When the guests were finally done emptying the pot of its questionable contents, Dûmrakh suggested that they all move to some other room to let Togo clean the table undisturbed. Some privacy seemed to be exactly what he needed, judging by the soulless screech of anguish echoing down the corridor as he saw the mess.
"Morgoth help us... look at yourselves," Dûmrakh exclaimed in frustration upon noticing that his children were even dirtier than before he had washed them. He immediately set to the unrewarding task of peeling off the layers of food hiding their innocent little monster-faces.
"Who's Morgoth?" asked Krazum, getting mostly pitying glances in response. He soon had something else to be puzzled over as Nargoth started making infernal noise again, protesting the removal of the crusty mask of whatever Togo had cooked that distorted his cherubic features. "And why is he screaming like that? I mean, those two have done nothing but act completely irrationally all day. They don't even talk properly."
"They're toddlers," Tauremardë pointed out. The logic of that statement took a while to reach Krazum, but after he figured out a wonderful new thing about the concept of 'toddler', he just got smug.
"We the pit-made are born ready, you know," he said, swelling with a much-needed feeling of superiority. "We know how to talk from the moment we're separated from the earth, and we don't take forever to develop into maturity."
Since it would have been too safe and easy to make sarcastic comments about the maturity of certain Orcs, Grishtakh instead chose to point out that Gruzlak wasn't ready despite coming from a pit too. While Krazum's mind turned to the task of cramming those blasphemous words right back down the goblin's throat, Ghâshsag tried to show some courteous interest in Tauremardë's offspring by blurting out the first thing that came to his mind.
"So, what do Elf-toddlers eat, anyway? Meat?"
"Oooohh, I am glad you asked..." Tauremardë drawled. The smile that twisted the corners of her mouth made Anguelen sigh in a kind of there-she-goes-again way. "You probably didn't know this, but babies can only use milk for nourishment."
"Oh..? That's not so bad, then?" Ghâshsag was a bit unnerved by the predatory grin playing on the Elven woman's lips, but managed to sound somewhat optimistic.
"Milk which had formed inside my own body, and which I fed to them through my nipples."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAUUGH!"
"I see you still enjoy picking on little ones," Anguelen noted once he managed to calm down the goblins who had so cruelly been introduced to yet another cultural aspect completely alien to them. "I also seem to remember that you picked on me quite a lot when I was little."
"And such a wholesome lad you grew up to be, my dear." Tauremardë smiled in an almost apologetic fashion before turning her attention to her own children. The smile turned into a frown. "Sweetheart, why don't I go wash them? You can keep company to our guests."
Not one to wait for obvious answers, she simply barked an order in what was her dialect of the High Elven tongue but sounded an awful lot like Black Speech; immediately Ruzsnak and Nargoth stopped squeaking like a pair of distressed mice and followed her to the bathroom. After Dûmrakh's obligatory "how does she do it" comment, nothing was stopping Anguelen from launching into a musing session about his cousin.
"Sometimes I wonder what exactly it is that makes me so fond of her..."
"Great minds roll in the same gutter?" Thraknash helped.
"There's that too, I won't deny it – but I think the reason I really respect her is her ability to say things like 'oh my' and 'dear me' as though it's normal talk." Anguelen looked bemused. "And nobody ever makes fun of her for it. How does she do it?"
When Anguelen stopped talking, a complete silence reigned in the room. Dûmrakh kept staring at his hands, and no one else could think of anything to do or say for a long time. Common courtesy kept Anguelen and Thraknash from sneaking out and finding something to amuse themselves with; Krazum was still being indignant; Gruzlak kept stealing quick glances at everyone and lowered his eyes immediately if someone looked back. Sharrásh twitched.
Dûmrakh took a small bundle out of his pocket. Being the only one in the room who knew what to do with his hands, he was soon the target of many an envious stare. He opened the bundle, revealing a slab of roasted meat. Thraknash frowned a little at the lack of blood, but kept looking anyway. Dûmrakh began to eat very slowly.
Perhaps to drown out the sound of tendons snapping painfully loudly in the quiet room, Legolas began to sing quietly, the words coming from the very depths of his star-kindled spirit. His voice was not quelled in the least bit by the glares he got; it rang clearly and beautifully, making something in the orkish hearts shrivel and bud at the same time.
Unfortunately, also in Burzum's heart. "Oh, you express yourself through song as well? I also find joy – dark joy, of course – in music. I just came up with great lyrics a while ago, listen..."
"Orcs do not sing of things of beauty," Legolas snapped, not wanting another reminder of a supposed common ancestry. Completely ignoring that, Burzum stood up straight, surprisingly tall for a goblin of Moria, and cleared his throat. It did nothing to improve his voice, as the others could hear a second later.
My hands reek of fear and carnage
I have got no soul
Step inside my house of pain
I've come for your brain!
The sung part was followed by a series of outlandish screeches which the other Moria-Orcs recognised as their own dialect, though with great difficulty as all the vowels and consonants just sort of blended together and eventually became so garbled that it became impossible to make out the words. By the time Burzum stopped 'singing', his impassive eyes were alight with demonic glee, his fangs bared and skin flushed. He was panting.
"I call it 'In the Pandaemonium of Morgoth's Obsidian Heart'. 'Tis but a translation of the original, which is far more brutal. So, what do you think?"
Anguelen was sitting on the edge of his seat, eyes glittering. He seemed to be in awe of the performance. "I... liked it. Very much." Burzum blushed some more. Everybody could tell he was pleased, for he almost had an expression before restraining himself.
Tauremardë finally returned, but without her children. Her blue gaze fell upon Dûmrakh and the piece of meat he was still gnawing on. She pouted slightly.
"Honey," she said, "honeycomb, why are you stuffing your face with some dead animal when you could be eating my pie?"
Dûmrakh lowered his snack, undisturbed by the furious coughing fit this inspired in Legolas, as well as the amused sound Gimli made. "But you nearly broke my jaw last time, skankiest," he reasoned.
"I love it when you talk dirty to me, you utter bastard..."
"Dirtily."
"What was that, treacle?"
"Dirtily. I speak dirtily; my manner of speech is dirty," Dûmrakh repeated, making gestures with the hand that still had the piece of meat in it. Tauremardë sucked air in through her teeth.
"Still trying to get me back for that time I corrected his syntax," she moaned, looking fondly at the Orc. "I do so love him. Now, cousin dear; you look happy. Is there any other reason besides getting laid more often than once in an Age?"
"Oh, well... it's not as if I want to sound sappy or anything, but I'm just glad to be with my only family members that don't drive me insane. Yea, and I am happy to get laid more often," Anguelen admitted. Tauremardë suddenly got a very strange facial expression.
"Hum... I am glad for you... but you see, I got a message from the town a day ago, and... that is to say, sometimes they send other members of the family to see how I'm doing and make sure I'm not creating an army of darkness with my womb, and there's someone coming tomorrow."
"...great. Who is it?"
"Your brother."
Anguelen frowned. His eyes darkened with great distaste. "My brother." As if acknowledging the apology was not hers to make but still wanting to do something, Tauremardë nodded awkwardly.
Thraknash looked slightly confused. "I thought you were the only son," he said.
"Oh, I'm my mother's only son, that is true. And he's just a half-brother, anyway. A complete pain in the arse, though."
"Your father has sired another son for another lady?" Legolas asked, forgetting politeness in favour of jumping at the chance of talking about something normal such as family trees for a change.
"Same father, different mothers, that's right."
"'Tis unusual, but not unheard of... did your mother fall under the Shadow in the dark times?" For the first time, Legolas was developing something akin to sympathy towards the younger Elf.
Anguelen glanced at Legolas. "Not really. It's merely that Father had this other son with his second wife."
This time, disapproval was creeping into Legolas's voice. "But surely your father has not cast away his first wife..?"
"No."
"Then how would he have anoth... er..." As the awful truth dawned on the noble prince, his eyes went blank and he just sat there quietly, staring at Anguelen.
"That's exactly what the council wanted to know," Tauremardë inserted. "'What need have you for another wife when the love between you and your first one is still pure and strong' or something like that they said. But I suppose he at least didn't make that decision alone."
"Mother does rather likes Nárellë, doesn't she? If you know what I mean."
"Oh yes," Tauremardë chuckled. "Still, I can't believe your father has the gall to call us deviant for craving a bit of Orc-flesh, but it's fine for him to go ahead and do whatever he wants no matter what the laws and customs of our kin say."
Legolas began to rock back and forth on his chair, while Gimli wondered aloud how far they had actually travelled, and how different the cultures would turn out to be even farther away from where they were now. As the cousins reminisced over their common memories and thus introduced Thraknash (and some other reluctant listeners) to parts of his lover's past, it slowly but surely got dark outside, marking the end of another day.
"I think I'll go find the kidlets now. They've been playing in the woods long enough for one day," Tauremardë yawned. "Dûmrakh, please show them to their rooms..."
Bidding good night to her guests, she went outside to fetch Ruzsnak and Nargoth. Like a good host, Dûmrakh led the guests to their rooms, taking care to separate Gimli and Legolas from the Orcs and Thraknash and Anguelen from everybody else to give everyone a fair fighting chance at catching some sleep. As if taking this little hindrance as a challenge, Burzum gazed longingly at the lightless forest outside the window of the Moria-Orcs' room while Thraknash stayed behind long enough to remind them of what would happen if they didn't behave themselves during the night. The others gave half-hearted promises to act like good little Orcs, but Burzum opened the window and inhaled the cool air.
"Night has fallen, outside a darkness to unbirth the stars! And now, to join my brethren of the night..." He climbed out of the window and fell to the ground with a light thud. The others could only see the unnatural shine of his yellow eyes as he stopped to look behind. "Keep my grave open, I'll return for breakfast!"
"Up to his old tricks again," Thraknash muttered, quickly settling on letting the goblin do as he wished so he could follow Anguelen to their bedroom.
Anguelen had already unbuttoned his new jacket by the time Thraknash closed the door behind him. "Can't wait to get out of these. I hate getting new clothes."
"You should wear fewer of them, anyway," Thraknash told him with more mischief in his voice than he was used to, but it didn't feel out of place; after all, it was not as if some outsider was going to hear him there. He approached the bed, examining it carefully before lying down on the mattress. "It's a mystery to me how anyone can sleep on something this soft."
Anguelen straddled him, pinning him down. "You should be grateful for a soft mattress when you get to sleep on one," he murmured with a smile. "Or at least you will be when I nail you to it."
Thraknash looked up at him with challenge in his eyes. The Elf's raging hormones immediately sparked into action as they stared at each other, the temperature in the room rising quickly.
And the atmosphere was completely ruined by three sharp knocks coming from the door. Two pairs of narrowed eyes immediately bored into it with irate glares of equal strength. Thraknash growled, and Anguelen gritted his teeth together so hard it was difficult for him to grind out his next words.
"Who the fuck might that be," he managed to say. "Tauremardë would never be cruel enough to barge in on us like this..."
He got his answer as the next series of knocks was accompanied by a rather irritating voice. "Come on, Anguelen, you deviant pervert! I know you're not sleeping, there's light coming out from under the door!"
"Oh, so he thought to surprise us by arriving in the middle of the night. Just a minute." Anguelen got up and headed for the voice, stopping only to pick up his grandfather's sword. He threw the door open and disappeared into the dark corridor. There was a very short conversation that Thraknash couldn't quite make out, and a high-pitched scream that he had no trouble with. Soon Anguelen came back to find Thraknash nearly undressed.
"So that was your brother?" he asked, dropping his belt to the floor. "Where did you leave your sword?"
"I used it to pin him to the wall. Let's hope he has the common sense to keep quiet for the rest of the night."
They wasted no more time talking after that. Apparently, Anguelen's brother was smart enough to shut up as they were not disturbed again that night.