***** Author's Note *****
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98
"Ar-Tashk!"
The olog's heavily scarred hands engulfed Alaesia, drawing her close and chasing away at least some of the shivers she had not realized had her shaking to her core.
"Isla-izub..."
His Isla...
No...
Not his.
Not anymore.
She was still so small in Ar-Tashk's arms, but in the small veils of moonlight that cascaded down between the branches of black overhead, she seemed to glow wherever they touched her skin. The bloom of light almost seemed to blur away the scars that still marred her, and for a moment, Ar-Tashk just wanted to stop just to drink in her pale visage.
She had grown whole, in a beautiful way he couldn't have ever fathomed before, and no longer was she dressed in pitiful rags nor sharply thin to the bone. A simple dress and cloak draped from her shoulders, creating a flowing silhouette of her lithe form. He loved how the simple gown was tied to her in a way that allowed him to still envision the curve of her hips beneath, now soft and round.
Ar-Tashk's chest flared like a furnace with the knowledge that he had succeeded; despite all doubt the Voice had tried to sow within him, claiming he had sent her to her death with his foolish attempts to take her from Mordor's grasp, he had succeeded. She stood now before him, in the land of her kind, alive and so, so well.
"I missed you..." Alaesia whispered shakily, as if speaking any louder might frighten the olog away like a wild animal. A hysteric relief threatened to overcome her in an instant, as she chided herself for such a silly thought, To think I might scare him!
How cold and lonely the season had been in the village. So much so that she never believed she might feel this kind of warmth ever again. It felt like she was emerging from a frightening nightmare, to be surrounded by such pure blackness of the thick forest, but his grip assured her that nothing but the olog would touch her.
She wanted him to touch her, to hold her, to caress her hair as he had done so many times before.
But the idea of asking for him to do so made her heart stutter so hard she thought it might stop entirely, "I was so afraid... After the spiders... I thought I'd never see you again, but last night, the orcs and the bolt... I knew it had to be you! I needed it to be you..."
Hot tears filled her eyes and a huge lump rolled at the back of her throat, threatening to overwhelm her. Was this truly real? Her mind had played so many tricks on her, it was difficult to recognize reality anymore. She was shivering from head to toe, but not because of the cold; rather, she feared she would find herself awakening in the stone cellar again at any moment!
"Amul... Be calm, Isla— Alaesia..." Ar-Tashk murmured, more for his own sake than hers.
His throat was hoarse. Before they had been separated, he had become rather numb to the scent of her anxiety, but after so long apart, it was intoxicating. A tiny, corruptive whisper tried to latch onto that hint of bloodthirst, but Ar-Tashk forced it down to the darkest part of his stomach; he'd do everything in his power to keep the Voice silent, for her. There was something else he could sense from her, something new, and foreign; something so much more delicious. He couldn't bear to let the moment be tarnished.
Alaesia could barely hold back a bittersweet smile; she couldn't help but note how even though he held her shoulders in his hands, he held her at a distance, "'Isla' is fine... I don't mind."
Ar-Tashk grumbled low, a pouting thing she now realized he was often prone to when he was conflicted. Even after Zathra's instruction, he couldn't stop from intermingling Black speech with Westron, "Nar... Live in village with man. Speak shara-lam, call sharlob name."
"I..." Alaesia hesitated, her eyes turning down at the mention of the village. If this was a dream, why wasn't it playing out the way she so painfully desired? Why was he rejecting her request? Even in her own dreams, it seemed she might never fulfill the void in her chest, "I couldn't stay there. I was leaving with this caravan... headed for Osgiliath."
Ar-Tashk glanced back towards the direction of the encampment of the caravan that Alaesia had wandered away from, eyes narrowing, "Why no stay? Leave, because orcs? Nar fulak. Orcs can not attack. Az maturzat ul."
Alaesia's eyes widened. Only just a day or so before, she had heard murmurs amongst the traders that the usual orc encounters seemed to be starting later than usual this year. Or how the Captain seemed surprised that his men had found not the slightest trace of orcs near the village. Or how he claimed rumors of marauders would have normally started by this time of the year. She couldn't help but wonder now if that was all Ar-Tashk's doing. Or perhaps that was simply her mind fabricating an explanation for the absence of orc attacks.
Just how long would he have been haunting these very woods, deterring any would-be raiders?!
She hung her head a little in a droop of guilt, "I was scared. That, and I don't know how to live with men-folk... I frighten them... And... They look at me and only see my scars, like a beast."
"Alaesia, nar Alaisia. Not beast, not monster," Ar-Tashk growled the mantra he wished he could make her believe and scooped her firmly into his arms.
Alaesia squeaked in protest, but she quieted in an instant. A dream couldn't feel this real... Could it?
Ar-Tashk started marching back the way Alaesia had come, following the scent of her trail and the fair whiff of fire smoke on the air, all the while chastising her, "Stay. Fulaknar... Safe with men. Latub... Your kind. Not wander."
"There's no place for me at the village. I have no home there. No family. No one wants a broken woman..." All Alaesia could do is swallow that bitter truth.
True, the village had not rejected her outright as she once feared, however they only knew her silence and neither did they treat her as one of their own. She was, and always would be, a spectacle, a reminder of the horrors that threatened their peace and safety, and that was useless, impossible even, to try to fight against; but olog was far too strong and too heavy to budge.
Just as the hints of the caravan's fire started to shine through the trees, Ar-Tashk came to a halt and set her gently down. His hand brushed down Alaesia's lower back, turning her around just enough to nudge her to return towards her human company, but to his surprise, she dug her heels into the mossy, damp earth and refused to move another step.
He grumbled, trying to nudge her again, as gently as he could to avoid breaking her ankles with the force behind his hand, "Amat? Go back to men."
"No!" Alaesia dearly wished the shadows would hide the blood rushing to her face as she spun around to face him.
His own face, which had been cloaked in darkness before, now was faintly lit by the distant orange glow of the fire. She couldn't bear to not see him properly, not if he was going to force her away, not if this was the last time she might ever see him!
Ar-Tashk's visage was so tired and worn, with new and unfamiliar scars, and he was so plain to read. A deep pain cut across his broading, brooding features, one that took in the sight of her with a world of anguish and determination behind his eyes.
As if he couldn't meet her gaze anymore, he started to turn away, "Stay. Live. Lat bhogad."
"Please... Don't make me. I can't go back..." Alaesia lunged forward, grabbing at his arm.
She took one of the olog's hands by the finger with her own and tried to lift it to where she might rest her cheek against his palm; it was a dirty tactic, but she knew it would get his attention. She could hear the muscles in his body creak as they tensed and her own mind started to scream like a rabbit in a snare.
What was she doing?! What kind of mad fool would act this way?! Why was she inviting the dream to return her to the life of her nightmares?!
All the whispers she had heard and wary looks she had felt on her back amongst the villagers came crashing back down around her. She had tried so hard to ignore them, but her scars made her someone to gawk at, to gossip about. No one, but the Captain, had really ever said anything to her face, but she knew they were afraid of her. The orc woman.
She couldn't go back to that.
Not if there was a chance this was all real.
Not when there was one who not only saw her scars, but did not balk from them.
But... A question remained; was she really willing to throw that all away and be the race traitor she had once feared she was, the traitor the Gondorians believed her to be? Had she really fallen so far as to embrace her once-master, a monster, without so much as a hint of remorse? Was that the true her, in Beordon's words?
She clenched her jaw trying to drown out the flood of panic, but it didn't help as Ar-Tashk turned around and loomed over her.
Her stammer came thundering back full bore as she tried to overcome the sensation of being looked at like a piece of meat, "They s-said the orc-c raids would begin when spring c-came. I have been so scared I'd be t-taken, dragged back to Mordor. If not by orcs, then by men. When they figure out I am from Mordor... I'll be sent back... I don't feel safe with my kind, nor at the village. Ar-Tashk, y-you're the only one I feel safe with. Please, take me with you..."
"What?" Ar-Tashk tried to snarl, just enough to put some proper fear back in her, but his voice caught with surprise.
He never would have dreamed she would ask that of him. If he had suspected even for a second she would ask that... maybe it would have been better for him to have stayed far, far away.
He knew the gravity of what she wanted. He had to deter it, in any way he could, for her sake, even if that meant scaring her away. It would be better that way. He was far too dangerous to be around and he was sure that any hint of the uncertainty of such a decision in her would haunt her forever. She was free now. He had devoted himself to ensuring that she would never be in danger of his ilk ever again! She shouldn't want to go with him!
"You know, what you ask? You understand?" The tone of his voice sounded like he was tearing himself up from the inside out, "If I take, I not let go... Lat-izub, tug-izub."
Alaesia's heart skipped a beat, but not out of fear. No, it was a tiny spark of hope and for the intensity behind every muscle coiled before her. Maybe he was cursed for his desire for her, enraptured with possessive candor. She knew perfectly well, what she was asking. But she also knew he spoke true. If she truly meant her request, Alaesia knew without a shadow of a doubt, Ar-Tashk would never let her go again. However, instead of dread, the idea stirred the embers deep inside, burning away every doubt as she nodded. How she craved to be that wanted.
A few words she had gleaned in Blackspeech felt like butter on her tongue as the scarred tips of her fingers brushed down the length of his arm, "Latub Isla."
"Isla. Isla-izub... My Alaesia..." Ar-Tashk seized Alaesia, pulling her close so he could press his face against her chest and breathe her in.
A deep, mournful growl crept from his throat. He needed to savor the sweetness of her body against his lips, but he could barely control himself.
Why couldn't he deny her! Everything about this was so irresistibly wrong!
Before Alaesia could respond, before she had the chance to change her mind, she was swept up once more into the olog's careful embrace, and he retreated from the firelight of the caravan, without a single glance back.
***** Translations *****
Amul - Be calm
Nar - No
Tark - Human
Shara-lam - Human Language
Nar fulak - (There's) no danger (of orcs at the village)
Az maturzat ul - I killed them (meaning any orc raiders).
Alaisia - Beast-like-one (Ar-Tashk's previous misinterpretation of Alaesia's name in Black speech)
Fulaknar - (You are) Safe.
Latub... - Your...
Amat? - What? (What's wrong?)
Lat bhogad - You (will be) alright.
Lat-izub, tug-izub - You (will be) mine, and only mine.
Latub Isla - Your Isla
Isla-izub - My Isla