Two-Headed Mother, Chpt. 3
Summary - Adar awakens from a suspiciously restful sleep, and discovers what occurred in the small hours of the night, and the Elleth battles with wounds, and calls upon deaf ears. Pairing - Adar x Fem!Elf!Reader (no use of y/n)
Warnings - Blood, gore, angry wargs, wounded reader, wounded animal, alcohol mentions
Word Count - 6k
Author's Note - This one took a HOT minute too, but I enjoyed writing Adar more so his section is a smidge longer. I have added translations at the end for Sindarin and Black Speech, and Wolf Language is just English like this!
This WAS gonna be 3 chapters, but i wanted to flesh the ending out more, so i thought i’d split it up AGAIN so u didn’t have like 13k to go through in one sitting yano?
Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2
Adar woke with a start. Bolting upright, his onyx dagger was already firmly with his grasp, thrust forward into the dark nothingness before him. Chest heaving, and eyes wide and fierce. The air around him felt oppressively hot, crushing, and although each breath was smooth, something did not feel quite right. The scent of sweet smoke hung faintly within the air, and a sheen of perspiration was upon his pale flesh. A knot sat taut at the base of his abdomen and his back ached with a raw stiffness. He had slept unusually well, given his abrupt awakening. Suspicion gnawed at him as half lidded eyes flickered about the room. It had been a while since dark dreams had plagued him, albeit he could have sworn he heard a cry of pain within reach.
The washbasin upon the dresser hummed, the water within it lapping back and forth like an upset current within a storm. It dripped from the rim and formed a still puddle onto the wood floor below. Strange. The candle beside it was snuffed, a steady wisp of smoke streamed upwards from the blackened wick, though the curtains beyond hung still and unmoving. His brows furrowed, his grip upon the dagger tightened as his fingers flexed to adjust their position upon the hilt. There was nothing amiss surrounding him, the room was desolate, he was alone.
His panting subsided as he let out a low sigh through his nose, forcing himself to lower his arm to the furs below. He dragging his free hand down his face as his shoulders dropped with his last huff of air.
He fiddled with the dagger, flipping it between deft fingers, before leaning over and placing it in its rightful place beside him. He pushed the furs back and moved to sit at the edge of the bed. A hand ran through blackened hair as he stared into the split water before him. The elleth’s fair face appeared within his minds eye, and he tried to subdue grumble that arose within his chest.
The lack of restless nights and tormented dreams, he had noted, correlated with the increased closeness betwixt him and the elf-maiden. If they had occurred, he noticed he would awaken softer, the scent of sweet faraway flora and balmy chypre would linger fleetingly about him. Adar knew she would be beside him, whispering in tongues unknown, with gentle nails tracing the sides of his face, grazing through his hair, and his swevens would melt away, leaving his mind as clear as a warm summer’s sky. He found he longed for them, as foul as they were, if it meant she would be there beside him for even a moment longer. For ever and anon he felt himself reach out for her retreating wrist, yet she was gone before his fingers found purchase.
He lent forward, using a nearby rag to clean up the water, seeing his reflection less and less, as if clearing away the thoughts within his mind. Mayhap it was not a dark dream, after all he did feel rested despite the mugginess about the room. He oft wondered how she knew of his dreams, and it felt strange to wake in such a way again without her fleeting scent. Tossing the rag aside, the Uruk rose to his feet with a huff, clad in loose fastened linen hose.
He stretched upwards, the scars upon his back contorted, pulled taut against the stiff ache of his back, before washing himself and the dreams away in the rest of the cool liquid that remained within the basin. The Uruk recognised that it was one of the few steady rituals that had kept him calm within dark times, even during Morgoth’s reign. It was one that kept him close to his heritage amongst all that had befallen him, and although lighter days were ahead for him and his children, he ensured he would continue his elven practices, despite the Uruk themselves’ reluctance to follow suit.
He flicked water from his fingertips, and used a cloth to dry himself off, before reaching up and behind the candle, pushing aside the curtains to open the window. He felt as though he could no longer breath. Why was this room full sickly warmth? The cool air hit his face instantly and he inhaled sharply. The crack of the mountain resounded in the distance and shook him from his stupor. The peak glowed a bright hot white, it was enough to be the sun itself. The sky was lighter now than during twilight, yet it still cast cold dark over the land. Torches flickered by every dwelling in the morning breeze, offering just enough visibility until the sun managed to fight further through the shadow cast above. Black flags hung high, billowing, rippling, their sigil folding to form broad white teeth.
As his eyes adjusted, he began to notice his children hurriedly rushing to and fro, sounds of distress and agitation reaching his ears. Adar’s face fell and his heart felt as though it had gotten caught within his oesophagus. Ilthildin. His eyes darted to the corner of his room where his cloak hung and found it bare. It was no wonder he woke alone, she was not here. Cursing under his breath, he made for the door and out onto the landing, almost taking the door off of its hinges in his haste.
Adar braced himself upon the bannister and peered down to the wide space below. The elf oft waited down there for him in the early mornings, sitting beside the roaring hearth with bread in her palm, a book upon her lap and a wooden plate of food spare beside her. It felt welcoming, it felt warm, and to him, it felt safe. It felt like his somber past was indeed thousands of years ago and although his children loved him, it was not akin to how this light-borne elleth seemed to. Simply by looking up at him with eyes that shimmered in the firelight at his awakening, not unlike dew covered moss in low sunlight, as if Telperion and Laurelin shone through them, his heart would thud a little louder against his will.
Yet the space below was empty and dark, and the hearth was dead and cold, not even a single ember pulsated within charred wood, and nor did food or a fair smile await him.
He nudged her door open with the tip of his toes. It creaked lowly, gently swinging open with its own weight. The sheer curtains were alive with the wind that whipped into the room. The bed was made and empty. Upon its sheets sat a green bound book, one she had recently found within recesses of the tavern. An old Edain book on wildflowers and herbs within the Southlands, its pages full of markings, tags and drawings.
So, she had done as she had vowed. Part of him was enraged, enraged she would defy him and go against his warnings and firm judgements. Another part revered her. He revered her unwavering resolve to aid his children, it awe-inspiring. It gave him hope that his Uruk could live lives untouched by others, if one as light as her could show such compassion for them.
Though, what leader was he to be if one could defy him with such ease? She was not setting an example that he was pleased with, going against the possibility of his wrath to proceed with her plans regardless of his displeasure. He could not have foreseen such an action occurring when they first met. Yet, it impressed him, and he could not help the faint smirk that tugged upon the corners of his lips. It was quelled as he realised he feared for her safety. She was able to hold her own with ease, this he knew, but that did not quell the unsettling feeling that crawled along his skin.
His pulse thudded within his neck just below his ears, fire riled up within his chest as his traversed back into his own room. He was always so calculated and calm that the feeling felt foreign to him. He fought it back, denying its hold on his mind, yet he could not help his wandering thoughts.
His mind eddied as he donned his attire. The dark, river like swirls upon his armour mirroring the notions within him. He knew not how far Gil-Galad’s men had camped, what if she was taken back by them? The elves knew of her wanderings, yet knew not where. What if she had gotten lost and fatally injured somehow? The Southlands were vast. His gauntlet slid upon his hand with ease, and he flexed it inattentively. Mayhap if he had agreed, if he had gone with her, he could have ensured her safe travel in this dark land, such a light should not venture alone.
Alone.
Alone.
No. Of course. She had taken the wargs. The Uruk felt his eyes almost roll in the transparency of it all. How could he have been so foolish to not piece it together sooner? To forget such a thing? She had laid it out in front of him. He was not one who forgot easily, how strange that he had. The water appeared still now within its vessel, but it would pulse softly to itself, unseen by Adar’s faraway gaze.
He warned her of the possible dangers the wargs possessed without him close by, but naturally, she would not have left the village without them. She was either brave, or foolish, and at the current time, he knew not which.
He quickened his pace, descending the stairs swiftly and taking large strides across the wide breadth of the room. He pulled open the door and the Uruk jumped back in surprise. It seemed they had all gathered at the front of the tavern, Glüg at the helm of the group, as if they were deciding how best to present the news. Beyond, a small group of men and women had gathered too, muttering amongst themselves.
They all bowed lowly at the sight of him, the Uruk's heads a sea of skulls, bones and hoods, apparel they still choose to wear regardless.
Adar looked over them all, his movements purposeful as he walked down the small steps and stopped before them. Their faces held not triumph, no, the anxiety he saw earlier was still prevalent within their postures. He could not blame his children for preventing, or even noticing, the Elleth’s departure. During the first few weeks of her capture she was highly adept at sneaking throughout their tunnels unnoticed, they were not used to her light feet. Except, if she had indeed taken the wargs as she insisted, then he had all the more reason to be both concerned and displeased with their ignorance.
Glüg approached his father apprehensively, “Lord Father, I-“ He started, his mind a jumble of words as he bowed.
Adar held a hand up to halt his words and it landed softly upon his shoulder, “I am aware, my son,” He replied evenly, his fëa fighting to keep steady and calm, “Did any see the Elleth leave?”
The Uruk instinctively parted a line towards the kennels as they began to walk, following onwards between the maze of clothed buildings. Glüg shook his head walking sideways and one step ahead to keep focus.
“Ah- no, she managed to sneak past our watch… but-“ He tripped over his own feet and swallowed deep. Adar frowned now, watching the tall Uruk try to keep up with his long strides. Something seemed amiss, and so waited for Glüg to continue, “Kennel master Taz is…” he trailed off.
The Lord Father paused in front of the sunclothed entrance to the barn in which the Wargs resided, his mouth a tight line as he studied his son’s face. It was cast down, unreadable. His heart felt like it was in his mouth. She would not have killed him, no, she could not. She would not cut down one she considered her own, one she wished to feed and maintain. Could she? However his mind ran, the Glüg made no move to elaborate further, but merely inclined his head towards the kennels as he held up the cloth up. Adar gave him one last look, before bowing his head under and making his way in.
The crowd of Uruk followed close by, a few others shadowed them too. Some peered in through the cloth, whilst the rest waited outside. Even with their Lord by their side, they were still weary of the beasts within.
The candles were motionless inside, the room bathed with a warm amber. It smelt of smoke and straw, damp fur and honey. The Wargs were curled into a large tight ball against the back wall, their eyes glinting with slyness, and their lips almost curled into grins. Amongst them however, the great white wolf was not to be found.
Waldreg stood beside the gate, and the Uruk Lord quelled the urge to growl in displeasure. The old man was never keen on the Elleth, he was most rude and cruel, many times Adar had to stay his hand. It seemed almost like jealousy, that she was beside Adar and not himself. Or mayhap it was because he despised the fairer race. He had noted few humans - namely men - felt the same. Waldreg prided himself on aiding the Lord Father, especially since he was the one who was tasked with opening the floodgates, it became almost suffocating. Before him stood a young boy of ten and three, Bret, quivering beneath his layers of furs and thin cloth. Waldreg’s hands were firmly upon his shoulders, his dirt stained hands seemed strained and white as he fisted the fabric.
Behind him, keys hung still in the aged lock, this was probably what the Uruk first saw. The air felt thick in here too, what was causing the air to feel so strange?
A few Uruk had crowded around Taz, poking and prodding, shaking his shoulders and calling his name. Upon Adar’s entrance however, they stepped back and bowed lowly. His throat relaxed, the kennel master’s chest flexed with deep breathing, yet the feeling of relief was quickly quelled by vexation. He saw the hide vessel upon the floor, the inside lined with the sticky residue of Uruk mead. It was apparent to him now that Taz had drunk himself into an insensibility, allowing the elf to easily make off with the largest Warg they had, plus two, to Valar knows where, alone.
An Uruk stepped forward and bowed lowly, “We have tried everythings, Lord Father,” he said, his face regretful as he shook his head, “He will not wake.”
Adar's eyes flickered to the Uruk for a second, before looking back to Taz. Tilting his head to the side, he watched the Kennel Master drool upon his shoulder.
“Who was with him yestereve?” He spoke, yet no Uruk made to answer straight away as they looked about each other.
At last, another stepped forwards, “No one, Lord Father,” He spoke, the ungulate skull upon his head causing his voice to reverberate throughout the room, “Said he was gonna watch the Wargs, said he needed to check ‘em over.”
Adar tipped his chin upwards a fraction, his gaze hard. The wargs cackled softly to each other, enough to startle the small gathered crowd. His Uruk rarely drank themselves to stupor unless in celebration, to be on edge was their nature, to always be ready for any reason to fight, a reason to live. Given his charge, Taz should have known better, and he was to ensure he did.
The Uruk Lord stalked towards the dormant Warg master, his eyes narrowed in a way that made the rest of the Uruk withdraw several paces. Gauntlet clad fingers picked up the vessel from the floor, and inspected it as if the answers were inside. They were not. Taz was also aware of the Elleth’s notions and proposals of Warg hunting, and he was informed of her visits yestereve. Mayhap this was what he meant by checking the Wargs?
Adar’s stare was harder now, and in one swift movement he lurched forwards, kicking a chair leg and splitting it in half. The chair fell backwards with a crack, and with it Taz, who hit the floor with a yelp and folded back onto himself. The rest of the Uruk jumped. They would have laughed if the tension within the air was more palatable, and the look on Adar’s face was enough to make them keep their's hidden and low.
Taz swore and growled as he made to stand. He was disoriented, holding his head and stumbling upright, before falling upon the floor at Adar’s feet. The Uruk aimed to jump upwards and confront whomever had interrupted his respite, yet as his eyes finally calibrated his face paled at his father’s stern glare above him. He fell backwards upon his elbows and attempted to stand once more, but Adar placed his boot upon his chest and held him down.
The Uruk’s eyes were wide with terror. Even though they respected and loved their Lord Father - as much as Uruk could love - they still feared his wrath, and made no light of his anger, for they knew when they had erred, and to displease him without intent caused great agitation.
Adar lent downwards and held the tankard up towards Taz's face and spoke lowly, “Nevermore will this occur,” before throwing the vessel at his chest and pushing him back down onto the ground.
The kennel master nodded furiously, and as he looked about the room and at the gatherings of Uruk. His dazed state of mind managed to piece together what had gone wrong. In the background the wargs were mocking him, yelping, whooping and chuffing, they were much braver than the Uruk.
Now, Adar turned to face Waldreg, who had been most quiet, and waited, his head tilted in question. Bret was quivering before him akin to autumn leaves, his eyes wide and mouth agape, his gaze never leaving Adar’s face.
“Boy says he heard something, came and told me, didn’t ya?” The man growled, shaking the boy who only managed a furious nod.
Adar’s gaze softened a little, yet it did not loose its hard edge. He crouched in front of Bret, meeting his eyes. The Uruk held his children above all else, and it seemed to him that mortal children had also become part of that, for he realised he would temper his gaze for them and smoothen the edges of his tongue. He held life precious, human children were not below that.
“You have nothing to fear,” His voice was but a murmur, as if a secret was being told betwixt the two, “Tell me what you know.”
The Bret nodded again, swallowing thickly before he moved to speak, “I-I heard padding paws behind my tent, Lord Father, and…they were panting, growling. There were three, i think,” He paused to think, before steeling himself, puffing out his chest most defiantly, fists trembling by his side, “But I didn’t hear the elf!”
Waldreg’s grip tightened and he cursed above him, gripping the furs upon his shoulder as if he could wring water from them. The Elf-Maiden was known well amongst the women and children, for she advocated for them when she had first been captured, and since then she oft visited them, ensuring they were well looked after. A light smile twitched the corners of Adar's mouth at the boy’s resolve. Impressive. Though, three sets of paws seemed unusual. Adar looked back to the Wargs, searching. He realised he saw neither Huan nor Dís amongst them. He narrowed his eyes, before turning to face the boy.
He nodded, and a low chuckle left his throat, “No, you would not, for elves are light on their feet, you could hear a feather drop afore you heard her footfall,” He placed his gauntlet clad hand upon the boys arm, squeezing lightly. The boy scrunched up his nose, his shaking had subsided ever so, yet he was tense below Adar’s hold.
“Thank you, Bret.”
The boys face almost lit up in realisation that his name was known, and that he could have been some use to such a terrifying elf. The Edain knew not what Adar was. He called himself Uruk, yet to them the Uruk looked and acted vastly different. So, they referred to him as a Dark Elf. It seemed to quell their minds, and as long as they served him, Adar did not care what he was called.
He looked up to Walreg and inclined his head to the door. The man nodded firmly and dragged the boy out and back to his mother. The suncloth billowing in their wake. At least now, Adar was aware in what direction they had travelled. He straightened up, returning to his feet as his stern expression returned.
He was silent for a moment, lines of deliberation were written across his face, before speaking.
“How long have they been gone?”
Some Uruk made to answer, yet they realised his attention was not on them. Many ginger eyes were upon Adar now, his own flickering between each one, awaiting an answer.
Finally one was given. A flaxen Warg raised her head from the gathering, Fylex, her ear flicking as she bowed her head, “Since the moon hung high, and the sung birds none,” She barked and snapped her teeth, “We are promised hunts, if the Valar favours theirs.”
Adar pursed his lips. His Elleth must have had good faith in her ability to promise such. He knew it to be like her. Still, if the Warg spoke true, they had been out since moonrise and with the sun itself now rising without any sign of her, he had cause to worry. Had they gone by the sea? By the Valar, if only he had agreed and travelled with her.
Adar took a few steps closer to the gate, the Wargs did not falter.
“Will you lead me to them?” His voice felt like a whisper in his throat, a plea almost. It felt strange for him to ask, rather than to command, but this seemed delicate. His fingers hovered by the heavy lock, metal inching closer to metal.
Fylex stared at him for a second, her eyes flickered down her snout towards his awaiting hand before merely settling her head down upon the back of another, licking her lips as she did. Her voice was spent and her answer given, and seemly no help would be provided. However, her eyes narrowed ever so into a knowing glint, causing Adar’s shoulders to tighten. He was not sure what he feared most, her refusal, or her knowledge of what was happening.
A growl emerged from his throat and he turned to face his children, his face one again returning stern. They were waiting and expectant.
“Search the camp and tree line, I want no place left bare, gimbul!”
His word was enough, they hissed and repeated the command as they poured out of the barn, beginning a hunt of their own.
Glüg stayed beside Adar, watching his tight face as his shoulders lowered with a deep exhale. The Uruk had not seen their cunning departure, nor had Taz. It was difficult for him not to blame himself. He trusted her, this was true. She had always found her way out, and always made her way back to him such as a homing hawk, she was as sly as the Wargs she favoured. Whilst he adored that, and admired her resolve, he could not argue that it was troublesome, honourable though her actions may be. But as he looked back to the Wargs, whose knowing eyes bore into his own, he realised mayhap he was wrong to have denied this venture.
He left abruptly out into the darkened morning, his son hot on his heels catching the suncloth fabric within his hands.
Her anguish was akin to that of a tempest, a swirling turmoil within her hröa that threatened to spill and rip the ground awry. It tightened at the back of her throat like the jaws of a stoat around a rabbits neck, the base of her chest felt like a growing fire, white hot and painful. The corners of her eyes pricked with a dry pain as they darted between each gleaming helm. Counting. Memorising. She had managed to stay free of hurt from others since she had resided with Adar, no longer.
Her knuckles were white upon the handle of Azog’s tack as she pulled backwards upon it, attempting any redirection she could.
“No, no no no,” Her voice unsteady, muttering repeatedly, it was akin to a plea. This was a fight she did not want. The warg's ears twitched back towards her, his stance did not waver, but his withers bowed slightly, uncertain as he looked up towards her. His snout was deeply wrinkled, baring hooked fangs and pink gums.
The elves of Lindon had been stationed to camp in the south of Mordor after Orodruin’s eruption. Gil-Galad wanted to ensure Adar and his Uruk would not move unwatched, he wanted to be informed of their every move to ensure an upper hand if attacks arose. How could she have forgotten this? She knew of the High King’s plan before any did, it was she who informed Adar. He himself had been to search for their camp yet returned empty handed.
Kinslaying was something she wanted to avoid at all costs, she was not to repeat the acts of Fëanor and his sons, even in self defence. This was something she could not convey to her companions, however. The Wargs growled low within their throats, it was bloodcurdling, as their teeth snapped with a sickening sound between short, sharp barks and grotesque snarls, there were no room for warnings.
Dís yowled behind them, her eyes were bloodshot as she tried to reach around to the arrow, shrieking wildly. The Wargs only knew fight over flight, it was melded into their very being, even when flight was needed the most. The elleth tried to reach for her with her free hand, muttering any words of calm she could find, but Dís was unsettled all the more, roaring frantically as drool poured from underneath her tongue. Azog had managed to herd her behind him, blocking her from further onslaughts - and preventing her advance - with his massive body. The elleth only had a few seconds to act before they would do so for her. Her shoulder ached and burnt with every small movement. Blood soaked into the fibres of Adar’s cloak, seeping from her wound like a burst bank river.
She heard the draw of bow strings, Her own was slung over her body, and even though her resolve was firm, her fingers instinctively twitched towards her quiver. Huan roared in response, snapping her from the lure. He aimed for an onslaught, whether she commanded it or no.
It was with great effort that she tried to lift the Warg Horn, but the bite within her shoulder would not heed. She knew not if her companions would listen without it, but as she watched Huan stalk towards the elves, she had to try. The dawn chorus had begun in the distance, their song piercing through her ears, it was almost disorientating, and the sun was rising higher by the minute, the light creeping across the land. She looked behind at its glory, the sky bathed in pure red.
Amrûn.
Her head snapped back towards the stalking Warg, shouting after him. “Hêada Agzádamâ Nimirsh!” The Black Speech was harsh within her throat, it felt as raw as the need she spoke it with, yet unnatural upon her fair tongue, “Hêada thraknampat u Nimirsh!”
Adar had taught her few phrases at her behest, and so had the Uruk themselves, they would laugh at her stumbled words, though gently corrected, for they revelled in teaching the elf. Yet now none would laugh at her mispronunciations if they knew the need.
Huan halted and his growls lessened. Azog still had fangs that stayed bared, gleaming and slick. A shaking hand gripped the thick fur at his neck as she tried to steady her uneven breathes.
However, that tongue should not have been spoken, for they landed upon the ears of the eldar. More arrows were loosed towards them. The elleth yelped, one whistled past her ear. Far too close. It would have landed if not for Azog’s swift circle. They all bayed in anger, their cooled eyes had been rekindled with savagery. Huan roared and lunged.
Cursing as she pulled again against Azog’s tack, she spoke in their own tongue, albeit broken. Their bond was stronger than she thought as he made a noise in confused understanding, and started to back up, his head low as he barked after the younger warg.
Huan did not adher. He wanted the blood repaid. His paws thundered upon the ground with strict purpose. His teeth like the gleaming daggers of Gondolin, his body a raw, untamed flame. The elves would not stand a chance. She saw their paled faces.
“No!” Her voice was laced with desperation and pain, too frantic to think. She tried a different approach, “Huan, Daro!”
The warg skidded to a snarling halt, ears pricked, his head inclined towards her, yet wrathful eyes never left his adversaries, “Postad i edhelrim ah dandold, damem bardh, listo!”
The growling ceased and the warg stayed his teeth. The elves too were seen lowering their weapons ever so slightly, for the sound of an elleth had confounded them. An elleth with wargs no less. The elves knew of her disappearance, to where they knew not, was this her? Adar’s cloak shielded her form, and even in the beginnings of the morning light and their sharp eyes, they could discern nothing but her voice. A dark cloaked shadow astride a white, formidable beast, whose pale eyes bore into their own and saw all. A contrast they would never have expected, and it alarmed them. They went to call after her, but it was too late, for they had turned and fled, the wolf before them leaving with a soured huff and snap of his teeth. Word was sent to Gil-Galad, with all possible haste.
“Your scent is unlike theirs,” Azog had said. They had ran for many leagues over hills and fields back to the cave in which the prizes from their hunts were stored. The wind had cooled her heated body. It threw back her hood and let her hair flow freely at the airs command. Her body was no longer ridged, and her grip was light upon Azog’s fur, threading it through her fingers. The chorus had dissipated, and the wind howled past them. The leaves upon the trees danced and rustled in its wake, and it made the tall grass ebb and flow softly, undulating as the sheen of morning light upon them made the fields appear like ripples of molten metal that was within Celebrimbor's forges. Gleaming and wonderous.
The sun was visible now just beyond the horizon, golden light filling the land completely. She revealed in the green that surrounded them, the suns morning warmth was unparalleled. She felt revitalised in it as it shone upon the bare skin of her face and neck, despite the throb of the arrowhead buried in her flesh. She had promised Adar she would return at sunrise, she sucked upon her teeth as her stomach turned to dance at the thought. He knew the promise not, but she held it in her heart ever the same.
She was knelt before Dís, endeavouring to gently snap the arrows shaft lodged in the wolf’s shoulder, as she had done on her own, albeit not as gentle as she was being now. Blood had dried upon the cloak and it left the fabric coarse and stiff. It snagged against the remaining shaft with each movement she made. Nevertheless, although the she-warg had calmed, she remained unwilling, yelping and whining, mouthing the elf’s working hands as gently as such a large maw could, engulfing the her forearms in teeth and tongue.
The two males were equipped and prepared, harts strapped to their bodies upon their tacks with leather straps and twine, an animal in each maw. Dís however, could not carry the same, despite her protests of nudging noses and light chuffs. The elf did not want to cause more injury to her, a wise choice that the warg could not understand.
“Your scent is…lighter, fleeting and unfit for these mortal lands,” the great warg continued, observing as the shaft was finally severed with a quiet cry. She was not prepared to remove the arrow in the field. Dís bayed in glee, licking the face of the laughing she-elf, though limping was all she could do. The elf looked up to Azog, he was laid down beside her, prey sagging securely against his sides. His eyes looked almost clear in the light of the sun, his nose twitching with the whip of the wind.
The elf stood, tossing away the shaft. She prayed future hunts would not be so dangerous. She was quiet for a moment, pondering. She began to fasten a doe to the she-wargs tag, whose tongue lapped at her wounded side, before she made to speak.
“I am different from they,” was all she replied with, it was gentle and seemed to revealed nothing, but it seemed to satisfy him.
With fresh skin packs tied and secure upon the backs of the younger Wargs, alongside a final check and a ruffle of furs, the Elleth heaved herself up upon the back of white warg – even though he was laid, it was still a great effort – and looked ahead. Azog shook his head, rising to a stand and made a gruff noise within his throat before he spoke once more, “And what of the strange water? Was that the work of these 'Valar' you spoke of?”
It felt an age since their hunt began, she had to admit in the adrenaline rush she had forgotten all about the water, the voice that accompanied it and its resplendent flower. Mayhap it was her imagination, mayhap it was not. She lightly touched the clasp upon her collar bone, and she felt the smooth, fresh petals still, firm, alongside the little whispers that sung within her ears. Heat tinged them as she hummed in response.
"I am unsure," she looked down at the Warg, his face was neither expectant, nor ponderous, yet his eyes flickered to at the flower within her clasp, "It could have been, though it helped us what're it was."
Azog chuffed in response, seemingly once more satisfied with her answers. She patted his shouder, and with an animalistic bark, they set off back towards the Uruk.
They passed back through the valley between the mountains, ash returning league by league as they approached the heart of Mordor. The wind had slowed and the air stilled, the light dimming under the ever reaching darkness above. The smell of petrichor and acrid smoke filled her nose, scrunching her face in reaction to the scent invading her senses. The earthly pressures were shifting, whilst Orodruin rumbled in the distance, magma rolling down its steep slopes. It spat and groaned, its awakening signalling a new day.
She looked behind, the rays of the sunlight visible still, shining against the land. They slowly became hazed as they ran on, the rays dull and shrouded until the land came to be but a memory. Yet its life evident in the rich rewards they carried with them, and she beamed at the thought of the hungry mouths they would feed.
Sindarin was not common tongue for the Wargs, it was doubtless they had encountered elves in a neutral environment, save the fair Elleth astride Azog's back. For them to adhere to it in lieu of Black Speech was impressive, she did not think they would, for the situation gave her little option. As they neared the village, ideas formed within her, and she chuckled to herself at their possible outcomes.
Their rotary gallop soon slowed to steady loping, until upon the hill they stood, and three pairs of tails wagged at the sight of home, overlooking the village below. The Elleth's mouth pulled up into a grin, a little laugh almost escaping her, and home she was. Just the sight of it made her feel heavy, her thighs ached and her arm threatening to give way. Rest had not been on her mind until now.
Even as her arm ached, she held the Warg horn in her hand. Its surface felt warm from where it had been sitting against her abdomen, it felt heavier. Wincing, the arrowhead felt tight and ripped at her flesh causing her to hiss. The wargs looked to her in alarm. The wound reopened as blood seeped into the thick fabric, their noses twitching at the air. Her expression became tight as she ground her teeth together, her face paling as the held her arm as high as she could. She would have to repair the cloak later, and apologise to Adar, if he would accept it.
In one long burst, she blew upon the horn. It resounded against land and the wargs howled alongside it, bolting down the hill and towards the blackened flags of Mordor.
Translations -
Black Speech - Used known words, then used Adûnaic to forge words!
Gimbul - Find them Hêada Agzádamâ Nimirsh - I am against war with the Elves Hêada thraknampat u Nimirsh - I am against bringing death to elves.
Sindarin - Used known words
Daro - Stop Postad i edhelrim ah dandold, damem bardh, listo - Leave the elves alone, come back, we are to return home, please.