uvatha

[uvatha]

Uvatha Crow-King turned 1 today!

[uvatha]

((I suppose it's obvious this muse has been quiet lately. I love what Uvatha became as I wrote him, I really do, and I have loved exploring aspects of what it would be like for a slave of darkness, now freed back into the world and finding himself there, and I loved building a kingdom and culture for him, too.

But I'll be blunt--I have lost interest and motivation for this muse, for various reasons. One big reason is that I only picked up Uvatha originally in order to round out Murazor's Nine and explore their dynamic, and with almost none of the other wraiths at all active anymore, there seems little point. He doesn't make sense in my head out of that context, somehow.

I've tried hard to keep him going, in fits and starts. But it always fizzles out again and my attention goes elsewhere.

I won't call this a true hiatus. I suppose might get my inspiration back anytime, unpredictably.

But--for now--Uvatha is pretty much just gone.

Sorry. :-(

[uvatha]

Uvatha landed atop his Master with a huff of breath. If he'd been able to make a sound, he would likely have been whining aloud. Instead, he blew air between his teeth in a low, long gust that was quite nearly a sigh—of relief, of pleasure, of simple and uncluttered happiness.

But he cringed away immediately as his Master’s displeasure made itself known, red eyes dropping and huge frame seeming to shrink in on itself. Alpha though he himself was, Master was Master, and it was therefore Uvatha’s role to please and to serve. He nudged at Master’s face with his own, gently, then rolled away as commanded, remaining on his knees as Master stood and brushed at himself.

Wide red eyes glowed in the fortress darkness as Uvatha watched Sauron with impassive submission—but as ever, his submission was tempered by an understanding of his own alpha nature, and his watchfulness included a calculation of relative strengths and weaknesses. He was cowed, yes—for now.

At last, Uvatha stood, unfolding to his full height beside his Master’s form, shoulders squaring and lean hips loose in his bones as he tilted his head and dropped his jaw in a silent, canine laugh. Master had fallen right over, and it had been so terribly fun! Perhaps now his Master would play? He had been so busy lately, had the Master, and had not made enough time for Uvatha, the Beastmaster thought.

Uvatha wandered Barad-dur almost aimlessly. He was far more familiar with Minas Morgul, far more comfortable there for all its darkness. His head was down and if he'd had a tail, it would have been tight between his legs. Up ahead, though, he smelled a familiar smell--Master! screamed his mind, while a quieter voice spat venom. But the quiet voice was far too quiet and so, with canine excitement, he loped around the corner to find his Master.

No one alive would have called Sauron a careless maia; but in the most recent days of his return to Mordor, one could easily make the mistake of assuming he’d become somewhat unobservant. His gaze was often fixed on some point in the distance, his movements slow and distracted. Sometimes he muttered calculations and recalculations, formulae and stratagems being rehearsed under his breath. This state of inattention was in the result of his observing far too many things, all at once. The One Ring glowed white hot on his finger as he moved about armies like pieces on a chessboard, and gave commands to foremen in the hundred blazing smithies. The aspects of rule that required delegation had never sat easy with him; less because he was greedy for power than because the position of total command did not come naturally to him. He trusted no one. Every task was one he felt needed his direct attention, his personal direction, his micromanag—-

 Oof!

"Htolat Burz agh Gaash*!" He spat as he was caught off balance descended the tower stairs, landing squarely on his armored back, bowled over by an over-enthusiastic wraith. …The wraith that was now awkwardly sprawled atop his breastplate.  

Uvatha, mortal-born as he was, stood intimidatingly tall and square-chested. When they’d met in ages past (as King and Gift-Bearer) they’d been a closely matched, physically. There had always been a hint of something between rivalry and narcissism in the Dark Lord’s appraisal of the Kaeltai leader. That the wraith— being undead and one of the Second Born, could knock a maia on his arse with the excited fervor of a wargling, did nothing to improve that aggressive tension. "Uvatha!" he snapped, growling with bared teeth as the furs on his shoulders bristled. The meaning, without words, was clear. "Withdraw. Lower yourself. Show obeisance.” 

His anger was less than his shock; no more than the surprised yelping of one caught off guard, but it was a fearsome display no less. The pack-master had been slinking around the fortress walls, white-eyed and whining, for days now, and it was difficult to be outraged at him for his relief at something— anything— familiar. 

"Down, wolf. Off master. Good boy." Sauron’s tone softened, remaining stern but amending his snarls with a show of forgiveness as he dusted himself off. 

[uvatha]

Uvatha laughed his strange, silent laugh, and cast off his own encompassing black robes. Beneath, he wore only heavy boots, simple black trews, and a sleeveless jerkin. It was the work of a moment to catch a branch and haul himself by main strength up into the tree, and only a few moments more before the big wraith, surprisingly nimble and flexible for his size, had reached the trapped Khamul.

With careful fingers, he unwove and unstuck the tatters of the Easterling's dark robe and then moved back along the branch he straddled, gesturing for Khamul to precede him.

Uvatha whistled shrilly through his teeth to catch Khamul's attention. It looked like the other wraith was stuck, dark robes snagged tight about a branch. When Khamul's eyes fell on his own, the big wraith signed. <>

Their reputation left little to be desired so far as fearsomeness went, a fact which Khamul found downright hilarious, especially in light of his current situation.  Ominous tattered shrouds were well and good, until you went scouting up a tree!  And there he was, like a cat, quite good at climbing and terrible at descending.

Some portion of ragged cloth gave way with a sorrowful ripping noise as he jumped at Uvatha’s whistle; glancing down, he smiled crookedly, then twitched again as another bit of cloth gave - down he wanted, but not like this!

"Please.  My arms are stuck."

[uvatha]

*silent, challenging stare*

"Ahem."

My muses would like me to pass on a message: “sup”

[uvatha]

Uvatha’s smile widened a bit at Annatar’s praise of his wife, courtly and practiced though it was. He had loved his Venhyvar since both of them were young, since before he had been king—even now, he was not sure he truly deserved her, but he was long past questioning his good fortune.

“She is among my closest advisors,” he said aloud, a hint of warning riding in his tone. Yes, she was beautiful, and yes, she was kind and was generous, and a good mother to their only son. She was also wise and clever, and her insights were often sharp enough to cut through the threads of a problem in which even Uvatha had found himself snarled.

If this Annatar wished to discuss politics and solutions, he would be speaking to Venhyvar as much as to Uvatha himself—Venhyvar, and the handful of other advisors who sat in Council with the King. But whether it was right to be so biased or no, it was Venhyvar to whom Uvatha listened most closely in most matters.

“That’s right!” she said now, placing a hand upon Uvatha’s shoulder and fixing Annatar with a grey-eyed stare. “And just now, I would advise letting our guest find his ease and refresh himself after his journey. We can discuss his proposal in-depth in Council tomorrow.” The slight emphasis upon the word “guest” reminded Uvatha of his duties; whatever else this Annatar was and would be, he was due the proper hospitality of the keep.

“My wife is more than correct, as always,” Uvatha said, standing and moving a few steps toward their visitor. “You are welcome to the keep of Kaemulothe, lord Annatar. Please, accompany my seneschal. He will show you to your rooms. We will feast tonight, and tomorrow, I shall convene my advisors to hear your words.”

A Game of Gifts || @ringmasterofmordor

[uvatha]

((And Uvatha's just going, "Really? There's actually any question?"

//Whenever the question over the most handsome wraith comes on the dash, Ren is just here like

[uvatha]

<<good smell. wolf smell. strong. alpha warg smell>> agrees the undead wraith, who hasn't had anything like a proper bath in nearly five thousand years and by this point has developed rather a strong odor himself.

uvatha replied to your post: I hereby choose to believe that Thû is…

Uvatha thinks you smell lovely.

*points* THANK you!

See? Someone here has the refined olfactory sensibilities to appreciate my rich bouquet manliness! 

Top notes of hot metal, sweat, and blood; heart-notes of charcoal fires and petrichor; and lingering base notes of oiled steel, leather, and wolf-fur. Perhaps just a hint of Umbarim cinnamon and amber…  Eau-de-Gaurhoth. 

If I could bottle it, I’d make a fortune. 

[uvatha]

Uvatha was impressed by the dwarf's composure and restraint. He could smell the spike of wariness--not quite fear--engendered by the sight of the wargs, and yet the dwarf had not reacted otherwise, had not fallen into a defensive posture nor drawn a weapon nor even drawn a sharp breath. Wargs were by long tradition and misguided belief the enemies of all the free peoples of Middle Earth, and yet this dwarf had not shied from them nor attacked them by instinct.

He smiled mildly as he continued to build the base for a fire in the small depression serving as a firepit. Wargs were actually extremely intelligent beings, more so than the wolves they loosely resembled, and nearly as intelligent as the sentient races. They understood spoken speech, though their throats did not allow for it themselves, and were no more malicious than any wild creature. It was only their partnerships with creatures of malice which might make them thus, and their training. His own pack was the last he himself had raised with his own hands in Mordor and never had they been partnered with an orc pack nor borne a rider nor ridden to a battle against Men and Elves--nor dwarves, neither. If he had his way, they never would.

Uvatha was surprised when the small stub-fingered hands joined him in preparing the kindling. He looked up and made an empty sort of gesture, trying to indicate that it was far from necessary that the dwarf aid him, though appreciated. He huffed a breath through his teeth, feeling the limitations of his communication sharply. The wargs knew his signs, and the others of the Nine had also. But with strangers, it was--difficult, at best, even should anyone come close enough for long enough to even attempt communication.

Once the fire was set, Uvatha pulled out his flint and steel and struck careful sparks until the soft tinder caught, coaxing it into full flame with careful and long-practiced ease. The smoke did not cling and billow, but was sucked out through a nearly invisible crack in the cave roof which led out to fresher air.

Then he sat back and regarded the dwarf over the fire, waiting--for what, he could not say. Simply--waiting.

Crows to a Carcass || Closed Starter - Uvatha

[uvatha]

Uvatha laughed his silent laugh as Ji Indur made his jests, pushing back fear with humor as the pirate was always wont to do. He liked Ji greatly, did the big wraith, though their tasks brought them together but seldom.

Not often did the animal trainer cross paths with the commodore of Mordor's piratical navies unless it was in training, as now, or in a conference of all Nine together. And there, Uvatha tended to stay to the verges of things, not offering his opinions unless specifically solicited, staying not only silent by necessity but still and uncommunicative by long habit.

But here he was in his element in truth, and though Uvatha knew that Ji would never learn to love flying as Uvatha himself did, the pirate needed at least some mastery of the task for it had so been ordered. The Nine were to be riders, of horses or of fell beasts as needed.

Once Ji had found his seat once again, Uvatha climbed nimbly up behind and settled himself carefully, chest to Ji's back and one arm loosely looped about the pirate's body for support and balance. His brows raised at Ji's question, but he didn't answer. The pirate needed to learn to do this for himself, and the command was simple. Uvatha merely waited; his presence this time was only for support should Ji Indur falter again. The pirate himself was the flier now.

Of Beasts and Men- Uvatha & Ji Indur

[uvatha]

my dear friends. 

The life as the Mikkelbutt, is the greatest life on earth.

Being the butt of such a talented artist is fart-taking. <3

(x)

[uvatha]

A wise king should be held up high among his lesser kings.

The phrase repeated itself in Uvatha’s mind, rolling over and around like a twig caught in the current. There was something there, something in that. Something he could use, the kernel of some idea…a king high among kings….

He could not quite grasp the thought that beckoned there, but resolved to take the words to his privy council for their thoughts on the matter. Or perhaps only to Venhyvar his wife; her sharp wisdom had unsnarled many a thorny tangle for him in the past.

But in any case, he had no leisure now to unpuzzle the puzzle his brain turned about and so he set it aside as the envoy approached far too near for propriety and spoke softly and sweetly. This Annatar’s voice was pitched low and quiet, and the soft-spoken Uvatha recognized the tactic. By speaking so quietly, he hoped Uvatha would be forced to lean in closer to hear him, hoped perhaps to create the illusion of intimacy between them.

If that was his plan, though, it was foiled; the huge man who sat his throne as easily as he sat a-horseback did not move nor shift but only watched through amber-brown eyes hooded like a hawk’s as the line of servants entered bearing their gifts, scrolls and tablets and leaves of engraved silver and gold and a few codices, too.

Uvatha valued wisdom in all of its forms, both the simpler and straightforward wisdom of beasts and between the men and women of the villages; and also that of books and great tales and histories, of literature and education. He had worked hard, upon his elevation to kingship, to perfect his own skill with the letters of his people and to learn the tongues spoken by others. Where once it had faltered, his hand was calligraphic now and elegant as befitted a king. So he recognized the sheer wealth the man laid before him for what it was, of course he did.

“All of this, merely for the favor of remaining in my company and kingdom?” he said at last, straightening slightly. “That seems hardly fair recompense for a gift of such—extravagant nature.”

Lord of Gifts - King Uvatha and Annatar (Mairon)

Although this nation seemed small, it was impressive to Mairon’s eyes and he believed that it would be a wonderful addition to his cause. And its king was a noble man that anyone would enjoy gazing at for hours on end. The Maia didn’t expect that, but rather pleased. It would make his job of seduction easier if he enjoyed his prey. 

He held his hands out and bowed low, every movement graceful and thought out. “My king Uvatha, your wisdom has been told throughout my lands and I have come to honor you with gifts of my own making for in my eyes the wise king should be held up high among his lesser kings.” 

Each word was almost dripping with honey and temptation, yet Mairon was not trying what so ever. His amber eyes looked upon Uvatha with a small amount of his own amusement, before walking up towards the throne. He could see the guards were a bit nervous at his bold movements, but he paid them no mind until he reached the king. 

"I know that one can never have too much wisdom and I offer you more then you can ever dream of," he said softly as if he were a serpent before clapping his hands. 

Mairon’s mute servants came through the doors and in their hands held scrolls and books of ancient knowledge that he had gathered up during his days under Melkor. His former master didn’t understand why he would keep such wasteful things, but what Melkor had not learned was that different people wanted different things and as long as you had everything, the world was yours. 

"These are scrolls from the divine shores of Valinor and many of these books are from the hidden elven cities I was welcomed to. They contain many things that will make your land and people greater then they ever could imagine. They are my gifts for you, as long as you allow me the pleasure of your company and the shelter of your kingdom for a little while." 

[uvatha]

Uvatha gazed at this Annatar through slightly narrowed eyes. His nostrils flared and his lips thinned out. He found his own pride far more stung by the visitor’s assumption that he himself had a solution to Uvatha’s problem that the King did not than he had been by Annatar’s use of the title “lord” rather than “King.”

Uvatha had spent the last two decades working tirelessly to forge a peace between his own tribe and the six others of his people. He had built ties of friendship and trade between the tribes where only ties of bloodshed and enmity had existed before. He had grown old at the work, and he had done more for his people than any other leader had before and yet it had been not quite enough, had not progressed not quite as far as his vision had reached. And for this stranger to walk into his throne-room and so blithely declare that he had the solution where Uvatha had thus far failed? Yes, his pride was injured and a dislike of the too-pretty elf washed through him.

But before he could speak, the silence in the receiving room was broken by a new voice, warm and rich with humor.

“A stranger comes to offer aid to such as we?” said Venhyvar his wife, coming around from the far side of the hall and moving to stand at his side. Even without turning his head, he could see the smile, genuine but sharp, upon her lips. “What compliment this elf does to our little kingdom, that the fame of our people has spread so far as to catch the attention even of such a noble visitor as this!”

Uvatha’s tension broke slightly at her intrusion and he managed a polite smile for the elf. “Indeed. My lord Annatar, this is Venhyvar my wife and my Queen. She is a wise woman, for all that she was foolish enough to marry me!”

A Game of Gifts || @ringmasterofmordor

[uvatha]

Uvatha nearly flinched from it when her hand lifted to brush away his tears, some strange prickle of shame or nearly forgotten pride rearing up within him, but he suppressed the urge and let her hand fall upon him, heat upon heat. It was a gesture kindly meant, he knew, and perhaps even—affectionately? Though he could not dare to hope for that much, for hope would likely kill what little remained of his soul faster even than despair might.

Belenwen’s jaw was tight and her eyes were wide as she gazed at him and he could not decipher her emotions, her expression which seemed to contradict itself somehow. He could have asked Lelya, but he did not. This was a thing between two, not three.

And then her hand moved from the high arch of his cheekbone to his jawline, to his neck, to his shoulder, and he fought the urge to lean into her touch further, to take more than what she offered. He allowed himself to be drawn forward and down onto the bed with her, compliant utterly to that slim hand upon his.

She leaned toward him and he caught a sharp breath and she spoke with that same strange mingling of emotions tight and coiled in her voice and then, oh Gods, then she leaned and she kissed him. Only his forehead, and only lightly, but kiss him she did. His heart flopped like a salmon.

She stood and she made as if to leave and he caught at her hand and pressed his lips to the center of her palm, closing her fingers over it after. “Thank you,” he said, and there were centuries in those two words, centuries and depths and heights and distances untold.

And then Belenwen left him and, tentative, still unsure, he pulled back the coverlets of her bed and slid his big frame beneath them. Her bed was soft and so warm and it smelled of her. His eyes closed, and though he was certain at first he had lost the knack of sleeping, it was not long before his breathing smoothed out and true rest settled into his bones for the first time in nearly five thousand years.

Uvatha moved through Imladris, reveling in the fact that in this mortal form, he did not stand out quite as much as he had before. He was searching for Belenwen, and every glimpse of bright hair made his head turn. Unfortunately, many elves are blonde. He finally resorted to asking for directions, having momentarily forgotten it was even possible for him to do so. At last, he found her and lifted a hand in greeting. "Hello," he said simply.

She had a fairly predictable schedule as to when she was going to be on the training fields, eating, or where she tended to keep to herself when she did not leave the immediate settlement.  It was not too often that someone she did not know came up to her.  She looked up from where she was leaning against the railing of a narrow bridge.  She had been watching the songbirds flitter from tree to tree.

She looked over with a soft ‘hello’ and a polite smile that did not quite reach her eyes before it dawned on her that he was very familiar.  She paused before straightening up to her full height as she turned to face him, brow furrowing before her eyes went wide.  ”Hello!” she returned with more exuberance.  ”Look at you,” she reached out a hand and touched his shoulder lightly.  ”You look so … vibrant!”

[uvatha]

((Sorry for those waiting on a reply here. I meant to get to them today but it might not happen.

((I am fucking beyond stressed right now. I just got handed two more major tasks at work on top of all of the major other tasks I already don’t have time to do and I have to make a likely rather unpleasant phone call soon and phone calls are weirdly a thing that make me panic unreasonably anyway and I feel extremely anxious and may not be around much until much later tonight. Sorry.

[uvatha]

Brân Fendigaidd and Brânwen ferch Llŷr.

[uvatha]

Corfe Castle, Dorset by davidbunting on Flickr