Chapter Two

The Gaze

The ruckus of the crowded pit faded with their rapid pace, the Orc smith growled with every breath he took. He was livid, ignoring her and storming back the way they had come. He veered off into a side tunnel, one with a drafty scent.

Ithildae still felt the adrenaline hovering on her limbs, surging her movements. The blood she wiped onto her leg felt cold, eerie. It was the blood of her kin. Kalus was tense, the Orcess imagined if she touched him he would explode. She doubted words would put him at ease, but she could attempt it.

"I did not ask for a fight," she spoke.

He stopped short and rounded on her. It was pitch black, only his outline was visible. She stilled and felt for the knife on her thigh, uneasy to resort to violence with him -although he was unstable and could lash out.

"Ya killed a dozen of them! Like it was nothin'," He snarled. "Zuzar saw it and I'll be damned if Azog and Bolg don't know 'bout it in the next hour."

"They wouldn't blame you," she scoffed, "I did the killing."

"Don't matter to them, I'm supposed to keep ya under control."

"Under control? Am I some animal to you?"

"Nah, yer a pain in the ass."

Ithildae glared to the side, ignoring his foul words.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Where ya ain't gonna mess around and kill any bastard who throws himself at you,"

"That general gave them an order!"

"Just because Zuzar tells 'em won't make them hate you less!"

They were chest to chest, staring murderously into the other's eyes, the darkness encased around them.

"Just stay away from them," He hissed, "Ya shouldn't even be here…" Kalus backed away, heading further down the tunnel.

Ithildae snarled and followed, not knowing where he was leading her or when they would stop. The passageways they tread were dark, low, and damp with a slick moss. The scent of the air was not unpleasant, earthy and old. As if the evil was not so strong in these tunnels. She lost count of the time they walked… he was taking her far away from the Pits.

A gentle gust of air caught her off guard, it was fresh. The light in the tunnel registered and Ithildae leaned forward to find the illumination. A connecting passage opened up and the echoing drip of water came to her ears, it was a cavernous area. Sickly sunlight filtered down from the gaping hole in the ceiling. Fallen stone slabs and walls created a uneven ground and terrain. There were many places to hide.

"It smells different here… it is quiet and vacant." She muttered, scanning the area.

Water cradled by the fallen stone created a pool, filled by what she assumed was rain cascaded down the ceiling gap. She tread forward, smelling the air thoroughly. Beyond Kalus' scent and the earth and water, it seemed no other being had stepped foot into this cavern in a long time.

"Why do ya smell the air?" Kalus asked, his voice low, curious.

Ithildae froze, his hearing was more adept than an Elf or Dwarf. He could hear her breathe.

"Didn't know Elves used their noses…" he was coming close, tone conveying his interest.

The male read into her posture, the hackled shoulders and clenched fists - which seemed to be a habit of hers. Kalus kept a few paces away, watching her cloaked form stand in tense silence.

"They don't," she growled.

His head tilted,

"You ain't an elf?"

"I never said I was,"

The impact of his steel boots on the soft earth made her ears tingle, he was coming close to her.

"If ya aren't one of 'em, what're you?" His rough voice muttered.

"It isn't your concern," her heart pounded.

He was the last soul on Middle-earth she wanted to discover her identity. It was instinct which told her of the approaching hand, right as his fingers touched the hem of her cloak. Ithildae twisted with a fierce growl and caught his wrist like a vice. Eyes blazing and nostrils flaring.

Kalus was staring at her eyes, his wrist bending under her strength. She saw the look cross his single, fiery, eye, the confusion fade to realization. The smirk on his lips enraged her.

"Strong grip for a female… strong growl too. How'd ya get out of a settlement and into Ninkhont's hands, eh?" He all but sneered.

The loss of respect on his face was a shard of ice into her soul. He knew what she was; therefore losing any meager respect. She was an Orcess, they were kept safe, out of harm and with the imps. As if all her strengths disappeared with that simple fact.

It made a beast in her chest raise its vicious head. The need to dominate, to put him in his place. Ithildae was one for abandoning the way of words quickly, with strength and violence things were easy to accomplish.

She whipped his arm over on itself, twisting it to the point of almost breaking as she forced him to his knees. She was snarling with every heaving and irate breath. His strength clashed with hers like a magnet pushing against itself.

"And that makes me weak?" She spat.

Kalus was just as furious, but the pain and vulnerability kept his sharp tongue quelled.

"Elves ruined ya, females are kept saf-"

Her pressure increased, daring him to continue.

"I could kill you now. You would rot here, your bones turning to dirt as your death remained unsolved."

Kalus was not a fool, he knew how much a broken arm would set him back with forging. Of course, it wouldn't matter if she killed him on a whim.

"What'd'ya want me to say, eh?" He hissed.

"I want you to keep in mind what you say… I am not fragile!" The fierceness in her tone rung in his head, sounding vaguely familiar.

She let him go, sparing no amount of force as she slung his arm away. Kalus glared up bitterly, the cloaked female pacing away from him. He looked at her again, the natural light giving him a much clearer image. She was rather tall for a female of his kind, almost tall as he was. The delicate and shifting patterns woven into the fabric of her cloak catching the light, beaming with intricacy.

"Ya part Elf?"

She rounded and glared.

"Do you not believe me? I don't have a drop of their blood!"

"Most our females ain't tall like you." he snorted, leaning back against a stone slab. He was still sitting on the ground after she had tossed him back.

Ithildae snarled under breath, arms crossed, gazing down into the pool of water collected in the cavern. It would be enough to bathe, she noted.

"They call ya Gundulbûrz, I know that ain't your name." Kalus made sure she did not see him rubbing his sore wrist.

"It isn't?" the clipped tone was signaling the end of dialogue.

"What'd'ya call yourself?"

"Ithildae,"

Kalus furrowed his brow,

"Itchy-day?" he snorted, amused. "Ya sure are an itch I can't scratch."

The Orcess rounded on him again, eyes flashing beneath the fabric.

"That is not my name, fool! It isn't my fault you're too dim-witted to say it!" She snapped, flaring up indignantly.

No one had ever so bluntly mocked her name.

"I ain't calling ya a big ole Golug name, and certainly ain't calling ya Gundulbûrz - too important." He said, unfazed.

She seethed, resisting the desire to send a knife into his mouth… Or to rip out his other eye. Her hands kept pulling in and out of a clenched fist.

"Ithi, then," she grit out her pet name.

"Nah, still too long."

"You lazy bastar-"

"Ith,"

She let out an exasperated roar.

"Fine, anything but… that thing you said."

Kalus sported a triumphant grin, his arms crossed as he leaned against the rock. His void black skin melting into the shadow to leave nothing but the smoldering light of his eye.

"I want to be alone, leave!" she snapped.

"Females are so sensitive," Kalus muttered as he stood, straightening his shoulders.

"We have more value in peace than you males,"

Kalus watched her for a minute, glancing to her torso.

"Yer wounded,"

Ithildae jolted, hand flying down to her ribs. The laceration inflicted by Legolas had gone unnoticed, pain was blocked out by necessity.

"No wonder yer so pissy," he sniffed, turning away.

"Stay out!"

"I've enough of ya for the day anyways," he returned the glare, "I'll be at the forge, don't get killed and don't kill," Kalus snarled, tossing something on a rock, striding from the cavern.

Ithildae fumed, listening to his steps fade. He was a horrible guardian, leaving her here. Nevertheless, he listened to her request. Her eyes landed on the rock, he had tossed the meat from the Pit on a rock. She snorted, glaring at the gaping exit, he acted as if she was some sort of pet.

The Orcess walked to the water's edge, inhaling and exhaling, feeling the absolute peace and silence of solitude. She listened, her eyes falling closed. Kalus had left, he was nowhere nearby. With careful hands she pulled the cloak from her head, the air gracing her head and sending a shiver down her spine. Relishing the freedom, she tore the mask away and tossed it to the ground.

Her reflection in the water was startling, hardly recognizable. Ithildae stared for many long moments at the pale, and almost gaunt face framed by mussed red hair. It looked too bright to fit here in the dark, dank, cavern. The kohl smeared around her eyes was fading, some of it streaking down her cheek like a black tear.

It was his reflection too, after seeing her father again she noted the frightening resemblance. She exhaled, watching the figure in the water do the same. No wonder the Dwarves acted so appalled. They seemed to know him better than she did.

She deftly removed the rest of her garments, glancing at the wound on her ribs. It was dark, healing well on its own despite the lack of care. A scar would always remain there, among the others which healed like iridescent streaks of white.

Sliding into the cold water, her feet found the bottom without struggle. The pool was cold, surging through her body and taking the breath from her lungs. It was a welcoming cold and clean feeling she craved. Cold was better than the heated Elvish baths. This was similar to the washings she received as a child… Though her mother was not dunking her in a frigid lake as she kicked and screamed.

Ithildae immerged quickly, wringing out her thick and tangled hair. Snarling, she wound it back with a leather cord to leave it in a dripping tail. The Orcess wanted to take no risks, shoving her clothes over damp skin. It was uncomfortable. But she would not be seen.

Chill settled in the air, the atmosphere growing steadily darker and more eerie as the sickly daylight faded away. A shiver rippled down Ithi's spine, it would be pitch black soon. The Orcess exhaled, letting her shoulders sink. Deep exhaustion lingered over her mind, hunger in her stomach gnawed away at the patience she had with herself.

She walked to the most moss covered stone slab, lowering herself and collapsing against it and curling up like a child. It was vulnerability she never showed; brought forth by the fatigue and fear in her life. Her eyes closed and she knew no more.

-xXx-

Dol Guldur was an evil and dark place, always shrouded in shadow. When night settled it was a nightmarish hell. Orcs and stray wargs would lurked behind corners. If dominance was not established and your place in the ruins was not strong, death was almost a surety.

All had a place and a rank with a strong structure of feared respect for those above. To climb that power ladder was a struggle with great reward. Azog had scaled it quickly and without reproach. The amount of respect he gained was immeasurable, enough to grab the attention of Sauron himself. Now he was head of legions of heavily armed troops and general of the largest attack Sauron had launched in centuries.

He looked down at his clawed arm, it had stayed the same for a very long time. It carried many memories and kills, but it would not suit him for battle. Azog paced to the outcrop and stared at the snarling wargs below. One of the females was giving the handlers trouble - already bit the head off one Snaga.

"They grow stronger," A rough voice said from behind him.

Azog half turned to see his subordinate in command approaching him. Zuzar was one of the few he truly trusted. The male had been birthed in the same year as he, growing up by his side. Luck had been on Zuzar's side, leaving him one of the last of Azog's original hunters.

"They all do," Azog replied as Zuzar halted by his side, gray arms crossed.

"You saw what she did?" He cut to the point.

"Yes," Azog tilted his head, "They should not have angered her,"

"She didn't speak a word… I don't like her."

"Gundulbûrz hates Ninkhont, it's enough to keep her alive,"

Zuzar huffed.

"She better not get into more of those fights. I don't think Kal could stop her if he tried. She's almost big as he is,"

Azog looked down once again, his eyes narrowing. Peculiar that a She-Elf would match strength with one of his warriors, compared to him she was still small.

"Bolg wants her to kill him, he is angry about his eye,"

Zuzar swallowed back a retort which would lead into that topic. He remembered Kalus all but crawling home and not saying a word about how he lost his eye. Being his uncle, Zuzar was determined to hear the whole story. When Kalus finally did confess, unwillingly, the male was shocked to find that it was Azog's small daughter who half blinded him.

But he dare not speak of that. He rode from Moria in the vain attempt to reclaim the king's mate and child… Only for it to end in ash and grief. That would be begging for death to bring up.

"He's a smart lad, may not act like it, but he won't push her too far,"

"She is smarter, Ninkhont wouldn't train her if she wasn't," Azog warned, fierce yowls and shouts of Black Speech brought his gaze down to the pit below.

Zuzar also stopped to watch the six males trying to hold down a feral warg. She was bigger than the others, almost matching Azog's white warg in size. Azog smirked as Naurlûl stepped into the area, growling loud enough to silence the others. The rogue she-warg listened to her Matriarch, backing away with a snarl on her jowls.

"You made your sister's imp Master of the Forges," Azog mused , "I will see if he is worthy of it," the Pale Orc looked down at his left arm.

Zuzar's heavy brow rose.

"You're changing it?"

"It has done well, but it will not suit battle,"

Azog gave his general a look before leaving the outcrop with the heavy sound of steel clad boots. Zuzar looked back to the pit, wargs lapping at the blood and fighting over the remains of the fallen Orc. He only hoped his nephew was smart enough not to snap at their Master.

-xXx-

The feel of thick, molten, metal bending beneath each blow carried a sense of violent release. Kalus was one of the few working in the forge, the others were spread out and attempting to relieve some of the next day's work load. The Forge Master felt his anger bubbling up and falling with each strike of the hammer. His wrist had a dull ache from her iron grip.

She was one of his own, a female Orc. It should have surprised him more than it did. Deep down he had known Ninkhont wouldn't train an Elf for whatever purpose he had in mind. But now Kalus found himself in a difficult position, he knew what she was. Instead of the rouge Elf she was believed to be, she was an Orcess who was killing the very creatures they tried to release upon the world. How else had she earned her title, Gundulbûrz.

The smith plunged the half forged sword into a barrel of lukewarm water, it hissed and smoked. Kalus glared up when he saw movement coming towards him. It was an underling called Fimbul. He was always following Azog about as some sort of petty slave at his command, a messenger of sorts. The back of his neck prickled, Fimbul meant Azog wanted something. Hopefully it was not his head for what Ithildae had done.

Fimbul slunk up to him with a hiss.

"Master wants to speak with you, watch your tongue! "

Kalus wanted to bite something back but was stopped mid thought when he saw another Orc striding through the hazy smoke. It was Azog himself. The smith let his eye fall close for just a moment as he prepared to be smote down by the quick tempered leader. She must have really infuriated him for this to happen. Azog's vivid eyes found him and his pale lips curled slightly into a sneer. Yet, he made no aggressive movement.

"Where is she?" The Pale Orc asked, growling.

She was still off pouting in the cavern… But Kalus couldn't tell him that… he also could not lie.

"She wanted to be alone." He replied in thick Black Speech.

"You let her?"

"I ain't arguing with a female," Kalus snorted, feeling his gaze too rebellious, he lowered his eye.

To his surprise, Azog seemed to accept this as a valid reason to let the masked female be.

"You are the Forge Master… Battle approaches, I need a weapon worthy of it." The Orc leader moved his prosthetic to show what he meant.

Kalus looked at his massive arm and the iron pronged replacement. It would be easy enough for him to craft a blade. So Azog had not come to kill him, only to request a weapon.

Nodding his head to feign respect, he glared at the floor but accepted the challenge.

"I'll do it,"

Azog scoffed, a deep growl rumbling in his chest.

"You don't have a choice!"

Kalus craned up his chin to meet his leader's scowl. It struck him very deep in the gut when he clashed gazes with his king. The eyes. Sharp and vivid as cold as ice, unique. He had looked into the same gaze several times that day. In a haunted revelation, he dropped his glare, having the very strong urge to rip off Ithildae's hood the next time they met.

Azog scoffed and turned, scanning the forge with a bitter look.

"Don't let your duty fall, boy."

The Pale Orc turned away on his last snarled words and left the forge with Fimbul cowering at his heels. Kalus stood and watched as the Orc king strode through the haze and heat, his pale skin reflecting the ember light. The smith felt his hand cramping around the hilt of a hammer, fingers twitching. She was tricky. But the odds were stacked in the favor of her survival for all those years… It was a marvel.

How could he forget the one who took his eye? Even if time had grown her and the Elves changed her, her gaze would be ever seared into his head.

AN: This chapter was brutal and I have no inspiration whatsoever. I apologize for not updating in three months. I am winging it with the plot at the moment… But I won't let this story die off. Though, the updating might be quite lengthy.

Thanks - to those of you who stayed - for reading even if I suck at updating regularly.