*Author's note*

This is my longest chapter yet! Enjoy!

Alaesia obediently followed Ar-Tashk, but kept her silence, despite not knowing where he was leading her. Yet even as he pressed on, the olog took his time, clearly for her sake as he trekked deeper into the wild lands west of Nurn. The occasional passing animal would flee as soon as the pair's presence became known, but there was little in the way of big game as they moved further into barren flat lands. The dusty, brush-covered terrain was nothing like the lush greenery around the sea of Nurnen. Juts of rock formed hills that rolled on nearly as far as the eye could see.

At first, Alaesia thought he was going to return to the confining walls of her prison as soon as he had secured a proper kill; after all, what reason would the olog have to grant her pity or leniency for her emotional turmoil. Sooner or later, he was bound to turn back, though it didn't take long before Alaesia began to wonder just how far he planned on going.

During previous hunts he had never taken her so far from the fortress. Most of the time, he had stalked his prey at the fringe of the forest of Carnan where the mighty beasts, which lived and lurked there, had hunted him in return. There was no hint of such life upon the plains as he led onward. But never once did he retrace his steps and only when Alaesia began to lag behind, would the olog make a point to stop and let her recoup.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but he seemed to be shielding his injured hand, both from sight and use. She hadn't been in the right mind to notice at first, but looking back, there was a sizable trail of olog blood splattered from where they had come. It looked like ink upon a great yellowing canvas, due to the dead grasses that covered the ground. Notably, the olog kept his ballista and few remaining iron bolts saddled on his back, rather than cocked at the ready. He likely could have impaled a small boar that roved nearby, if he had had the weapon ready, but it fled before he could strike.

Ar-Tashk was finally able to locate and collapse a shallow warren to secure a meager meal of rabbits, by stomping on the hard-packed earth. Their bodies were crushed by his weight, making for poor eating, but it was at least something. He haphazardly cobbled together a fire of grass and ancient, sun-bleached wood from the nearby terrain so he could roast up the meat.

Alaesia noticed him struggling to skin the rabbits with his big clumsy fingers; they simply couldn't pinch a fine enough area to maneuver the carcasses for dressing. His frustration with the task kept building until he was beginning to grumble and bristle. Alaesia was wary, just waiting for him to lash out for one reason or another, but she couldn't stop her stomach from growling; it was almost as though it still had some semblance of control over her actions, which she was inclined to believe. For though she wanted to do everything in her power to avoid the olog, she was drawn towards him, hoping for a meal. Her tentative approach did not go unnoticed by the olog.

"I can h-help," she offered quietly, still unsure of just what his boundaries were. He had always ordered her around in short commands, clearly enjoying his authority over her and her fearful obedience. She wasn't sure if he would react well to her taking the initiative, "if you want…"

Ar-Tashk felt his chest grow warm at hearing her voice, finally speaking to him once again. He was half-inclined to just eat his share of the kill raw for the trouble, but was swayed by her submissive offer. Nodding gratefully, he handed off the rabbits, which allowed Alaesia to spy a glimpse of his most egregious injury, still dripping blood. He withdrew quickly upon realizing she was peering at his hand; despite that she was not an orc or olog, it was entirely against his nature to show any weakness, even to a tiny human. Weakness in Mordor was a death sentence.

"Skin and roast on fire," he snapped defensively as a familiar buzzing crept into the back of his mind; it was a feeling that had often clung to his thoughts in the past, goading his aggression and instinctive drive that identified pinkskins as his enemies. Only now as it returned did he realize that it had been silent of late. His whole body tensed as he fought to suppress the angry buzz, only to realize his slave had cowered away from him at his growl. He clenched his jaw ruefully, trying to drown out the droning buzz by making his ears ring. It was just enough to drive back the lingering desire that would have him tear her limb from limb.

Ar-Tashk shifted his weight to give her some space until the tension left his own body, and the fear subsided from her own tiny shoulders. The breath in his chest was deep and slow, until he felt his mind was once more under his own command. It was only then that he noticed she had failed to move at his command. He quickly realized she was eying the quashed rabbits, trying to figure out how to go about dealing with them.

Alaesia's knuckles had turned white, her grip only loosening when she felt the the bones of rabbits in her hand shift and start to puncture their own skins. She swallowed, and laid them out in front of her, to brace her shaking fingers against the firmness of the ground. The olog's outburst had quickly reminded her of just how quickly his moods could shift. All she could do was hope he would ignore her as she worked, yet, "I… I don't have any way to skin them… sire."

The formal address made Alaesia's hair prickle in discomfort; she only hoped it would lend to her efforts to keep the olog's wrath at bay. Surely, he would be happy to have her stroke his ego. Yet, Ar-Tashk grunted, a hint of irritation creeping into his tone, "No sire. Call Ar-Tashk."

Alaesia frowned, averting her eyes, "Ah… yes… Ar-Tashk…" If she had met his gaze, she might have seen the faintest hint of a smile lifting his cheeks at hearing her speak his name.

Ar-Tashk's uninjured hand was thrust rather abruptly into her field of view, holding out a blade. He was wary of granting his slave any sort of weapon, but more out of concern that she would turn it on herself rather than any fear she could harm him. Knowing how often the slave had begged him for death previously, he didn't have high hopes. But as long as his hand was unable to grasp, he'd have to put his trust in her for their mutual survival. With great resignation, he offered the relatively small blade, basically a dagger in the olog's hands, from his gear and handed it off to her so she could deal with preparing the rabbits, "Take, for skin."

The blade that the olog placed in Alaesia's hands was about the right size of a short sword for her, but in her emaciated state, she'd never be able to lift and wield the weapon properly, let alone fight anything with it. She noticed the olog from the corner of her eye, watching her every move like a hawk. Though just moments before the air between them had been filled by his anger, now he seemed calm and collected. The sudden switch made her uneasy, and she loathed the inability to predict how he would behave. Still, he had attempted to be so gentle with her before, even now seemingly making an effort to work with her, but Alaesia didn't want to picture him as anything remotely human. He was, and would always be, a monster in her eyes. Her heart was struck with a familiar wave of confusion as her brain wandered. Even if he is a monster, he threw himself headlong into danger for my sake.

No one since her own parents had ever done that for her. This very same monster, who took her as a slave, had also fought so hard to preserve her life, albeit in ways that often felt more tortuous than well meaning. He even gave my… the baby a proper funeral. I would have just buried it in some unmarked grave… but he didn't...

She felt a twinge of guilt strike deep inside her; if a troll can be… somewhat… gentle and caring, even if he is a monster, in SPITE of his nature even… what does my lack of empathy make me? Am I just as much a monster as he?

Alaesia shook her head, trying to chase the conflicting thoughts from her mind, and began to carefully strip the rabbits of their skins. Their bodies were broken and bruised, bone shards protruding from here or there, but it was all the food they had for the moment; she figured she would just have to be careful and eat around the bones.

While she worked, Alaesia tried to keep the skins in one piece as much as possible, while wondering what kind of use she could put them to. She had once used rabbit hide as a makeshift emergency bandage after cutting herself when she had no other supplies on hand, living as an outcast. It was the only use she could think of, considering the mangled state of the pelts. A rogue thought jumped into her mind, bidden as a lingering twinge spiked in her lower abdomen. There is no reason to feel guilty to still count him among Mordor's monsters. If I help treat his wounds, we will be even.

It was the only real use she could think of, to not waste the sparse resource. When she had finished skinning, she gutted the rabbits, emptied their intestines, and set about plaiting the lengths together into a makeshift twine. It wasn't strong, a stiff pull could easily break the cord, but it would at least be usable for one or two uses.

Once that was finished and the remaining meat was set on a rock slab alongside the fire to cook, she began stripping and fleshing the skins; a much more tiring process. She had to hold it by one of the cutting edges to get enough control to scrape meat and fat from the skins, until they were all cleaned. More than once she had to pause to gather her strength and rub her sore fingers to get her blood flowing better while being careful not to cut herself with the sword blade.

Ar-Tashk watched the woman with curiosity; his keen nose could easily make out the scent of blood making its way out of her body, which brought worry rising into the back of his mind, but she didn't seem bothered or weakened, so he pushed back his own concern. Instead he focused on the stench of boiling brains in preparation for tanning. The smell lured the olog closer, but she worked the oily mixture into the skins before he could determine whether it was for eating or not. She finished laying out the rabbit skins across the cooling coals to speed along their drying process and watched them carefully, to avoid scorching.

After they had split the meal of roast rabbits, and the coals had grown cold Alaesia sucked in a breath as another twinge hit. The pain was getting worse, but not so much that she couldn't ignore it. Unfortunately, there was a familiar sensation starting to build, threatening to leak from her body. Though she was a grown woman, living as an outcast was a lean enough life that she rarely had to deal with the cycles of her body. Bleeding, back when she was free, had been a rare occurrence. But the growing sensation in her felt different, stronger and more akin to the contractions she had experienced; could this have something to do with having given birth?

Anything that made her mind revisit those moments of pain and torment made Alaesia shutter into a state of blank stillness. All she could do to escape shutting down entirely was to try distracting herself. Putting herself back to work, she checked the skins while thinking to herself that it would have been better to take the time to fully cure the pelts overnight at least; but the olog's injury needed binding before the muscles healed over in their mutilated state. Time was a luxury that such an injury didn't afford to them. She slowly rose to her feet, gathered the skins, makeshift rope, and her own courage, then approached Ar-Tashk.

Immediately, the olog recognized her cautious body language as she edged closer. He had seen beast-tamers act that way around mighty, deadly creatures. Sometimes it worked, sometimes the beast-tamers lost their heads. He mused, supposing it was really up to the beast whether they submitted, whether he would submit. The enticing scent of her blood made the buzzing noise at the back of his mind swell, but he ignored it, letting out a low, gruff breath, and making Alaesia startle slightly. The light of the fire glinted off streaks of liquid that had trailed down her cheeks, making the olog wonder, had she been crying?

Alaesia held up the rabbit skins and cord, proffering it to keep him calm as she quietly spoke, "I… I am in your debt, for saving me. If you'll let me repay you, I can t-treat your hand. It-it might heal wrong if you leave it that way."

Ar-Tashk's brow furrowed with confusion, positive that whatever the slave had said, his limited language had scrambled her intent. When he didn't respond, Alaesia pointed to the olog's hand, which he held tucked behind his side, and extended her own, "Your arm. It's hurt. I want to… I want to help. Will you let me do this? I… I don't want to be uncaring… like a monster."

Ar-Tashk quickly took stock of where the blade was that he had lent her, spotting it near the fire where it was stabbed into the ground. Genuinely at a loss, he held his hand out, the side with the least damage facing up, only to have Alaesia take it in her own, miniscule hands, and turn it over to see the worst of the injury. The buzzing roared in his mind, trying to command him to attack her, eat her, crush the life out of her before she took advantage of his weakness, but Ar-Tashk bit his own tongue until he tasted blood, fighting to silence the driving voice.

Alaesia had to rest on her knees to keep the sight of the olog's hand from making her dizzy with nausea. She could easily see the shapes of bone, muscles, and tendons deep within folds of flesh that had been partially degloved in his mad effort to access the cave. Flaps of shredded skin hung loose over gouges that cut deep into meat, sinew, and fat. There were a few spots where she could see knuckle bones protruding from dark, inflamed muscle. The edges of the injury were already starting to grow taut and healed already, surprising Alaesia at the speed the olog was recovering. Getting the damaged tissue back into place was far more urgent than she had realized.

She hurried to a small trickle of a stream nearby to rinse rabbit brain-matter from their wine jug and refill it with water, so she could clean and dress the injury. It was tempting to get the short sword to debride the partially healed sections, but she wasn't sure how the olog would react. The debate made her hesitate, until her sense of guilt made her concede. Alaesia moved to grab the sword as she returned, which elicited a sharp snarl from her captor, "Stop… What doing?"

She froze, trying to suppress the fear that threatened to push bile up her throat. Finding the right words to make him understand felt impossible as he rose to his feet, glaring at her. Her voice shuttered, "Ah… Y-your wound has healed poorly. If I don't freshen it, i-it won't grow back r-right. You'll be crippled."

"Use knife… on me?" The olog seemed surprised, as if the thought of using the blade against him had simply never crossed his mind. He rumbled in amusement, and settled back to the ground, leaving Alaesia baffled. Wasn't he trying to stop me from attacking him?

Ar-Tashk held quite still as Alaesia used the sword as best she could to cut away or score the misgrown tissues. He simply watched her with curiosity, not even tensing when new blood began oozing from the wound. It was by no means a clean procedure, and Alaesia nearly had to stop for the ill sense the sight of his blood caused. What perturbed her most was the lack of reaction from the olog, even as she dug the cutting edge of the sword into his arm. Does he not feel pain? What kind of beast can endure this without so much as a twitch?!

When the wound on his arm, and the loose folds of skin had all been sufficiently refreshed, Alaesia washed the area again, and began laying the muscle and skin back into place. And finally, she began to tie the whole thing together with her makeshift cord and rabbit skin bandages. She had hoped the rope she had made would have been enough for a couple of loops, but the girth of the olog's giant limb greatly limited that.

By the time she finished, Alaesia had used six skins, and all of the cordage, just to hold the skins snug against his arm and hand. She was utterly exhausted, having regained only a little strength; her body still twinged and ached in protest. Yet in spite of the pain, getting the chance to do more than just cower before orcish masters, it felt as though it were the first time she remembered what it was like to live again. Though all she wanted to do now was lie down and sleep.

Ar-Tashk examined Alaesia's work curiously. The whole time she had worked, he had been in a state of mental conflict, trying to tame the buzzing that urged him to act of animalistic, base instincts. He could feel the damage she had done with the blade to his muscles, though it was hardly more than a sting. But the buzz would have him perceive it as a great offense, worthy of taking her life over, though in the moment, Ar-Tashk had latched onto the softness of her touch, her hands on his, to drive back his animalistic drives. Though she had used the blade on him, he forcibly convinced himself that it was to aid him; the tenderness in which she had cleaned and bound the injury was evidence of that. No orc would ever treat another's injuries in such a manner. For what it was worth, it got his blood flowing again, which he figured was bound to help the healing process

Ar-Tashk's thoughts eventually wandered back to the present, and he noticed Alaesia languidly wiping his blood from the sword on some dead grass. He took it from her to manage cleaning it himself. Despite all she had done that evening, the olog was still wary of leaving a weapon in her possession. He grunted in dismissal, but caught her by the wrist before she stepped out of reach. The human woman froze, staring back at him anxiously. He closed his eyes momentarily, listening to the soft, quick thrum of her heartbeat ; a much more pleasant sound than the buzzing that grew quiet under the sound of her pulse. Finally, he opened his eyes to look upon her and murmured, "Not monster."