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As Mairon lay there, on the cold stone floor of the audience chamber, he reflected. The betrayal was a shock to say the least, that crown should be securely on his head as all the Uruk kneeled before him, Adar to his side. He should be being worshipped right now instead of being stuck in this endless cycle of blades through his flesh. Adar should be singing his praises to his children, not his children singing of murder and glee as they stabbed him. The pain was over now, that much Mairon is grateful of. He could still feel the cold metal puncturing his body, the uncomfortable lurch of each body part as it got slashed by the newest blade getting almost monotonous.
He would survive this, Mairon knew. How long would his recovery take this time? 100 years? 1000? 10,000? Mairon found that he didn’t care, not really. He would endure anything he had to for what he wanted. He had failed this time but that mattered less and less as the minutes and then hours rolled by.
Adar stood by him for all of it. Mairon would have laughed at the irony if he had any feeling left in his body at all. Adar’s eyes were unwavering as he witnessed the slaughter of he who should have been his master. Mairon wished he could turn his neck to gaze back into Adar’s cold, unfeeling eyes.
Had Adar given nothing of his decision away the days prior to the coronation? Mairon pondered the elf’s actions and decided he hadn't missed anything. Perhaps Adar had changed his decision as he held the iron crown above Mairon’s head. Maybe he was going to crown him right up until the very end.
Granted, killing one of Adar’s ‘children’ in the middle of his speech wasn’t the best idea but Mairon just couldn't help it. Maybe it had been a slow decline into hatred, and killing that ugly being Adar called ‘child’ had been the tipping point. Mairon realised it didn’t matter, not really. He would be back. And Adar would pay.
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As Adar lay there, on the soft, moss covered floor he looked up into the snarling faces of his children. He couldn't even blame them for turning on him, he had been subject to Sauron's deceptions and seduction for longer than he had cared to admit. All that time spent in the north with Mairon he had been subject to his manipulations: doing his bidding, taking his orders, sharing his bed. It had been addictive, saying yes to Mairon.
Adar didn’t know when that changed. It had been gradual, he knew that much. The claws Mairon had sunken into him hurt so nicely, Adar couldn’t help but lean further into the Maia’s grasp.
Finally, Adar admitted to himself then that he wasn’t surprised it would happen this way. Turning his own children against him was the exact kind of sweet revenge he expected Sauron to take. Adar couldn't bring himself to swallow down the bitterness of the situation. Everything he had worked for since Mairon’s death had been twisted out of his grasp like a ragdoll snatched from a crying child.
His children wouldn't even be safe, not under the cruel hands of Sauron. Not that they were any safer with you his mind whispered to him in Sauron’s silky voice. His eye’s found its way to Glûg, who had been the first and only one of the Uruk to stop mercilessly slashing at Adar’s body. They just stood there, wide eyed, passing their sword from one bloodsoaked hand to another, an absent look in their eyes and Adar would have weeped right then if he could. No, Sauron would not treat his children well.
This couldn't go on forever, Adar knew, his body was mangled and bloody and his mind wasn’t far behind. He couldn't see Sauron but knew he was there, watching just as Adar had watched him all those thousands of years ago. He didn’t want that, he realised, for Sauron to see his ending. Sauron always won, in the end. Adar just had to accept that. It was easier to do that than he realised. Adar finally swallowed down the bitterness and the regret and the guilt and slipped away, looked up into the faces of his children one last time.