I thought nothing could break me. I was wrong.

---

Tears stream down his face, salty rivers of grief. His heart shattered like glass upon stone. There is so much blood.

---

In flickering torchlight, I watch as Adar carefully, lovingly, plants Alfirin seeds by the roots of a big, old tree. The seeds signify hope, that something beautiful will spring from the clutches of shadow. We hold the grasp, but maybe the light will find it in its mercy to bless us with peace after the storm. New life, in defiance of death.

He rises to his full might, squaring his shoulders. "My children," he says, coming around a massive root to face his legion. A leader calling to arms. Words to encourage, to enrage, to enlighten. Some of them will die, but they know why they must make this sacrifice; to fight united, as brothers and sisters, to defend their new home.
My gaze follows him, taking in every detail, burning it all into my memory; his graceful, tall, and lean form, his hair slicked back to make his scars even more prominent; the canvas of his suffering and trauma. He's endured so much, and my heart both breaks and beats for him. Only for him.

---

I remember when I told him I would never call him Adar. It was just a couple of days into my captivity, and I wanted to loathe him. But no matter how hard I tried to be disgusted, to dislike him, I could not. And he could tell. I felt so hopeless and cursed. Hopeless, because I found myself wanting him. Cursed, because my hunger for him was so instant and immense, I felt like a beast. And he knew. He could smell my lust, and hear my heart pounding, not with fear, but with anticipation, when he came into my confinement. And he gave me what I wanted. My lust made me more or less numb to other emotions, making me forget everything else, so I took what I could get, craving the pleasure of the flesh. So did Adar. In each other's arms, we found solace.

The days grew into weeks, and I was no longer a prisoner. My chains were only for show. I could leave if I wanted to; he could sneak me out unnoticed and set me free, but the thought of parting from him was unbearable. I wasn't a prisoner anymore, but I was a slave, to him. He was my dark addiction, and I let him consume me.

"You don't have to tell me who you are, your given name," I told him one night, curled up in his embrace, his body warm and sweaty against mine, his hot breath a caress upon my neck. He was still a mystery to me, but I didn't care. "I know I said I wouldn't, but I already have, and will continue to call you Adar; you fathered my broken past into a healed future, and my future lies with you. Whoever you were, are, and will be; I am yours, wholly."
He kissed my shoulder, nipping at it with his teeth. "I hope you've known this for a while, Malwen, or I'm telling you now; you have me. You fucking own me, enchantress." Adar purred into my ear, kissing my neck, his cock rigid against my back.
"Oh, I know," I said, turning to face him, to push him onto his back so I could straddle him. "And I'm gonna take what's mine."

---

Partially lost in sweet remembrance, Adar reaches for my hand, and as I step up to him, he continues his speech; "Her shadow has brought vengeance upon us in the past, but now she stands and fights beside us. Faith is strange, cruel even, its lessons hard, it's been proven time and time again, but I know she was destined to cross paths with us, with me. Protect her at any cost, because she will do the same for you. She is my mate, your Ammë, and tonight her shadow will cast shapes of terror upon these lands. A threat to others of what will come to pass."
I stare at the warriors before me. "Nampat," I growl, and the Uruks reply tenfold.
"We will not fail!" Adar continues. "This is the night we reach out the iron hand of the Uruk and close our fist around these lands."
The Uruks keep chanting Nampat while Adar raises his gauntleted hand into the air, a fierce fist of destruction.

---

Adar walks over to me as the army starts to march. "You looked both present and far away druing my speech, Assassin," he purrs. I stand close to the thick, old tree, its roots big enough to offer us some cover.
"Just thinking of our time in the tunnels, Heru," I say. He'll always be my master.
"Did you now? And now we're here, mere moments from seeing long made plans set into action. Is my fearless indis ready to fight?" he asks huskily, reaching for my face, his fingers caressing my cheek.
"Yes, Veru." He'll forever be my husband. Even in death.
He brings me in for a kiss, a hard and dominant kiss. He smells like smoke, leather, and steel, and something else, something so intoxicating, I can't help but moan. Even on the brink of battle, I can't control what he does to me.
Next thing I know my back's flush against the trunk of the tree, Adar's kisses deep and demanding.
Time is short, but this might be the last time we can indulge in our carnal cravings.
Adar's leg slips between my own, and he presses his thigh against my apex, causing friction. I gasp, nerves jolting in my body.
His spiked hand holds my head firm, his sharp thumb running down the center of my bottom lip, drawing blood. He kisses me sultry, moving his thigh against me.
He's my wild tempest, and I let myself be swept up in him one last time, throwing my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers into his hair, grinding down on his leg, seeking release. I move to the rhythm of the march, whimpering into Adar's mouth, trying to be quiet, but fail when he grabs my ass, moving me harder on him.
"Come for me, Mordo Nethar," Adar growls. "Take your pleasure before we endure pain."
I crush against his armoured thigh, the hardness of his chain mail rubbing me into a frenzy.
Our lips clash together, stifling my cry of release. I'm a panting mess still getting traction against his leg.
"Yes, my beloved. I could not let you go into war without you coming undone for me one more time. Your sweet sounds will be my balm as I face this night by your side."
"My savage Uruk," I say before giving him a final kiss.

---

Something's not right. Ostirith appears to be abandoned. It's all too quiet, but some fires still burn. A feeling of apprehension creeps over my skin. Our opponent might be few in numbers, but they've been devising strategies, just like us.
"Search it!" Adar orders, the Uruks fanning out.

Adar stops in his tracks, an elaborate wall carving of what looks to be Sauron's helmet catching his eye. Among green vines, it looks less ominous, but the message is still the same; dead or not, he's watching. Always.

"What happened to Sauron?" Waldreg asks Adar, but before Adar can answer, which is probably for the better given Adar's annoyed look, Bazur gives a report. They've found no one.
"No, the elf's here," Adar states, growling in Black Speech.
I know he's right. I can feel familiar eyes on me. When will Feiron strike?

I should not have asked. Sounds of arrows flying and Uruks falling break the silence of the watchtower. I look up and spot two elves; Feiron and another elf I've never seen before.
"Him again," Adar snarls. I'm not sure whether he means Feiron or the other elf, but I have no time to think as a flamed arrow hit its mark on the tower's wall. Ropes snap and bolts come loose, starting to bring Ostirith down.

Feiron uses the moment of confusion to fire an arrow in Adar's direction, but I catch it just in time, nocking it to my own bow, firing it back at him. I might have hit my target had it not been for the ground shaking menacingly below my feet. I roar in frustration. Adar's look is a mix of surprise and gratitude, but we got no time to regroup, the mountain's rumbling with strain.

"Get out now!" Adar shouts.
Uruks run towards the door, but the other elf blocks the gate with a large wooden beam. We're shut in.

The tower comes down hard; splintered wood skewering warriors, rocks smashing bodies, taking Bazur down with it. They've set the perfect trap.

I spot Feiron on the wall, an evil glint in his eyes. He's enjoying this way too much.

He gives me a faint nod before disappearing, leaving us to maneuver the wreckage of Ostirith. He knows we'll meet again.

"Lord-Father! You must move now!" Waldreg pleads with his new master, but Adar throws him out of the way.

The tower comes down in full, tumbling down the mountainside, taking countless Uruks with it. I weave around the debris, standing back to back with Adar, taking in the scene around us.

My anger's blazing red-hot in my veins; I'm ready to kill.

---

As the chaos dies down, we act fast, knowing the enemy must have made their way to Tirharad. We look to our wounded and gather the fallen. Those too hurt to fight will be sent and carried to our secret camp where Umog, Zunn, Shaká, and other female Uruks, are stationed with several Uruk babes and younglings.

I search the wreckage for one Uruk in particular; Sorogrim. I lost sight of him when the tower finally crashed. A rock hit my shoulder pretty hard when I helped to get Uruks out of harm's way, but I can manage. Adar seems unscathed, at least physically, but I can see the sorrow written all over his face, tending to the dead. My heart's laden with loss, and I feel deep empathy for him, even though we both know the lives this fight will claim.

"Malwen!" I hear a familiar voice shout and I run in its direction. Gasping, I come upon Sorogrim, half his body covered by heavy rocks, a wooden shard sticking out of his arm.
"It looks worse than it is," he says, coughing.
"I'll run and get help," I tell him.
Coming back with three other Uruks, we're able to free Sorogrim. He groans loudly, and I am worried sick.
"Can you move your legs?" I ask.
He groans again, but I notice some slight movement in both his legs.
"The left is worse than the right. Help me stand," he growls.
An Uruk named Baarkhig and I aid him to an upright position.
"I think my leg might be broken, but I can limp," Sorogrim says. "Just help me pull this wooden splinter out of my arm, and I'll be fine."
"Don't pull at it, you'll lose blood. We need to get you to camp so we can bind your wound and right your leg."
"Baarkhig, tell Adar I'm taking Sorogrim to Umog," I instruct.
"Yes, my lady," Baarkhig nods before rushing off.
"Lean on me, I will get you there as fast as I can," I say to Sorogrim.
"I can't have you dragging me with you, she-elf," Sorogrim protests.
"Shush! You are coming with me even if I have to carry you on my back!"
"Thank you, Malwen," Sorogrim manages to say before groaning, leaning heavily against me. My shoulder screams in protest, but I ignore it. It's going to be a slow trek toward the covert camp, but I'm not leaving my friend.

---

When I spot the camp still a while away, two figures come running towards us. It's Zunn and Sorogrim's woman, Xaelia, from the night before. He must have made quite the impression on her.

"Wounded have started to arrive," Zunn says. "How do you fare? Will you live?" She seems utterly distraught. Even after having spent many months together with the Uruks, they still amaze me with their hearts. They might turn to violence quickly, but so do men, dwarves, and elves. No race is better than the other. Evil is a thing inside all of us that you either choose to feed, or starve. I feed my shadows, my mind's darkness, blurring the lines when I need to act with violence. I feed it with blood, and it's cruel, but I know I'm not wholly evil. Neither is Adar.

"We will make it." I give her a weak smile.
"Here, let me help you," Xaelia says and puts Sorogrim's other arm over her shoulder to help me carry his weight.
We stumble into the camp, met by Umog. She takes one look at Sorogrim's leg and arm and ushers us towards a cot for him to lay down.
"I will take it from here. Help the others, clean their wounds, slather my special herb paste on the cuts and stabs, and give them water." Umog's fully in charge here.

Zunn and I spread out, starting to aid the other Uruks, while Xaelia's staying with Sorogrim. I find Bragna, with black blood gushing from her leg. I rush over and put my hands on her wound.
"Umog told me not to remove the stake before she could have a look at it, but it hurt so much, I pulled it out."
"It's okay," I tell her. "It will be okay. I will bind it tightly." I look around for any kind of fabric I can use, and rush over to an empty cot and take its linnen. I rip it into several strips using one of my daggers. Zunn comes running over, a bowl of paste in one hand and a flask in the other. We clean, paste, and bind Bragna's leg while she moans in agony.
"You will be okay," I say, trying my best to comfort her.
She gives me a weak smile. "Thank you, Malwen. I'm so sorry I can't fight by your side."
"Don't you worry, just get to safety. You know the plan."

I look around, taking in the shouts of distress and the smell of iron. The Uruks' black blood might have a different color, but it smells the same as an elf's. Since they are bred by a tortured and twisted form of elves, from Adar and the other Moriondor, it's only natural.

Suddenly I spot Adar, carrying an Uruk on his back. Adar's face is splattered with black blood, and I can only imagine how his heart must hurt at all the deaths the watchtower claimed. I see smoke rising fiercely into the sky, coming from the ruins of Ostirith. His children are laid to rest, returning to darkness, their ashes to rest upon the land that would have been their home.

Silent tears run down my cheeks, and I swallow hard. This was not how the fight was supposed to start. Our enemy has bested us. The smirk on Feiron's face will haunt me till I can wipe it off his fine features. I loathe him with every fiber of my being. My body has known it all these long years, but I was always trying to tell my heart to embrace what I was told was right, what was fitting. I might have considered him something close to a brother once, my dearest friend even, a knight that saved me in an ancient war, but my body did not want him as a lover, my heart rejected him as a mate. And now I reject him altogether.

I rush over to Adar, helping him to put the wounded Uruk on a cot.
"Malwen." He takes my hand. "Thank you for catching that arrow, indis."
"I'm just sorry I didn't kill him," I say.
"In time, Nethar."
I caress his cheek, wiping some of the blood away. "Ninya elwen yanta lenya imi naire (my heart joins yours in sorrow)," I whisper and give him a quick kiss, allowing us this brief moment of grief.

"We must hurry and help before we rally the forces anew," I sigh, knowing time is of the essence.
"They might have tricked us, but now it's our turn to cheat them," Adar says, his features changing from saddened to something sinister. The son of the dark is ready for war and vengeance.
"Yes, Veru. The dark will hide the color of their blood. They won't know until it's too late."

---

To be continued.