Work Text:
The number of uruks in the area grew as time went on until there were hundreds of them, possibly more. It soon became clear that the uruks who had attacked Tirharad were but a small portion of a much larger community, and now that the humans had been either captured or driven off the land, the uruks were quick to take their place.
Tents and the beginnings of new cabins could be seen for well over a mile past the village’s original boundary. From the snatches of conversation Arondir knew the uruks were rebuilding the other villages. Soon, the Southlands would be more a kingdom than a group of loosely connected villages.
Arondir was somewhat relieved that Adar hadn’t made Tirharad his dwelling place. It meant he wouldn’t need to see the uruks claiming Bronwyn and Theo’s home as their own. For the most part, he tried not to think of the humans who must have lived in the cabin he and Adar shared. But Arondir knew he wouldn’t be able to do that had they lived in Tirharad.
Life in many areas of the village was surprisingly mundane. There was an area where Adar held a debauched version of court, sitting on a crudely made throne and passing judgment on the humans; a place where prisoners were kept; and a training area where weapons were kept and uruks fought in mock battle. However, the rest of the village was full of families.
It was strange to see uruk children running around and playing like human and elven children might, their parents sometimes joining in the games and other times talking with other parents as they watched the children play. It wasn’t as though Arondir didn’t know that uruks had children, but elves seldom saw them.
“Uruks are very protective of our children,” Adar explained to him one night as the two sat by the fire. “For millennia, Morgoth created then bred uruks as little more than pawns to be sacrificed. If they were old enough to wield a sword and tall enough to ride a war horse or a warg, he deemed them old enough to fight and die for him. Sauron…” Adar paused, his expression twisting into a mixture of sorrow and fury, “Sauron had his own uses for them. They were…better in a sense, but none of them were kind. And even after Sauron…well, men and elves are not fond of our kind. Suffice it to say, my children know the pain of losing those they hold dear, and whenever we go into battle, we do all in our power to ensure that the children are far away.”
Arondir couldn’t help but muse on how uruks seldom gave humans and elves the chance to send their children away. He could remember the screams from the children of Tirharad as the uruks burst into the tavern, and there were sights from Beleriand that he would never be able to forget. But it seemed pointless to voice this. And regardless of his hatred of Adar and his soldiers, Arondir couldn’t bring himself to feel any blame toward mere children of any species.
“You said Morgoth created the uruks. How?” Arondir asked.
Adar’s eyes flickered to Arondir’s. “Do not elves have stories of the moriondor? The elves whom Morgoth corrupted?”
“Stories, yes. But those are legends. Some say one thing, and others something different. I would prefer to know the truth.”
“It is not a pleasant tale.”
This irritated Arondir. “I’m a soldier. You may think omegas weak, but I’ve seen and heard many ‘unpleasant’ things.’”
“I’ve never thought you weak, but my children and I have endured things that few elves could bear to witness.”
“You trapped me here.” Arondir insisted. “You call me your mate. But I know nothing of you.” In all honesty, Arondir hadn’t asked many questions about the alpha before. But considering Adar had bonded with Arondir against the omega’s will, he wasn’t feeling charitable.
Adar sighed and turned back to the fire. He kept silent long enough that Arondir was beginning to think the alpha planned to drop the conversation altogether. Then, “Morgoth chose 13 of us at first. He promised us power and a new birth…at that time we knew little of the valar and had no reason not to trust him. At first, he merely forced us to mate with one another, but he soon realized that elves did not conceive children like the valar, and few of the omegas conceived. So he led us to a dark and nameless peak and chained and left us there. After what seemed like endless hunger and thirst, his servant came…and Sauron was very beautiful. He offered those who survived a wine. By that time, it seemed like a mercy. You know what followed. But only one child was conceived, and when it was born, it was still far too elven for Morgoth’s tastes. He took it away, and I presume he killed it.”
Arondir could feel the pang of sorrow across the bond, and he wanted to ask if the child had been Adar’s, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
“After that,” Adar continued, Morgoth mutilated us in ways men and elves could not fathom, and those I won’t share with you even if you truly wish to know.” He glanced over at Arondir, but the omega looked away. “All the while Sauron promised us things in return for compliance. He seemed the lesser evil, almost an ally then. We were so naïve, even then… Some died over time, and eventually Morgoth took new elves as thralls to experiment with. Eventually, the children that were born scarcely resembled elves. But though they were what he had so desperately tried to create, he had no pity on them. They were soldiers. Little more. The other moriondor and thralls died over time. Some faded. Others died in battle. Others Morgoth or Sauron killed, for by that time the uruks could reproduce on their own. I am the only one of the thirteen left.”
Arondir waited for Adar to speak again, but the alpha only stared into the fire, watching the flames flicker. There must have been more between Morgoth's fall and now, but clearly Adar saw no need to speak of it.
“I’m sorry,” Arondir offered. He wasn’t sure what else to say. No matter what Adar had become, Arondir couldn’t help but feel pity for the elf Adar had once been.
Adar shook his head. “It’s over now. And now my children are free, Morgoth is in the void, and Sauron is dead.” He rose to his feet and approached Arondir’s chair. “I didn’t tell you to upset you; only because you asked.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to Arondir’s forehead. For once, Arondir didn’t pull away. “Try not to think about it too much.” Instead of sitting back down, Adar moved past him and into the bedroom, leaving Arondir alone with his thoughts.