"And Earendil said to them: 'Here none but myself shall set foot, lest you fall under the wrath of the Valar. But that preil I will take on myself alone…'

But Elwing answered: 'Then would our paths be sundered for ever; but all thy perils I will take on myself also."

Of the Voyage of Earendil, The Silmarillion

Elrond woke alone, stretched out across the hammock, with the light of the sunrise pouring in through the open window. Slowly he came to consciousness, barely recalling his dreams of the night before, but the vague images of the past and the sounds of battle, and Celebrimbor's face… Sitting up, the elf frowned. It had been a long time since he'd thought heavily upon those days, but it seemed the memories had been drudged up, and would not leave him be.

He sighed as he stood, brushing out the wrinkles in his robes. Erestor and Lindor would have fits if they saw him in such a state. A small smile flitted across his face, as Elrond lifted his head, and left the room.

"Azog?" The halls were as empty as the bedchambers. His voice echoed all around the vaulted ceilings, the old crumbling ruin that barely constituted a home. In one corner of the hall, a small portion of the ceiling had crumbled, creating a hole through which a vine was slinking. "Azog are you here?"

He kept on, moving to the main hall, and down the large staircase. "Azog?"

"Oh, you're awake." It was not Azog that replied, but another orc; Thurag, he remembered, the woman from the day before. "Lover boy was called off by the elder's this morning, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me. Sorry." She didn't seem very sorry by her tone and the smile on her face, and it made Elrond smile, too.

"That is no hardship." He told her. "Do you know when he'll be returning?" She shrugged nonchalantly. "Well… in that case, is there perhaps someplace I could bathe?"

"Sure, follow me."

She led him to the roof, which was honestly somewhat disconcerting given the apparent weakness of the structure. But it didn't give out from under them as they crossed it. Sitting in its center was a metal bin, which collected rain water, and another bin full of rather dirty washcloths. Neither one was big enough to sit inside of. Elrond tried to make sense of it as Thurag made her exit.

"I'll be downstairs whenever you're done. I can give you a tour around town if you want?"

"Yes, that would be… fine." The elf replied, only half paying attention. He was still rather perturbed by the bathing situation. But, it seemed it would have to do. With a sigh, Elrond began removing his clothes.

"Confound orcs and their irrational hatred of cleanliness!"

Clean as he could be, in the situation, and wearing a fresh change of clothes, Elrond left the bedroom once more and sought out Thurag. He'd gone ahead and eaten as well, as he was relatively sure orc fair would not suit him. His supplies, however, were dwindling. In a few days, he would need to restock. Perhaps the Elders could be convinced to allow him to forage? Or to travel south to his kin in Meluinen? Somehow, he doubted that.

"Bout time." Thurag stood up once he had descended the stairs. "You elves always take this long in the morning?"

In lieu of a response, Elrond smirked, amused by her playfulness. Few of the orcs in Minas Vrun had been so friendly to him.

"Still up for that tour?" She asked when the elf came to stand beside her.

He inclined his head respectfully. "Lead the way."

Azog had been standing outside the Council Room for well over an hour, and he was not amused.

In the old days he'd have stormed in already, forcing his way in. But now he had more than his own welcome to worry about. It would not surprise him at all if Elrond was used as a way to control him and his behavior, now that it was clear he desired that the elf stay. He knew that was the only reason Zlurik had been so easily convinced to allow it.

All had been said and done the day before, he'd thought, so why was he here now? It had to be about Elrond. Had they reconsidered? It had seemed too easy, after all…

Finally, the doors creaked open, drawing Azog's attention. His head snapped up. He stood off the wall, uncrossing his arms, rolling one shoulder back and grunting as it gave a pop.

Zlurik stood in the doorway, hand on the doorknob, standing aside to let Azog in. He was glowering at Azog already, as if he'd been the one made to wait. In return, Azog decide to slow his pace a bit. He took his time crossing the hall, and grinned when Zlurik noticed and his look turned sour.

"You called?"

All three elders stood in the chamber when Azog entered. It was much smaller than the Chamber for large gatherings, hardly larger than his bedchamber. A few torches lit the small space, and a round table took up most of the room.

"Azog. We have – concerns, we still wish to address."

"Why did you not address them yesterday?"

"Allow me to impress upon you the importance of secrecy in this matter." Zlurik muttered as he took a seat. "Speak one word of this outside this room and I will kill you."

Azog growled in reply, half standing already, when one of the Elders held up a hand. "Enough. We have no quarrel with you or your – mate, Azog… but Goi-suk is still vulnerable, and we have much to protect."

After a pause, Azog nodded, and sat back down. "Fine. What is it?"

"Your elf… is he gifted in any way?"

"Can he perform the healing arts?"

Azog smirked. If they only knew. "He's somewhat skilled. What does it matter?"

"Can he be trusted?"

Before Azog could say a word, Zlurik snorted. "Of course he can't be. I'm telling you, involving the elf is not an option!"

A harsh glare from an Elder silenced him. She turned then to Azog. "Do you trust this… Elros?"

Azog nodded. "With my life."

The three Elders shared one last quiet look with one another, before she spoke again. "We have need of his assistance."

Thoughts were rushing through Azog's mind, ideas clicking into place. This was why Elrond had been so easily accepted into the city. The Elders hoped to use him somehow, but why? And for what? Orcs had healers of their own. And what medical malady could need such secrecy?

"I'm listening." He said finally, leaning forward onto the table.

One of the elders stood, crossing the room to a door opposite them. Opening it slightly, he leaned outward, and spoke to someone. "Come in," Then, he returned to his seat, followed by a young woman, holding a… a baby.

An Orc baby.

"Fuck me," Azog breathed.

Thurag took him through the busier streets of the city. The north-western section was where most of the orcs lived, behind the markets and the palace, in the shadow of the mountain. The buildings were just as decrepit, but showed more signs of repair; wood had been brought in to create bridges across rooftops, and railings around holes and over broken walls.

Those they past eyed him warily, but offered no insult or attack. They were wary of him, as well they should be, given their past history. Elrond could hardly imagine what kind of lives these orcs must've lived before, under Sauron's rule. And a darker part of his mind could not help but wonder, if he had met any of them on the battlefield before…

They spent some time simply walking about, taking in the city. It was intriguing to see where the city of Men, of old, met with the new orc culture which had overtaken it, and how they both collided. Yet, mostly, it was sad. Grand statues long gone into disrepair stood looking over courtyards which had not housed their masters in centuries. It felt as though ghosts should prowl the very streets, as they did the battlefields not far away.

It was lively, for certain, full of the harsh chatter of Black Speech, and the sounds of drums and horns. The music was beautiful, if quite unlike what Elrond was used to. Elves favored softer tones, and somber songs; these songs were jubilant, loud, and sharp.

The people were friendly to one another, Elrond could see that much. Orcs were as closely bonded as elves were. Everywhere he looked, he saw them gathered in groups, talking arm in arm, laughing and walking together. They were very physical; he saw them more often than not pushing and shoving at each other, hitting and slapping and gesturing with their arms as they talked. As much energy and vibrancy as mortals, with the long lived years of elves. A strange combination indeed…

"It's not much," Thurag shrugged, hands on her hips. "But it's home."

"It is wonderful." Elrond told her, and he meant it.

They turned a corner in the street and came to a wide courtyard. The stone had completely worn away, revealing the earth beneath. Mud and filth lined the ground, and weeds and patches of grass here and there. In this dirt yard, dozens of orcs were gathered, standing in a wide circle around what appeared to be a combat arena.

But it was nothing like the practice yard in Rivendell. The orcs were fighting with no weapon that Elrond could see. They were – wrestling, in the filth, covered in mud, and – naked! Elrond flinched, turning to avert his gaze. At that, Thurag laughed.

"What, elf, are you shy?"

"Why are they unclothed?"

"They're wrestling." She said with a grin, as though that was an answer. Elrond glanced back, curious despite himself, pointedly keeping his gaze high.

The orcs were cheering loudly, punching the air as the two in the center kept brawling. Both the brawlers were huge, almost as tall as Azog, and one had breasts, which Elrond tried to avoid looking at. It wasn't like the training back home, it was more like a sport, fighting for fighting's sake.

"Is this common in Goi-suk?" He asked finally.

"Common enough. Gotta do something to keep busy, yeah?"

The taller orc had the advantage, it was clear. They grappled for a time, but after a while, the taller got a better hold, arms slipping under one of the other orc's arms and legs. The opponent was lifted into the air, to the loud jubilation of the crowd, and thrown hard into the ground.

"Oooh!" Lifting a fist to her mouth in sympathy, Thurag grinned. Rapid-fire Black speech followed. "What a fucking finish. That had to hurt!"

"I'm guessing that one just won."

Said orc had lifted their arms in victory, sauntering around the circle, proud, as the audience cheered. Once they finished one round, their arms fell, eyes scanning the crowd – and falling on Elrond. A grin came over their face, one arm lifted, pointing at him.

"Yeah, she won," Thurag told him. "And now she's challenging you."

"She's – oh, no," Balking, Elrond took a step back, but it was too late. The crowd had turned and saw him, and seemed delighted at the idea of throwing him into the ring. Well, some did. A few seemed to eye him with suspicion, confusion, and nervousness, and some seemed to simply want to attack him then and there.

"Oh, no you don't!" Thurag stepped behind him, keeping him from moving back. "You want my people to like you? You get in there."

"It's dirty!"

"Then get dirty! Goddamn pansy elves! Go!"

Another shove and he stepped forward. The truth was she was right. To be accepted into their society he would have to embrace their values, and their traditions, their culture. But – this? Elrond eyed the ground, imagining his robes soiled with such filth, and scowled. But he was hardly going to fight naked!

Lifting his eyes, Elrond looked over his opponent as he stepped into the ring. Well, Azog, he thought grimly, I hope you appreciate this!

It took way too goddamn long to find Elrond. He wasn't at the house, which wasn't surprising, but he didn't think he'd be far. The markets, maybe, or exploring the ruins. But after half an hour, Azog still hadn't found him, and it was getting frustrating. So, he had Chaznuk find him. The warg's nose was stronger than his, by far, and it didn't take him long to locate their wayward elf.

Where he found him was not where he expected.

Chaznuk took him to the Glimanazg, of all places. Azog eyed his surroundings, gaze narrowed. Orcs were filing about around him, wary yet unafraid. It was not something he was used to. For all that he was not trusted, and somewhat unliked, no one really feared him.

Hating him was another matter.

Azog's eyes turned to the Glimanazg for a moment then snapped back. It couldn't have been -? He looked into the arena and his eyes widened in shock.

In the center of the arena was his lover, covered in mud and sweat, holding an orc in a chokehold.

He was still clothed in his finery, but it wasn't so fine anymore. He was muddy head to foot, hair frazzled and caked in shit. Some of his clothes were even torn, and he could see blood on his skin, but the darkness of it told him it was orc blood, not elf. Azog stepped forward, sauntering into the crowd. Soon as those around him realized who he was, the whole group parted.

Elrond's eyes lifted and met his, blazing with life, his mouth parted in exertion. The sight was more than pleasing, it was glorious. Azog grinned.

"Seems you've been busy."

"It was not my intention." Elrond replied breathlessly. Azog took a moment to appreciate the sight, then gestured back to Chaznuk.

"You are needed. Come, golugizub. I will explain on the way."

He outstretched his good hand, watching the emotions flit through Elrond's eyes: concern, confusion, curiosity. But the elf took his hand, and followed him back to Chaznuk. All eyes were on them, but Azog cared not. Let them watch.

Thurag came from the crowd, running up to walk beside them. "Damn, Azog, you should have seen this scrawny guy take Fhugro down like it was nothing!"

"What is wrong?" Elrond leaned towards him, voice tight with concern.

"Not here," Azog mumbled, glancing at Thurag. He trusted her, but this wasn't his secret to tell.

"Hey, something up?"

"We'll talk later, Thurag," He told her, stepping up on Chaznuk. Reaching out, he took Elrond's hand again, and pulled the elf up behind him. Without a moment's hesitation, he ordered her to move, and she did. They barreled out of the courtyard, back to the Palace, fast as they could.

From the moment Azog approached him, Elrond became anxious. When he refused to elaborate, that feeling exploded into terror. What could be so important that he was needed so quickly? What could be so secretive? The longer he went without knowing, the more his mind invented possible truths, each more terrible than the next. Perhaps the elders had changed their minds? Perhaps they had turned against Azog? Perhaps…

"What's happened?" He finally asked as they came to a halt in front of the palace. By that time he was jittery, practically vibrating with nerves. Panic clouded his mind, and sent his heartbeat skyrocketing. He stepped off Chaznuk as if in a daze, as if he'd floated out of his own body.

A hand took hold of his own, and he followed the limb up to its owner, to Azog's eyes. The orc leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. "Breathe, Elrond," His lover murmured. "There is no trouble, it is only… a very delicate situation."

"You are sure?"

"No harm will come to you here." Azog promised him, leaning away. "The elders have requested your help."

"They…?" Elrond's brow furrowed. Nodding to the building, Azog turned and began to walk, and Elrond followed after him. They stepped through the double doors with the ancient engraving, the sight of which was enough to bring a well of sorrow flooding out of Elrond's heart. The Elendilmir. Isildur…

The sight hurt, but he suppressed it, focusing his gaze upon Azog's back. He followed him down halls, through doors, until they came to a small back room in the living quarters of the palace. The Elders were all present, as was the Guard Captain, and a few of his guards, posted outside the door.

The final occupant of the room was a woman, holding… a child.

Immediately, Elrond realized the implications of what he was seeing. An orc child – not a full grown soldier grown in a vat, but a naturally born infant. Wide eyes glanced to Azog, and he could tell by the orc's gaze this was exactly what he thought it was: the first natural orc birth in centuries, perhaps longer.

"May I ask why I am here?"

He had a feeling he knew; but he wasn't certain he wanted to let them know how much he knew. So he allowed one of the elders to turn and speak to him.

"This is Ardlu, a recent arrival of our people from the Ettenmoors." The Elder gestured to her. "She came to us in a… delicate state."

"Pregnant." Elrond clarified. He glanced to Ardlu, looking over her face. Her gaze was distant, dark, her look almost grim. But she held the child in her arms tight, as if she would die before any would take it.

"Yes." The Elder replied. "That is… not common among orcs."

"It's fucking impossible." Zlurik snorted.

"Not impossible." Another Elder told him with a harsh look. "Only, very difficult."

"We feared she would lose the child, and so we kept her secret, hidden from the rest of the people. We did not want to give hope where there was none."

"Why does Ardlu not speak for herself?" Elrond asked, looking to her once again.

"She cannot speak." Zlurik told him. "The Shakhbûrz ripped out her tongue."

He did not know what a 'shakhburz' was, but he did not need to. Internally, Elrond winced at the bluntness of the statement, looking over Ardlu's unaffected expression. It did not bother her. Yet he could not help but wonder what she was thinking, surrounded by strangers speaking of her as if she was not there.

The Elders were still speaking, but he did not heed them; he turned to Ardlu. She knew what he needed to know, as did the child in her arms. After all, it was clear to him as soon as he entered the room what he was needed for. The child was flushed, sweat-laden, and agitated: sick. Possibly dying.

He came to stand in front of Ardlu, and by then, the room had gone silent. No one spoke. Elrond lifted a hand to Ardlu's face. She did not move; her stern gaze met his and held even with his eyes. He reached out with his Light, his spirit, hoping that she too had that same light, as Azog did.

Perhaps only some orcs have it? He wondered, as he searched and found nothing. Perhaps Azog is an anomaly… perhaps…

He found it. A small smile came to his face at the flare of life, and sudden awareness as their minds touched. Ardlu was aware of him, too, as her eyes went wide.

Tell me, how did you come to be pregnant?

She did not understand; Ardlu did not speak the common tongue, and Elrond did not speak Black Speech. He held out an arm, towards Azog, hoping he would understand. He did not want to break the connection. Luckily he did; his lover stepped forward, taking hold of his hand, and Elrond pulled him gently into the connection.

Speak to her. He told Azog. How did she become pregnant?

He felt rather than heard the Black Speech rumble in his mind, and could not help but be repulsed, even disgusted. Thousands of years of dark associations and painful memories were hard to shake. But he shoved the feeling aside, focusing on the connection. Ardlu understood the question, he could feel that. When she replied, she didn't use the Black Speech – she had felt his repulsion, and was responding to it.

She responded with images, and the feelings which accompanied them.

She had lived all her life in the shadow of Mount Gram, in the Ettenmoors. The fortress of Gramsfoot is where she was born, where she was meant to die, in the service of the Dark Lord. She had been a smith, working for the goblins, keeping her head down, trying to survive.

Her work was respected, as was her skill in battle, and so she carved out a place for herself. None challenged her, and any who tried to kill her failed. But her position and all she'd worked for was threatened with one fatal mistake.

For months, she did not realize what it meant: getting sick in the morning, the pains, the increased hunger, her growing abdomen. Perhaps she would never have realized, if not for a raid on a human caravan. She'd been part of the attack, and come across a man with a belly strangely distended, unlike what men she knew looked like. But the sight, she quickly realized, looked like her. What she was becoming.

Could it mean…?

All orcs knew of life and how life was meant to begin. It was not their way. Orcs became stronger through the Dark Lord's magics. He controlled who was born, who lived and died. It was law. If the Dark Lord ever discovered that she was with child… she'd be killed.

So she tried to escape, and failed. The others had realized she was up to something, and caught her as she'd been climbing the walls out. They tortured her. When she wouldn't speak, they cut out her tongue, and tried to kill her. They did not get that far.

Their mistake had been leaving her with only three guards. She killed them all. Her second escape went as planned, and she headed north, to where she'd heard rumors of other orcs escaping the Dark Lord. At the time, she thought only of her own survival. The child was not any concern of hers.

The Elders of Goi-suk gladly accepted her, but they kept her hidden, fearing that the child would never be born. Ardlu did not understand the import of it. What did one more orc matter? The months went by, the condition worsened, until she finally birthed it.

When it came into the world, and wailed and screeched as if in anger to have been brought to such a vicious, terrible place… Ardlu felt a kinship with it. She loved it. And it was not long after that it fell sick. It would not eat. It grew hot to the touch, and slept all day. Suddenly, it was here and she wanted it to live yet it seemed to rebel against the very idea… perhaps it was better off dead. Perhaps they all were.

Elrond let his hand fall from her, and turned immediately to the child.

"What is wrong with him?" One of the Elders asked. "We have tried all that we know, but nothing has helped."

"It is not a malady of the body," Elrond told them breathlessly. He lifted a hand, letting it hover in the air over the babe. "It is of the spirit." Zlurik sputtered in laughter at his words. Elrond ignored him.

"When elves are born," Elrond began, "They are kept for the first weeks of their lives away from the others, only with their closest kin. This is to allow them to bond, in spirit, to let their lights know and recognize one another. The child needs the light of its elders to grow in strength, to draw power from."

"This is not an elf, if you have not noticed!" The guard captain spat.

"But the problem is the same." Elrond insisted, lifting his gaze and hitting the man with a harsh glare. "This child has a light, as all elves do. But it has not bonded with its mother, its light is fading. Without that bond, it will die."

"How is that possible?"

Elrond turned to Azog. "You know what I say is true." Azog had seen for himself that orcs could have Lights, for he had one. Their own bond had saved Elrond's life. "If mother and child do not bond, the child won't live."

"How is this done?" The First Elder asked.

Frowning, Elrond glanced to the babe. The poor thing was in a restless sleep, face almost red, though its skin tone was a dark grey. It was not healthy; might not last the night. There was only one thing he could do. Elrond raised his head, and met Ardlu's eyes. He hoped she understood he was trying to help.

He placed one hand on the babe's head, and one at Ardlu's temple, and closed his eyes. Finding Ardlu's light a second time was not hard; but searching out the dim candle that was the child's, was much harder. He had to go deep, to reach into the newborn consciousness further than he might've dared with an adult. But it worked. He forged the initial connection, which with time would naturally strengthen, as mother and child remained together.

"The child, it –"

Elrond opened his eyes. The babe was looking at him. It's color had gone down, and it was no longer struggling. It seemed… curious. Bright black eyes stared at him, and a little hand reached out from the blankets toward him. It was strangely endearing, for all that it was entirely unlike any child he'd ever seen. Dark grey skin, entirely bald, dark eyes. He hoped it survived. He hoped… hoped…

"Elrond!"

Was he falling? Perhaps… the world was dark. All around him was a cloud of night, pitch black, but for a small light in the distance. What was that? Was it… a person? A pair of eyes? He thought perhaps he recognized them, whoever they were, walking closer to him… was it an elf, or a man? He could not tell. For a moment, the distant figure appeared to be Celebrimbor, in the grand cloaks of old, head held high, long dark hair flowing behind him. Then, he thought he saw Isildur, in the armor of Arnor, bearing the Elendilmir upon his brow. Whoever they were, they were holding out their hand. The closer they came, the more their hand opened, until he looked upon their naked palm and saw… saw…

A ring. Was it his? He'd… left his in Rivendell… and this ring, it was gold, but it had no blue gem… it was just gold… perfectly round, and unadorned… what was this ring?

Why are you trying to give it to me?

He looked up; he saw Celebrimbor's sharp eyes, he saw Celebrimbor falling before Sauron's blade; he saw Isildur's warm smile, saw him disappearing into the dark, to a murky end… he saw…

Elrond!

Elrond opened his eyes.

"About time," Azog joked dryly.

"Azog… I…" Groaning, the elf moved to sit up. "What happened?"

"You spent too much of your Light saving the child." Azog told him. "You've been unconscious for three days."

They were in Azog's home again, resting upon a bed of blankets and pillows on the floor. It hadn't been there before; it was haphazardly thrown together, and there were so many of them. He was covered!

"I am sweltering," The elf threw the top layers off. "Why are we so covered?" He heard the crackling of a fire, and saw one burning in the corner of the room.

"You were deathly cold," The orc told him. His voice was quiet, and all too severe. "On the second night I feared I'd lost you, you were so pale and chill."

Elrond turned to him, brow drawn in concern. "Azog, I…"

"How sick are you?"

The elf barely avoided flinching at the question. The truth was, he wasn't sure. Very sick, he knew. He'd allowed it to go unchecked for too long. But… what choice had he had? What choice…

"Elrond, I need an answer."

Azog was clearly furious, which meant he was afraid. It must have been serious indeed to inspire this much fear in him. His gaze was burning, a heavy grimace on his face. He'd been sleeping behind Elrond, beneath all those blankets, keeping him warm with his body heat. Azog was covered in sweat – obviously he'd been burning up, beneath it all…

"Elrond!"

"I don't know!" He shot back. "I don't –" Sighing, he drew a hand over his eyes, feeling the tension sink into his bones. "I felt I was getting better. You did me a great service, some time ago. But… it was not enough. Such wounds take time to heal, time, and the assistance of others."

"What happened?"

"Elladan and Elrohir left." They had not said goodbye; hadn't spoken a word to him. He'd found they were gone when Erestor returned from their rooms, having found them empty. The elf's quiet, pitying gaze had been enough. He'd known… his sons were gone. "I sent Arwen home with her grandmother. She still grieves, for her mother, and it should not be her responsibility to carry my burdens as well. She is but a child. And I…"

My parents, my brother, so many of my friends… they're all dead. I had no one left.

"I don't understand. All elves have this light, have they not?" Azog asked him. "Why could they not have helped you?"

"It cannot be any light, it must be a shared light. A family bond, or bond of friendship."

"Did you not have any? What about Erestor, or Glorfindel?"

"I never created one with them."

It had been his choice, though they had been willing. As leader, it was his duty to watch over them all. The burden of the ring, of ruling the valley, was his. He could not rely upon his own subjects for support. He did not have the luxury of creating such bonds with those who served him. They could be his friends, and they could be close, but they could not bond in such ways. It was… too risky. Too close.

"I thought, with time, I would recover." Elrond continued, gaze falling low. "But time went on, and I grew weaker. The nightmares began. It became very clear that I would have to take action, or risk greater consequences from my inaction."

"What consequences?"

Elrond gripped the blankets beneath him tight. "I may fade entirely. I might die. Or, to avoid such a fate, it may become inevitable that I… go West. If I do not regain my strength soon… I may have no other option."

Such had been his wife's fate; in her agony she had withdrawn from friends and family, suffering alone, until she was unable to keep on. She went west. If only she had reached out sooner…

And is that not what you are doing?

"What can I do?" Azog asked quietly, taking Elrond's hand in his. "How can I help you?"

"Stay with me," Elrond told him, leaning closer. "Stay by my side. Perhaps, with time, I will recover. But it shall not be easy."

"I am not one to shy away from challenges."

That brought a laugh out of him. "I know that, very well."

Azog lifted his hand, cradling Elrond's cheek, as he pressed their foreheads together. "Your burdens are mine as well, golugizub." He whispered against the elf's cheek, before pressing a kiss there. "Let us carry them together. Let me carry them with you."

Elrond could not help but smile at the sentiment. "I – will try." They remained close, for a few moments longer, until Elrond glanced down and saw the state of his hair. He leaned away, staring in horror at the matted locks, caked in – in mud?!

Then, slack jawed, he took in the rest of his form, his clothes dirty and sullen, sweat laden. "What happened?" Suddenly it came back to him – the wresting match, his fight. Then that meant – "Oh, by the Gods. The Elders saw me like this?"

At that, Azog let out a barking laugh. "You know, I think it might have improved their opinion of you. I know the people are pleased. You are not such a dainty flower after all!"

"I stink." Frowning, Azog stood, hands held away from his body as if they might be contaminated. "Ugh, I reek."

"Hm," Azog shrugged. "I wouldn't say that. But you elves have such delicate little noses."

Elrond frowned at that, beginning to tear off his nasty clothes. "I cannot believe – I slept in these for three days?" Horrified, he tossed the clothes over to the fire. "They are ruined, I cannot possibly redeem these."

Rolling onto his back, Azog just laughed hard. "Elves!" He chortled. "Ever so delicate. Yet, gifted with such great majesty. Do you realize yet the extent of what you have done for us?"

In the midst of pulling his shirt off over his head, Elrond muttered, "What is that?"

"You saved that child." When he could see again, the elf saw that Azog had stood, and was sauntering towards him. "You have given us hope again."

Elrond, feeling self conscious and more than a little embarrassed, shook his head. "I saved a child's life, but I do not see…"

"That child is a sign." Azog insisted, arms spread wide. "Do you not see? If we can create life without the Dark Lord, then we can live without the Dark Lord." He grinned. "We can be free." Stepping forward, he pulled Elrond into his arms, and the elf scoffed when the orc moved to kiss him.

"Oh, don't, I am disgusting –"

"Hardly," Azog laughed against his throat. "I find you delectable."

"I need a bath!"

Azog only kept laughing, kissing along his neck. His joy was infectious, and it was not long before Elrond found he was laughing as well.

When was the last time I truly laughed? He wondered. How long has it been?

He could not say. But with Azog, it seemed so easy. With Azog, the whole world seemed brighter.