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Chapter Text

Fuinhíril had failed to think of the impracticality of being captured in the shadow land until she found herself dragged through mud and squalor at the hands of the Orcs, and shoved into what could only be described as a hole in the ground. Her hands were roughly bound in chains while she awaited the judgement of their leader, and it was only then, hours after her arrival, it occurred to her that she had left home without so much as a plan, or a purpose.

What did she expect, really?

To make it into the newly-established home of the Uruks without detection was a feat that no one had managed as of yet. Fuinhíril was lucky they didn't drive a blade through her stomach before she uttered the first word of her plea to speak with their commander. The Orcs were admittedly confounded by the request, but through their own deliberation they decided it was the right course of action. They had referred to her as a Southlander as she was thrown into the hole in which she waited, so she could at least praise their ignorance.

The ground below her knees was thankfully more solid than the sodden mess outside, but it was really no less unpleasant. A sour odour still lingered in the air. It was a uniquely vile flavour that she could practically taste on her tongue as she inhaled through her lips, ironically in an effort to escape the smell. It truly was the most dire place she had laid her eyes on.

The curtain that hung at the entrance was pulled aside, and a figure stepped inside. His stature was far taller than that of the Orcs who had dragged Fuinhíril though the camp, and it was immediately evident to her who it was. He stood before her hunched form with his hands locked behind him, as if mirroring her posture. His gaze was uncannily steady, indeterminable. Cold eyes trailed her form, searching for recognition where there was none, and she was half of the mind to cower away from him.

He didn't speak. He didn't do anything but appraise her, and Fuinhíril tipped her head to the side as she looked up at him, a silent question of what he intended to do with her. He didn't seem all too bothered about her, he had made no rush in coming to confront her presence, and even less so when he turned away from her to leave.

"Larta"

He ground to a halt, cocking his head in recognition of the Elvish speech, waiting a moment, and then turning to slowly walk back towards her in measured steps.

"Who is this, that speaks to me with words they know not the meaning of?" he finally spoke. His voice was deep, rough, with an edge of curiosity that didn't go unnoticed by the Elf he questioned.

Fuinhíril remained silent, though the corner of her lips quirked into the smallest of smirks, feeling a little victorious at gaining a reaction from the stoic Uruk.

"Man esselya ná?" he then asked, narrowing his eyes as he regarded her.

"I do not see what business of yours that is" Fuinhíril retorted, adjusting her posture so she sat more comfortably on her heels.

"And what business have you wandering the shadow land?" He inquired.

"My business is my own"

The man tilted his head, his gaze discerning, "a spy, then"

Fuinhíril scoffed, turning her face away, "do not flatter yourself"

She would not give herself up so easily. The Uruk leader considered her more closely, taking another step so he was right above her. She remained steadfast in avoiding his gaze, keeping her eyes focused at where his boots met the dirt just centimetres from her knees. The feel of his hand grasping her hair made her flinch backwards, though he still managed to push her curls from covering her ear with little difficulty.

"I might have known" he rumbled, more to himself than the red-headed Elf at his feet, "you are an emissary from Lindon"

Fuinhíril almost laughed, now looking up at him with a sardonic expression, "do I really strike you as one of the Ñoldor?"

He examined her appearance more thoroughly then, eyes skimming along her every feature; hazel eyes lined by dark lashes, auburn curls that had matted together sometime during her journey, the point of her chin, gentle slope of her nose, the sharp lines of her cupid's bow. Though it was more so the earth tones of her clothes where his eyes lingered.

The Uruk crouched, now face to face with her, "what, pray tell, would a Silvan Elf be doing in my lands?"

"What indeed" Fuinhíril mused with a challenging simper.

"Do not test my patience" he muttered, his voice holding a dangerous quality despite its stability, "speak plainly"

Fuinhíril averted her gaze a moment, her mind scrambling to find a compelling reason. "I come not to spy, or on the command of anyone but myself, if that is your concern"

The Uruk hummed, digesting the statement, "then what else would bring one of the Nandor this far from home?"

"Curiosity" her gaze slid across his own once more, and she spoke now with more conviction.

He raised an eyebrow, "curiosity?"

"I had heard tell of the one the Orcs call 'Adar'" she began, watching for any reaction and coming up short, "that he had created for them a realm in which they could move by daylight"

Fuinhíril paused then, dropping her head to the side regard him — his hair, his ears, his scarred skin. It was a distinctly elf-like image as compared to his infantry, and despite herself, she found herself thinking he made for a handsome Orc, if there could be such a thing. Her lips quirked once she had given him a once over.

"That would be you, I presume"

Adar remained unswayed by the elf's conjecture, "you were merely curious about me?"

Fuinhíril shrugged, "among other things"

"Go on" he prompted.

Her eyes flicked away, searching for an answer once more. He didn't need to know the extent of her reason for being there, especially when it wasn't entirely clear to her.

"The Southlands" she spoke up, "I travelled through here when I was only a child. I wanted to see what had become of it"

Adar fixed her with a doubtful stare, his eyes thinning. It was clear that he didn't believe her, and she couldn't really blame him for it.

"And now that you have got what you came for?" he uttered.

Fuinhíril scoffed, "being chained to a post is hardly what I came for"

"Hm" Adar contemplated her claim, then stood from his crouched position and started towards the curtain through which he'd entered.

"Mecin, á lerya ni" she pleaded, trying not to sound entirely too desperate, but he had left the space before the last word passed her lips.

Fuinhíril hung her head in defeat, her shoulders slumping forwards as her body deflated. She could feel the cuffs biting into her wrists, entirely too tight, and knew that before long they would cut through the flesh. That would be unpleasant enough, but for the rusted metal and filth around her to enter the wound would surely be worse. She was not given much time to ponder it however, as soon enough the leader of the Uruks returned, a plate of food in his grasp.

The elf watched him as he planted the plate before her, and moved around to unfasten her restraints. He was surprisingly gentle, but perhaps it was just that the other Uruk had been so rough. Her perception was a little foggy given the circumstances.

Fuinhíril cradled her wrists as they came loose, attempting to rub away any of the lingering pain. She eyed the food in front of her, a simple collection of fruits and seeds. It wasn't an unwelcome sight, and she was surprised that even these few edible things could be found in the vicinity at all. She looked up at her captor, who now sat on a stool opposite.

"I am not in the habit of poisoning 'curious' ellith" Adar assured, the inflection discernibly mocking.

It was of little consequence to her, how he chose to address her, as she dug into the limited meal before her. She could feel the weight of Adar's gaze as she ate, something heavy with misgivings, distrust. It wasn't so surprising that he was wary of her presence, she had expected as much, but it didn't make the encounter any less strained.

A silence hung in the air, uncomfortable and begging to be broken, but neither Uruk nor Elf was yet willing to heed its wishes. Fuinhíril could hear the Orcs outside, discussing her presence in what she assumed was their idea of hushed voices. An amused smile managed to worm its way onto her face as she took on their deductions, each of them as ludicrous as the next.

"Who are you?"

Fuinhíril finally glanced up, only to be met by Adar's calculating gaze. He was sat back against the far wall, his legs spread and arms resting slack against them. She would have thought he wasn't concerned for his safety at all if it wasn't for the sword that sat at his hip. Then again, what could she do in her position? Her weapon had been ripped from her hands the moment she was apprehended.

"Nobody" she shrugged, popping another berry into her mouth.

His eyes narrowed at her as he sat forward, elbows settling on his knees, "what do they call you, in the Greenwood?"

She paused her movements, measuring her response and waiting a moment to mull over whether or not to tell him the truth. After a prolonged silence, she relented.

"Fuinhíril"

For the first time, she received a real reaction from him. His eyebrows raised, if only marginally, but Fuinhíril revelled in drawing it from him nonetheless.

"A name you gave yourself?"

"No" Fuinhíril replied, biting the inside of her cheek in a failed attempt to contain her amusement, "a parent that rather had a taste for the melodramatic"

Adar nodded, though didn't relent in his reticent demeanour, indifferent to the information. He watched her finish the small plate of food in silence, something Fuinhíril was coming to expect from him. As she took her last bite, he stood and strode over, taking her wrists with ease despite the way she tugged them away from him, and rebound them in the cuffs.

"What will you do with me?" Fuinhíril asked, her neck craning to look up at him as he moved around her.

"You will remain until I can ascertain your purpose for being here" he replied, sparing her a glance.

"I have told you already" She reasoned.

"And I do not believe you" he stated flatly, his back to her as he made for the entrance.

Fuinhíril called his name for the first time, almost hopelessly, and the Uruk's steps faltered, "lá carin cuptaldë"

Adar didn't turn back, though slowed enough to speak his parting words, "i ná asquétima"

Chapter Text

Adar stood before his unexpected prisoner. It was a week since Fuinhíril's capture, and still, he could not determine why she was here. It seemed that she bore no ill intent, though it was hard to figure out why he felt that way. He had not expected her at all, and even more so had not expected the feeling of recognition.

It was particularly odd. He watched her and felt that he knew her, even as he knew it was certainly not a face he had looked upon before. He would remember, he was sure. In any case, it was not her face that felt familiar, it was her mind, her bearing. Still, he knew they had never met. It was disconcerting to acknowledge the two truths in conjunction.

He asked her if the Elves were moving against him.

"Not in my realm," Fuinhíril cocked her head at him, "though I cannot say what goes on in Lindon"

The Uruk stared down at her, his gaze calculating. He could do without this coy act she pulled, withholding any words of substance until he reacted. There were few who dared to play games with him, and for someone bound in chains to be the one who did, it spoke volumes to her character. Adar turned on his heel to leave then, unwilling to be pulled into this round of pestering, but was stopped once more as Fuinhíril spoke up.

"You must be desperate, to ask me" she mused, as if thinking aloud.

Adar's jaw tightened as he turned to find her smirking up at him, knowing she'd managed to irk him once more. He sighed, resigning himself to her torment, if it would yield some kind of result.

"What do you mean to say?" he pressed.

Fuinhíril hummed, her lips pressing together as she regarded him, "you don't know what you're doing"

Adar could feel his blood simmer at the mere suggestion of it, but he kept his emotionless demeanour intact, "what would you know of my aims?"

"Nothing" the Elf shrugged, lips turning upwards, "just that you won't meet them if the Elves move against you"

His eye twitched. It was a subtle enough movement that he was sure she didn't notice. Really, he shouldn't let her tormenting get to him. She didn't know what he was planning. Still, she continued.

"Besides… I hear whispers" she continued, now looking up at him through her lashes, a decidedly coquettish expression.

"Whispers" he repeated.

"Rumours" she corrected herself facetiously, her voice only getting more mischievous.

Adar practically growled, "be plain"

Fuinhíril seemed to take a moment to revel in his exasperation, barely containing her amusement. "Your 'children' are rather loud, you know. It was not so much whispers but their grunting that clued me in" she remarked, and Adar did his best to remain stoic, "and you're right to be worried about the Elves"

"Why?" he asked, the curiosity in his voice more aimed at her openness than anything.

"I can't imagine the High King is one to let things lie" she stated, "whether he knows your goal or not, he will be coming"

The Uruk tilted his head at her, doubtful of why she was telling him this to begin with.

Fuinhíril was a particularly difficult elf to decipher. She gave away things about herself only as she chose, never coaxed through questioning nor threat, and when she did, it was said with such an openness that one could be convinced she was an open book. Her cooperation was hard-won, but even then it seemed that she wasn't against it — as if her bothersome ways were just her begging him to convince her it was worth it.

"You betray your own kind so freely, how could I possibly trust that you speak the truth?" he questioned bitterly, the quick irritation that she brought upon him rising once again.

Fuinhíril smiled, and though it was still clearly meant as a farce, the gesture seemed genuine for her part. "It is not a betrayal to speak of things that lay plainly before my eyes — that should lay just as plainly before yours"

"It is plain, that is why I mention it" he grumbled, unable to help his frown, but threading his fingers together behind his back so that he might stop himself from clenching his fists to try and release the unwanted tension he felt at his temples.

Fuinhíril looked up at him with a contemplative kind of expression then, something more vulnerable, "so you are truly after Sauron?"

Adar could have scoffed. "You are foolish to think I would divulge my true intentions to a prisoner"

"Then release me"

The appeal came so easily, and as Adar stepped back from her, he could see that there was not a trace of mocking nor imploring in her gaze. She was serious. He could almost applaud her boldness, demanding such a thing from a captor.

"What would you do then?"

A small chuckle escaped Fuinhíril's lips, as if her answer was obvious. “I told you before, I came here to seek you out because I was curious about these lands. I do not intend to leave so soon” she told him firmly, “though, I would prefer not to be a prisoner”

Adar gave her a long, hard look. There was something about this Elf that felt so distinctly non-elven, something he was acquainted with himself, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. Perhaps he was imagining it, trying to find reason where there was none. Either way, he couldn't come to a conclusion about her captivity while she was looking up at him so earnestly, so he turned away and left.

An Elf staying among the Uruks seemed unfathomable, and it was for that reason Adar couldn't imagine that was what Fuinhíril meant to say. Still, that certain non-elven impression stuck out in his mind. What kind of Elf was 'curious' enough to want to stay among what he could imagine she found to be such vile company? It made him more and less sceptical of her in equal parts.

It was a few days before Adar returned. It was obvious whenever he was approaching. The Orcs that milled around outside her earthly cage suddenly went quiet, and it gave Fuinhíril the time she needed to steel herself before having to face him.

He entered the room with a sense of purpose, and crouched in front of her so they were face to face, not wasting a moment before he spoke.

"What is your role, in your homeland?"

"Why?" She combated immediately.

"Answer me"

His voice held a dangerous quality then, something more fierce than usual, though no less measured. Fuinhíril couldn't help but yield. She was not shy of testing peoples' limits, but the intensity of his gaze and bite to his voice was not something she wanted to push.

"Security" she answered.

He hummed as if mulling the information over, eyes shifting between hers. "You have battle experience?"

"Some"

Adar nodded, and his eyes dropped to the ground. Fuinhíril watched as he toyed with something in his mind, his thumb gently tracing patterns onto his first finger, and then he sighed, his shoulders sagging from their usual state of passivity.

"Lavan" he muttered, standing and reaching behind her to release her cuffs.

The thick metal unlocked with a heavy clunk, and Fuinhíril's hands fell limply to her sides. She looked up to the Uruk hesitantly, rubbing her wrists and wondering what he meant, why he was freeing her of the oppressive weight.

"You may leave, if you wish" he said, "though if your word is true, if you are still… curious"

His eyes followed Fuinhíril's movements as she slowly stood, stretching out her limbs for the first time since her capture. She found out quickly that Adar still towered over her, her head tilted upwards to give him a questioning look.

"Follow after me" he spoke flatly, and lead outside into the stuffy evening air.

After having been imprisoned for beyond a week now, Fuinhíril had expected it to be somewhat disrupting to step outside of the alcove, though as she did so she was reminded of how the sun no longer shone on these lands. It was the time of day where the sun might be shining into her eyes as it made its descent, but no such light found her. The Orcs that lined the path Adar took watched on in fascination as much as disdain. Their unimpressed snarls followed her, and she wondered whether their aim was to intimidate her. They didn't succeed, if that was their intention. It might have shaken someone of lesser heart, but Fuinhíril had not succumbed to something as temporal as fear in years.

Adar lead towards a tent, pulling the curtain aside and gesturing for her to enter. Inside there was a large wooden table sprawled with weathered papers, and on closer inspection, Fuinhíril found them to be maps. An Orc stood on the opposite end of the table to her, his brow furrowed as he took in the sight of the elf.

"Lord Father," he bowed his head as Adar stepped up beside her, "what is the she-elf doing here?"

"She is under my protection for the time being" he replied, "no harm shall come to her by the hand of any Uruk, unless I command so"

She glanced up at him, her brow arching naturally at his change of heart. She was sure it was all to his own ends, as that was the only topic of discussion between them that had made him really question her intentions.

"Fuinhíril, tell me" he stepped back from the table to allow her better access, "which path will the Elves take to besiege us"

Fuinhíril's gaze lingered on him a moment longer, then flicked to skim across the maps, as she took on what he was asking her for. Would it really be a betrayal of her kin to tell him?

It would, she decided.

She tentatively looked back up to the Uruk beside her, "your intention is to waylay the Elves?"

"If need be" he affirmed, "though I'd rather avoid them altogether"

Fuinhíril nodded in understanding, turning her attention back to the maps. A part of her felt compelled to tell him, the part of her that she had ripped the stitches from in coming here to begin with. If Sauron was inside the walls of Eregion as she knew Adar suspected, then that tipped the scales in his favour. If her judgement was the key to bringing Sauron to his knees, then she'd give it with no further questions asked.

But the question of whether she could betray the Elves still rested on her heart. The Orc on the opposite end of the table shifted in his place.

"If you will not—"

"I cannot be sure" Fuinhíril relented, stepping forward to take hold of one of the maps and draw it towards her, "it would depend on how much they know of your plans." She studied the lines on the parchment before her for a moment, "If they know you march for Eregion, then they will be prepared to take the battle there. Lindon may be their capital but Eregion is the jewel of Elvendom, unquestionably. They will protect it at all costs"

Fuinhíril ran her first finger along a trail that lead through the forest, recalling the last time she walked along it with a friend in Lindon.

"They will take this road, move to cut you off at the knees, but… they will most likely save their main cavalry for the defence of the city"

"And if they do not know?" Adar questioned.

Fuinhíril looked to him and found that he was deeply focused, his hand on his chin and brows furrowed as he digested the information. He appeared to trust what she was saying.

"In that case…" she began, leaning forwards to point to a different part of the map, "they will take this path. I take it this is the way you intended to travel?"

Adar hummed an affirmative, and Fuinhíril continued.

"Then it would prove difficult, but it would work in your favour, I suppose. They will not expect to meet you so soon, and will be caught unawares" She stated, then moved backwards with a slow exhale, "I would say it is still in your best interest that they know of your plans"

"Why is that?"

"On this road," Fuinhíril drew a line along the second trail with her finger, "you will be up against their entire army, whether they are caught off guard or not. Whereas…" she moved her hand to the former path, "if they know you march on Eregion, their forces will be split; if you take a different road than you intended then you may not be met by as much force"

Adar didn't reply after that, and Fuinhíril stepped away from the table, feeling the need to fill the silence, "but that is just my own assessment, I cannot say whether the High Elves think the same as I"

"Hanyan"

He pondered the advice she had given for a long moment.

Fuinhíril watched him out of the corner of her eye, taking her first chance to assess him without his eyes on her. He held himself with an air of such importance. It was a stillness, an unwavering steadiness that she had only seen in the oldest of her kin, a regal disposition that couldn't be shaken. It was odd to see someone so warped from their original Elven form reflect that which she herself had not yet perfected. For a moment, in the dying light of the evening, she could even imagine how he might have looked before being twisted by darkness.

His eyes finally flicked to hers, "supposing that someone went to Lindon… let them know what was to happen…"

Fuinhíril chuckled, lips twisting in an amused smirk, "do not mistake my guidance for alignment with you. If you were wise, you would consult with the High King yourself, and band your forces to fight Sauron together"

Adar scoffed, an uncommon gesture from him, "áva hwinda na"

“Is it so absurd to wish to see both my people and yours live through this? The Elves of Eregion will not fire on their own — you would be granted immunity”

"You must be young" he muttered with an uncaring chuckle, his tone mocking, "to think that the High King would let slip a single word from my lips, and not bind me the moment I set foot in Lindon is not only idealistic, but entirely foolish"

Fuinhíril rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, "it seems the Elvish ways still hold captive your mind"

The energy in the tent shifted in an instant. Adar's gaze grew fierce, deadly, zeroed in on Fuinhíril with a quiet yet enduring fury.

"Glûg, leave us" he spoke just loud enough for the Orc opposite to hear the command.

"As you will it, Lord Father"

Glûg, as Fuinhíril could now identify him as, left immediately. All the while, Adar's eyes did not leave her. It was evident that what she said had struck a nerve, that it was a sentiment that cut deep, something he wasn't going to let slide.

"Whatever you think you know of my mind, you would do well to forget it" he rumbled in a low tone — soft, but dangerous, a promise of hostility if she didn't back down.

"If you could put aside your pride for just a moment," Fuinhíril spoke carefully, "you would see that my suggestion was intended as aid"

“By calling into question my character?” he pushed, taking a slow step in her direction.

“If needs must, if you're truly so blinded by disdain that you cannot see a better path forwards, yes”

"You think the Elves are any better?”

"No" Fuinhíril frowned, an exasperation creeping in her mind, "that is exactly what I mean to say. You are clearly just as stuck in your ways, just as proud and arrogant, and these are not qualities that will help you defeat Sauron"

Adar growled, as if the mere mention of the figure was enough to break his stoicism, "what would you know of the deceiver?"

"I—" she faltered, voice cracking, "I know more than you would think"

"What do you know?" he leaned forwards, resting his palm on the table to steady himself at her level.

"I know that seclusion will not be your deliverance. He wants you divided, squabbling amongst yourselves" Fuinhíril claimed.

Adar didn't reply immediately, but his head tilted slightly as if happening upon a thought. "How would you know what he wants?"

"I—" Fuinhíril faltered a second time, and now she could feel her palms becoming clammy, a heat inching up her neck with every passing second. She hadn't been prepared to let every secret slip so soon. "It is obvious" she asserted, deflecting.

Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, Adar had pulled a dagger from behind his back, and now held it to her side as he took her by the back of her neck, "you are a spy"

"What?" Fuinhíril cried as she tried to surge backwards.

"For him" he snarled, punctuating the word by pressing the tip of the blade into the cloth that separated it from her skin.

"No! I—"

"Speak the truth"

The cool metal of his gauntlet dug into her neck, pinching her skin and tangling in her already unruly curls. She winced against the discomfort, but he only gripped her tighter. Somehow it only occurred to her then just how dangerous he was, that he wasn't someone to be trifled with; he was someone she should be frightened of. His gaze was beyond stern, beyond menacing, his eyes cold, almost devoid of life completely as they met hers. For the first time in an age, a flicker of fear arose in her chest.

It was small, only an ember, but it was there.

"Adar… please" she gave her best look of pleading, her voice uncharacteristically weak.

The Uruk pressed his lips into a hard line, his nose scrunching the tiniest bit. It was as if showing mercy disagreed with him, and the disquieting feeling in Fuinhíril's chest burned hotter. He stepped back from her with a deep, unsatisfied sigh, but did not relent in his mistrustful gaze. Fuinhíril sighed in kind, hanging her head in resignation that she'd have to let something slip.

"I… encountered him, when he wore a different face" she muttered quietly, almost hoping he wouldn't hear.

"Wh—?"

Fuinhíril's eyes darted upwards as the word began to leave his lips, "do not ask me"

He held her gaze still, but now there was something changed to the way he watched her. The contempt fell away and revealed something more curious, something eerily like sympathy. Fuinhíril had to turn away. She couldn't bare to receive such a feeling.

"It would be wise to travel in a different direction" she muttered, folding her arms as she kicked her heel into the ground, feeling entirely small. Thankfully, the return to the previous topic of conversation alleviated a little of the tension that now surrounded the two of them. Adar hummed in understanding, an affirmation, and the moment passed.

"Come" he uttered, moving towards the door and ostensibly trusting that she would follow after him.

Firelight lit their path through the camp as night had fallen over the land, and Adar led Fuinhíril to a different tent. It was a lot smaller than the one they had just been inside of. He pulled aside the canvas that kept the inside concealed, revealing a bed of sorts. There was thin blanket thrown over it, as well as a pillow that was made from a sack and seemingly stuffed with an assortment of cloths.

"Your insight has been appreciated" he murmured, his voice startlingly close to her ear.

Fuinhíril looked over her shoulder to find him just behind her, holding the tent open so she might head inside. She found it was odd to now be on an even footing with him, even as he stood taller than her.

"Should you be willing to cooperate going forwards, this will be where you stay"

Fuinhíril stepped inside the tent, taking stock of the small space in a sweep of her eyes, before turning to meet Adar's gaze once more.

"Thank you"

Adar's brows drew together in a deep frown, his body recoiling subtly as if the statement has physically taken him aback, as if he didn't understand why she was thanking him.

"The Uruks will not disturb you here" he added, about to let the curtain drop and leave her with alone with her thoughts.

"Why am I no longer in chains?" Fuinhíril interrupted.

Adar appraised her a moment, his eyes wandering her form, "you do not seem like a threat"

Fuinhíril couldn't help but scoff, "am I to take that as offence?"

"Take it however you wish" he said simply, "it does not matter to me"

The tent slid closed, and she let the events of the day wash over her. Her fingers found the hem of her waistcoat, gently tugging at it to better view her side. There was a small tear in the fabric. It seemed that the dagger had bitten through the emerald material, a few of the threads now frayed. She tucked the loose ends into the small cut.

Fuinhíril laid back on the bed, though she wasn't tired. For the rest of the night until the break of day, she ruminated on whether or not it had been a mistake to come to Mordor. By the time that light seeped through the seams of the tent, she had determined that she wouldn't let it be.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

It was Glûg who first caught her scent. Fuinhíril trudged behind him, following his footsteps as a way to guide her through the dark, when suddenly his head whipped around. His ears perked up, his steps stuttering, and she knew he had picked up on something. 

“What is it?” she spoke quietly, earning a disgruntled expression from the Orc. She had spared him few words as of yet, and his distaste of her was shown in his voice as he replied. 

“Your kind are foul” he began, his head twinging to the right, “you smell… foul”

Fuinhíril would have laughed if it wasn’t for the clamour that arose from behind them. She whirled around as a rain of fire came down in the distance, the Orcs beneath caught in its torrent, and through the fire she saw a figure on horseback. If Fuinhíril had a weapon, she would have drawn it.

The woman, unquestionably an Elf, shouted something to the Uruks, who stood around her as she circled her horse about the area. A stroke of fear ran through Fuinhíril for her, knowing that she was far outnumbered. The realisation that she could be felled by an arrow, or worse, at any moment made her spring forward, darting in the direction of the other Elf. Though before she could make it anywhere near, Adar had pulled her to the ground, extinguishing the flame of her burning arrow with his gauntlet. 

It was clear that they were familiar. Fuinhíril noticed the way his lip curled as he spoke to her, almost a smirk, and felt a stroke of something unpleasant run through her. It was an immediate frustration at herself for the taste of jealousy that she tried to swallow. She couldn’t tell whether the expression Adar offered her was the look of a predator toying with its prey, or something more familiar, more warm than what she had received.

The Elf was forced into imprisonment, contained in a cage away from prying eyes, and the company continued on as if nothing had transpired, as if none had fallen. Fuinhíril found herself dragging her feet, not for weariness of body, but of mind. It was infuriating how Adar’s bearing weighed on her. She knew it was foolish to let such notions take root, for every reason that made sense in the name of rationality.

After a while, Fuinhíril looked up and found that she was walking behind the Orcs that pushed the cage, where she had set off in front of them. She straightened, determined not to fall behind any further, and it was then that she noticed the presence beside her. Her eyes snapped to the Uruk next to her, and found him looking past her and watching the cage as it was wheeled harshly through the forest. 

It then occurred to her that maybe she should not feel envy at all, but fear for her fellow Elf. She didn’t know why he had taken her rather than letting her pass or more likely, killing her. Fuinhíril hesitated before speaking.

“What will you do with her?” 

Adar’s gaze shifted over to her, and his frown relented a little, “I have something in mind”

It frustrated Fuinhíril that he didn’t trust her enough to let her be privy to his plans, though she tried not to show it. Her eyes fell to her boots, focused in on the way the golden ends shone to the rhythm of the flickering torches. If Adar couldn’t trust her, then perhaps she would never be able to tell him why she now stood at his side. Perhaps all of it was a mistake, a depth of folly reached by none before her. 

“Galadriel wishes fo—”

Fuinhíril’s head whipped up in shock, her mouth falling open, “it is the Lady Galadriel who you hold captive?” 

Adar arched a brow, “she is familiar to you?” 

“Only by name, as for all Elves” she said, a frown crossing her features, “she is far more familiar to you, it seems”

“Not by much” he murmured, eyes drifting back to the cage, “last I saw her, it was I who was the prisoner”

Fuinhíril chuckled lowly, and Adar regarded her with renewed fierceness. 

“Forgive me” she struggled to keep the laugh from her throat, “just it seems you aren’t as infallible as you let on”

Adar huffed, unimpressed as always. “I never claimed to be” he uttered, the corner of his mouth twitching as he added, “though my escape speaks to the contrary” 

Fuinhíril let her lips lift into a smile, a genuine laugh escaping her. “Perhaps,” she mused, “though perhaps it was just she grew tired of you”

Adar rolled his eyes, turning away, and if she wasn’t mistaken, somewhere in that tired expression there was the promise of a smile. He then sighed, and the moment ended. 

“Was her companion I have to thank for this” he held out his hand, displaying to her a thin scar that ran down the centre of his palm. 

Fuinhíril leaned closer to better see in the darkness, entirely surprised by the fact that he could have sustained a scar of just the flesh. She dared not think of what he had endured to appear so twisted from his original form, but she knew that it was no ordinary torture. The fact that a simple cut could now scar his body made her chest ache for him. Perhaps it was that his body didn’t heal as it did when he was still Elven, or perhaps it was just so great an injury. She wasn’t going to ask.

Her eyes travelled up to his, though he still regarded the scar. He inspected it with a fascination that told her there was more to it than just as it appeared. His eyes narrowed, and Fuinhíril briefly wondered who Galadriel’s companion had been. 

“She wishes for Sauron’s demise as much as I, as much as… you” he muttered, his eyes finding hers as he addressed her, “I believe a bargain can be struck” 

Fuinhíril nodded, though dropped her gaze to the floor ahead of her. Adar let his hand fall to his side once more, and unintentionally grazed her knuckles with his. She held back the gasp on her lips as she pulled away from him once more.

“I thought this might… please you” he rumbled.

Fuinhíril huffed a laugh, sparing him a dubious look, “please me?” 

“You wished for us to work with the Elves, not against them. Is this not what you had in mind?”

“If I knew what it was you had in your mind, then perhaps I could tell you” she argued. 

Adar grumbled, “I suppose that is a fair assertion” 

He did not continue, and Fuinhíril restrained a sigh. She imagined that whatever he had in mind was not as simple as purely ‘working with the Elves’, least ways not in a manner that she would deem suitable. It would be twisted to his own ends, no doubt. 

Truthfully, she wouldn’t blame him for it. Given the situation, she would do the same. 

With the pace that the Uruk’s kept, it was not long before the company reached the forest that overlooked the Glanduin, and the city of Eregion. Fuinhíril couldn’t help but feel a certain reticence creep on her disposition, even more than usual. She felt the need to withdraw from those around her, and so she did. 

She had watched as Adar was taken at knife point by Galadriel, had seen the word ‘allies’ on his lips as he met her eyes from afar, but she had turned away. She now stood between the trees upon a hill to the north of the city, looking out over the white towers and admiring how they seemed to glow in the moonlight. 

It was not often Adar found himself in a favourable position, and having this opportunity landed at his feet was certainly a stroke of luck. In his mind, it boded well for the coming days. His children had begun setting up their camp, and Galadriel had been locked away until he could decide exactly what he was going to do with her. Now, though, he searched for the other Elf under his protection.

Fuinhíril had not been sighted in hours, not since the Uruks arrived at the edge of the forest, and now a part of him thought that she may have fled altogether. The other part of him, a hopeless corner of his mind that he tried to keep quiet and numbed, hoped that she hadn't. It kept him searching, meandering the forest under the cover of darkness.

It frustrated Adar that Fuinhíril never let him see whatever it was that she wouldn’t speak of. Sometimes he caught glimpses of it, and at times he felt he knew what it was that burdened her, though he could never put it to words. He knew it was her intention, to keep her true self away from him. At this point, he was past suspicion, past disdain and mistrust, and fully taken by interest. He wished to know what she held so close to her chest, not so he could trust her, but so he might know her.

Adar was almost ready to give up, accept that she had left, that he would never know her secrets — perhaps that he hadn't needed to — when he spotted a figure at the crest of the ridge he stood on. She stood motionless as a statue, and under the cool light of the moon, Adar believed she could have been. She had the look of someone that people might revere enough to eternalise in marble, though it would not be an adequate material to render her true form. It would lack her freckles, the individual curls that fell out of line, the warmth of her skin and hair. Everything that made her unique.

He stepped forward, making sure to place his feet carefully as to not attract her attention immediately. She could be skittish at times, unaware of her surroundings, and he didn't wish to disturb her so. He would speak first, and she would know who it was that approached, not that it would necessarily be of much comfort. 

“You have been quiet” he spoke lowly when he was only a few metres from her.

She didn’t turn towards him, though he noticed the way her shoulders stiffened as his voice reached her ears. He approached, and could see how her eyebrows were drawn together, her face almost sombre, or trying not to be. He felt that the expression didn’t suit her. The freckles that were scattered over her nose seemed more defined in this light, standing out against her skin, and he noticed that two had even made it as far as her ear. He wasn’t prone to noticing details like that, at least not for so long that he couldn’t remember the last time he found someone to be so uncommon, someone who made his focus strengthen in their presence. 

Adar stepped forwards again, now at her side, “what brings you to this place, so far from the camp?”

Finally she looked over to him, her eyes studying his features a moment before she shook her head, “it does not matter”

Fuinhíril turned away, and by the grace of whatever unearthly force moved him, Adar took hold of her wrist before she could depart. She turned back, her eyebrows raised a little and lips parted. Though his resolve felt shaken under such an unguarded reaction from her, he wouldn’t back down now. 

“If there is something weighing on your mind, I’d have you tell me” he spoke softly. He wouldn’t ask another question; he knew she didn’t often answer those.

“There is nothing” she insisted. Her voice was quiet, so much quieter than usual, and it was a little unsettling. 

Adar narrowed his gaze, “just the other day, did you not say that there is no reason to lie, when the truth is simple”

“Well the truth is not so simple this time” Fuinhíril rebutted. 

His grip loosened on her wrist as she pulled away again, but before she passed out of his sight again he called her name. He had not only come looking for her purely for the sake of it, after all. She stopped in place, turning with a small sigh.

“Tomorrow, at dawn, I will make a proposal to Galadriel” he informed her, “I should like for you to be there”

“Me?” she frowned, a hand to her chest, “why?” 

“I do not trust her” 

Fuinhíril straightened, “sataryaldë ni?” 

Adar strode towards her, his pace slow, “you have proven you worth”

“My worth” she chuckled sardonically, dropping her gaze.

“You have aided me and my kin for a reason that I cannot yet determine, so yes I—” he paused, the sentence almost too difficult to say, “sataryan lye”

Something slid across her face, though Adar could not decipher it. If he was thinking wishfully, it may have been relief, though it appeared as something much more poised.

“What is it, that plagues you so?” 

Fuinhíril sighed, turning back to look out over the city. “It is a shame, that perhaps the greatest of Elven cities should fall in the name of just one being” she considered aloud, “a being who would not care to see it fall, nor thrive, but would seek to find his place as the victor in the event of either”

“Then perhaps it is a necessary sacrifice”

Fuinhíril shot him a sharp look, “I do not agree”

Adar did not recoil, despite the sting that persisted. He knew that they did not always see eye to eye, at least not where the Elves were concerned, though it was the mention of Sauron that seemed to still her bickering. It felt that, if he played his cards right, maybe he could coax something out of her. 

“This is not the first time you have spoken of Sauron” he commented.

Fuinhíril turned back to the city, “though I pray it will be the last” 

The quiet that followed was uneasy. Only the light whistling of the wind could be heard, as well as the gentle sway of the trees, a noise akin to sighing. Fuinhíril was unrelenting in her attitude, a direct contrast to her surroundings. It was certainly ill-advised to try and break the silence, though Adar no longer cared. He wished to settle the topic as much as she wished to avoid it.

“Man carsëne lyen?” he asked in a whisper, for fear that speaking any louder might scare her away. 

Her jaw tightened at his inquiry, breathing becoming more measured, and he watched as the seconds passed by, and the moonlight caught the sheen of unshed tears gathering in her waterline. She did not reply. It was foolish of him to think she would. After a prolonged silence, her eyelashes fluttered, blinking away the evidence of her anguish. 

“Á mailórë” she spoke resolutely, turning on her heel to walk back in the direction of the camp with haste.

Adar deflated, looking out over the white towers of Eregion. He felt something kindred with Fuinhíril, a connection of sorts, an understanding that he couldn’t explain. It wasn’t necessarily a comfort to him, not at the moment anyway. There was something that tied the two of them together, he was sure of it, but it was something she refused to speak of. Something borne of pain. He saw the torment in her eyes, ever present even when she did well to hide it. It was familiar to him, after all; it reflected back to him what hid in the depths of his own. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Fuinhíril could not stand to be outside. The clamour of war cries could be heard so clearly from the camp as the siege began to take place, and she had been given the post of minding Galadriel in the mean time. It wasn’t an entirely necessary assignment, and she knew it was most likely only because she had told Adar that her role in the Greenwood was in security. She was just happy to be as far away from the fight as she could be, though she couldn’t help the way her teeth were set on edge by the whole ordeal.

Galadriel was just as restless. Fuinhíril kept an eye on her from across the tent, even as her mind was elsewhere. She tapped her thumb against the the pommel of her sword to the rhythm of a song from her homeland, keeping her thoughts occupied. Neither her nor Galadriel had spoken, and hours had passed in the small space before either of them thought to break the silence. In that time, it had only grown more uncomfortable.

“Fuinhíril is your name, is it not?”

She did not reply at first, a little startled that she had voiced the question, though after a moment she gave a simple nod.

Galadriel tilted her head at the other Elf, her brows drawn together in quiet questioning, “how did you come to be here?”

Fuinhíril pressed her lips to a thin line, not prepared to answer, and readjusted her grip on her sword’s hilt subtly. Galadriel relaxed back in her seat with a short and bored exhale, but kept her gaze just as speculative. Her eyes roved across Fuinhíril’s features, and though she aimed to remain unaffected, she couldn’t help but shift in her place.

“You seem familiar” she said as if thinking aloud.

Fuinhíril frowned, “we have not met”

“I am aware”

Another long silence followed, somehow more uneasy than the last. A few minutes passed without conversation, but the two Elves watched each other still. Again, it was Galadriel who spoke first.

“Where are you from?”

Fuinhíril looked away as her eyes rolled of their own accord. “Eryn Galen” she conceded, hoping it might quieten her down.

Galadriel just hummed, nodding slowly, though regarding her with no less interest, “strange”

Fuinhíril held back another eye roll. If she was to be irritating, holding back her true thoughts and giving only crumbs of enticement, she would bite.

“What?” she asked, agitated.

Galadriel lightly shrugged, “you remind me of someone I once knew, that is all”

Fuinhíril forced down a reaction, avoiding eye contact as she cleared her throat, “and who might that be?”

“You would not know him,” Galadriel claimed, “he died long ago, in lands that no longer exist”

“I see” Fuinhíril exhaled softly, looking to her feet and pretending to inspect her boots, trying to ignore the way her heart had skipped a beat at the information.

“Still” the other Elf spoke again, and her gaze lifted to her once more, watching though her lashes to find the same scrutiny, “it is uncanny”

Fuinhíril huffed, finally irked enough, “either voice your thoughts, or stop looking at me like that”

Galadriel raised her eyebrows, testing her further, “why? Does it make you uncomfortable?”

She spoke as if she meant for it to, a certain resentment behind the words that Fuinhíril didn’t much appreciate. She felt her cheeks burn hot in spite of it, and folded her arms across her chest in objection, leaning back against a support post. She did not confirm nor deny the claim, and Galadriel took pity on her with a leering crease in her lips.

“Alphon of Doriath” she said, “you are his perfect likeness”

Fuinhíril chuckled faintly, even as an uncomfortable feeling began to coil her stomach into knots. “You are not the first to say so” she commented, “I suppose I should not be surprised that you knew him”

“And how is it you knew him?” she rebutted, her bewilderment showing in her tone.

“I did not”

Galadriel eyed her with an amused curiosity, “why do you resist?”

Fuinhíril shrugged, offering a reluctant simper when she couldn’t voice a compelling reason. She let the rare moment of levity hang in the air a second longer, then released a breath as she dropped the act.

“He was my father” she admitted.

Galadriel sat forward without missing a beat, her cuff pulling at her wrist, “your mother was Olosmë?”

The mention of her mother’s name made Fuinhíril subconsciously grip her arms tighter as she nodded in reply. In an equal and opposite manner, Galadriel wilted at the realisation.

“I am sorry”

Fuinhíril shook her head, “do not be”

“I was not aware she had a daughter” Galadriel spoke in a more hushed voice, a guilty undertone to it that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Few knew much about her after she passed into Middle Earth” Fuinhíril pushed off of the post to slowly walk over and settle in the chair beside her with a sigh, “it was only the news of her death that reached beyond the Blue Mountains, after all”

Galadriel blew out a long breath, hanging her head. She looked to Fuinhíril with a contemplative expression, then shook her head slowly, as if scolding her, disappointed.

“Why are you helping Adar?”

The question was loaded, she could tell. She knew what manner of familiarity her mother had had with the Elf beside her during her time in Doriath, she knew the reverence that others had felt for mother, and was sure that Galadriel was not an exception. The inflection in her voice asked the question: how can this be what you choose to do with your mother’s legacy?

“I seek the same thing as he does” she dismissed, leaning onto the table as she glanced in her direction. It felt like a poor excuse.

“That is not a reason” Galadriel called her out on it, “you know his methods are causing more harm than good”

Fuinhíril knew she was right, really. Her head said that it was true, Adar’s ways were getting in the way of the real goal, but her heart told her she should stop at nothing to get to Sauron. Then again, it wasn’t her that was fighting, it wasn’t her life that was on the line. Galadriel sat forwards, drawing closer to her.

“How can you stand to let Eregion fall? Knowing it is as Sauron wishes?”

“I do not know” Fuinhíril spoke quietly, turning away as shame started to scratch at her throat, “I cannot stop Adar, and I have not the strength to face Sauron myself. Perhaps this is the only way”

Galadriel’s nose wrinkled at the suggestion, giving her a displeased look, “why are you so sure your strength will fail?”

Fuinhíril sighed, “the truth is that in coming here, into Adar’s sphere, I am only reminded of my failure, of my weakness in the face of such evils. I doubt myself, I do not know whether I have the strength, and that is what scares me”

Galadriel remained quiet for a long moment, and Fuinhíril only realised she had been holding her breath when she released a heavy exhale.

“I understand”

Fuinhíril turned back to face her, and saw the sympathy written into her expression, a recognition of something kindred. Her lips were turned downward, her stare endlessly serious even as her gaze softened from its previous distaste. Fuinhíril could not tear her eyes away. She knew Galadriel had encountered Sauron from what Adar had said to her previously, but it hadn’t occurred to her until now, looking into the exposed mix of grief and rage in her eyes, that it had affected her so deeply. There was a startling vulnerability to it, an admission of having been ensnared in the deceit and trickery of the deceiver.

“Huinetári”

Her eyelashes fluttered, coming back to herself as she was snapped from the daze. She looked past the Elf to see Adar standing in the doorway, holding the tent open and overlooking the scene with a somewhat puzzled expression. Fuinhíril raised her eyebrows, a silent question of why he was seeking her out.

“Hótuldë nin” he spoke quietly, his gaze shifting between her and Galadriel before walking out and letting the curtain drop.

She lifted from her chair, striding over to the entrance with purpose, trying to rid herself of that gleam in Galadriel’s eyes, the one that reminded her far too easily of her time in Sauron’s grasp. Though as she was about to step past the threshold, she called her name.

“You have more power than you think” she told her softly.

Once again, Fuinhíril knew that she meant to say more than she was letting on, but it was not something she wanted to acknowledge. She offered a weak smile in return, a nod to say she appreciated the sentiment, and then ducked out of the tent.

“What did she mean by that?” Adar questioned, standing a few strides away, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as usual.

She shook her head dismissively as she joined him, “it’s nothing”

Adar observed her a moment, his eyes narrowing. “I know your task was to watch her, but…” he paused.

“But what?”

“I did not mean so… closely” he mused aloud, the ghost of a smirk turning his lips upward. Fuinhíril could feel heat rise to her cheeks, forcing her to look away.

“I do not know what you are talking about”

Adar hummed, barely hiding his amusement, “well as it happens, I have something more important for you to attend to than attempting to seduce my prisoner, so—”

“I was doing no such thing!”

Letting her sit in her own embarrassment, Adar only let his smirk widen. Fuinhíril could feel her resolve crumbling around the edges with each passing second under his scrutiny, though soon enough he stepped back and gestured behind him.

“Come” he murmured, “I have something for you”

He lead off, and Fuinhíril followed after him dutifully, cursing her racing heart. It wasn’t so often that she could be cracked so easily, and the fact that she found herself doing so every time she was in Adar’s presence was somewhat of a frustration to her. It made her feel weak, more than anything, and weakness was something she had been trying to rid herself of for a millennia.

She focused her eyes on the ground ahead of her as she worked through the idea in her head. Who was she to claim no weakness, feigning strength, if she could not face up to the one who had brought it tumbling down to begin with? Much less, if one Uruk could do the same thing in just one look.

There was a distinct difference between the two, she knew that, but the comparison occurred to her nonetheless.

Adar lead inside another tent, one that Fuinhíril had not been in herself, though it quickly became clear that it was his own personal tent. He seemed more at ease in the space, less on guard, and when the curtain slid closed it appeared that his shoulders relaxed, though just barely.

“Here” he picked something from the bed and handed it off to her, “try this on”

Fuinhíril frowned looking down upon the piece as she took it, a breastplate. It was a similar design to his own, though moulded differently, smaller, so that it might fit her better. She skimmed her hand across the armour and looked up to Adar, who she found watching her closely, though plainly, as if waiting for her to voice something.

“I hadn’t intended to fight” she confessed.

“I had gathered that. Although…” Adar tilted his head, “you should be prepared in the event that you have to”

Fuinhíril nodded, turning back to the breastplate and turning it over in her hands. There were clasps along the side that had been crudely reforged to the main body, one of them discernibly broken.

“I had these made also” Adar continued, gesturing to the other pieces of armour that laid on his bed, made from the same dark material. “I know it is not of the quality that you are accus—”

“It is fine” she cut him off, unbuckling her belt and setting aside her sword, “more than”

She did as he asked, trying on the pieces — a mock up of a tasset first, then a pair of vambraces — before briefly testing the size of the breastplate, without fully clasping it. She took the armour off as soon as she had put it on when a strange feeling settled over her, an acceptance that perhaps the fight was unavoidable. It wasn’t something she was yet ready to come to terms with, so she pushed it away.

More notably, she was also being watched by Adar with every movement she made, and the weight of his gaze was always far heavier than she knew what to do with. She set the armour down again, picking up her sword from where she had rested it, and looked up to him, silently asking if she was dismissed. Though he did not dismiss her, he only continued to watch her for a moment.

“Is there something else?”

He put out his hand, palm facing up, his eyes darting down to the weapon in her hand. Fuinhíril offered it to him hesitantly, unsure to his intentions, and he pulled it from its scabbard with ease. His eyes scanned the blade, along the inscriptions which spoke of its feats, of the one who it belonged to before her.

“Does it have a name?” he asked.

“Húrolírë”

Adar’s lips quirked up a little, “and has it earned the name as of yet?”

“It was not I who earned it the name” Fuinhíril stated, her voice more curt, making him raise an inquisitive brow. “My brother, Caethagos” she muttered, gesturing to the end of the hilt which bore the mark of a swan, “when he wielded it, Sílamarth was its name”

“I see” he handed it back to her, undoubtedly now understanding the name’s significance.

Fuinhíril took it from him, her eyes raking over the blade and up to the pommel, adorned by the mark of her family. For the first time since leaving her home, she allowed her thoughts to dwell on Caethagos. She thought of his dedication to their family, everything he had given up to raise her, taking up the mantle with little support from her other brothers. She had never had the chance to truly thank him for all he did, and it was a pain that still weighed on her heart even now.

“I believe he thought the name would strike fear into the hearts of those who faced it” she recalled, quiet for a moment before sheathing it, “and it did, for a time”

“He named it in the tongue of the Sindar?”

Fuinhíril opened her mouth to answer, though her words would not come for the uncomfortable thought of having to divulge something so personal, something that would lead to further questioning. She glanced over to him, a half-hearted chuckle leaving her lips.

“I would not wish to bore you with the specifics of my family tree” she remarked, but Adar’s expression remained serious in the face of her attempt to deflect.

“I am asking”

Fuinhíril hesitated, the words not coming to her fast enough. It felt too personal, too intimate. It had been easier to discuss such things with Galadriel, who she didn’t have to explain anything to.

“Well…” she began unsteadily, “my father was of the Sindar in Menegroth, and by the time my brothers were born my mother had adopted the language, as expected”

“Before, you said that Quenya was your mother tongue” he drew his brows together slightly.

“It is”

She didn’t want to continue, but Adar was looking at her as if she was lying, and that was far more bothersome a feeling.

“My mother was—” she struggled to find the right word, not truly knowing if there was a correct way to describe her, “eccentric, perhaps? When I was born, she had begun to… regress, you could say”

“Regress?” Adar questioned, tilting his head.

“She was consumed by grief, and no longer cared for propriety or expectation, so she spoke to me in her own tongue”

“For what did she grieve?”

She hesitated again. For a reason she couldn’t define, a feeling she couldn’t place, she didn’t like him being so interested in her family. It was a topic that felt sacred to her, one she was not acquainted with discussing, and voicing that which she held close to her heart had always felt more difficult for her than most. Even so, it seemed an honest inquiry.

“My father” she mumbled, shifting in her place.

“Wh—”

“I believe you have pried enough” she spoke sharply, stepping back as her defensive nature reared its ugly head.

Fuinhíril almost winced looking upon Adar. Her reaction left an unpleasant taste in her mouth, and he seemed to be just as unimpressed by it. She averted her gaze, ashamed by her childish display, and an uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a long moment.

“My mother was thought to be eccentric”

Fuinhíril looked back to find that Adar had a far-off look in his eyes, staring into the space behind her. She kept her lips sealed in the hopes that he might continue, and was rewarded after a few seconds of quiet.

“It was her benevolence that guided her. Not everyone understood that” he uttered.

It was a challenge for Fuinhíril to see the man before her as anything but what he was; a twisted Elf, hardened by ages of suffering and arduous survival. She could not imagine him as a young Elf, a carefree being with not a worry to burden him. Though as she dwelt upon the thought, she caught the way his focused expression shifted — there was no scowl, no frown, his lips parting ever so slightly, and somehow he seemed more youthful, more even-tempered. Fuinhíril could feel her heart leap and then ache the next moment. Any and all innocence he could have had was robbed from him long ago, never to be returned.

“I’m told my father was like that” she heard herself say, a murmur through her troubled thoughts.

Adar’s gaze shifted back to her, “you did not know him?”

“I was born after his death” she confirmed, pausing to take a lengthy breath, “my brothers always told me how I reminded them of him. They mostly took after my mother’s side of the family, but I had his hair, his eyes, his freckles, his… mind. I believe it drove my mother mad”

The honesty pouring forth from her was startling, and she once again found herself gripping her sword. She was reluctant to share these parts of herself with anyone, really. Her family had once been people she took pride in telling others about, but now a great blanket of shame entrapped the subject. She could not compare to the greatness of any of them. Had Caethagos been around to hear her say such a thing, he would have told her something akin to ‘one does not need to have done great deeds to be worthy of greatness’.

In rare moments such as this, Fuinhíril longed for just one last piece of advice from her eldest brother. He was always wise beyond his years, at least in her lifetime, but she also knew that he had to have been, for her sake.

Fuinhíril noticed Adar shift in her peripheral, marginally closing the distance between them, and it drew her from her thoughts once more. There was something comforting about his presence. It was perhaps the composure behind his actions and words, the control he exhibited that she knew nothing of how to wield.

“What was his name?”

His tone was soft, careful, and Fuinhíril found herself completely wrapped up in him. It felt as dangerous as every other time she had been in this position, as if she wasn’t supposed to be doing it. Part of her no longer felt inclined to listen to the alarm bells, and thought maybe they were of her own making, another method of protecting herself that had only ever resulted in loneliness.

“Alphon” she told him, and was surprised to feel a great weight depart from her heart.

Adar hummed, his eyes betraying a smile that barely lifted his lips, “was it a fitting name?”

“In more ways than one” she chuckled sadly.

Adar nodded slowly, and Fuinhíril presumed that he knew not to ask any more of her. He still held her gaze nonetheless, and for the first time it occurred to her that she did not know Adar’s true name. She could not find the words to ask, but her lips parted as if she might. For just a fleeting breath, his eyes flickered down to her lips, and then he backed away.

“I hope the armour is satisfactory” he spoke, then left before Fuinhíril had the chance to thank him for it.

Fuinhíril was sat outside of the tent that held Galadriel. She was not in the mood for another conversation, and preferred to stew in her conflicted thoughts for the time being. She thought of all that Galadriel said, about power and strength, the inference of her mother’s influence in those spheres. The battle was loud as ever, and now seemed as if it was calling to her, a deadly siren song aiming to entice her. She felt useless.

At the peak of her agitation, she noticed Glûg walking past her. More specifically, she recalled that it was not the first time he had done so in the past few minutes. He stood out among his kind, standing taller than most, so it was not difficult to recognise as he strolled past in haste, sparing a disparaging glance in her direction. Fuinhíril couldn’t help but chuckle despite her previous gloomy mood. She let him continue the charade, walking past her a few more times, before she spoke up.

“What is making you so anxious that you must pace back and forth in fron of me?” she called, stopping him in his tracks.

“It’s nothing to do with you” Glûg grunted, his nose scrunching.

Fuinhíril observed as he walked away again, catching the contemptuous way he peered over at Adar, who stood across the way, watching the battle from afar. The next time Glûg walking past her, she called his name more seriously, and he looked to her as she stood, hoping that her expression read as a sympathy he would accept.

“What is it?” she asked, stepping up to him.

He towered over her, and by all means she should have been afraid, but she felt no such inclination. He was clearly troubled, and even as he refuted her at every turn, it was an uncommon enough trait in Uruks that she could not ignore it now.

Glûg looked over to Adar quickly, before returning his gaze to Fuinhíril, “why does the Lord Father trust you?”

“Oh” she frowned, “I suppose was have an… understanding”

He huffed with what appeared to be dissatisfaction, “but how can you trust him?”

The question surprised her, and particularly the bitterness with which it was asked. Glûg began to back away, his expression betraying how he had spoken aloud something he hadn’t meant to.

“I trust in his goal” Fuinhíril answered despite his countenance.

Glûg halted, regarding her uncertainly, “what of the way he is getting it?”

Fuinhíril sighed and crossed her arms, for it was the very reason she had been stewing to begin with.

“I cannot decide whether the ends justify the means” she muttered, “I can’t believe it is worth the blood that will be spilled”

“Elf blood?”

“All blood” she affirmed, her frown deliberate. Glûg seemed a little taken aback, though she continued, “there is only one who should suffer, but instead thousands of lives are put at risk. I dare not think of how many have fallen already”

Glûg considered her words in silence, and when he spoke again, his voice was much quieter.

“All I want is a place where my son will be safe” he paused, as though his next words were hard to say, “but I don’t think Adar feels the same way”

Fuinhíril’s gaze sharpened, her brows raising, “why?”

“He has put the lives of many Uruk at risk” he grumbled, his eyes turning down.

Overwhelmed by compassion and afflicted by the pain that clouded his mind, Fuinhíril reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. He gave her a discomforted look, though he did not pull away.

“He loves you, Glûg”

He scoffed, “what would you know?”

“I know he wants to rid the world of this threat, not for himself, but for you; for his kin” she spoke candidly, “perhaps… he has been blinded to that”

“How can he be made to see?” he asked, a tiresome note to his words.

“I can try?” Fuinhíril offered, her voice entirely unsure.

Glûg grunted, pushing her hand away, “he would listen to you, but not his own son?”

“Gl—”

“Don’t bother” he swatted away her hand as she reached to stop him leaving, “if he doesn’t care then you shouldn’t either, Elf”

The disdain of the parting word brought an unexpected sharp pain to Fuinhíril chest. It had felt that she was making some progress with him, but to him it seemed just a lapse in judgement. Having heard the same thing from both Glûg and Galadriel, a shared sentiment that Adar’s methods were folly, she was inclined to share in the view.

Fuinhíril heard a voice to her left and instinctively flinched at the intrusion, turning to find Adar at her side.

“What?” she asked, her voice noticeable irritated.

“What was that about?”

Her gaze found Glûg’s receding figure. She intended to respect that he hadn’t broached the subject with Adar, and part of her was becoming increasingly irked by his insistence to always be hovering around her. She still felt a soreness from baring the wounds of her family history to him, and they began to sting anew as he pried once more.

“Nothing” she mumbled, walking away to gain some space.

“Did he hurt you?”

“What? No” Fuinhíril glanced back with an incredulous frown.

“What then?”

“It’s nothing” she said more insistently as she spun around to face him. She had only made it a few strides away from him, and it didn’t feel like enough now that her mind was turning from his favour.

“Clearly something bothers you” he said plainly.

It was obvious and she knew she wasn’t trying to hide it, but his even tone as he kept pressing for an answer made her teeth grind.

“Far be it from me to burden you with such things” she spoke sarcastically under her breath, turning away.

“Fuinhíril” he called, grabbing her wrist to halt her movements, “tell me what you are thinking”

She released a heavy breath and turned back to face him. His gaze shifted between her eyes, as if searching fro the cause of her torment, as if he could read her so well. A frightening thought occurred to her, that perhaps he could.

“I believe you are being too unforgiving with the lives of your children”

Adar’s grip loosened at her words, and she took the opportunity to snatch back her wrist.

“Are these Glûg’s words?”

“No! I just—”

“Galadriel’s then?”

“No—”

“Then tell me, since when have you cared for the lives of my children?”

Fuinhíril’s mouth opened, though she didn’t know was to say. She stepped away from him, scandalised by the accusation.

“Have I ever shown a degree of animosity that proved that true?” she heard herself raising her voice, but as she was met with silence her anger only simmered further, “have I ever acted in a way that would prove I couldn’t value their lives just because I should, because they walk this earth same I, even when their own fath—”

She stopped herself from going any further with a deep breath, but the message had already been received. Adar remained eerily calm, the way he always did, but now it only brought her more irritation. She wished that just for this one time, he would match her tone, her desperation.

“Do you not want the deceiver brought to justice?” he asked.

Fuinhíril sighed with exasperation, “of course I do, but—”

“I am doing everything I can to make sure of it, can you not see that?”

“I know that is what you think you’re—”

“What I think?” he repeated in a cold chuckle, “what is you think I’m doing”

“I think you’re acting rashly” Fuinhíril replied, standing her ground and pressing him to bite back.

“I am only acting according to the requirements of the si—”

“But at what point does the cost become too great?”

“Is there a cost too great for something so imp—?”

“There is truly nothing you wouldn’t stop this madness f—?”

“No”

Fuinhíril clenched her fists at her side, setting her jaw to hold back the onslaught of righteous talk that threatened to burst from her. She knew it would only enter one ear and exit through the other, so instead she turned away and stormed off.

“Do not walk away from me” Adar called immediately, a lick of the anger that she wished he would use colouring his tone.

“I can do as I please” she huffed, more to herself as she tried to gain some distance from him.

She did not make it far before he had grabbed her once again, this time holding her in place with a hand on each arm.

“You understand why I have to do this, do you not?”

He was more unsteady than before, a frantic edge as if he feared to lose her allegiance more than he cared to make her see his point of view.

“Of course I do” she replied, dialling back her volume, “but I think you have lost sight of why you are doing it”

Adar frowned, and his grip tightened, though it seemed subconscious on his part. Fuinhíril squirmed a little, but he did not relent.

“Let go of me” she said quietly, and he released her from his grasp right away.

Even in the aftermath of her anger, Fuinhíril stayed in place, and the two of them remained locked in the other’s gaze. There was a communication of something vulnerable, an assurance that a connection still existed between them, one far deeper than either was willing to admit. If anything, Fuinhíril felt sorry for him. He was burdened with this task only because of what had been done to him, it had fallen to him out of the pure injustice of his existence. At length, she stepped back with a shake of her head.

“I pity you, Adar” she said softly, only her eyes facing towards him.

Adar scowled, “I do not ask for your pity”

“You do not ask for anything. That is you problem”