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

Small content warning for this chapter. (Nothing explicit, but it does involve force and going against someone's will).

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.

Don't want to wait for more? Now Available! Read up to Chapter 84 on my discord! Link in my bio!

79

Zathra was cautious enough to keep a wide cushion of space between himself and Ar-Tashk, who observed him with intense, though tired eyes. The olog seemed to be studying him, if Zathra had to guess, no doubt gauging just how much of a threat the orc posed and far too wary to willingly rest.

Alaesia looked as small as a twig in the shadow of a great oak as the olog clung to her, but with some coaxing, she was able to convince him to let her slip from his grasp. The promise of food under the threat of Ar-Tashk's rumbling stomach was enough to get him to let her go, though Zathra noted the starving gaze with which the troll tracked her as she rekindled the fire. For a brief moment, Zathra was wary that the giant brute might cave into his insatiable desires for the human's flesh, with how he so obviously craved her, but to the orc's surprise, coupled with a hint of regard on Zathra's part, the olog resisted.

The yellow-skinned orc had come to a similar conclusion to Alaesia's, regarding Barbaurak's likely fate, as he carried out preparations for travel. The stubborn fool, wandering in wild, hostile territory, alone and unarmed, was probably dead by now; particularly if he had caught the attention of that snake and its eerie enchantments.

No matter how much Zathra tried to shake it, he couldn't help but feel that he had very narrowly avoided such an outcome himself. The trap was so obvious in hindsight, but it was only the dumb luck of working together that prevented such a fate from befalling himself and Alaesia; that, and having a great, bloody troll to save their sorry arses.

The clarion call, which had originally drawn him into that Mokob-hai-infested grove, had fallen silent now, and in its absence reason had broken through the alluring haze clouding his judgement. Barbaurak had always complained about Zathra using his magic against him, and now Zathra truly understood why; distinguishing between his magic and that which had drawn him in like a moth to a flame was still difficult, but discernable with the clarity of silence. The similarities between the disparate powers prickled the hairs at the nape of the orc's neck. However, more than having his will contorted without detection, what disturbed him most was how that enchanting influence felt like an echo. The familiarity of such powers seemed so obvious now; it seemed as though his own tactics had been turned against him.

Zathra moved purposefully and diligently about the clearing as he mused at the serpent's power. Given the chance, he wanted to pick Alaesia's mind about the whole situation, what she had found back at that grove, where the snake had come from, as well as take the time to investigate the item he had found. The chaos of their flight prioritized survival above his curiosity, but it was growing more insatiable for the fact he could still sense the snake lurking nearby.

It was too distant to make out exactly what thoughts were coursing through its head, but the anger he could detect left a bitter taste in his mouth. He loathed waiting around, not really able to do much beyond checking the pitiable hides he had started preparing previously and setting about tending to the gray warg's injuries.

Zathra breathed out hoarsely in relief, that for the moment all seemed to have calmed, as he set into dealing with the puncture wounds in the gray fur of the warg's flank. He did his best to muzzle the beast with his magic, to keep it from lashing out at him as he buried his hand into the gaping bite wounds left behind by the snake's fangs. Blood gushed between his clawed fingers as he pulsed magic into the flesh, sealing it shut. The beast writhed and howled at the burning sensation of the orc's magic flooding the recesses of its chest, clawing at him once or twice, before it would no longer lie still. A back paw shot out, clobbering him in his gut. Zathra snarled in surprise as he was launched backwards while the warg scrambled upright. It turned on him with bared teeth before hobbling quickly into the darkening undergrowth of the evening before the orc regained his breath.

Zathra cursed after the stupid creature, but didn't try to stop it. It would be back, he was sure. The orc could still feel its mind as clearly as his own, bound to the orc and his will in a way that Zathra didn't quite understand. But he didn't have much of a chance to fret about it. A curt bark snapped him to attention as the olog summoned him.

"Skatul, uruk. RAD." Ar-Tashk had watched the nearly dead warg spring back to life under Zathra's claws, and as the orc obediently marched up before him, the massive warrior's eyes narrowed pensively. His mind was still a wall behind which hid whatever vile whispers the Dark Lord's Voice spoke to him, refusing all of Zathra's attempts to prod the olog's mind. "Lath warg madrat, ma... rugat ob aps."

Zathra nodded while containing an amused sneer. He chose his words carefully, if not testing the waters at least a little bit, "Ah, ahk... Keeps it fresh fer when ya finish stuffin' the other three carcasses down yer gullet."

"Ghung za warg mulkrut agh fulak Isla-izub, az kramp nargzab latub kar," Ar-Tashk's acute distrust of the orc was not softened in the least by Zathra's snarky response. However, Zathra noted the olog's own quip held poignant implications of concern for Alaesia's well-being. Though veiled by a threat, his insistence to prioritize her safety spoke volumes as to what was going on in the olog's head.

"I promise, it won't. Az narkramp nargzab na fulak nanulg," Zathra vowed in an attempt to find common ground with Ar-Tashk, while Alaesia brought a sizable chunk of meat away from the fire to serve to her master; none-the-wiser to their conversation in the black tongue.

Ar-Tashk's attention snapped right back to her, pupils dilating with hunger; though whether it was in response to the food or to her, Zathra couldn't tell. Perhaps both. The olog gestured a tense hand towards the orc, with a grunt, "Orc is healer, ahk?"

"Y-yes... Zathra is the healer I m-mentioned," Alaesia's viridian green eyes hidden under disheveled locks of fiery hair flicked nervously between the orc and olog. She hated only being privy to intermittent fractions of their discussions. It gave her no context on how she should respond or if her answers would cause any trouble. "H-he helped tend to your w-wounds with his magic."

Aw, ya been gossipin' 'bout me to yer brute? Zathra's voice oozed into Alaesia's mind with a smirk. I'm flattered.

Shush you... Alaesia hissed back; the smarmy bastard couldn't keep his attitude bottled up forever, even in seemingly hopeless circumstances, but she wasn't nearly as composed.

In the deafening silence of Ar-Tashk's contemplations, her nerves quickly took hold. Alaesia didn't trust the momentary peace; nor did she fully believe Ar-Tashk's purported leniency for her wrongdoings against him. The hammer would drop eventually, but for now, she could do little more than dip her head submissively as he plucked the flank of warg meat, still speared through by a bolt used as a spit, from her hands, and tore into it. Juices from the meat flooded the olog's mouth, quieting the most urgent demands of his starved gut, and Alaesia's nerves in turn, but only just.

"Lat shatraug ogh asra, uruk?" Ar-Tashk's query was low, reluctant even, when he finished his meal and addressed Zathra once more. Even in his exhaustion, the olog was was cold and calculating like the tactician he was bred to be. He needed to know if what his Isla claimed was true; to test the orc's usefulness. "Pash lat asr na?"

"Fix...?" Zathra's brow furrowed.

He hesitated, but not out of confusion. He had 'fixed' Alaesia, as the olog phrased it, countless times over just the course of just a few short days. Short of the permanent scarring that marked up the whole of her body, there was only one injury the olog could possibly be referring to now, and Zathra was at a loss as to how to explain his reluctance to address it. However, the orc's pause seemed to agitate Ar-Tashk regardless.

"Ghung lat asra, traumat ta! ASR NA!" The vicious command split the evening air, growing louder in desperation, only to falter when Alaesia cowered away from Ar-Tashk's thunderous voice.

"P-Please... Zathra's done n-nothing wrong!" Not knowing what either of these fiends were arguing about, not knowing what had set her master off so suddenly, made her shrink to the slowly growing shadows, wishing she could disappear into them.

The chain on her neck pulled taut as she drew away, while the olog grasped at it forcefully, "Nar... Isla... Amul."

"Hold on! Whaddya think was gonna 'appen, shoutin' an' bellowin' like that! Na tug ufat! Lat ufat na!" Zathra reached his pale blue, ghostly arm forward to grab at the chain between them, but stopped short when Ar-Tashk's mane started to bristle and the threatening rumble from his throat grew tangible in the air. The orc knew what kind of risk he was taking, forcing himself between a possessive, impulsive beast and its toy, but he couldn't just sit by silently knowing how quickly things could devolve. He grit his teeth, wondering if getting his hand, corporeal or otherwise, in contact with the olog might allow him to break the Dark Lord's barricades, but the odds seemed against him, "I'm 'er slave right? Ya wanted me ta help 'er? Serve 'er? Az pash ghulum durlob-izub srinkhsha."

"Izub..." Ar-Tashk's eye twitched. He was loathed to withdraw or let the orc close to his Isla, even if he, himself, had declared the orc her slave. Everything about the orc agitated the olog, from his hideous, scheming face to the freakish wraith-like claw that disappeared and manifest for seemingly no reason. But most of all, he hated that his Isla didn't cower from the orc the same way she cowered from him. He didn't blame her, not with the kind of murderous thoughts running through his head. It was better that she did fear him, but it cut deeper than it should have. The chain slackened in his grip, "Nar furu, uruk..."

"Zathra...?" Alaesia's eyes were locked on the orc as well; face full of confusion.

"Everything's alright, lass. Yer olog ain't angry at ya," Zathra murmured, keeping his eyes respectfully averted. He fell silent momentarily, listening as the olog uttered something to him in his harsh language, before conveying it to the woman, "Yer... bleedin' has 'im worried for yer sake. 'E want's ya healed... Fer me ta heal ya."

"N... no..." The look that fell over her thin face was as dark as the black clouds of Orodruin. Alaesia had thought that she might be able to eventually work up the courage to ask Zathra again to heal her. Given enough time, the vague and nebulous ambition was only a comforting thought while in its ambiguity, but to have it thrust upon her with so little warning... Her eyes, drawn to pinpricks, darted in Ar-Tashk's direction, then back to Zathra, "Please no... D-Don't make me d-do that."

"He... uh... made a good point, lass. Mordor is dangerous enough as it is, let alone fer someone in yer condition. Three, meybe four times now, it's led trackers right to ya and ye've survived so far, but... ya may not always be so lucky, if just one of them wanted you dead or can't stop themselves," Zathra coaxed gently while tilting his head pointedly over his shoulder towards the olog. Perhaps his intuition wasn't quite as reliant on his mindreading as much as the orc originally supposed, as he noted Ar-Tashk's expression turn severe, though the olog didn't object to the implication of the danger that he, himself, posed.

The harsh reality was that Ar-Tashk hated his Isla's vulnerabilities; the parts of her that he had no way to overcome, that made him weak for her, like her eyes begging him to withdraw his demands. Eddies of fear rolling through her like waves on the sea beckoned to the feral part of him that craved more than just her attention; the muscles in his jaw ached to sink his teeth into her flesh, goaded on by the bloodlust seeded within him.

Let the uruk try his magic! Let it burn her alive! You cannot save her. Her only hope is a cage, to protect her from him. To protect her from YOU. The Voice had turned rabid the moment he rejected the idea of returning to Nurnen, attacking from every possible angle fathomable. It wouldn't let him believe for one moment he could possibly leave Mordor. Curses and visions of blood and carnage flooded Ar-Tashk's mind; the echoes of his vilest worries that haunted his every thought in the Voice's attempts to break his spirit. And if the magic doesn't kill her, you will. She will die to your hunger. You will slaughter her like a pig when starvation takes you! You have no control. You're just a mindless beast!

He felt so incredibly powerless before the force of the Voice; powerless before his Isla; powerless because he could do nothing to stop the pain that he knew would surface with her intermittent bleeding. The same delicious scent of her blood, though stale at the moment, threatened renewal anytime now; all because he hadn't stopped Vezhir, because Vezhir had broken her. He didn't, or more accurately couldn't trust himself not to do the same; if the Voice was right... if craving her or her blood made him lose control now...

Ar-Tashk couldn't risk anything triggering that. He gave Zathra a blunt nod.

I know yer scared, lass, but I can try ta be as gentle as possible. Zathra offered in silence, while uttering something else to the olog aloud; as much as Zathra wanted to help Alaesia, he had no way to guarantee that he could, at least not on his own; as well as giving the olog a small warning of the agony his healing magic might inflict.

Ar-Tashk's expression was bitter and guarded as Alaesia recoiled from the scrawny orc and searched her master for mercy, though there was none to be had. They each had distinct concepts of benevolence, worlds apart, irreconcilable.

The olog took the human into his arms, a strong, restrictive embrace. At first the warmth of his body as she was drawn close blanketed Alaesia and in a blink of an eye, she was transported to the shores of the Sea of Nurn. Her heart stuttered briefly... and balanced into a consistent rhythm. All her senses felt sheltered by the olog's bulk, but only for a moment.

It was Zathra's touch, the sense of his claws against her thin skin, that brought the memory's fragments of composure crashing down. The orc's wraith-like hand maneuvered under her raggy clothing to press against her abdomen and sank intangibly into her skin. Pulses of blue light, punctuated by crackling electricity, flowed from Zathra's ghostly limb, crawling deep into Alaesia's gut as he blindly, but carefully, sought for the persistent internal wounds plaguing her, and prayed to whatever deities might answer, that he wouldn't accidentally kill her.

Any attempts on the orc's part to commune reassurance to Alaesia were shuttered before they could reach her consciousness; blocked by a shade of the Goblin Witch that mirrored him in the void of her mind, taking great pleasure in her torment.

"A-Ar..." Quiet weeping shook the woman's shoulders, quickly turning into despondent gasps for air. She clutched at the hair on the olog's arm with her thin fingers, begging him, through nearly incoherent sobs, to stop the pain, to take IT out of her.

"Ta bhogad... Ta bhogad..." Ar-Tashk murmured while stroking her hair and cheek with one finger, and he grimaced when his fragile, little human started to scream and thrash uncontrollably. She kicked out at the orc, as well as the olog, helpless between their combined restraint. Her master had held her like this once before, restraining her for the danger she posed to herself, and for a brief moment, that memory struck the brute like lightning cutting through the derision of the Voice granting him rare, unmitigated clarity.

Her senseless pleading made it clear, she wasn't here with him, in the clearing of the forest, right now; at least in spirit. No, her mind was trapped in the fortress back in Nurn, the night he returned from the fight pit to find her broken, with only that wretched goblin witch to mend what he could not. There was nothing to take out of her this time, no urukling tormenting her from within. Ar-Tashk wondered, awash with self loathing, if he had listened to her begging back then, done as she asked, to take Vezhir's spawn from her belly, might he have spared her this further misery. But now, he had no choice but to try to make right the broken pieces of his Isla, who fell limp in his hands.

***** Summary To Skip Violative Sequence *****

Tensions between Alaesia, Ar-Tashk, and Zathra cool a bit. Zathra takes a moment to heal the warg of its injuries inflicted by Ammatar, but the healing process causes the warg an immense amount of pain, causing it to lash out at Zathra, then flee the clearing. Ar-Tashk took notice of Zathra healing the warg, and demands Zathra can "fix" Alaesia's internal injuries that have been causing the intermittent bleeding. Zathra wants to refuse, knowing how Alaesia reacted to the idea previously, but Ar-Tashk refuses to hear it and orders Zathra to proceed. Alaesia begs them to stop, but Zathra concedes, and while Ar-Tashk is restraining her, he reaches his ethereal hand directly into her womb, to try to heal the injuries left by the trauma of her pregnancy and giving birth, against her will. The pain of the process is too much for Alaesia to handle, and she believes she is back in the keep at Nurn, being tortured by the goblin witch, then blacks out.

***** Translations *****

A: Skatul, uruk. RAD. - Come here, orc. NOW.

A: Lath warg madrat, ma... rugat ob aps. - (you) Let the warg go free, huh... waste of meat.

A: Ghung za warg mulkrut agh fulak Isla-izub, az kramp nargzab latub kar - If that warg returns and harms my Isla, I will have your head.

Z: Az narkramp nargzab na fulak nanulg. - I don't want her harmed either

A: Lat shatraug ogh asra, uruk? - Are you a witch or healer, orc (Ar-Tashk is calling Zathra "asra" meaning "One who fixes" differentiating between benign healing magic and more sinister uses of magic like that of a witch aka "shatraug")

A: Pash lat asr na? - Can you fix her?

A: Ghung lat asra, traumat ta! ASR NA! - If you are a healer, prove it! FIX HER!

A: Nar... Isla... Amul - No... Isla... be calm.

Z: Na tug ufat! *Lat* ufat na! - She's just scared! *You're* scaring her!

Z: Az pash ghulum *durlob-izub* srinkhsha. - I can help *my mistress* understand.

A: *Izub...* - (she's) *Mine...*

A: Nar furu, uruk... - No tricks, orc...

A: Ta bhogad... - It's alright...