I wake from my sullen slumber. I feel wretched. I keep replaying what happened, what Adar did to me, over and over again in my head. I want it to make me sick, to make me vomit up the vile he's infested me with, but it doesn't. There's nothing of the sort, just a flame burning me up from the inside, a tension I've never felt before. I have to get out of here, or I'll die trying. I can't let what happened yesterday happen again.

I envision his tongue licking my neck, his hand down my trousers. His dirty, dirty hand... I let out a frustrated sound, tossing about.

Sorogrim enters with a flask and a piece of something undeniably unedible. "Adar wants you to have this," he says, tossing both at me. I grab the flask and drink greedily before drying my mouth on my sleeve. Blood stains the shirt. I must look a total mess, but I don't care. He wanted you, I suddenly think. He touched you... Adar. An uncontrolled pang of lecherousness jolts through me, a sensation I'm not used to feeling.

"Well, are you gonna eat that?" Sorogrim asks.
I realize I've been staring into thin air. I reach for the piece of bread, studying it. It doesn't look too bad, and I am hungry.
"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're wondering. It's what we give our prisoners. They must have strength enough to build, but not enough to escape," Sorogrim snickers.
"What are you building?" I ask.
"None of your business!" Sorogrim roars. "You will know soon enough, she-elf." He gives me a vicious smile. "That is if you live long enough."
"Like I told Adar, I do have a name, you know," I say.
"I don't care. You will always be just the she-elf to me. I do not name my enemies. They die nameless." Sorogrim takes out his dagger. "Oh, how I want to stab you," he says, moving in closer.
"Now, now," Adar's voice sounds behind us. "I told you to let her be. You were only to cut and stab if she tried to escape."
Sorogrim gives me a hateful look. "Saved again, she-elf."
"Malwen," I say when he scurries away.

I pick at the bread, trying to keep my mind busy and my eyes focused on anything but Adar. I don't know what I'll see if I meet his gaze. What he'll see.
Adar sits down on the ground beside me. He's holding a large bowl of water and a kind of clean cloth. "I thought you might want to wash up," he says, his voice husky. I know he's looking at me, but I keep averting my eyes. I feel flushed. I feel angry. I want to wrap my hands around his neck and make him suffer for touching me, for making me like it, want it.
I watch his bare arm dipping the cloth into the water. He hands me it and I snatch it from him, still not looking at him. I try to wipe at the blood I've felt here and there on my face, but my shackled hands make it hard to know what I'm doing.
Adar moves closer. I inhale sharply. "Here, let me." He holds out his hand, waiting for me to give him the cloth. I smack it into his hand. He rinses it and moves even closer to me. My breath hitches. What kind of dark sorcery must he possess to make me feel so utterly weak and defenseless around him? I should attack, try to escape. To where? To whom? I am alone.

"Malwen." The sound of my name makes me finally look at him. I look at his scarred face, the still gaping scar on the left side of his skull, at the dark veins under his wan skin. I should find him grotesque, but he's not. He's hauntingly beautiful. I realize my mouth is parted in awe. I hurry and close it, but I know he saw me studying him. He reaches for my face, turning my head slightly to get a better view of where to wash. I hardly breathe when he rubs the cloth over my face. He's not rough, he's almost too tender. My mind strays to his rough sudden movements last night, how he pinned me down and let his hand wander, grabbing, pinching, touching. I sigh. "Why haven't you killed me yet?" I suddenly ask. "I could feel your rage before I even saw you. You came to cut me open."
"I did," he answers, rinsing the cloth again, turning my head the other way. "But then you saw me."
"I don't understand." I glance sideways at him.
"You looked at me just as you did moments ago." He puts the cloth in the bowl and I turn my attention to him.
"I have not seen what I saw in your eyes before. I'm used to seeing disgust and hatred, and a vile temper to cut me down. They all failed of course. I'm here, they're not."
I find myself studying his face again, wanting to reach for his deepest scar. I want to ask him about how he got it but think better of it. He doesn't owe me his story.
"I don't know what to call it, your look, but it's the opposite of disdain. And that altered my course. I showed you mercy because you did the same."
I think about his mixed mercy; tearing my clothes asunder, choking me half to death, touching me, biting me, and then he clothes, feeds, and washes me. And touching me. Roughly yes, and he only stopped when I told him to; after my lascivious body got what it wanted.

I'm about to put my hand to his face, to say his name, but just as it's about to leave my lips, a Uruk I've not seen before enters, and Adar stands up.
"He's not gonna make it, Lord Father," the Uruk says. "He's calling for you to end his pain."
Adar gives me a short look before he leaves with the Uruk.

Left to my own devices, I recklessly decide to follow. They can stop me if they want, I don't care. I need to see what's going on.
Stumbling to my feet, I straighten myself and thread lightly after them, following at a safe distance. I pass Uruks, but they seem occupied, chanting lowly; Adar's name's being repeated over and over again. I stop behind a curve, daring only to look when they stop. An Uruk lies on the ground and Adar kneels beside him.
"Adar," the Uruk sputters weakly. Adar places a hand on the Uruk's head, his eyes misty. I take a step closer, curious. The Uruk smiles up at Adar, and though it's grotesque, it's genuine.
Suddenly a stabbing sound breaks the chanting, and I notice a dagger in Adar's hand. The uruk is dead. A tear runs down Adar's cheek and I feel something hard inside me soften. His compassion for his children, and their reverence for their Lord Father, is truly remarkable. Morgoth and Sauron hated orcs, they enslaved them. These Uruks follow Adar freely. Adar's one of Morgoth's mutilated elves, and that might make him the first uruk. Why he still kinda looks like an elf. Why he's still... Magnificent. Deep in thought, I haven't noticed how the mood has shifted in the tunnel, and that I'm under the scrutiny of several nearby Uruks. I look around, holding up my hands, to show them I'm no threat, backing away towards my confinement. I glance towards where Adar kneeled. He's standing now, staring straight at me. I might just have sealed my faith.

---

He knew she followed him. She witnessed a private moment, the passing of one of his children. She's slowly stepping away, as in retreat, his Uruks ready to pounce. She smells of acute fear. She's shackled and outnumbered. "Leave her be," his voice sounds, his children turning to him. "She is mine," he states, locking eyes with her.

---

I hurry back to my alcove, my heart pounding hard in my chest. She's mine, he stated. I almost moan. The way he said it. The way he meant it. The way he wants it. I lean against the wall, panting, my body throbbing. I damn it for the longing I feel in the pit of my stomach. I better get used to it's betrayal.

Minutes go by, maybe an hour, I've lost track of time and space, still leaning against the wall. My eyes are closed, trying to find the purity within me. But I can't seem to find it, below ground, in this dim darkness, it's been smothered and something strange and sinful has risen in its place.

---

He pulls the gauze aside, seeing her standing against the wall, one hand resting on her stomach, the other over her heart. She looks so peaceful, but he knows what kind of thoughts stirring within her. They are stirring up a storm in him too.