***** Author's Note *****
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95
Anorae stroked Alaesia's soft hair gently. A wavy tress tickled her cheek as her mother tucked it, nice and neat behind her ear. She even murmured one of Alaesia's favorite songs, a working song turned lullaby, with such a warm smile that pushed Anorae's cheeks up to her eyes.
Little doe, little doe, don't you know, how seasons flow?
Answered me, that little doe, I see them grow in my meadow
My blossoms low, from under snow, bloom in brightest morning glow
Reap and sow, to and fro, up and down, each seeded row
Reap and sow, don't forego, not till, nor rake, nor blade, nor tow
Little crow, little crow, don't you know, how seasons flow?
Answered me, that little crow, I see them show in colored bow
Gold fields blow, stash and stow, baking dough for winter's throe
Reap and sow, to and fro, up and down, each seeded row
Reap and sow, don't forego, not till, nor rake, nor blade, nor tow
Little doe, little crow, don't you know, how seasons flow?
Answered me, the doe and crow, reap and sow, reap and sow
Reap and sow, to and fro, up and down, each seeded row
Reap and sow, don't forego, not till, nor rake, nor blade, nor tow
Answered me, the doe and crow, reap and sow, reap and sow
Of course, that had always been Alaesia's favorite song. She loved to daydream about talking to creatures of the wood, and having bread enough, a huge freshly-baked loaf steamed and sweetened with the smallest hint of honey, to share with them. Her mother's song was so soothing, the words putting such dreamy images in Alaesia's head; she could practically smell the scent of toasting dough and the tang of yeasted flour in the air.
Or was that real?
Alaesia's eyes peeled open, but they were as heavy as lead, and everything was dark around her, save for a trickle of golden light peeking through a crack to her side, catching in lofting plumes of dust. She blinked, trying to adjust to the foreign needle of brightness. The walls about her were too dark to make out clearly, or it might have been the hazy blur in her eyes. The world around her was quiet, as if holding its breath.
Where... Forming a coherent thought shot painful aches across her scalp, making her wince. But attempting to move was even worse. It took a monumental effort to turn her head just to the side; arms or fingers were a lost cause. As far as she could tell, her legs were just... gone. Replaced by a million prickling barbs. Where am I?
The dark and chill around her seemed particularly familiar. This would not be the first time she woke in a dungeon— Ar-Tashk...?
There was a loud creak, and suddenly the beam of light swelled to fill the room she could now see was constructed of stone walls with a wooden ceiling above. Alaesia caught her breath, which crystalized in the air before her, hoping to see the olog's massive silhouette come through the much too small doorway, only to be greeted by a short, weathered woman with mousey brown hair, who appeared to be a good number of years more seasoned than Alaesia.
A human woman.
Alaesia jolted in surprise, catching the woman's attention.
"Oh!" The woman practically squeaked, clutching a hand to her chest as if just as startled. At the fleeting look of panic in Alaesia's eyes, she took a moment to compose herself. Putting a hesitant finger in the air, the mousey woman glanced between the door where she had come from, and back to Alaesia, "You've finally woken up! You poor thing, don't try to move! I'll be right back!"
The stranger scurried out, leaving the door ajar behind her, humming a familiar melody as her plaited hair disappeared around the corner.
It wasn't like Alaesia could move even if she wanted to, but from the threshold, she realized just what had drawn her from her mother's lullaby. Wafting in the quiet air, the smell of bread filled Alaesia's mouth.
What kind of place was this, where the air itself was rich with such a scent?
"I know you're probably chilled to the bone, but it's necessary," the woman's chattering preceded her once she reappeared, bustling back into the dimly lit room with a small clay mug between her hands. Steam was pouring from it, bringing the unmistakable savor of bone broth with it to Alaesia's senses. "You've still got a lot of venom in you, so please stay calm."
Venom? Alaesia's mind was still awash in a fog; part of her still believed she might be asleep, and all this, just the odd fabrications of her mind. Another glancing pain in her scalp corrected that notion; it was too sharp to be just a dream. And if it were a dream, then no doubt, the darkness would soon start to creep and crawl.
Her eyes darted back and forth as the woman approached her, even balking away from the shadow of the lady's small well-worn hand as she lifted to reach for Alaesia's face.
The reaction, so abrupt, didn't go unnoticed. The woman paused, hand hovering, waiting to approach Alaesia, lowering her voice as if speaking to a spooked animal, "Everything is going to be alright. Try to breath... You've been through a lot, haven't you?"
When she reached forward again, she did so slowly, deliberately, with no sudden movements, keeping her hand in plain sight, while setting aside the mug.
Alaesia didn't move, didn't speak.
She was frozen, gauging everything with a well-conditioned gaze, the bloodshot whites of her eyes bright in the low light. But the woman only took a lock of hair that had fallen before Alaesia's eyes, and tucked it back behind her ear, like her mother used to, and hushed her with a voice as soft as a lullaby.
After taking a moment to allow Alaesia to process, the woman gently helped shift her to an upright sitting position, and held the mug for her, crooning, "Easy... Easy does it."
Alaesia couldn't help but notice, once she was finally sitting, the woman's belly, swollen and round; enough to make the otherwise mousey figure breathe heavily with effort.
The sight made Alaesia's heart drop, "No..."
The woman simply nodded, with one hand rubbing Alaesia's back, chasing away the prickles and barbing sensations that had settled there, "Take your time. No need to rush."
But Alaesia pinched her quivering lips, refusing the mug held to them. Her tongue felt like thick fuzz, sticking to the roof of her mouth and the backs of her teeth, but the words came anyway, "I'm... a... m... monster..."
"Oh!" The stranger stiffened for a moment.
Alaesia felt the woman's eyes dart from scar to scar across her face, down to her naked throat. She could feel her collar was gone, her chains and the cuffs that once tethered her wrists too. But rather than relief, it left the once-slave feeling so terribly exposed under the woman's scrutinizing gaze.
But then two small, warm arms pulled her close, cradling Alaesia against her bosom as a mother would do for her own kin, "Oh, no. No, no, no. Of course your not, child. You're not a monster at all."
Alaesia broke.
If this was a dream, or perhaps what waited beyond death itself, she didn't want to wake up.
She curled into the woman's embrace and wept until she couldn't muster even the slightest sound anymore.
Bellora, the older woman, Alaesia learned in the coming days, was a healer; one of two, Bellora claimed living in their village, a quiet pocket of sanctuary, tucked against the Ephel Duath.
Hidden a ways off the main road heading south from Minas Tirith, their little haven, which had started as a mining operation a couple generations back, had steadily grown to a thriving little community, with even a few farmers seeking out the fertile soil deposits at the foot of the mountain's carved valleys. Most importantly, Bellora had told Alaesia, that despite their location, they rarely had to worry about orcs.
"Really, an orc would have to be mad to try crossing over the mountains this far south. Practically a death sentence! They'll try to take the pass up North before ever risking it down this way," Bellora insisted more than once, trying to make conversation with her ward, "And orcs can see so far across the flatlands, they hardly ever think to look back towards the mountains! They like to hunt what's right in front of their nose."
Perhaps, Alaesia wondered, if Bellora was trying to be reassuring with such talk, or perhaps she was fishing for information, likely suspicious of the stranger in her home. At first, Alaesia had no answers to give, but over time as she healed, the venom running its course in her veins, Alaesia's memories had returned to her.
She couldn't stifle the dark thoughts that would have affirmed the healer's speculations; after all Zathra — it took some time for her to recall his name — had made it perfectly clear she should never flee an orc with its eyes set on her. Like a sighthound, the movement would drive them into a frenzy. But... their animal senses could track down anything's hiding place, a village, no matter how hidden could never be safe from the dog-like noses of Mordor's trackers, like... Ar-Tashk.
His name had come back to her like a torrential rain; flooding her with so many emotions she hadn't been able to contain it at the time.
She finally remembered her last glimpse of him, bloodied, murderous, and terrifying. And yet, the memory brought her to her knees each time it resurfaced. She couldn't banish such weight in her gut. The image of his back turned to her, spiders swarming him as she was dragged away unable to reach him, haunted her.
There was no way he would have survived. Not in that state, not against so many enemies alone. A part of her tried to declare her tears were because she hated and feared the olog. She had to.
It would be wrong to mourn a monster, that icy part of her insisted.
The rest of her heart, was not so easily convinced.
The cold cellar in which she stayed — Bellora claimed the chill slowed the venom in her veins, giving her body time to fight back and recover — was no haven to Alaesia. Short winter days provided just enough light through the wooden ceiling to keep the shadows at bay, but when long winter nights fell, they emerged from every corner.
Early in the resurgence of her memories, Alaesia clung to the tenuous sensations she could just barely recall of Ar-Tashk's touch. His huge rough hands could have easily taken anything he wanted from her, but withheld, until even in her dreams, she begged him to hold her. To be wrapped in his arms, where nothing else could touch her, was all she wanted.
But eventually the memory of his fingers leaving trails on her back and the brush of his lips on her throat faded. His absence, even if only the memory of him, left her exposed, unguarded. Permitting the return of her nightmares.
At first, the shadows were formless, just a mass of black malice. But they grew; thorny, rotten, deadened vines, they grew. Whispers cursed her in her sleep, the orc woman, a beastling, a bala—
"I know you missed me, ghash-dorozga. Look at me..." The shadows grew to take that awful form, the one she feared most. His yellow eyes bore into her like poisoned arrows. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, lorz kurf!"
She tried to ignore him; tried to summon images of Ar-Tashk to drive away the ghost of the uruk. For a brief while, it worked, until she could no longer remember the feeling of the olog's touch; until she could no longer remember any touch but that which had been scored into her flesh by the only monster her body could not forget. But the uruk was inescapable in her mind, drawing her into his talons; she could only wither before the nightmares. Echoes of his violations left her bolting awake each night, screaming, alone in her lonely cellar, until her cries summoned others to chase away the shadows.
But such awful things were pushed back deep into Alaesia's lonely and isolated silence. She was terrified to reveal to her hosts any details of her life prior, no matter how welcoming they seemed to be.
"Dear, I was hoping you might tell us how you came to be here," Bellora gave Alaesia a perplexed look. She could offer no explanation as to how her charge had arrived in the village, when the younger woman had asked.
Alaesia shook her head quietly, staring at her hands around a bowl of stew. They tightened almost involuntarily until her grip started to hurt, "I don't know..."
That much at least wasn't a lie. Everything after the cave was lost from the venom. But Bellora's gaze still drilled into her, demanding when her words did not.
The older woman had tried to question the gate guard who had come pounding on her door late one night, weeks ago; he had been accompanied by a hooded figure carrying the strange, injured, young woman dressed in nothing but rags aside from a curious Gondorian belt, suffering from debilitating exposure and comatose from a terrible spider bite.
But after cornering the young man at his post, he'd claimed he didn't even remember a second person with him.
Too much to drink on duty, the healer figured, though the boy adamantly denied it, even after she assured him she wasn't going to rat him out.
Bellora presumed at the time the other figure was just another guard, but when no one came forward to claim their involvement, she was left with more questions than answers, "Let us know if you can remember anything. The captain of the guard wants to talk to you sooner or later."
"My bell, don't push. She'll talk when she's ready," Bellora's husband, Beordon, a large, stout man, with salt and pepper in his dusky brown hair, and round rose-kissed cheeks, was a baker. His tone was soft, even as he scolded his wife. "Right, Alaesia?"
Alaesia flinched at her name and looked up from her hands, seeing Beordon offering her a bread roll. He had been the one to coax her name out of her after she had woken up, bribery notwithstanding. She took the roll, murmuring gratefully as he joined her and his wife at their small wooden table.
She held her tongue, but her mind was racing; why did the captain of the guard want to speak to her? Did they suspect her of being an escaped outcast? Would they send her back if they found out? Or had they decided to question her on her affiliations? Would she even be able to hide her orcish ties, with the claw marks of their enemies etched for the world to see across her face and arms?
Bellora had held her tongue against questioning Alaesia's scars, having witnessed all there was to see helping Alaesia wash and clothe herself, but surely a guard would not be so tactful nor lenient.
"Maybe you'd feel up to getting some fresh air?" Beordon's voice cut through Alaesia's miserable fretting before she could chew through her own lip. "Maybe freshen up at the baths? As long as missus doctor approves."
Bellora pursed her lips to blow over her spoonful of stew before answering, "Staying cooped up all winter like a cave bear won't do you any good. I think you're in the clear with that spider bite by now, warming your bones won't do much harm."
"After nightfall?" Hesitancy filled Alaesia's request. She didn't like going out if she could help it. Light from cloudless skies— a phenomenon of weather she had never even known was possible —gleaming off the bright snow hurt her eyes when going out. But more importantly, people returned to their own homes around sunset.
When she had regained the use of her legs, Alaesia had made the mistake of walking into the bakery-front of Bellora and Beordon's home while a pair of children were eyeing the sweet buns the baker was pulling from the oven.
Their shouts of alarm, cries of "Orc!" and "Beast!" were as sharp as any sword through her chest.
Bellora had quickly sent them scampering out of the bakery and ushered Alaesia back to privacy at the time, but the damage was done. The next time Alaesia dared to venture out along with her caretakers, though hooded and cloaked, she started to hear whispers and feel the eyes of passersby.
From the corner of her eye, she had spied a group of kids— she had never imagined seeing so many little ones in one place —hiding in the shadows of an alleyway to watch her. One of them, a face familiar from the bakery, made a claw with their hand, gesturing to rake it across their face to demonstrate to the other children.
Beordon had tried to assure that people were just curious, but it didn't make their staring or the wide berth they gave her hurt any less...
"A little sunshine would do you well too, ya know. Put some color back in your cheeks," Beordon frowned at Alaesia's refusal, looking towards his wife for backup, "Bell?"
Bellora snorted and waved her hand, "Don't push, dear. Sound familiar?"
The grizzled man's lips pinched indignantly into a flat line behind his beard, and he flicked a small bit of bread crust at his wife's nose, conceding to their guest's request, "Alright, alright. After nightfall."
The domestic interaction reminded Alaesia of how her parents used to test and tease each other... and in that way, it only made her feel more isolated.
Pine smoke from the fires of various small homes of thatch and stone that lined the walking path mixed with winter's clean night air. The village itself, doused in the blue light of winter's evening, was laid out along the side of the foothills, using the slope to gain a vantage point above the forests that lay outside, encircled further beyond by tall mountains, and hills. The sturdy walls surrounding the town, built from stones dredged up from the nearby mine, kept most anything at bay, but it could not compete with the fortress in Nurn.
Alaesia couldn't help but compare.
"Will she be okay...?" She tentatively asked Beordon as he escorted her out into the cold, night air after the sun finally set.
Bellora had declined to join them in their outing, citing swollen ankles and the uncomfortable weight of her belly making it too much of a hassle. She looked positively ready to burst, more so in the last couple of weeks. So the baker had given his sweetheart a peck on the forehead before heading out.
Beordon glanced back towards his home; a curl in his beard framing the ruddy apple of his cheek gave away the smile hidden beneath, "She'll be fine. It may be our first, but my bell has helped with many a babe afore. I doubt anything will happen tonight. She wouldn't have let either of us wander off if there were any signs."
"How can you smile like that?" She had believed Beordon to be a kind man, but the fact he showed no dread, as if his wife's looming fate did not weigh upon him, frightened her.
The baker paused in his tracks, as if she had said something horrible, monstrous, "Huh? Smile like what?"
"How can you smile, when any day now she'll be ripped open? How do you plan to stop her from bleeding out? Or keep the baby from..." Alaesia was unable to finish the thought.
Didn't he know? Did he not fear what was to come?!
Worry drew lines across her face. As far as she knew, there was no magic among men — like the goblin witch's terrible curses or Zathra's strange breed of blue healing magic — to save Bellora or her child from the doom of which she was certain.
Beordon's face gaped, aghast, his gaze examining his charge with renewed scrutiny, making Alaesia recoil.
She hated the polite grit of his teeth, hiding whatever he really wanted to say. She hated not knowing what was going on in his head, or anyone here for that matter. Orcs seldom hid what they were thinking. They wore their thoughts the way an angry beast wore a lashing tail.
His eyes turned to pity, hidden behind his tight lips; such a guarded, human reaction, "Oh... No. That isn't... Bellora won't be... opened. That's not how it's done. The babe will come when it and Bell are ready. There should only be a little bleeding. If it's done right."
The way Alaesia's eyes grew hollow told Beordon all he needed to know of the pain written there; as if she simply couldn't fathom his words were true.
"Come on, now. Let's get you to the baths," Beordon coughed and tilted his head along the snow-pack holloway. "I'm sure you could use some warming up."
He said she'd be alright... He said—
"What are you doing out in this kind of weather? You're going to freeze to death!"
Alaesia flinched at the sharp bark of a query.
A guard had found her tucked under the stairs leading to the outer wall of the village, curled in a tight ball to shelter herself against the snowstorm.
The screams of a night terror had ripped her from sleep, only to find the cries were all too real; coming from Beordon and Bellora's room, when the mousy woman finally went into labor. Alaesia simply couldn't stay there. It was too much. Panic had taken her, and she had fled.
The guard tried again, grabbing at Alaesia's mutilated hand with his own gloved one, only to jerk back when he noticed the scars on her thin forearm and her face, "Plague me! You're the healer's charge. What are you doing out here?!"
"Please don't take me back..." Alaesia pleaded, turning away to hide her face; even his disgusted rebuke was preferable to hearing the pain of Bellora's suffering.
After a moment, he took her by the arm once more, "Come on, you can't stay out here."
***** Translations *****
Bala - Breeder
Ghash-dorozga - Test subject (Vezhir's way of referring to Alaesia.)
Lorz kurf! - Stupid whore!