****Author's note****

Be advised: This chapter contains content that may be distressing for some. Read at your own discretion with the tags/rating of this story in mind. If you do not want to read such content, a summary of important plot details is available at the end of the chapter.

15

Ar-Tashk was aware of the goblins lurking outside his quarters; he could smell their filth from across the fort any other day. The lingering stench made it obvious they weren't just passing by. Their incessant jabbering buzzed like angry morgai flies from the reverberation on the hard walls of the keep. The irritation made the olog's mane bristle, like a beast whose territory was being encroached upon. What the little pieces of shrakh were up to, Ar-Tashk didn't know, but it wouldn't be hard to find out.

He monitored the entrance of the kitchen out of the corner of his eye as he ate his meal. The whole of the caragor carcass would be sufficient for a couple days worth of rations for an olog, even if he spared some to feed his slave, though he was not exactly thrilled to have given up the brains, his personal favorite portion of a kill. It had just seemed like the easiest thing to force down her gullet in the moment.

As he ate, occasionally he'd see a beady eye peer around the corner, seemingly fixated on his slave. Every movement she made, however slight, made the sneaking onlookers shift or react. He was quick to notice the goblins would withdraw whenever he moved to pass her a sliver of meat. The olog was curious, if they were focused on the cut of meat itself, or the slave.

He kept cutting pieces off for her until he was sure there was a pattern to their behavior. Their gazes were intently fixated on the human, not focusing at all on the food. The thought of goblins eyeing his slave, his prize specifically made Ar-Tashk's lip curl in the start of a snarl. He thought for a moment, of how he might test what they were doing.

With the slumped shoulders of her weakened will, Alaesia continued to languidly gnaw at each portion of meat that the olog passed her, even as her jaw was beginning to ache. Her stomach insisted on more, even as it warned her with dull pain that she was full. She wanted to stop, yet her captor showed no sign of stopping, so long as her stomach continued making her take his offered rations.

As he held out his knife once more, Alaesia's hand went to reach for it of its own accord, only for her to realize there was no meat on the end of it when she pricked her finger on the sharp point of the blade. She glanced up to see the olog shift and loom over her, his great tusk-like fangs bared in a chilling scowl. She felt Ar-Tashk's deep, guttural voice rattle through her bones, as he traced the blade along her midriff, "You ready to beg for life now, snaga-izub?"

Alaesia found herself pressed with her back to a pillar, unable to retreat from the dire presence of her captor. The point of his knife crawled across her, seeking the perfect place to pierce into her chest. Was I wrong? Does he intend to finally kill me? Her mind began to race a million leagues a second. Can I be free of this once and for all? This might be my only chance…

Ar-Tashk wasn't really paying attention to his slave's response; whether she said anything at all, he didn't notice. He was closely monitoring the open doorway. As he expected, there was a collection of wide eyes that flashed in the darkness, even a couple pointed goblin noses crossed the threshold in anticipation.

So, it seemed, they were in fact waiting for him to kill the slave, Ar-Tashk surmised, perhaps because they thought they might get a share of her carcass? The thought made fierce avarice flare through his chest. But, before he could move to scatter the loiterers, he felt a sudden shove against the blade in his hand; Ar-Tashk pulled back as quick as a whip, but only to realize damage had already been done.

With Ar-Tashk's knife held to her, Alaesia had found her opportunity and she had tried to shove herself against the blade to cut short her miserable existence. The only thing that saved her was the olog's reflexes as he pulled the blade up and away, but he wasn't quick enough to avoid injuring her entirely.

The pain sent her to the floor like a falling rock. Ar-Tashk threw the knife aside in an aggressive stupor, his attention now fully on the stupid slave whose blood was starting to pool at his feet. The hissing from the goblins outside passed over the olog's ears unheeded, as his entire focus was consumed by the severe wound across Alaesia's chest.

"Lorz-lat snaga!" The frailty of human's was infuriating! Ar-Tashk fumed while forcibly uncurled Alaesia from the fetal position, trying to examine the extent of the injury. The woman's face drained of its faint color as she gasped for air through the shock that began to overwhelm her senses. Her front of her roughspun tunic was quickly becoming soaked in deep red blood. Ar-Tashk used the cut section of the cloth to tear it open further, exposing the wound.

The knife had slit a gash from Alaesia's sternum and over her clavicle; it looked like it had at least cut as deep as one of her ribs at the lowest end of the cut, and shallowing out towards the top. The crimson blooming across her skin filled the air with an enticing metallic taste, but the olog tried to ignore it. It was only then that Ar-Tashk noticed his slave's gut ripple, as though something were pressing outwards from within. For a fraction of a moment he recoiled, unsure how to react. But as more blood gushed from the cut, he came to his senses and hurried to cleanse the wound.

Alaesia screamed from the horribly familiar sensation of the olog's idea of medical treatment. His rough, oversized hands puppeted the woman whatever way Ar-Tashk needed. He had no regard for handling the human carefully, he was simply intent on doing what needed to be done to stop the bleeding. His 'treatment' ticked by with long agonizing seconds punctuated once more by the unforgettable sensation of cauterization by iron ballista bolt.

By the end of the ordeal, Alaesia was laid out on the cold stone floor, half soaked in tears, half in blood, with a fresh red scar marring her body, when Ar-Tashk finally let his solid grip on her go. She heard him, presumably, curse in blackspeech, but tried to block out the sound by wrapping her arms around her head.

If she had looked, she might have seen a visibly shaken Ar-Tashk. He was no fool; he had realized exactly what it was he had seen when the slave woman's bare stomach had protruded outward. It was extremely uncommon in Mordor to see anyone in her condition; the armies of Mordor culled females, orcish or otherwise, as soon as they were born as they couldn't be made into suitable warriors. Either that, or they were spirited away at birth to eventually be cycled into breeding stock in the pits of Barad Dur to ensure the Dark Lord's army was ever expanding

Humans didn't do that to their women. They were just as prevalent and freeborn as human men. A strange sense of fascination overcame Ar-Tashk; his slave, his human, was carrying another life within her. It was the olog's first time actually witnessing such an anomaly in person. It dawned on him as to why she seemed so ravenous for food; growing another being was probably a demanding process. He wondered briefly if he had detected any sense of the second life before, but he couldn't be sure. Now, he was acutely aware of the faint sound of a second heartbeat hidden beneath the thrumming of the woman's own heartbeat.

Alaesia whimpered, trying to press the burning scar on her chest against the cold stones of the floor. But she was lifted off the ground with ease by one giant hand as Ar-Tashk ordered for her to look at him. When she complied, she found she was being held at eye level with the olog. He growled in a low, menacing voice, "Az korra. Life not yours to take, snaga-izub."

In spite of his aggressive fervor, the olog was incredibly frustrated at the turn of events, feeling a strange sense of disruption to the identity he had carved for himself as the Reaper. This human, this female was everything the olog was not. Ar-Tashk was a mountain of muscle, she was frail and soft. He was a warrior, and she a slave. He was a proud olog, she was a pitiable human. He claimed power by dealing death, a reaper, az korra… but she held the power to create life, na isla. The olog was perturbed at the thought of acknowledging that his slave held a power he could never have, yet it also felt wrong to ignore it. He needed time to process everything coursing through his head.

Ar-Tashk unhooked Alaesia's chains from the pillar; she was evidently a danger to herself and the life growing within her, if left to her own devices. He wasn't about to leave her on a loose chain that she might try to strangle herself with.

****Summary To Skip Attempted Suicide Sequence****

Ar-Tashk notices that goblins are lurking around the entrance to his quarters (unknown to him, by order of Vezhir and the witch) and tries to figure out what they want. He realizes they seem particularly interested in Alaesia as he shares his caragor kill with her. He wants to see what they will do if he threatens her, so he holds a knife to her gut.

Alaesia, having concluded that her only way out of the torture she has been subjected to is death, tries to seize her chance to cut her own life short. She shoves herself against Ar-Tashk's blade, but he pulls it out of the way before she succeeds, though she does manage to cause a deep cut across her chest.

Ar-Tashk forcibly begins to treat her wound, and in doing so, sees movement protruding from Alaesia's stomach. He realizes she is pregnant, which causes a disruption in his self image as "The Reaper" when he compares how he takes life, as much as she is able to create it.

****Translations****

Shrakh - Shit/dung

Snaga-izub - My slave

Lorz-lat snaga! - You stupid slave!

Az korra - I am the Reaper

Na isla - She is a Sower (cultivator)