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The Battles We Choose	By : Hoglorfen Category: +Second Age > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 2055 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Tolkienverse. I do not make money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
The flower turned out to be only the first of a number of similar little gifts. Graznikh was livid as he desperately tried to clear each and every one out, but ultimately failed. He became more and more convinced that this was another setup, aimed at throwing either him or Záhovar or both off balance. Who the fuck gives flowers and sweets to a High Officer anyway?! This is ridiculous!

One afternoon, Záhovar's bed was covered in black and blue rose petals. Graznikh let out a roar and assaulted the bed, clawing at the petals.
Záhovar placed a hand on his shoulder. ”I will send servants up to take care of this,” she hissed.
Graznikh turned as he heard her icy voice. ”This isn't my fault!”
”I do not blame you,” she said coolly, ”but I need to vent. As do you, I assume. Let us go to the sparring grounds until this mess is cleaned up.”
Graznikh nodded. They had not sparred since their last lesson before Záhovar was elevated, and the memory was not entirely pleasant. ”Just... nar dushum, right?”
”Nar dushum,” she agreed.
Their chosen 'sparring grounds' were simply a circle of soft earth located in the palace gardens where royalty and visiting nobles could show off their fencing skills. A rare rain was pouring down as they entered, but Graznikh did not care. It was a nice change from the usual scorching weather and somehow fitted the turmoil he felt from Záhovar through the bond. He handed her two of the curved Khandian scimitars and began with a few basic drills, just to make sure that she had not forgotten. Soon they sparred in earnest and turned the soil beneath their feet into a black, slippery mud.
Záhovar soon noticed that they had an audience of one. Jí Indûr watched them discreetly from one of the nearby balconies, sheltered from the rain. Záhovar made no sign that she had seen him but met Graznikh's eyes with an unspoken question as he managed to catch one of her blades and pulled her close.
”I've seen him,” he whispered before releasing her. He made sure to keep a close eye on their surroundings as they continued, cursing over the fact that he could not focus entirely on the sparring. Fighting Záhovar was only second best to fucking her, but it was still a very enjoyable experience. He was proud to have taught her this well, even though he suspected that much of her prowess was due to what Whindaër had once known. Her body remembered how to fight even though her mind did not; she held her own against him with ease and Graznikh suspected that among all the High Officers, she was the best fighter.
Two quick hits tore one of the scimitars from his hand. He held against her a little longer, until a painful slap by the flat side of a blade hit his wrist and made him drop the other. He fell on his knees in the mud as he felt the cold blade against his neck.
”You're getting good,” he purred as he looked into Záhovar's eyes. She nodded ever so slightly and handed him her blades hilt-first. Jí Indûr was gone.

As they walked back towards Záhovar's room, Graznikh chuckled at the servants' mortified looks. They were both plastered with black mud from the waist down and the rest of their bodies was soaked from the rain. He could hear his boots squelch with every step. Soon they were stopped by a servant in a white robe.
”Your bath is ready, my Lord,” he said. ”If you would follow me.”
Záhovar turned to Graznikh, who shook his head. ”I didn't set this up.”
”I am beginning to grow tired of these surprises,” she said quietly, but motioned for the servant to lead the way. As the servant opened a door, Graznikh stepped out in front of Záhovar and gave the servant a suspicious glare. ”I'm goin' in first.”
The large bath was vaguely similar to the one Záhovar had in the Tower, but here the walls were covered in white marble and colourful mosaics. There was an alcove with a mattress and another with several bottles and jars of coloured glass. The roof was covered in elaborate paintings and in the middle of it there was a large round window with blue glass inlays. Large blue lotus flowers floated in the water and the air was heavy with incense. Graznikh sneezed. Three servants in similar garb as the one who had led them here stood in wait along the wall. A woman rose from the mattress with an indignant look.
”This is meant only for lord Záhovar!”
Graznikh blew his nose and shook the snot from it. Then he turned towards the woman and bared his fangs. ”Yeah, and it will be. Get out!” None of the servants made a move until Záhovar entered. They bowed as one upon seeing her. The woman who had tried to tell Graznikh off swept past him, kneeling before Záhovar and opening her robe, revealing naked skin underneath.
”Your grace,” she said in a husky voice. ”His Highness has commanded me to teach you the delights of the South, if it pleases you. I am yours to enjoy as you see fit.”
Graznikh snorted and Záhovar smirked. ”She will stay. The rest of you will return to whatever duties you had before this.”

As the door closed, she beckoned for the woman to rise, then she pushed the open robe off her shoulders with two fingers. Her upper body was naked underneath with fairly large, heavy breasts and she wore loose-fitting trousers made of a semi-transparent fabric that hung low on her wide hips. Graznikh assumed she was supposed to be beautiful by tark standards, but she looked too soft for his taste. He grew increasingly confused as Záhovar slowly paced around her, studying her body. She's not actually considering it, is she?
As he watched her pace, he noticed the familiar sensation of her connecting with the Wraith-world. She had used it before to instill terror in him, but it was not aimed at him this time. The scent of fear bloomed on the woman as Záhovar stopped in front of her. There was a predator's hunger in her eyes and Graznikh could feel himself harden despite the discomfort of his wet and muddy clothes. The woman's voluptuous lips trembled as Záhovar lifted her chin with a finger. A dark smile played upon her own as she spoke.
”There is nothing you can teach me. I fear the tastes of Lugburz differ somewhat from what you have been told. However, my poor snaga,” she said softly and met Graznikh's eyes briefly, ”has had a bad time here. He has been absolutely miserable, and I have been meaning to cheer him up. I am glad you volunteered for the task.” With that, she gave the girl a hard shove and sent her flying backwards into Graznikh's open arms. She let out a terrified sob as he ran a claw over one of her breasts. Záhovar walked up to him and ran her tongue along his ear from the lobe and up along the tapered tip, playing with the iron rings that pierced it until he began to purr.
”I want to watch you,” she hissed. ”Do not be gentle!”
Graznikh growled in reply; she fanned his need like he once used to do with her, and there was no resisting it. He tossed the servant into a corner of the room and stripped, removing his wet leathers with a relieved grunt and heard Záhovar do the same behind him. Muddy water trickled down his scarred chest. The woman backed up against the wall as he approached slowly, savouring her fear and leering as he stroked his dick. Her sickly sweet perfume made him nauseous. She tried to run but he caught her by the hair and forced her down over the edge of the mattress in the alcove. Once he had her securely in place, he tore a hole in the back of her trousers.
”Please,” she gasped. ”Mercy! Have mercy!”
Záhovar chuckled and Graznikh gave her a hungry look as he spat in his hand. She leaned against the wall next to the alcove, fingering herself while watching him with half-closed eyes and parted lips. The woman screamed and cried out in pain as he entered, rolling his hips to force himself deeper. He moved slowly and added a bit more spit to ease things for himself. Her cries and sharp sobs echoed in the large chamber as he began to thrust with stabbing motions. He grabbed her hair with a snarl as she tried to bury her face in the mattress.
”Nar my pet, you don't,” he growled. ”You'll let my master hear every sob, whimper and scream, or you'll get worse than this once I'm done here!” A punishing thrust forced a shrill scream from her lips, and Záhovar's ecstatic approval washed over him. Graznikh did not care to draw things out more than necessary and soon spent himself. The woman whimpered as he withdrew.
Záhovar beckoned for him to stand and he forced the woman back onto her feet.
”Are you in charge of the palace servants?” she asked. The woman shook her head, weeping silently.
”Do you know who is?”
She nodded.
”Then you will tell her this; there will be no more surprises like this. No more gifts, flowers, parts of flowers or unexpected 'treats'. I will have nothing brought to my quarters that I did not explicitly ask for. If there is any uncertainty, you will consult me before taking action. This applies to all the servants. If this is not followed, then this,” she gestured towards the mattress which was stained with the woman's blood and black Orc semen, ”will be repeated and the one responsible for the transgression will be the subject. Have I made myself clear?” The woman nodded frantically. Záhovar turned away and made a dismissive gesture. Graznikh dragged the crying woman to the door.
”Thanks for the ride,” he murmured with a leer and licked her ear in front of the mortified guards before throwing her out into the corridor. Then he slammed the door shut and shuddered in revulsion. ”The things you make me do, âmbal,” he muttered as he slid into the water to clean the mud, blood and other fluids off. Záhovar was already in the bath after having removed the flowers from it.
”You did well.”
He grunted and looked at his dick. ”That must've been the most unsatisfying fuck I've ever had,” he complained. ”She had no fighting spirit at all!”

”I take it this meeting is just for the Top Ones, right?” Graznikh asked later that evening. Záhovar stood naked next to the bed, eyeing the lavish gown the Dark Lord had given her with reluctance.
”Yes. I do not know why He asked for me to wear this... thing for it. But I fear you would not be let in even if I brought you.”
"Well, thank the Void! Say, am I grounded for the night?”
”You may leave, but do not stray too far. I cannot say that I will not need you later.”
”What, you think you might get attacked here? That'd be an insane bastard, what with the Eye here in person and all.” He grinned as he felt her worry through the bond. ”Don't worry, I won't get in trouble again, not now that my hackles're up. This place can hardly be more cutthroat than Lugburz.”
”Perhaps not,” Záhovar said. ”I believe most of the throatcutting will be done within the palace walls.” She turned back to the gown and Graznikh purred softly as he eyed her backside. She opened a pair of doors on the wall and revealed a huge mirror. As she put the gown on, Graznikh walked up to the mirror and stopped abruptly. He had never seen his own reflection this clearly before. He stared in astonishment at his angular, gnarly face. A scar ran down across his right eye, another crossed the left corner of his mouth and a third split his right jawline in two. He had forgotten how they came to be there. Compared to the High Officers and the tark servants in their proper, clean uniforms, he looked like a monster from the ancient tales. It made him grin. Do I really look like that? Skai, I'm awesome!
Záhovar appeared next to him, adjusting the gown, and suddenly he had something else to stare at. It was high-necked, but the pale silk hugged her body all the way down to her hips, making it look like it had been tailored especially for her. From her elbows and hips it flared out into wide sleeves and a pleated skirt that had so many gores that it folded even when laid out in a full circle. All edges were trimmed with black. Graznikh remembered the satisfying sound that silk made when torn to pieces and licked his fangs.
Záhovar felt his lust through the bond and shook her head. ”Not now. Perhaps... afterwards.”
”I'll hold ya to that,” Graznikh whispered. Then he took a closer look at the gown. ”How're you gonna wear your weapons with that?”
”I will not. Weapons are banned.”
”What?! Fuck that, I won't let ya go prancing about this place dressed like that without any means of defending yourself!” He deliberately ignored the fact that the place was full of people skilled in sorcery. He took a thin scarf which he tore to strips. Then he lifted her skirt and tied the sheath of her obsidian dagger to her thigh. He finished by carefully cutting a slit in the skirt in such a way that it was hidden by the pleats.
”There,” he said when he was done. ”It's not much, but it's better than nothing.”
Záhovar nodded in thanks, and he simply could not keep his hands off her anymore. Her eyes widened as he pushed her against the mirror and opened the soft folds between her legs. He let the skirt fall down over his face as he licked her. His deep rumble vibrated throughout her lower body and she came silently, gasping and pressing a hand to her mouth to keep from crying out.
”Just giving ya a little something to remember me by,” Graznikh murmured in her ear as she tried to regain her composure and breath. He backed away, giving her one last leer and a wink before adjusting the swords on his back and heading out into the night. Záhovar gave herself one last critical look in the mirror and suppressed a shudder. She donned her formal robe to avoid walking in only the gown through the corridors; she felt naked and vulnerable without armour.
The Dark Lord was waiting for her in the study of the large suite He was occupying. He had exchanged His lavish robe for a formal, almost militaristic dark red coat with gold buttons down the front, black, knee-high boots and a black shirt with loose, flowing sleeves.
”The others have not yet arrived,” He said and beckoned for her to sit. As she obeyed, He looked her over. ”Are you enjoying your stay here?”
Záhovar chose her words carefully. ”It has been entertaining.”
”So I hear. I have also heard of a disturbance at the baths earlier. Some poor servant came out a little worse for wear.”
”If I have caused trouble...”
”Nonsense.” His smile widened. ”I do not care what you do with the servants. Kill them all if you wish! I am glad to hear that you are capable of proper discipline when the need arises.” He waved a hand as He sensed her question. ”Ask.”
”I am curious as to the reason why I was asked to dress in this manner for the meeting. I believed that I was to keep my gender a secret.”
”That is mainly to not distract the Orcs and to make sure that people do not forget your rank. The reason for the gown is because I wanted to see how you look in it. And I have a new task for you, apart from the one you offered on the road, where charms such as these will be needed. See it to its end and I will consider a large part of your debt paid.”
”Thy word is Law,” Záhovar said.
The Dark Lord could barely keep the mirth from His voice as He spoke again. ”You are to pose as My daughter and seduce Jí indûr. He is infatuated with you already and will court you; play coy, hesitate for fear of incurring My wrath but be not altogether resistant. Draw him in until he asks for your hand in marriage. When this is done, you will bring the proposal to Me.”
Graznikh was waiting for her, hiding behind the door and catching her in his arms as she returned.
”You stink of tark,” he complained as he pulled her close, but frowned when he touched the bond.
”What's wrong?” he asked as Záhovar slumped down upon the bed with a dismayed expression. She explained the situation to him.
”Nar,” he growled.
”His word is Law,” she whispered.
Graznikh bared his fangs, feeling helpless. ”He'd sell you to a tark like a piece of junk?”
”They live brief lives; it will be over soon.”
”I can't be without ya for that long!” Graznikh squatted in front of her. ”Marriage for tarks is like slavery; you'd be his plaything, a pretty bauble to put on display, having no say-so in anything!”
”His word is Law,” she repeated, avoiding his eyes. Graznikh threw himself onto the bed beside her with a defeated groan. ”I should kill him. He can't marry you if he's dead. I'm not serious,” he added as he met Záhovar's sharp glare. ”It's just... the thought of a tark touching ya, fucking ya...” He growled loudly and hit the bed with a fist. Then he looked at Záhovar. ”You still in the mood?”
”No.”
”Me neither.”
She sighed. ”Let us go to sleep.”
”Sure.” He stood. ”But first I wanna do something.” He beckoned for her to stand, then he grabbed the neckline of the expensive gown. The silk tore easily with a satisfying sound.

Jí Indûr was waiting for her one day when Záhovar returned to her quarters.
”You seem to have refused my gifts of late,” he said, looking at his nails with a frown. ”Why is that?”
”The flowers... They were from you?”
”Yes. But lately the servants have been refusing to bring them to you, claiming that you have threatened them with death or worse if they do.”
”Oh...” Záhovar looked down, pretending to be embarrassed. ”I must apologise. I... misunderstood your intentions.”
Indûr looked at her, anger replaced by worry. ”Have I offended you?”
”Not at all. It is simply... I believed them to be some assassin's ploy. There has already been attempts at my life here, and I fear it made me overly suspicious. I am sorry.”
Indûr's eyes grew wide as she spoke. ”Assassins... and they would target you?”
Záhovar nodded with pretended apprehension. ”My father's rule is a grave threat to Númenor's dominion in the North, and they would harm him and end the line of succession if they could. It is only to be expected,” she added sadly.
Indûr nodded gravely. ”Such a heavy burden for such beautiful young shoulders,” he said quietly. ”Will you not let me ease the burden, for a brief time?” He held out his hand with a gentle smile.
She gave him a bashful glance as she felt the bond grow stronger. ”And... how would you do that?”
”I would-”

Whatever he planned on saying was interrupted by a bellow. In the blink of an eye, Indûr was pinned to the wall by a furious, blood-thirsty Orc, who held a crude knife at his throat and bared its fangs, dripping slaver onto his fine coat. Indûr stared at it, surprised but not afraid. Záhovar placed a hand on the Orc's shoulder.
”Graznikh, please,” she said quietly. Slowly, slowly, the Orc backed down but placed itself between Indûr and her.
”An... Orc chaperone?” Indûr said. ”Far be it from me to question your father on anything, but... I cannot help but wonder at this!”
”Graznikh is... different,” Záhovar said. ”He has been with me for a very long time, and has even been my martial teacher for a brief while. Now he is my bodyguard. He is bound to me by more than my father's command and I consider him completely trustworthy.”
Indûr watched in amazement as Záhovar petted the hideous creature as one would pet a loyal dog or monkey. The worshipful glance it gave her reaffirmed her words.
”I... understand. But, should you wish to have a less... physically offensive bodyguard, I am sure my steward could find you one. Why not a eunuch?”
”An offensive appearance is not necessarily a bad thing,” Záhovar said with a small smile. ”And the day you find a Mannish eunuch with the strength and fighting instincts of a seasoned Orc warrior, I shall confess myself deeply impressed.” The Orc growled.
”Point taken,” Indûr said with a smile.

As time passed, Graznikh had the increasing feeling that he would soon explode all over the place. Getting dumped for a tark was bad enough, but being forced to play the part of the obedient pet Orc while his mate, his âmbal, his woman was courted by said tark was enough to make him see red and hear the thunder of the Mountain with every beat of his black, jealous heart. Knowing that her life depended on the courtship's success and on him doing his part was even worse. His only solace was that the bond could not lie; Záhovar hated every moment of it as much as he did. To alleviate some of the frustration and vent his jealousy, he fucked her every single night before they went to sleep. He did not care if she was tired or angry or not in the mood. He refused to rest until he had made her come at least once with fingers, tongue or cock and filled her to overflowing with his seed. Here's one thing you can't take, you bloody tark bastard. No matter what you do, I was here first. It's my cock she'll think about every time. You'll never make her feel like this, 'cause an Orc beat ya to it!
He dearly wanted to mark her. She thoroughly enjoyed his roughness, giving back as good as she got. But no matter how he bit and clawed, the wounds on her body healed without a trace. I can't even knock her up, he thought sourly as their breathing slowed one night. That would've given that blasted southron something to think about, when his pretty little wife dumps a litter of half-Orc cubs in his lap.
One evening as Záhovar prepared for bedtime and Graznikh for their usual tumble, there was a knock on the door. As he opened, Indûr's Kirani servant boy stood outside with a small ornate box in his hands. Graznikh grabbed him before he could run and pulled him into the room.
”What the fuck does he want this time?!”
”Wait,” Záhovar said. The boy trembled with fear, but held the box out to her. She took it gingerly but did not open it. ”Let him go, Graznikh.”
Graznikh growled at the boy a bit longer just for good measure, then threw him back out into the corridor. ”What is that thing?” he snarled.
Záhovar almost dropped the box as she opened it. Trembling, she put it down on the desk and turned away. Graznikh was there immediately, holding her tight and growling little comforts in her ear. He did not need to look inside the accursed box to know what was in it.
The Dark Lord studied the carved ivory sculpture with a thoughtful frown.
”So you would ask for My daughter's hand in marriage?”
The Kiran king-in-exile sat on his knees on the floor before him, hands clasped together in a reverent gesture. ”I would, Great Lord.”
”And does she know?”
”She does. I sent one of my servants to her with the marriage proposal this very eve. I apologise if I have been too straight-forward. I respect your daughter far too much to force her into marriage against her will.”
”Indeed... your proposal is interesting, I will admit that. But I hope you do realise that I cannot let her wed a man who has nothing.”
Jí Indûr nodded. ”Yes, it would be a foolish thing to do and you, Great Lord, are no fool. Could I but reach out and retake the throne that is rightfully mine, I would do so in an instant, in your name. But alas, such is not the case.”
”Perhaps it could be...”
Indûr almost looked up from the floor in surprise, but steadied himself. ”You would... aid me in such an undertaking?”
The Dark Lord beckoned for him to rise and take a seat and began pacing His study. ”My daughter seems very fond of you, and I would hate to break her heart. Yes, I could aid you. Tell me; you have spent much time in the lands of the Mûmakan. How do you find them?”
”They would not be difficult to sway to your cause, Great Lord,” Indûr said. ”I have been a guest of honour there for many years, and have found many who would wish to follow me. Yet they dare not, for fear of Númenor's growing power and turning Koronande's usurper lord hostile.”
The Dark Lord nodded. ”Do you think that you could tip the scales in a favourable direction?”
”Most definitely. If the Mûmakan learn that the northern lands stand with them...”
”They do. I will ask this of you, in return for My daughter's hand: bring the Mûmakan under My banner. Do this, and you shall marry My daughter.”
Jí Indûr stood and bowed deeply with his hand on his heart. ”You have my word, Great Lord.”
The betrothal ceremony was held the next evening. For the safety of everyone involved, they had chosen to keep it small and private. Záhovar was given a necklace by Kirani tradition, made from a dark seashell that seemed to shimmer and swirl with different hues of blue, green and purple as she turned it in her hand. Instead of a necklace, Jí Indûr was given a ring of silver with a jet-black stone.
”This is no ordinary ring,” the Dark Lord told him. ”And it is more than a simple token of your betrothal. It has power, great power, and I do not part with it light-heartedly. But I believe that you are worthy of carrying a gift such as this. It will aid you in swaying Men's hearts; you will find that they listen more carefully to your words and weigh them favourably, follow you more gladly and commit great deeds under your command that they scarcely believed themselves capable of before. Use it well and with care; it is the only one of its kind.”
”I will carry it close always,” Jí Indûr promised. He turned to Záhovar and took her hands. ”And you will be in my heart, always, until we meet again,” he said.
Záhovar returned his smile. ”And you in mine. Good luck to you.”

NOTES:
Nar dushum - no sorcery
- 5
- 6
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The Battles We Choose