***** Author's Note *****

Another long chapter with a brief extra side story at the end! I'd love to hear what you think!

New art has been added to chapter 11! (view via the links on my profile to Ao3 or Wattpad!)

43

"Snake-Tongue, why do I still smell tark blood?" Barbaurak grumbled, glancing back at Zathra as they made their way through the thick underbrush of the wilds south of the river. His nerves were heightened, knowing full well what sorts of beasts crept in the shadows in the untamed lands of Mordor.

His underling had taken on the task of leading their captive by the chains. He was even carrying the bulk of the metal himself, only having convinced Barbaurak that doing so was for the best, as such a weak sharlob wouldn't have the strength to pull it herself. Any gratitude Alaesia might have felt for his help was buried so deep, even Zathra's mind reading wasn't able to sense it. He could only conclude the murderous daggers she stared into his back was the only thing she felt towards them.

Zathra glanced back at his charge, he too catching the scent of blood from her, "Ya alright, lass?"

"What do y-you care?" The chance of freedom once more having slipped through her fingers made her voice sharp and bitter, but also, Zathra noted, steadier. A fire of defiance was slowly growing in her eyes.

But Barbaurak was having none of it. He spun on his boot heel, lunging to punch Alaesia in the gut for her disrespectful tone, "Never learned ta bite yer tongue, did ya snaga scum?!"

The spark in her eyes flickered and went dim at the orc's angry approach, and she recoiled.

Before Barbaurak could land the strike, Zathra feinted between them, taking the blow himself. There was a dull thump, but even Alaesia could tell it was a hard hit, the kind that would have easily brought her to her knees. Yet the orc refused to flinch, pushing his leader ever so slightly away with one hand.

"She's not worth yer trouble... Let me handle her."

"Shut her up, and fix that stench. That's my final warning, Snake-Tongue," Barbaurak drew his fist back and struck Zathra again for good measure. "And don't ye ever get in my way again!"

The warning lingered in the thick tension before the lead orc turned away, scouting the terrain for a route through a thicket of thorns. Alaesia's knuckles were white where she had involuntarily clasped them together in what little defense they might have provided until she peeled them apart. It took a moment for her heart to calm and sink out of her throat where it had leapt. Being able to talk so brazenly towards Zathra, she had nearly forgotten just how volatile orcs tended to be.

As Zathra groaned and rubbed his side where Barbaurak had punched him, Alaesia shot a sharp eye at the one holding her chains, but said nothing more. She didn't have to though, for he was in her mind. Zathra knew she would protest, try to push him out if she started to sense him picking through her thoughts and feelings, but it'd be worse for them both if he didn't figure out why she continued to reek of blood. He could see a number of scratches on her, probably from the dense, inhospitable plant growth, and her body was braced against a number of other pains plaguing her; a sliver here, a thorn there, a hairline cut one one foot, and an continuous sensation of strangulation in her gut.

"Yer feet ain't made fer wild trekkin' eh, lass?" He guided her to a nearby rock, getting her to sit down so he could magic away her ailments. Alaesia stayed silent in protest as he mended the small cuts. "Aye, ya pinkskins are meant for polished stone floors, soft earth, ain'tcha? Like yer fancy cities and farms on the other side of Ephel Duath."

Zathra expected his words to elicit a reaction, it always did when he brought up tark homelands, but instead of homesickness, Alaesia's mind lit up with a strange remorse he didn't recognize.

"I... I've n-never been there..." she mumbled.

"Ah... yer one of them outcasts tarks, then?" Zathra asked as though it was the most normal thing in the world. "If ya never've been, must mean you were born in Mordor then? That's a rare tale. Most of ya die young."

"I sh-should be d-dead..." Alaesia hated how easily he read her. "My p-parents m-might still b-be alive..." if it weren't for me.

The day her father disappeared, Alaesia had hidden herself away. She was angry at him, and the soldiers of the Black Gate and her temper had boiled over... "Why do we have to be stuck here at the mercy of these monsters while those stupid Gondorians get to sit up on their wall growing fat?"

"Alae!" Her mother squeaked in protest, "Don't speak to your father that way!"

They had just settled down to eat, a meager meal, of a couple of rabbits boiled in an old cauldron. There was hardly even a drop of oil on the surface of the soup as she glared down angrily into her bowl. The taste of rabbit made Alaesia sick from how often it was the only food they had. From her times visiting the Gondorian Soldier, she knew there was so much better food to be had; apple, cheese, bread, honey and preserves, even dried sausage. She wouldn't be stifled by her mother's sensibilities.

"Da used to be one of them," Alaesia snipped, digging right into the topic she knew her father was most sensitive about. "We could have been on the other side of the gate if he hadn't just thrown it all away!" At her biting words, her mother's face fell with a painful look.

"ALAE! That's enough!" her father barked. He turned to his wife, reaching to grab her hands reassuringly, but she pulled away, dismissing herself from their small wooden table. He frowned at his daughter, before going after her, "Anorae..."

Alaesia glowered, watching them both leave, before she looked down at her bowl of meager soup in disgust. "I'm not even hungry anyways." She shoved the bowl away, sending it tumbling into her parents' own abandoned bowls. All three were sent scattering to the stone floor of their humble cave, only to be quickly set upon by a number of rats that had been looking for scraps.

Alaesia left the cave, not realizing it was the last time she would ever see her father. When she returned, she found her mother alone, distraught, begging to know where her husband was. After comforting his wife, he had left the cave to hunt for more food, and to try to find where Alaesia had disappeared to, and himself vanishing from their lives forever.

The woman shifted uncomfortably as Zathra reached to grab her foot. As the orc's fingers curled around her ankle, dread flooded her body bringing her out of her memories and back to the present. She tried to slip from his grip, but it was like a vice. His voice was a mixture of pity and alarm when he opened his mouth, "Lass..."

"L-let go-" she started to resist. She cursed, not knowing if he had been witness to the painful echoes of the past. But when she followed his line of sight, it seemed he was far too preoccupied to be reading her mind. He didn't hold her for long, withdrawing his hand, palm painted red.

"Skai..." He breathed out. The tiny scratches of thorns and twigs paled into comparison to this; blood was freely oozing down her calf. "Where's it all coming from?!"

Alaesia was fighting the urge to withdraw into herself with every bit of her concentration, knowing that the moment she did, she'd be tormented by other, more recent memories. The creeping claws of her nightmares were crawling up inch by inch, closer and closer. She focused her gaze on the blood, her blood, that stained Zathra's hands. If she could detach her mind from her body, perhaps then she could stay even slightly sane. One quivering hand moved to her stomach, gesturing to the orc in an almost mechanical manner, though no amount of rigidity his the stammer in her voice. "I-I'm broken... They b-b... Broke me."

Zathra hurriedly wiped the blood on his jerkin, watching the woman turning more pale by the second. He grabbed her wrist in one hand and chin with the other. Even tilting her head towards him didn't make her eyes focus, she was looking right through him like a ghost, "Don't go wraithy on me, now. Where're ya hurt, lass?"

"I'm n-not a... a... Breeder..." She whispered vacantly, "I only m-make c-corpses. They r-ripped one f-from my stomach. N-now I can't s-stop the bleeding..."

"Yer stomach?"

"In-inside..."

His expression darkened. He wasn't equipped to handle internal bleeding. The orc was just as likely to kill her as he was to heal her if she was really that damaged inside. If Barbaurak found out, he'd slaughter her on the spot. Zathra's mind called back to the image of the bird-like uruk she had shown him just a couple days earlier. He was starting to piece together the fragments of information she offered, but for one who hadn't ever dealt with breeders, it was baffling him. "That uruk, with the yella eyes, was 'e yer master?"

She shook her head slowly, "First w-was the Gourmet. Then th-the R-reaper."

"Ah... So that's 'ow you knew of the his death! The Frog's blood brother! You got caught up between 'em and the Reaper took ya fer his own snaga." Zathra was enraptured in the intrigue with morbid fascination. His eagerness to hear the details of her history may Alaesia nauseous. She wanted to disappear, but his enthusiasm pressed her mind for answers that she was too weak to hide. "But ya escaped, that's why the Reaper's after ya?"

She nodded.

"Then 'ow's that uruk involved in all this? Who is 'e?"

Alaesia didn't dare close her eyes as the orc evoked the image of the overlord. His eyes still haunted her own whenever she had to face the dark reflections in her eyelids, "His n-name..." She only had one clear memory of hearing the uruk's name mentioned, everyone else just called him sire. It was that one particular day, the one when forge orc had goaded her master that he might be replaced by the captain of the guard. Every moment of that horrible day was etched into her memory, a permanent wound she believed would never scar over. "V-Vezhir. Th-the Overlord. H-he did this t-to me."

"Skator gash! YER the reason the Reaper overthrew 'is overlord!" Everything suddenly clicked neatly into place for Zathra; the possessiveness of ologs' a well-known, well documented - in the scars of those who ever crossed an olog - fact across Mordor.

"ARE YOU FINISHED YET SNAKE-TONGUE?" a scathing and impatient Barbaurak was approaching from from nearby underbrush.

Zathra sucked in a hissing breath, weighing the options urgently in his mind. If he told Barbaurak he couldn't heal the snaga, he'd kill her without a second thought. If Zathra lied, he'd only be buying her a little more time, but maybe it'd be enough for her body to mend itself. Barbaurak already didn't believe there was any olog following them, but Zathra was sure without a shadow of a doubt, if the olog found them and the snaga he was hunting turned up dead, they would be slaughtered. He couldn't let Barbaurak harm her if they were to survive. That left one possibility, keep the sharlob alive as a bargaining chip for their own lives.

He looked over Alaesia's thin frame. She wasn't doubling over in pain anymore and the smell of her blood was turning stale. Maybe he could fool Barbaurak, just a little longer. "Aye, but she's covered in blood. If ya've found any streams nearby, it's prolly best I get 'er cleaned up."

Barbaurak's eyes narrowed, as if he was expecting Zathra to weave a spell over himself, but when there was no sensation of his mind being invaded, he grunted, and jerked his head off to one side, "This way. Follow me."

Alaesia gave only a slight resistance as her captor pulled her along, following the lead orc deeper into a thicket of brambles. It was nearly impossible to see further than a few feet thanks to how much overgrowth there was coiling around them. The orcs themselves seemed to be using senses other than their sight to navigate, keen pointed ears twitching, noses flaring.

Zathra was keen to not panic the slave, but the foul odor of warg permeated everything south of the river, so he kept the chain lead as short as possible. Where caragor had driven their rival beasts out of much of the plains around Mordor, the river had proven a decent barrier that allowed wargs to thrive. There would be no doubt all three strangers in this area had already caught the attention of whichever wargs laid claim the territory. It was matter of stealth for all three travelers at this point, if they hoped to escape unscathed.

Without their weapons, having been disarmed by Frogblood's crew after their capture, the orcs felt particularly vulnerable. Sure, they had claws and sharp teeth, but that would do very little against any of the other vicious creatures that made the area their home. As they crawled over rock and brush, Barbaurak seemed to be searching for anything he could turn into a weapon. A vine could make a decent rope in a pinch, a good shard of natural glass could act as a blade, but there wasn't much in the way of either of those. No, all Barbaurak had luck enough to find was a hefty stick.

He grabbed it and with one good stomp, split it in two, creating a sharp point where the wood had fractured. A rudimentary spear, but it would have to do. Zathra followed suit, finding an old tree root that might be suitable as a bludgeon, keeping it at the ready as the smell of warg was getting stronger.

"Barbaurak..." he warned, voice low. Somewhere in the distance, there was a loud snap, the unmistakable sound of a branch breaking.

"I know," Barbaurak was surprisingly calm. He slowed his pace, falling back alongside Zathra. "I scented mokob hai nearby and there's a cliff ahead, with a cave halfway up. We can wait out the beasts and pick 'em off one by one."

"O' course, foraging that up will be a walk in the park," Zathra rolled his eyes, slowly began to reel Alaesia in by her chains. She could feel the tenseness in Zathra's arm as he moved her in front of himself. He was like a compressed spring, ready to snap open at any moment. "Stay by my side, lass."

Barbaurak took the rear, makeshift spear grasped in a tight, bloodless knuckles, "In ten paces, the trees'll thin. Soon as ya see the cliff, run."

He had barely finished speaking, when Zathra barked sharply, "They're cutting us off! GO NOW!"

Zathra shoved Alaesia forward, breaking into a run behind her. Barbaurak swore, spinning on his heel to follow as a warg burst from the underbrush snapping its devilish teeth at the sharlob and orc ahead. Alaesia felt the jaws thud inches from her back, and was suddenly yanked back. A gasp of air escaped her lips with the momentum, forming a hint of a word, "Zathra..."

The creature had caught a mouthful of her long hair and started to turn, only to meet the sharp end of Barbaurak's stick. His whole body slammed into the beast and he shoved the pitiable weapon right into the only weak spot he could, the warg's great big eye. It yelped and snarled, releasing its prize to paw at where the embedded splinter while Barbaurak heaved Alaesia upright and back on the path behind Zathra.

The thunder of other heavily clawed paws signaled the approach of other wargs, the yips and cackles communicating exactly how to catch their quarry. The orcs crashed into the clearing by the cliff Barbaurak had spoken of, Alaesia close behind when Barbaurak snatched Zathra's club. He pointed at the rock formation ahead, barking curt orders, "Get the sharlob up the rocks, Snake-Tongue. I'll distract 'em."

Zathra knew there was no time to argue, and for once Alaesia moved in tandem with him. Life or death demanding, they did their best to ignoring the sharp shards of rock that had sluffed from the surface of the cliff at some point in the past, even as it cut and sliced. Ahead Zathra could make out a fissure in the cliff face, that widened at two points, one section halfway up the cliffs, and one at the base. "There! We can use the walls ta climb up between!"

Even as he approached the lower opening though, Zathra could sense something was wrong. The smell of warg was getting even stronger. Alaesia watched as a huge gray beast pounced from the shadows of the fissure's lower opening, aiming right for Zathra. He had only a split second to react, diving forward towards the ground, dragging Alaesia flat with him. The gray warg's momentum sent it careening overhead, and it landed among the slate with a resounding crackle as pieces broke under its weight.

"AH SKAI!" Zathra snarled, crawling to Alaesia's side, "You still alive?!"

Alaesia rolled, clearly shaken, but unscathed, "Y-yes...!"

"Up up!" He lifted her to her feet with relative ease, but shoved her back towards the fissure, "Climb! I'll handle this one!"

Alaesia didn't have a moment to worry if any other wargs were going to come flying out of the bottom opening of the fissure. She started her ascent as quickly as the weight of her chains would allow. She was just able to climb some shelves of rock outside cave, reaching the peak of the opening where the fissure narrowed. Behind her Zathra created a small flash of magic in his palm, in an attempt to keep the gray warg's focus on himself. As the beast regained its footing, it began to stalk and circle the orc, sizing him up with its intense gaze.

At the same time, a pair of full grown wargs barreled into the far side of the clearing, only to be met by the weight of the club Barbaurak had taken from Zathra. One was clipped upside the jaw with a resounding whack, leaving its brain rattled, while the other had just enough reaction time to leap to the side and out of reach. It immediately went into stalking similar to the gray warg, attempting to get itself behind Barbaurak's field of view. The clever beast seemed to know the orc wouldn't be able to keep his eye on both itself and its companion at the same time.

Zathra's hand pulsed and burned as he pushed the magic harder than he'd ever done so before. So much so that small sparks began to zip and spring from his palm. The gray warg watched as the orc's action made him flinch ever so slightly, providing the perfect distraction. It charged the moment the orc's focus shifted for a split second.

Zathra yelped and kicked shards of slate at the charging beast, while dodging to the side before it could snag him in its jaws. The teeth came slamming together where his bright glowing hand had been a moment before, missing its target by only a hair's breath.

"Garn, lat dur lorz horn!" Zathra growled, hoping the slave was getting close to the cave. He couldn't spare a glance to know for sure, but the warg was poised to lunge again anyways. This time, sinking its teeth into Zathra's arm.

***** Translations *****

Tark - Human

Sharlob - Human (female)

Snaga - Slave

Pinkskins - Humans

Skai - Shit

Skator gash - Hellfire!

Mokob hai - Orcsbane, an herb.

Garn, lat dur lorz horn! - Come on ya great stupid beast!

***** Author's Note *****

A lil expansion on the backstory of Alaesia's parents, Anorae and Norien!

Both Anorae and Norien were born within the boundaries of Gondor. Norien, son of Noras and Chana, was a farm boy who was drafted into the Gondorian army. Anorae, daughter of Bergad and Lilea, was a housemaid servant to a local magistrate's family. Their paths crossed a number of times whenever the magistrate would be tasked with housing Norien's battalion. Anorae would often be tasked with serving the soldiers meals, mending their clothing, and so on, which allowed Norien to get to know her over time. He started to court her whenever he was in the area, planning on asking for her hand in marriage when he had saved up enough to buy a small farm plot.

But it wasn't fated to be as Anorae became caught up in a plot of the magistrate's to cheat on the taxes owed to the Lord Steward of Gondor's capital, Minas Tirith. The magistrate was able to feign innocence, making it look like his servants were the ones cooking the books and stealing the taxes, he himself innocent of any crime. Those found guilty were given the option of the penalty of death for theft against the sovereign lord (who was particularly stringent with his laws and punishments at the time), or they could choose to be sentenced to exile beyond the Black Gate.

Anorae had no way to defend her name and, but she was too afraid to accept her fate at the hand of an executioner's axe so she opted for the latter punishment, not knowing what to expect of life as an outcast. When Norien's regiment returned to the magistrate's domain, he tried to visit his sweetheart, only to find she was gone. Eventually he discovered her fate, and being unable to prove her innocence, he petitioned his commander to be posted at the Black Gate. Gondor was growing increasingly strained against Mordor's attack at the gate, and so his request wasn't even questioned.

Finally, one day while patrolling the area within the gate, Norien spotted Anorae's red hair from a distance, and he abandoned his post on the spot to live in exile with her. Anorae forever blamed herself for their awful fate, but Norien claimed he would have followed her into the fires of Mount Doom itself, and would never blame her for it.

They eventually, and most likely accidentally, had Alaesia and were determined to keep their little family together. Alaesia was just coming into adulthood when their family was broken apart.

Hope you enjoyed this little romantic/depressing side story!