escaped him as Adar’s pale hand slid up his thigh, the touch firm yet teasing, promising ruin.

Adar felt the elf’s entire body tense, the internal war between resistance and instinct playing out under his fingertips. He smirked against Elrond’s ear, his voice a dark caress. “No, little prince. No pain. Only… pleasure.”

Adar’s mouth descended without hesitation upon the delicate, devastatingly sensitive tip of Elrond’s ear, his tongue flicking against it with a calculated intensity. At the same moment, his large, pale hand slid firmly between the elf’s shapely thighs, stroking with deliberate precision.

Elrond’s breath caught, then rushed out in a strangled whine as the sensations overwhelmed him. His lithe body betrayed him, arching instinctively against Adar’s chest, his head falling back as pleasure—sharp and unwelcome—shot through him like lightning.

Still high on the adrenaline of battle, Elrond’s mind raced, scrambling to reclaim control even as his body faltered under the assault of unbidden arousal. He clenched his thighs in a desperate attempt to shut Adar out, but the effort was futile. Adar’s strength was absolute; with a single, effortless motion, he pried Elrond’s legs apart and draped them over his knees, splaying the peredhel open and utterly exposed on his lap.

The indignity of the position sent a rush of heat to Elrond’s face. “Release me!” he demanded, his voice trembling between anger and desperation. Yet the words lacked the bite he intended, diluted by the trembling in his breath and the treacherous flush of his skin.

Adar’s chuckle was deep and resonant, a dark hymn that filled the charged air. “Mm, commander,” he purred, his lips grazing the delicate curve of Elrond’s ear, drawing a visible shiver from the peredhel’s restrained frame. “Why would I release you when you fit so perfectly here? When you so clearly need this?”

Elrond whined as Adar’s free hand slipped beneath the hem of his ruined tunic, pushing the fabric upward to expose smooth, heaving skin. Without hesitation, Adar’s fingers sought a hardened nipple, pinching and rolling it between calloused fingertips. Simultaneously, his other hand tightened its merciless grip around Elrond’s traitorous, hardening cock, the friction sending a searing jolt of pleasure straight through the elf’s trembling form.

The sound that escaped Elrond’s parted lips was utterly wrecked—half protest, half pleasure—and it pleased Adar to no end. “Ah,” Adar murmured, his tone gleeful, savoring his prize’s humiliation. “See how sweetly you respond? Is this what you craved all along? Hmm?”

Elrond’s starlit eyes widened in affront, but Adar was relentless. His lips curled into a feral grin as he pressed closer, his breath hot against the elf’s flushed skin. “Tell me, little one,” he continued, his voice a low, mocking growl. “Did you want the big, bad orc to take you in the midst of battle? As you struggled against me, did you imagine being bent over my war table and bred like a bitch in heat?”

Elrond’s face flamed with indignation, but the tremor in his chest betrayed his shameful reaction to the words. His teeth gritted as he fought the flood of emotion warring within him—humiliation, anger, and something darker, more primal.

Adar’s smirk deepened as he leaned closer still, his voice dropping into a near whisper, heavy with cruel amusement. “Hmm? Am I your stallion, little one? Is that what you dreamed of as you stood before me, so brave, so breakable?”

Elrond twisted in Adar’s hold, struggling to muster defiance despite his vulnerable position. “You are deluded,” he spat, though his voice wavered under the weight of his breathless arousal.

Adar laughed softly, his grip never faltering, his eyes glittering with wicked delight. “Am I?” he asked, his tone teasing and insidious as his fingers resumed their merciless ministrations. “Your body tells a different story.”

Chapter Text

Adar’s smirk grew sharper, his predatory gaze locked on Elrond’s flushed and trembling form. Without preamble, he grasped the neckline of the elf’s ruined tunic and tore it completely, the fabric shredding under his strength. The sudden exposure made Elrond flinch, his pale skin now bare to the cool air and Adar’s possessive eyes.

“You hide such beauty beneath your armor, commander,” Adar drawled, his voice thick with dark reverence. His fingers traced the line of Elrond’s collarbone, a deceptively gentle touch that belied the dominance in his stance. “How unfair to deny the world this perfection.”

Elrond turned his head away, his jaw clenched, refusing to meet Adar’s gaze even as his body betrayed him with a betraying shiver under the possessive touch.

Adar’s large hands roamed leisurely over Elrond’s exposed chest, brushing against smooth skin and firm muscle, exploring every plane with deliberate slowness. His touch was invasive yet oddly reverent, as if savoring his claim. When his fingers found a nipple, he teased it with cruel precision, rolling it between his fingers until the sensitive peak hardened.

The elf gasped, his hands instinctively rising to shield his chest, but Adar caught them, his larger hands wrapping easily around Elrond’s wrists. “Do not hide from me,” he murmured, his voice tender and commanding all at once. “Mm, such a responsive little thing,” Adar murmured, his thumb stroking the curve of Elrond’s ribs as his other hand mapped the slender waist and taut abdomen. “Do you even realize how lovely you are? Or is your vanity too tied to those scrolls and battles to notice the weapon your beauty could be?”

The elf’s storm-gray eyes flicked to Adar, fire blazing within them despite his vulnerable position. “Is that all I am to you? A… trinket to flaunt?” he snapped, his voice shaking with suppressed anger.

Adar chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through Elrond’s body where their skin touched. “A trinket?” he repeated, his lips curling in amusement. “Oh, no, little one. You are far more than that.”

Adar’s gaze softened into something almost reverent as his dark fingers trailed over the delicate lines of Elrond’s exposed collarbone. “You are a vision,” he murmured, his voice low and sultry, like a prayer whispered in a forbidden temple. “A fragment of starlight, too perfect for the harshness of this world. How fortunate, then, that you now belong to me. That I may be the one to protect such fragile beauty.”

Elrond stiffened at the words, his mind reeling even as his body betrayed him with the slightest tremble under Adar’s touch. “I am not yours,” he managed, though his voice lacked its usual commanding strength.

Adar chuckled softly, a sound that vibrated with a dangerous allure. “Oh, but you will be, little one,” he replied, his hands moving with agonizing patience, brushing over the curves of Elrond’s shoulders, the dip of his ribs, and the subtle swell of his chest. “You will see that there is no shame in yielding to someone who truly understands what it means to cherish you.”

Elrond’s breath hitched as Adar’s touch became bolder, his calloused palms skimming over the sharp planes of his abdomen. There was no cruelty in the touch—only a dark, smoldering tenderness that seeped past Elrond’s carefully constructed walls. 

“You fight so valiantly, you work so hard,” Adar murmured, his lips hovering near the curve of Elrond’s ear. “Yet I wonder… does it tire you, carrying the weight of command, of responsibility? Always knowing, always fixing, yet never acknowledged? What would it feel like, I wonder, to let go? To simply… be?”

The words sent a shiver through Elrond, his sharp intake of breath betraying him. “You… speak nonsense,” he whispered, though the conviction in his voice was faltering.

Adar smiled against his ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. “Do I?” he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. “Then why do you tremble beneath my hands, sweet one? Why does your heart race so when I touch you?”

Elrond’s face burned, his chest heaving with each ragged breath as Adar’s words seeped into his resolve like poison. He bit his lip to stifle the noise rising in his throat as Adar’s hands slid lower, grazing over the delicate curve of his hips before settling on his thighs. “You are perfection, Elrond. The starlight in your veins, the music in your form… let me admire it, as it deserves to be admired.”

“Adar,” Elrond ground out, his voice tight with a blend of fury and desperation.

Adar’s smirk widened at the sound of his name spilling from Elrond’s lips, his grip tightening possessively on the elf’s thighs. “Yes, little bird?” he purred, his voice laced with mock sweetness. “Begging already?”

Adar’s hands moved with maddening patience, trailing down Elrond’s trembling form, savoring the act of unwrapping a rare and precious gift. His lips ghosted along Elrond’s jawline, his breath warm and sultry. “Every inch of you,” he murmured, his tone dripping with reverence, “is a masterpiece. A relic of the stars.”

Elrond squirmed, a sharp intake of breath escaping his lips as Adar’s deft fingers found the waistband of his trousers. “Stop this,” Elrond said, his voice strained with a mixture of indignation and something softer—something reluctant, yet undeniable.

Adar chuckled, the sound dark and velvety, as he pressed his forehead to Elrond’s, his eyes glinting with a possessive light. “No.” He growled.

With feral intensity, Adar tore at the fabric, the sharp snap of it ripping off Elrond’s hips making the elf’s face flush a deep crimson. The ruined garment was discarded, leaving Elrond utterly exposed. Adar leaned back slightly, his gaze raking over the pale, lithe body before him with an intensity that made Elrond’s pulse thunder in his ears.

Adar paused, his gaze raking over the delicate, lithe form before him with an almost reverent intensity. He ran his hands over Elrond’s smooth thighs, tracing idle patterns as though he were studying an artwork.

“You’re trembling,” Adar murmured, his fingers curling around the elf’s body. His touch was possessive, reveling in the soft sounds that escaped Elrond’s lips. “Is it fear, little one? Or perhaps… anticipation?”

“I—” Elrond began, his voice faltering as Adar’s hand cupped him with firm yet tender pressure. A soft gasp escaped his lips, his body betraying him as warmth began to pool in his core.

Adar’s smirk deepened as he stroked Elrond with a deliberate slowness, savoring every reaction—the faint arch of his back, the soft, unbidden sounds that spilled from his mouth. “Ah, so responsive,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of Elrond’s ear.

“Y-you’re wrong,” Elrond stammered, though his words lacked conviction, his breathing uneven as Adar’s hand continued its agonizingly pleasurable ministrations.

Adar chuckled again, a low, possessive sound that sent a shiver down Elrond’s spine. “Am I?” he purred, his lips trailing down to press a kiss to the delicate hollow of Elrond’s throat. “Then why do you arch so sweetly into my touch? Why does your breath hitch every time I stroke you?”

Elrond squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he fought against the growing pleasure that threatened to consume him. He felt as though he were burning. The flames grew higher and higher and coiled tighter and tighter in his core.

Chapter Text

Adar nuzzled behind Elrond’s ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin before capturing the tip between his teeth and sucking gently. The warm, wet pull sent shivers racing down Elrond’s spine, his breath hitching as his body betrayed him, arching instinctively toward the older elf. Adar’s thumb swirled leisurely over the head of his cock, teasing and slick, wringing a helpless whine from Elrond’s parted lips.

Elrond’s brows knitted together, his normally composed demeanor crumbling as his body squirmed under the assault of sensations. Adar’s touch was maddeningly deliberate, exploiting every flicker of sensitivity with practiced ease.

“Tell me, Lómelindë nín,” Adar growled, his voice low and dripping with dark intent. He pressed a kiss against the shell of Elrond’s ear, his warm breath sending another shudder through him. “Have you ever had a male before?”

Elrond’s eyes fluttered shut, his lips trembling as his answer caught in his throat, shame and desire warring within him.

Elrond bit his lip, his gaze dropping as he turned his head away—a silent but unmistakable confession. The implication in the gesture sent a wave of satisfaction through Adar, whose lips curled into a slow, wicked smile.

“Hmm,” Adar chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling like distant thunder. “I shouldn’t be surprised. One as lovely and sweet as you must have countless contenders vying for your bed.”

His teeth grazed along Elrond’s trembling shoulder, the sharp edges dragging with deliberate slowness. Elrond shivered beneath him, every inch of his composure unraveling as Adar’s mouth continued its predatory ascent. The scrape of teeth met the sensitive curve of his neck, the sensation equal parts thrilling and terrifying. The hand around his cock squeezed hot and mercilessly.

Adar’s lips brushed the hollow of Elrond’s throat as he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Has your golden king tasted you yet? I imagine he has. He’d be a fool not to.”

Elrond’s breath caught, his chest rising and falling as his hands curled into the fabric beneath him. He didn’t answer, but the flush staining his cheeks betrayed him. Adar’s chuckle deepened, the sound vibrating against Elrond’s skin.

“Ah,” Adar murmured, his tongue flicking over the pulse that beat frantically beneath his lips. “So he has.”

The words were a taunt, laced with a knowing cruelty that made Elrond’s stomach twist. Adar’s teeth grazed the tender skin just above his collarbone, a subtle reminder of who held him now. “Tell me,” Adar whispered, his voice silky and dangerous, “did he pleasure you as you deserve? Did he stroke your sweet little cock as he opened you up? Did he sink deep into your pretty little hole while you cried? Did you scream and squirm on his cock while he fucked you? Tell me, Nisindë.”

Heat and shame filled Elrond at Adar’s filthy words. His embarrassed squirming was quickly subdued as Adar tweaked a nipple and twisted his wrist on an upstroke. Elrond’s mouth opened in a desperate moan and Adar was quick to fill that hot cavern with his fingers. 

Elrond’s head fell back, his lips parting helplessly, and Adar wasted no time. His other hand moved swiftly, slipping two fingers into that soft, open mouth. “There we go,” Adar purred, his voice honeyed with dark satisfaction.

Elrond instinctively sucked, his tongue curling around the invading digits, his eyes fluttering shut as Adar’s predatory grin widened.

“Such a good little prince,” Adar murmured, his tone rich with mockery and praise. He pressed his fingers deeper, feeling the warmth of Elrond’s mouth envelop him, the wet slide and occasional scrape of teeth sending a thrill through him.

“Does this ease your guilt, hmm?” Adar growled, his stroking hand never faltered. “Or are you too lost in pleasure to care anymore?”

Elrond whined around Adar’s fingers, the sound muffled and utterly debauched, his body trembling as the dual sensations drove him further into blissful submission.

Adar chuckled darkly, the sound like velvet laced with malice, as he felt the desperate suction of Elrond’s lips around his fingers. “Pretty thing. Get them good and wet.” he purred, his tone both mocking and indulgent. The simple praise had Elrond trembling, his flushed body betraying him entirely as he leaked into the hand stroking him, slick and glistening with evidence of his shameful arousal.

Elrond writhed beneath the attention, the heat of humiliation mixing with the unbearable pleasure. His hips shifted helplessly, seeking more, needing more. When Adar’s hand left his throbbing cock, Elrond let out a broken sob around the fingers in his mouth, his composure crumbling completely.

“Hush now,” Adar cooed, his voice soft but threaded with control. He grasped Elrond’s bound wrists, easily gathering them in one hand before hooking them securely above his head. The motion stretched Elrond out fully, leaving him utterly exposed. Without even the paltry shield of his arms, every inch of him was laid bare to Adar’s predatory gaze.

Adar leaned back, his eyes sweeping over Elrond’s trembling form, drinking in the sight of pale, sweat-slicked skin and the rosy flush that spread from his chest to his cheeks. “Such a sight,” Adar murmured, his lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. “You were made to be ruined, weren’t you, little star?”

Elrond shook his head, shame burning bright in his tear-filled eyes, but his body betrayed him again, arching as though begging for Adar’s touch. Adar hummed in approval, trailing a spit-damp finger down the length of Elrond’s quivering chest. “Don’t hide from me,” he commanded softly, his voice like steel wrapped in silk. 

Elrond trembled, his breath hitching as he watched those long, pale fingers descend with devastating precision. They traced over his chest, teasing the sensitive peaks of his nipples before continuing downward, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His stomach tensed instinctively. He turned his face away, his cheeks burning with the indignity of his vulnerability, yet he couldn’t stop his body from arching subtly, craving more despite the mortifying heat crawling over his skin. His lashes were damp with tears of pleasure and shame.

When Adar’s fingers ghosted over the curve of his hips, Elrond’s thighs quivered involuntarily, his legs threatening to press closed, but the dark elf’s strong thighs kept them parted. Shame twisted like a knife in his gut, the knowledge of his exposure and how eagerly his body responded to it clashing violently with his morality.

When those wet fingers circled his fluttering hole, Elrond’s thoughts fled like leaves in a storm. The first finger slipped in easily, then a second, stretching and scissoring, working him open with relentless precision. By the third, he was trembling, his legs splayed wide as Adar’s fingers curled.

And then—oh, gods—Adar’s fingers crooked just so, pressing against a spot that sent white-hot lightning shooting through Elrond’s body. His back arched impossibly, a scream tearing from his throat as his vision blurred.

“Found it,” Adar purred into his ear, his deep, velvety voice laced with smug satisfaction. His lips brushed against Elrond’s hair as his fingers pressed against that spot again, dragging another raw, desperate sound from the trembling elf.

“Such a sweet sound,” Adar murmured, his tone rich with praise and cruelty. He shifted, pressing a kiss to Elrond’s temple as his fingers continued their merciless assault. 

Elrond’s cries grew more desperate, his voice climbing in pitch as he spiraled closer to the brink. His body trembled, every muscle taut with the anticipation of release, his hands clenching and twisting behind Adar’s head. He was so close—so achingly close—that the pleasure was nearly unbearable.

But just as the wave began to crest, Adar’s hand moved with ruthless efficiency, closing tightly around the base of Elrond’s cock and cutting off his orgasm entirely. The denial hit like a physical blow, wrenching a wail from Elrond’s throat. His body writhed helplessly beneath Adar, his hips bucking in search of relief that would not come.

Tears streamed down Elrond’s flushed cheeks as he sobbed, the cruel edge of unfulfilled pleasure driving him into incoherence. His chest heaved, his breath hitching as his whole being seemed to quake with need.

Adar’s low, smug chuckle sent a shiver through Elrond’s trembling form. “Oh, gwinig,” Adar cooed, his tone mocking yet honeyed. “Do not fret so.” He leaned in, nuzzling the damp curls at Elrond’s temple, his lips pressing a soft, deceptively tender kiss to his pointed ear.

Then, with a growl that resonated deep and feral, Adar’s voice turned commanding. “You’ll come on my cock,” he snarled, the promise laced with wicked intent. His fingers tightened their grip just enough to make Elrond gasp, his smirk widening as the elf sobbed desperately.

Chapter Text

Through the haze of desperation and the sharp sting of denied pleasure, Elrond registered a voice—deep, mocking, yet oddly tender—but the words blurred, distant and incomprehensible. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, drowned beneath the throbbing ache in his body and the raw, biting need coursing through him. He felt hollowed out, his mind reduced to little more than instinct, his rationality battered by exhaustion and the relentless pleasure teetering just out of reach. His body ached—not just from the bruises left by battle, but from the carnal torment Adar had inflicted upon him. The lingering sting of overstimulated skin, the stretch, the denial—it was all too much. Somewhere, buried deep in the recesses of his fragmented thoughts, a tiny voice whispered that this was wrong. That he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be begging for this, shouldn’t be breaking so utterly under Adar’s touch. But that voice was faint, a dying ember against the roaring fire of his need. Elrond whined softly, his voice small and fragile, trembling with unspoken desperation. He arched into the cruel fingers still wrapped around him, trembling under Adar’s firm grip, his mind too fogged to summon any resistance. “Please,” he whimpered, the word barely audible, but the pathetic note in his voice carried clearly. It was pure surrender, a sound that betrayed just how far he had fallen. Tears clung to his lashes as his head fell back, exposing his throat in a silent plea. Adar’s chuckle rumbled darkly in response, his hand tightening just enough to make Elrond gasp. “Oh, my sweet little star,” Adar murmured, his voice thick with triumph. “Look at you… so desperate. Beg for me, cundëcilenya. Show me how much you need me.” Elrond, trembling and undone, did exactly that, his soft cries breaking apart into incoherent pleas as his body writhed beneath Adar’s relentless dominance. Adar was losing himself. The adrenaline of battle still coursed through his veins, fanned now into a raging inferno by Elrond’s exquisite desperation. His blood burned, his control fraying as the beautiful, writhing prize beneath him begged so sweetly, his voice trembling, broken, and utterly irresistible. From the moment his hand clasped around the elf’s delicate throat, Adar had been teetering on the edge of madness, and now—now there was no holding back. Elrond’s cries and the way his flushed body arched so perfectly were too much for the dark elf’s restraint. With a guttural growl, Adar ripped open his trousers, his cock springing free, heavy and aching. The squeal Elrond let out as it slapped against his backside sent a bolt of pure lust straight to Adar’s core. That needy little moan that spilled from the elf’s parted lips, so helpless and wanton, broke what little rationality he had left. His breath came hard and fast as he groped blindly for the bottle of oil he kept beside his throne—an item usually reserved for practicalities now pressed into far more indulgent use. Pouring the oil generously into his palm, Adar slicked himself with rough efficiency, his cock glistening in the low light. The sight of his own arousal only fueled his desire as he turned his burning gaze back to the trembling elf. “Be still, indil nín,” Adar growled, his voice thick and ragged as he took hold of Elrond’s slim, squirming hips in a bruising grip. The faint crescent marks his fingers left against soft, pale skin made his cock twitch, his restraint crumbling even further. Elrond whimpered, his body trembling like a leaf as Adar lifted him effortlessly, holding him poised above the slick, waiting length. Time seemed to slow as Adar positioned him, the blunt head of his cock pressing insistently against Elrond’s tight, fluttering entrance. With excruciating slowness, Adar began to lower him, savoring every moment, every shudder, every gasp. Elrond’s hands gripped at nothing, his head falling back as the stretch overwhelmed him. Inch by inch, Adar’s cock slid into the trembling elf, the tight heat making him hiss through his teeth. “Perfect,” Adar growled, his voice deep and guttural, his mouth flush with Elrond’s nape as he pushed him down fully, their bodies flush. “So tight, so sweet… nisindë, you were made for this.” Elrond’s cry echoed in the chamber, raw and needy, his body arching beautifully as he was claimed. Every inch of him was stretched, filled, overwhelmed, and utterly at Adar’s mercy. Elrond spiraled into a dizzying realm where pleasure and pain became indistinguishable, merging into a single, unbearable bliss. His small cries, high and tremulous, filled the chamber as he squirmed in Adar’s bruising hold. The burn of being stretched so utterly—so completely—around Adar’s prodigious cock sent shivers racing through him. It was agony, yes, but laced with such intense pleasure that his mind couldn’t process it as anything but pure, unrelenting ecstasy. Adar hissed through clenched teeth as he fully seated himself, his hips flush against Elrond’s trembling thighs. The tight, silken heat of Elrond’s body nearly drove him to madness. He gripped the elf’s hips so tightly that pale skin threatened to bruise beneath his fingertips, yet he didn’t release him—not yet. “Fuck,” Adar growled, his voice guttural and ragged as he fought to hold himself still. Elrond’s walls gripped him so tightly, so perfectly, that it felt like his very soul was being drawn into that exquisite heat. As the word fell from his lips, Adar could feel his last threads of control snapping one by one. The primal urge to claim, to take, to ravish until nothing but his name was etched into Elrond’s every breath, every scream, overwhelmed him. Elrond whimpered beneath him, his fingers digging into his palms as he tried to adjust to the incredible fullness inside him. His breaths came in short, desperate pants, tears pooling in his lashes as he teetered on the edge of ecstasy and torment. His body trembled, and despite the overwhelming stretch, he found himself grinding faintly against Adar, chasing something he couldn’t name. That small, pleading movement was the final spark to the inferno. Adar snarled low in his chest, the sound more beast than elf, as he lifted Elrond just enough to thrust in again, sharp and deep. Elrond’s scream was music to his ears, and with each rough snap of his hips, Adar felt himself descending further into a primal, ancient madness. “You take me so beautifully,” he rasped, his voice dripping with savage pride and dark reverence. “You were made for this—for me.” Elrond was out of his mind in pleasure. “More!” He wailed with no regard for the consequences. How could Adar refuse the little beauty? He stilled, earning himself a heartbroken sound. He reached behind his head to take delicate wrists in one hand. With a kiss to a shaking palm, he bent himself and Elrond over in a deep arch. Elrond gasped as his hands were placed on the floor with a filthy whisper. “I am going to fuck you like an animal, sweet thing, and you are going take it.” Elrond whimpered pathetically. With a biting kiss to the tip of Elrond’s blushing ear, Adar withdrew. Elrond gasped as his hands were pressed firmly to the floor, his body folding into a deep, submissive arch that left him trembling with need. His arms shook from the intensity of what he was enduring. His legs dangled over Adar’s thighs. Elrond was lost, completely consumed by the maddening pleasure. His cries were raw, high-pitched, and utterly shameless as Adar drove into him with relentless precision. The humiliation of his position—bent over and on full display, his trembling arms barely supporting him—only served to amplify the fiery ecstasy coursing through him. Adar’s smirk widened as he watched Elrond struggle beneath him. The elf’s flushed face and teary eyes, the way his bound fingers clawed uselessly at the floor, sent a jolt of savage satisfaction through him. “Such a good boy,” Adar purred, his voice like dark velvet. He wrapped his large hands around Elrond’s waist, holding him firmly in place as he thrust into him, each brutal stroke angled to strike his sweet spot with precision. The sound of skin meeting skin reverberated through the chamber, mingling with Elrond’s cries. Elrond’s head fell forward, his mouth falling open in a silent scream before another loud, desperate wail tore from him. “Adar! Please, I can’t—” His words dissolved into incoherent moans as his body writhed against the onslaught. “You can,” Adar growled, his hands tightening on Elrond’s waist as he increased his pace. “And you will. Look at you, falling apart so beautifully. This land and you belong to me.” Elrond sobbed, his body trembling violently under the strain of holding himself up while being thoroughly ravished. Every thrust sent electric shocks of pleasure tearing through him, his bound hands scrambling for purchase on the cold stone floor. Adar tilted his hips, teasingly grinding into Elrond before driving forward with a brutal thrust that stole the elf’s breath. Elrond screamed, his head snapping back as his body jerked forward from the force. “You’re perfect,” Adar rasped, his voice thick with lust and awe. His dark eyes drank in the sight before him—the curve of Elrond’s spine, the way his body shivered with every stroke, the glistening sheen of sweat on his flushed skin. He threw his head back. “So good,” Adar growled through grit teeth, his grip tightening as he set a punishing pace. Each stroke was aimed with devastating precision, the new angle leaving Elrond utterly wrecked. The elf’s cries grew louder, each one a raw, desperate plea as his sweet spot was struck over and over without mercy. Elrond’s bound fingers clawed at the stone floor, his body shuddering with every relentless thrust. The deep arch forced his back into a perfect curve, his flushed face hovering just above the ground as tears darkened the dias. Elrond could only sob, the combination of pain, pleasure, and humiliation pushing him closer to the edge. His mind was fogged, his body aflame, and he couldn’t stop the shameless cries spilling from his lips. When Adar shifted, pulling Elrond down hard onto his cock with every thrust, the elf wailed. His body quaked, every nerve alight as the dark elf’s movements became almost feral, his own low groans mingling with Elrond’s high-pitched cries. The crescendo built to an unbearable peak, each thrust and stroke driving Elrond closer to the edge of oblivion. His cries were a symphony of desperation, rising higher and higher until they shattered into a scream of pure ecstasy. It was like a meteor tearing through the heavens, an unstoppable tidal wave crashing over him, consuming him entirely. His body convulsed, the climax ripping through him with such force that every thought, every sense, every fragment of his being was obliterated in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. He came violently, a raw, primal release that left him trembling, tears spilling down his flushed cheeks. Time and space ceased to exist; there was only the blinding sensation of falling, spiraling out of control. Somewhere in the haze, he felt the answering growl of Adar, deep and guttural, as the dark elf followed him into the abyss. Heat bloomed inside him, a searing rush as Adar claimed him utterly, marking the culmination of their feral, desperate union. And then, there was silence. The world faded into velvet darkness, his body slackening as he sank into the void. Exhaustion claimed him, his last fleeting awareness the possessive arms holding him tight, even as consciousness slipped away.

Indil nín – “My flower”

Nisindë - “Tender one”

Cundëcilenya - “My little prince”

Chapter Text

Elrond stirred within the cocoon of warmth, the bedding a deceptive balm against the ache that lived in his bones. It cradled his body like a lover’s whisper, soothing, silken, and false. For a moment, he let himself sink into the haze between sleep and waking, where the sting of shame and memory could not reach him. He was clean—too clean. His hair still held the ghostly scent of sage and lemon balm, his skin tingling from whatever oil or tincture had been used to treat the bruises lacing his body like a cruel lover’s kiss.

The shift was not his. It dwarfed him, soft and worn, the fabric brushing too gently over his skin—mocking him. It reeked of cedarwood, damp earth, and something darker, feral. Something him.

He buried himself deeper, as if the blankets could shield him from the weight of what had transpired.

But silence is never kind.

The faint clink of metal stirred his senses—a chain, a belt, armor?—followed by deliberate, unhurried footsteps. His lashes fluttered open. Blurred light from a lantern cast long shadows against the canvas, and from it emerged Adar, tall and dark, like a god carved from ash and smoke.

Elrond’s breath caught. His body tried to obey the instinct to flee, to rise, but fire bloomed along his backside, cruel and punishing. He sank back with a hiss, his hands scrambling to clutch the quilt to his chest, as though it might preserve what little dignity he had left.

Adar’s lips curled—not into a smile, but something hungrier. “Good morning, little star,” he said, his voice a purr wrapped in silk and steel. He set a tray beside the bed, the clatter of ceramic painfully mundane amid the tension. “You look divine in my shirt.”

Heat flared in Elrond’s cheeks, not from the compliment, but from the mocking truth beneath it. He glared, though the tremor in his lower lip betrayed him.

“You’re insufferable.”

Adar leaned in without hesitation, stealing a kiss that was slow, possessive. Elrond’s breath stuttered, lashes fluttering, body responding before his mind caught up. He jerked away, curling tighter into himself.

“Don’t think this charade will distract me,” he bit out, voice laced with fury, but weak with exhaustion. “My comrades—what of them?”

Adar straightened, expression softening to something almost tender. “Unharmed,” he replied smoothly. “Fed. Watered. Healed. Do you think me so monstrous I would harm your valiant comrades?”

“Yes,” Elrond snapped.

Adar gave a soft laugh. “Then you don’t know me yet, indil nín.”

The endearment curled around Elrond like smoke. He hated how easily it sank beneath his skin.

Hunger gnawed at him, and with a reluctant hand, he reached for the mug. He sniffed it, cautious. Just water.

Adar watched, bemused. “If I wished you dead, little one, you wouldn’t have woken at all.”

Elrond drank, but his glare didn’t waver. “You still might.”

Another laugh, low and deep. “True. But I’d rather have you breathing. You make such pretty sounds.”

Elrond choked on the next bite of bread, ears burning. He hated that his body remembered what his mind tried so desperately to forget.

Adar turned away, his movements fluid, deliberate. His hands were deft, folding gear into a trunk with soldier’s precision. Elrond watched, eyes narrowing.

“Where are you going?” he asked warily.

Adar didn’t look up. “We go to the Gray Mountains. New intelligence. Sauron scurries south like the rat he is.”

“We?” Elrond challenged.

That earned a glance, one slow and simmering. “Did you truly think you would be left behind after last night?”

“You’ll find me a difficult prisoner.”

Adar stalked back, his steps slow and measured, like a predator indulging in the chase. He stopped at the edge of the bed, gazing down with eyes dark as obsidian. “But you’re not a prisoner, Elrond.” He leaned close, breath warm against the elf’s ear. “You’re my prize.”

The whisper of gwinig made Elrond flinch, as though the word itself branded him.

“I am not yours,” he spat, but the quaver in his voice fractured the lie.

Adar said nothing at first—only studied him. Then, with maddening calm, he murmured, “You begged to be.”

Elrond blanched, rage and mortification lighting every nerve. He turned his face away, burying it beneath the covers.

Adar chuckled. “So dramatic.”

“I will never be yours,” came the muffled reply.

“You already are.” Adar turned away, unaffected, satisfied. “But cling to your defiance if it comforts you.”

When Elrond’s voice emerged again, it was smaller. “And my comrades? Will they be dragged with us like cattle?”

“They’ll come. For now. Once we reach the mountains, they go free. I gave my word.”

“And I’m to believe you possess honor?”

Adar shut the trunk with a soft click, then looked back at him. “Believe what you wish. But I do not lie to you, Elrond.”

The quiet between them deepened, heavy as snowfall. Elrond peeked from beneath the covers, storm-colored eyes searching.

“You would trade the darkness of Mordor for the cold of the north?” Adar’s smile was faint. “We are creatures of shadow and stone. The Gray Mountains will accept us.” “They are perilous,” Elrond said softly.

“So are we.”

The air stilled. Elrond lay silent, his thoughts tangled, uncertain. Adar returned to his packing, a dark shape moving with uncanny grace—ever-present, ever near.

A threat. A captor. A protector. A poison.

And beneath it all, Elrond couldn’t shake the terrible, seductive truth:

He had not said no.

Chapter Text

The night was thick with the scent of earth and ash, the distant hiss of dying fires whispering through the camp like ghost-breath. The stars were drowned by low-hanging clouds, silvered faintly by a moon struggling to pierce the gloom. Elrond stood barefoot upon the chill floor of the tent, his wrists newly bound in silver manacles, ornate, gleaming things too elegant for prisoners, clearly forged with symbolic intention. They bit softly into his skin, not cruelly, but possessively. Intimately.

His feet pressed against the frozen ground. He dared not move. The bitter cold was punishment enough. He understood, keenly, the choice to leave him unshod: not to humble him, but to bind him. No elf, no matter how proud, could flee far with frost biting into tender soles.

The cloak Adar had wrapped him in was warm, too warm. Homespun wool lined with furs, soft as sin, laced at the throat by a braided leather cord. It smelled of moss and woodsmoke, of old stone and something darker, something that hummed with memory and power. A quiet thread of fear curled in Elrond’s stomach like smoke in a lantern.

It was not the cloak that truly marked him.

It was the skin beneath.

Beneath the folds, his body was no longer untouched. Elrond bore the marks of Adar’s hands, mouth, and desire, faint bruises like shadows blooming along the column of his neck, down his collarbones, across his hips where fingers had held him still. Bite marks, some half-faded, others red and fresh, dotted the tender skin at his throat and inner thighs like the signatures of a ravenous artist.

Adar drew the cloak tighter around him, brushing a callused hand along Elrond’s cheek with unsettling gentleness before sweeping him from the tent.

“You’ll ride with me tonight,” he murmured, voice soft and low, like river stones tumbling beneath black water. “Let the others see what you are now.”

Outside, the Moriandor were already on the move.

Torches guttered low in the damp air, casting flickering light across a scene that should have frozen Elrond’s blood, but instead struck him with a hollow pang of weariness. Orcs moved in eerie coordination, breaking camp with practiced precision. Tents collapsed like shadows into wagons pulled by hulking, slobbering wargs. Iron pots clanged. Leather straps snapped taut. Voices growled orders in a guttural tongue that rang like stone cracking in frost.

But it was the sight of them, his comrades, that made Elrond’s breath catch. He saw them huddled in a wooden cart, bound and swaying, eyes hollow with fatigue. Guards circled them, astride beasts with red-glowing eyes and jaws bristling with tusk and fang.

They looked up when he appeared, some eyes widening, others falling quickly to the ground in horror, confusion, pity.

And they saw everything.

The bare feet. The manacles. The bruises rising like violets on his neck. The way Adar’s cloak swaddled him like something treasured. Claimed.

And Adar… Adar saw them see it. His mouth curved in cold satisfaction.

Elrond stepped forward instinctively, a sound half-formed in his throat.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him. Firm. Commanding.

Adar.

He said nothing. He didn’t need to. The presence of him, solid and still and steady, was a chain Elrond couldn’t see, yet felt coiling tighter with every heartbeat.

Without a word, Adar guided him toward a towering black warhorse, already saddled and waiting. The beast snorted, pawed the ground, its dark mane bound in leather strips and bone beads that whispered like wind chimes when it moved.

Elrond hesitated, swallowing hard.

Adar moved behind him, and in one smooth motion, lifted him into the saddle. Elrond gasped softly, the weight of his manacles heavy across his lap. Before he could steady himself, Adar swung up behind him with predatory grace. The horse shifted beneath their combined weight, but Adar’s legs tightened, his voice murmuring something low in Black Speech, and it stilled.

Strong arms encircled Elrond, hands finding the reins, but not before drawing Elrond firmly back against him.

Elrond stiffened.

Adar’s chest was a wall of warmth at his back, his breath ghosting against the curve of Elrond’s neck. Then came the slow, deliberate press of Adar’s nose into his curls. He inhaled deeply, audibly.

“I had forgotten how elves always smell of growing things,” he murmured into his ear. “Even after war. Even after ruin. Still… green.”

Elrond trembled, his fingers tightening on the pommel. He kept his chin lifted, his face unreadable, but his body betrayed him. The tremor that ran through him was unmistakable.

Adar’s arms adjusted around him, one arm anchoring across his waist like a bar of iron.

“Easy,” he whispered, and it wasn’t mocking, not this time. It was a dark sort of lullaby. “No harm will come to you. Not while you wear my marks.”

Then, in a language older than the stars, Adar gave the order.

The caravan began to move.

Creaking wheels. Snorting beasts. The clatter of hooves and the rustle of wind through leafless trees. It was a symphony of exile, and Elrond was its unwilling queen, wrapped in stolen warmth, cradled by shadow, carried away into the long, cold dark.

And so the journey to the Gray Mountains began.

——————————————————————

Hours passed.

The night deepened, and the world shrank to the rhythm of hooves and the rise and fall of breath. Snow flurried in lazy spirals, catching in Elrond’s curls, melting against Adar’s furs. Beneath the thick wool cloak, the elf trembled.

His bare feet, curled against the saddle’s edge, had long since gone numb. The cold crept up his calves like ice-blood in his veins. It was no longer a distant ache, it was sharp now, biting. Dull pain had turned to fear, and fear to shame. He shifted, curling his toes, trying to ease the sting.

The movement did not go unnoticed.

Adar’s chin lifted slightly from where it rested near Elrond’s crown. One arm tightened around him.

“Still so proud,” he murmured, more to himself than to Elrond.

Without breaking stride or loosening his hold on the reins, Adar adjusted his grip. Elrond barely had time to react before he was drawn tighter against that broad chest. One of Adar’s arms curled beneath his knees, lifting his legs gently up from the saddle. The cloak was rewrapped with deft efficiency, the heavy fur pulled securely around Elrond’s curled form, tight, snug, swaddled.

Warmth returned slowly, painfully.

Elrond gasped as pins and needles sparked to life in his feet, agony masquerading as relief. A broken sound escaped his throat, part whimper, part sob.

Adar chuckled low in his throat. “Hush now,” he said softly, almost indulgent. “You’ll thank me when you can still walk come spring.”

With one hand, he guided the reins. With the other, he reached down beneath the cloak and began to rub Elrond’s feet, fingers skilled and merciless, coaxing blood back to the frozen skin. His touch was practical, efficient… and possessive. Like he was tending something valuable. Something his.

Elrond couldn’t stop the tears that sprang to his eyes. Not from grief. Not even from pain. Just the sheer, unbearable wrongness of it all.

Adar said nothing else. He didn’t need to.

The horse carried them on, slow and steady through the snow-blanketed dark.

The moon had risen high, silver and swollen, by the time the caravan rolled to a stop. The sudden stillness jolted Elrond from the haze he’d slipped into. The horse shifted beneath him, and Adar’s arms adjusted automatically, anchoring him.

A command rang out in Adar’s voice, low and authoritative.

All around them, the dark host stirred. Wargs grumbled. Orcs dismounted and began moving through the camp, distributing strips of dried meat and hard crusts of travel bread. Some rolled their shoulders, others crouched to stoke fresh fires from glowing coals.

Adar slid from the saddle in a single, fluid motion.

Then he turned and reached for Elrond.

“Come,” he said simply.

Before Elrond could muster a protest, strong arms lifted him down from the saddle. His feet hit the snowy earth, and buckled.

A sharp cry left his lips as searing pain shot up through soles too tender, too numb, too raw from hours pressed against frozen leather. He swayed, gasping, and nearly fell.

Adar caught him easily.

A tsk of his tongue, almost fond. “Ah, ah. What did I say?”

Elrond had no strength left to resist. He clung to Adar’s shoulders, fingers gripping leather and fur, his breath hitching in miserable shudders. His bare feet hovered above the snow again, caught in the cradle of Adar’s arms.

The dark elf looked insufferably pleased.

Of course he was. He had rendered Elrond helpless, softened his pride, hobbled his stride, wrapped him in furs and bruises and manacles and warmth until there was no part of him that wasn’t marked or molded by Adar’s will.

Elrond buried his face in Adar’s chest, trying to disappear.

And Adar, smug as ever,, held him like the prize he was.

Adar carried Elrond as if he weighed nothing, ignoring the curious or knowing glances cast their way. When they reached a supply wagon, one of the larger ones with low sides and a pile of bundled furs and canvas, Adar set him down with deliberate care.

The wooden boards were rough beneath Elrond’s bare skin, but the furs were thick, and the canvas beneath them dry. Still, he flinched when his feet brushed the chilled surface.

Adar made a small noise, an almost-scolding hum, and reached into a satchel slung at his hip. From it, he drew a hunk of coarse bread and a skin of water.

“Eat,” he said, handing them over with the tone that brooked no argument.

Elrond took them sullenly, not meeting his gaze.

The bread was dense, unpleasant, but it filled the hollow ache gnawing at his belly. He chewed in silence, sipping the icy water as slowly as he dared, knowing too much too fast would turn his stomach. The cold still clung to him like a second skin, and he couldn’t stop shivering.

Adar knelt before him.

With some ceremony, he took Elrond’s foot into his hand and began to work.

The massage was gentle, yet the pressure was painful on his poor feet. Callused thumbs pressed firmly into his arches, working in short, sweeping strokes to drive circulation back into limbs long-abused by the cold. Elrond whined through his teeth, the sting sharp and immediate.

“You’ll keep your toes,” Adar said chuckled. “You should thank me.”

Elrond didn’t respond. He chewed and swallowed and looked away.

His gaze drifted across the camp, to the other prisoners. They had been let down from the wagons and stood in loose clusters beneath torchlight, stretching aching limbs, blinking sleep from their eyes. Orcs watched them with hard expressions, blades bared, commands barked in Black Speech.

Elrond’s eyes caught on a familiar face, tired, pale, confused, and he looked away before recognition could spark.

Shame burned in his chest like hot iron.

They had seen him. They had all seen him.

And he couldn’t bear what that meant.

Adar finished with one foot and moved to the other. When the blood had returned, when the skin was warm to the touch once more, he reached into the same satchel and withdrew something thick and woolen.

Socks.

Chunky, handwoven, the yarn heavy and soft. They smelled faintly of woodsmoke and Adar’s own skin. He rolled them onto Elrond’s feet slowly, tugging them up to cover his calves. The warmth was a balm, but it was the intent that made Elrond’s chest tighten.

Possession wrapped in care.

When the socks were in place, Adar’s hands didn’t stop.

They slid upward, slow and deliberate, from calf to knee, from knee to thigh, stroking along the smooth planes of Elrond’s legs with an intimacy that wasn’t about comfort. His fingers curled possessively into the meat of Elrond’s thigh, thumb stroking once across the inner seam of flesh.

Elrond flinched.

Adar met his eyes, and for a moment, the camp disappeared.

“Are we camping here?” Elrond asked, forcing his voice to stay level, to ignore the hand that still lingered on his leg.

Adar’s eyes glinted like obsidian catching starlight.

“No,” he said. “We ride until just before dawn. This—” he gestured to the chaos around them “—is only a pause. Enough to feed and stretch and keep the wargs from turning on each other.”

Elrond looked away again and returned to chewing what remained of the bread. His stomach protested, but he ate it anyway. Hunger was weakness, and he had too many of those already.

Adar leaned forward, bracing a hand beside Elrond’s hip.

“You’ll ride with me again,” he said softly. “There’s no use pretending otherwise.”

Elrond said nothing.

Adar smiled, content, in complete control, and settled beside him on the wagon, his presence like a dark sun, steady and burning. He didn’t speak again, and Elrond didn’t look at him. But the hand on his thigh remained.

And so the night marched on.