Adar | New Magic Wand

adar | new magic wand

Wounds That Have Endured

Unable to accept Adar's demise, you will stop at nothing to bring him back, even if it means doing the unspeakable and wielding a power that is not yours.

Warnings: none

Words: 1300

A/N: Still aboard the Pain Train after S2E8, this is an attempt to make things right, although it is still bittersweet...

You kneel beside Adar's still form, your trembling hands pressed against the damp ground. The weight of the silence is unbearable, broken only by your quiet sobs as they spill into the dim air. Your fingers then trace the lines of his face, which you had done countless times again and again, committing them to your memory. However, now each touch is desperate and fragile, as if your grief could will him back to life. But he remains unmoving.

The camp that had been bustling with life the night before now lies abandoned, empty and desolate, the Uruks which had occupied it have moved elsewhere, at the bidding of their now master.

Soft footsteps approach and you take Adar’s small dagger from his belt, clutching it so hard your knuckles strain against your skin, preparing yourself to defend your fallen love from further defilement.

However, you were not expecting a familiar face, one that you had not seen since the breaking of Orodruin, since the night where you had severed all ties with your homeland, turning your back to the sun and trees and rivers, starting a life anew in Mordor.

You are stunned, sickened even, to see pity as you look up to meet his gaze. Knowing the pain you've caused him, you feel utterly undeserving.

Arondir’s hand presses against your shoulder as he kneels, his fingers moving with gentleness over Adar’s face, closing the uruk’s eyes in silence.

Your head hangs down as you cup Adar’s cheek, your tears falling atop his pale face. “It was never supposed to happen like this… I was always the one who would have died first, not him, never him. I should have been here.”

The elf shakes his head. “You would have died with him.”

“Yes. I should have.”

“Have you not seen enough death?” He pulls you into an embrace, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I know this pain you feel.”

Before you can respond, you are joined by another.

Gil-galad steps forth with quiet authority, his gaze sharp and discerning as he takes in the scene before him. His golden armor gleams in the pale light, yet it is still sullied with the labours of battle, scratched, bloodied and chipped in parts.

His eyes fall on Arondir, who rises from his kneeling position, his expression grave.

"The father of the Uruks is no more," he says, his voice low and steady. "With Adar dead, they will have no choice but to fall entirely under Sauron’s control. He has now gained an army."

Gil-galad’s jaw tightens, though he says nothing at first. His silence carries the weight of one who has seen too much war, too many lives lost. Finally, he speaks, his tone cold and resolute. "Then we have no time to waste. We must find Galadriel."

The High King’s gaze settles on you, his expression unreadable, as he assesses you. Before he can speak, Arondir steps forward, standing between you and the elven king.

“She was Adar’s partner,” Arondir begins, “With him gone, she has no place among the Uruk under Sauron, nor will she find welcome in Pelargir amongst her kin.”

Gil-galad’s brow furrows, his eyes flicking back to you, his stern demeanour softening slightly.

Arondir presses on, “I ask for mercy on her behalf. She stood by him, yes—but now she is alone. Let her find a place among the elves, for her heart is torn and no other realm will accept her as she is.”

A heavy silence hangs between them, as the weight of his plea for you lingers and Gil-galad considers his request.

Kneeling before you, the king's eyes narrow in careful study. Your eyes widen at the sight of the blue gem set in the ring he wears on his middle finger.

Clutching at his forearm, you plead, “Please, High King! Heal him! We will gather the uruks, set off to Mordor and never stray again.”

He clasps his hand over yours, prying you off of him, his action firm, but tender. “He met his end, he is beyond any healing now. I cannot do anything… I pity your loss, child, but I would not heal the one who brought ruin to Eregion.”

You shake your head, gathering your shaky breaths. “Adar was not himself! Please- I feel it, there is still some life in him, he can still be saved..”

“Soon he should be at peace and if the Valar are merciful he shall heal in the Halls. Come now, let us leave. I will send a party to tend to his body and you may bury him according to your customs.”

“No, I will not!” You cry, wiping at a new surge of tears with the back of your bloodied wrist.

As Gil-galad rises to his feet, the ring slips off his finger, falling with no sound.

All around you fades into silence as you gaze into the deep blue gem, your hand reaching out to grasp it, its gold band sliding down your index finger with ease, fitting as if it was made for you. The world that moments ago felt distant, full of blurred movement and muffled sounds, sharpens. Everything is suddenly vivid. The ring glows faintly, casting a soft, ethereal light that pulses with the rhythm of your heartbeat.

For the first time in what seems like years, a deep peace settles over your mind. The thoughts that had been racing, the fears, the uncertainties—they all drift away, muted by the steady calm the ring offers. Now, you know what you shall do next.

Placing a hand upon Adar’s countless wounds, your breathing turns shallower as each of them begins to fade, leaving behind the faintest of scars. The dark blood that is splattered across him also disappears, flowing back into his flesh and slowly he begins to not resemble a corpse anymore.

Yet, beneath that peace, that clarity, something lurks—a faint, distant warning. A pulling sensation begins, gentle at first. It's subtle, just a slight weakness in your limbs, a heaviness that wasn't present moments ago. You do your best to ignore it, fighting the tiredness that makes you want to shut your eyes and let yourself drift off into a slumber.

When you open them again, the world tilts to its side as you begin to collapse, but before you can topple onto the tawny ground, a gentle hand steadies you. Gil-galad kneels at your right, while Arondir remains to your left, clasping your elbow to keep you upright.

They exchange a look, unbeknownst to you.

Meanwhile, Adar’s breathing resumes, albeit shallow, his body regaining strength as yours drains. Slowly, his eyes open. His green gaze, sharp and intense, sweeps over the scene before him, taking in the sight of your frail form, your trembling hands still outstretched toward him, the ring of power set around your finger. He stirs, sitting up with effort.

He speaks, his voice raw and weakened, but yet alive, and no other sound would ever please you more. "What have you done?" His eyes, now vivid with life, lock onto yours.

But you cannot answer. Your vision blurs again, and though you feel Arondir and Gil-galad’s hands holding you, the weakness is too great. Your breath catches in your throat as you look up at Adar, a faint smile curling on your lips despite the weariness that seeps into your very bones.

"I—" you begin, your voice barely a whisper. "I had to…"

A cold fog rises, seeping into the forest, and soon it wraps around you like a shroud. You can no longer tell where you begin and the mist ends, as if you are becoming one with it, dissolving into the grey haze.

You look at Adar, who is now sat upright, his face twisted in anguish.

His hand stretches toward you, desperate, but when he reaches into the fog, his fingers pass through, unable to grasp you.

You run your hand over his cheekbone one final time as the world around you blurs and fades, the mist deepening into shimmering silver glass.

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