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The first thing you noticed about Adar was that he never asked you to stay.
He would tell you to leave.
Every time.
"Go," he said, standing beneath the darkening sky of Mordor. His voice was quiet, almost gentle. "You have no place here."
You folded your arms.
"And yet you keep looking for me."
His expression hardened.
"That is precisely why you should go."
You smiled faintly. "You don't mean that."
For a moment, Adar said nothing.
Then he looked away.
That was how it always was with him. Every time you came close, he built another wall. Every time you managed to slip past it, he convinced himself that pushing you away was kindness.
You had learned not to take his cruelty personally.
Not that it didn't hurt.
Tonight, however, something was different.
You found him alone on the battlements, staring across the bleak landscape.
"You're hurt."
"I am fine."
"You're bleeding."
"I said I am fine."
You stepped closer.
Adar finally turned toward you.
His face was tired. More tired than you had ever seen it.
"You should not concern yourself with me."
"I concern myself with you constantly."
His eyes flickered.
"You should not."
"I know."
You reached for his hand.
He instinctively pulled away.
Your expression fell.
Adar noticed.
Immediately.
His jaw tightened.
"Y/N..."
"I wasn't trying to fix you."
"I know."
"I wasn't going to tell you that everything would be all right."
"I know."
"I just wanted to hold your hand."
Silence.
For several seconds, he stared at you as though you had said something he didn't know how to answer.
Then, slowly, he extended his hand.
You took it.
His fingers were cold.
You held them between yours.
Adar looked down at your joined hands.
"You should be afraid of me."
"I am."
His eyes lifted.
You gave him a small smile.
"But I'm more afraid of what happens when you convince yourself you don't deserve anyone."
Something in his expression broke.
Only for a second.
But you saw it.
"You don't know what I deserve."
"No," you whispered. "But I know what you need."
"And what is that?"
You stepped closer.
"Someone who stays."
Adar's breathing faltered.
"You cannot promise that."
"I can."
"You do not know what tomorrow will bring."
"Neither do you."
"You could lose everything."
"I could."
His eyes searched yours.
"And still you would stay?"
You nodded.
Adar looked away, his shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly.
When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"I have spent centuries believing that anyone who came close to me would eventually be destroyed."
You squeezed his hand.
"I am still here."
He looked at you.
"I know."
For the first time, he didn't tell you to leave.
Instead, he stepped forward and rested his forehead against yours.
His eyes closed.
And you felt his hand tighten around yours.
Not because he was afraid you would hurt him.
Because he was afraid you would disappear.
"Stay," he whispered.
You smiled.
"I told you."
His eyes opened.
"You did."
"I always keep my promises."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
"Then perhaps," Adar murmured, "I have finally found something worth believing in."
You leaned against him.
And for once, the Lord of Mordor allowed himself to simply be held.