Days had passed since Birnj had bravely (stupidly?) ridden into a nest of orcs with the intention to speak with their leader. Much to her surprise, she had succeeded in not only speaking with him, a stern but gentle Man he was, but she had also managed to convince him that she could be of use.
"Why do you wish to help?" The Ranger had asked, leaning against a tree. They had walked away from the gate of the outpost and stood in a quiet, green spot so Aesi could eat. Birnj had frowned before replying.
"Why wouldn't I? The whole of Middle Earth is threatened by disaster driven mercilessly forward by shadow and death and I am supposed to stand idly by and do nothing?"
Her voice had lifted in her passion and it drew the attention of the painted orc from before as he stood nearby. Ûgol, as she'd come to learn was his name, sneered, but did not approach. The Ranger had assured her that he would not move unless directed to.
"He is loyal, sometimes even to a fault, but I could not stand against the tide of evil without Uruks like him."
She had a hard time understanding why anyone would choose to work alongside the foul-mouthed, ill-tempered creatures, but then again here she was offering to do just that. The Ranger had sensed her doubt and asked her again if this was what she wanted.
She nodded firmly. "I have to help and you seem to be the only one who hasn't given in to despair."
Now, as she hefted her saddle onto Aesi's back, she had been charged with an errand to complete. The Ranger needed items retrieved from camps dotting the area. He explained that these were items of utmost importance, but would not explain why. Just that they were necessary.
Birnj wondered somewhat bitterly if this was just a ploy to get her out of the way, but said nothing. She tightened the girth on her saddle and moved to slip the bridle over the horse's ears and into his mouth.
"Birnj." The sudden voice made her jump and she turned quickly to see the Man and Ûgol standing behind her. The Uruk snickered openly at her reaction and she felt her face go hot.
"Are you sure you're up to this?"
"Yes," she replied, raising her chin, "I'm eager for the opportunity."
"The first camp is nearly a week's ride. If you take the wooded path, it should be a straight shot." The Ranger gestured as he spoke, indicating the woods that lay just beyond. She had seen orcs travel into the woods before; hunting and logging seemed forever necessary to these forces.
"I'll keep to it. Aesi is a strong one. He'll get me there." The stallion turned at the mention of his name, ears turned forward. He had become less afraid of the Uruks in the last few days, standing still around them but keeping an eye on them always.
Finally finishing tacking up, the woman tied her curls back behind her head and faced the two once more. She saluted in as much a similar way is she could to what she'd seen the Uruks do.
"I'm grateful to be of assistance to you, Bright Lord." The words were formal, foreign, but honest. The Man grinned, though the expression was pinched.
"Before you go, there's one more thing."
"Oh?" Birnj lifted an eyebrow, puzzled. Talion's orc companion turned to wave an arm behind him. From just beyond, a bulwhark of an Uruk approached the small group. Two axes swung from his sides and he wore a jagged plate of armor over his chest with a smaller pauldron of a similar style. His face, molded into a serious expression that was one part disdain and one part reverence, was painted almost identically to Ûgol's, like a white hand and a three-pronged claw all at once.
"This is Krukzog, one of our mystics' best. He will be accompanying you on your journey."
Birnj made to protest, to insist that she didn't need the company of an Uruk that likely didn't want to be around her, either. Talion cut her off.
"I won't send you alone. You need protection out there." To Krukzog, he spoke more coolly, "You will protect her with your life. Do as she asks, as long as it does not go against my commands or wishes. Act as her bodyguard, as you would if you were mine. Am I clear?"
The voice that came forth from Krukzog was low in volume, deep as a cave, and clear as a bell.
"As you say, my Lord. No harm shall come to 'er." He knelt and slammed a fist over his heart. Birnj bit back a groan of disappointment and schooled her own expression into one of good humor.
"Thank you, sir." Talion smiled that pained smile again, as if understanding her hesitation. Krukzog stood and came forward to stand directly in front of the Haradrim woman. He towered a full head and shoulders above her and he narrowed his eyes momentarily as he looked her up and down.
"After you." He growled, a small grin tipping up the corner of his lips. The sunlight caught the two rings pierced there.
Horza couldn’t hide his scars. They covered every inch of his body, from head to toe, varying in size and thickness, texture and colour, some fading, others still dark and puckered. Angry. Painful… Pushkrimp never said anything, something that Horza was grateful for. He doesn’t want pity or sorrow, for it does nothing for him. There’s a hint of recognition in his eyes, though, that Horza isn't so sure about. It’s not a lie though perhaps he is merely hoping for such understanding from someone that seemed to care for him, even just a little bit. Pushkrimp never hid it, though he did look away from Horza, not wishing to stare, not wanting to view him when he was so vulnerable in a state of undress and in water that was nearly to his collarbone. Horza sank down, his nose just above the water as he looked over his shoulder. He wasn’t surprised by what he saw but it still made him feel strongly.
Pushkrimp sat with his back to him, looking out alongside his beasts for any potential threats. Maybe he was nervous, as he was picking at his nails, at the grass and dirt as his caragors lazed about. One rested on his side, ears twitching as flies harassed him about his head. The other on his stomach, facing to his right, directly at his master. His yellow eyes flicked over to Horza, uninterested, then forward once again, yawning as he started to groom himself. Bored. Anxiety pooled in Horza’s gut as an offer rested on the tip of his tongue. It was hot, quiet and Pushkrimp went without bathing for his sake… He never said as such, of course, he never would, but it's the truth. Horza swallowed as he toed at a smooth rock that laid just beneath one of his feet.
“U-Uh-”
Pushkrimp’s head perked up. He nearly turned to face Horza but stopped just short of doing so. Maybe he could see the orc in his peripheral vision. It wouldn’t have bothered him if the uruk had turned to face him, if he faced him the entire time that he was bathing, but he didn’t and he cleared his throat, nervous.
“E-Erm-? Y-Yey? H-Horza…?” He said his name so softly… Horza felt his heart slam against his ribcage. He nearly swallowed a mouthful of water but spat it out as he brought his head fully out of the water.
“Y-You… can- c-can join m-me…. If you wish…” His voice died in his throat as he spoke. Pushkrimp didn’t react immediately, almost as if he was straining his ears, uncertain of what he just heard. He hesitated a few times, seeming uncertain with what course of action he wished to take, before slowly turning to look over his shoulder.
Pushkrimp’s intense eyes were looking above Horza’s head, almost as if he was afraid to acknowledge him. It was such a strange sight… Horza was accustomed to being ignored, largely due to his status as both an orc and a slave in Mordor. He knew what disgust looked like, what hatred and misplaced superiority looked like. This was not it. Pushkrimp leaned in on himself, hunching his shoulders slightly in a bid to look smaller. He was chewing on one of the corners of his mouth, enough so that Horza could see it plainly even when so far away. He swallowed thickly, starting to rock back and forth in a bid to soothe some of the anxiety that was raising his blood to his head.
“...yey? Are… Hrmm…” Pushkrimp stuck the nail of his thumb into the corner of his mouth, hooking it inside of his mouth and tugging on it as he ground his teeth against his sharp nail. Against everything that Horza has ever heard about Ferals, Pushkrimp took remarkable care of himself. Even when he was… Horza blinked and nodded beckoning Pushkrimp into the water with a raised arm. Horza was surprised that his hand wasn’t trembling as much as the rest of his body was. Pushkrimp looked down at his arm, then at his face. Horza’s face was tense but not fearful. He wasn’t afraid of Pushkrimp. Not anymore. It seemed to be the other way around now, with Pushkrimp uncertain and hesitant, fearing to hurt him, to scare him away…
To hurt him again…
“You won’t hurt me.”
Pushkrimp’s hand dropped away from his mouth. His brows knit together as he studied Horza’s expression and posture. He wasn’t appearing small before him. He wasn’t hiding his gaze or his person. He looked at Pushkrimp, awaiting his response. ‘You can say no’ hung in the air, but it wasn’t what either Horza nor Pushkrimp wanted. He nearly started to pick at his nails again but only grunted as he stood up, nodding to Horza as he began to undress.
Horza's eyes lingered on Pushkrimp for far longer than he intended. He had already removed the furs that hung off his shoulder, laying it on the ground and was moving to remove the rest of his garb. By the time he had looked away, Horza had already seen much of Pushkrimp’s bare body, his eyes flicking back over to him as he tried not to stare. It was difficult not to, as Horza often found himself staring at Pushkrimp, longing to get closer to him but too intimidated to do so.
Pushkrimp was a large uruk but he was also very handsome to Horza. It was unusual for an uruk to be covered in hair. Not only did he have a head full of long and thick hair, almost as long as Horza was tall, he had hair on most of his body as well. On his arms, legs, on his chest… Pushkrimp often wore thick furs that covered most of his body, even his arms and chest, maybe especially his arms and chest… It was unusual but it wasn’t unattractive by any means to Horza, though it wasn’t the only thing that had caught his eye about the large, Feral uruk.
His scars…
That was one of the many things that always stood out to Horza. Pushkrimp’s scars… There were many across his entire body, from what Horza could tell. Gashes from claws, bite marks from wild beasts, dark markings from traumatic bruising… His eyes instantly fell on the large, thick gash that ran from Pushkrimp’s left shoulder down to nearly his right hip, thickest on his upper ribs, right above his heart.
The wound that he had given him.
Horza fluttered his eyes and looked down at the water. Knots formed in his stomach as that moment flashed behind his eyes. His throat began to squeeze shut and his breath came out in short puffy. Horza’s heart throbbed in his ears and his eyes began to ache.
It’s still so… so raw…
Dark and thick with a shiny gloss of scar tissue. Pushkrimp never complained of any pain that he felt, not- not then and not now. Does it still hurt…? How can he look at Horza and think that he would be the one to hurt him and not the other way around…? The circumstances of that fight were terrible. Horza can’t even bring himself to feel regret for it but a twinge of guilt is still squeezing around his throat like some sort of viper. A splash had Horza’s heart dropping and his eyes pulling upright.
Pushkrimp was barely waist deep in the water that Horza was barely able to poke his head out of. He looked at Horza, then around, then back to Horza. His ears were a little dark as well as just underneath his eyes. As tall as he was, he ducked down, so that his nose barely poked out from the water’s surface. His hair pooled around him, reaching almost to Horza as he stood a few feet away.
“...”
Perhaps this was a mistake… Pushkrimp looked miserable, the exact opposite of what Horza wanted… The large uruk blinked a few times, his reddish-orange irises grabbing the orc’s attention and pulling him to lock eyes with him. Pushkrimp exhaled through his mouth, bubbles forming just in front of his face. It was sort of cute in a way, if an uruk like Pushkrimp could be cute.
Which was something Horza thought was possible.
Pushkrimp closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping as he reopened them. He looked over to Horza, then away, almost sheepishly.
“‘s… g’d…” H-Huh…? What did he-
Oh.
‘It’s good.’
Horza felt his heart leap into his throat. Pushkrimp was terribly awkward but he was charming in his own way. Horza had to trust that he wouldn’t say or do something unless he truly meant it… and he did believe this. Pushkrimp didn’t have an aversion to intimacy but he seemed wholly unfamiliar to it. This was a change that he was ill accustomed to but instead of fearing he tried to embrace it.
Pushkrimp wanted to. He didn’t want to waste this opportunity that Horza had broached with him. Was he making a fool of himself? Likely, but instead of ridicule or a look of confused disgust, Horza seemed in utter awe, looking him up and down though… Surely he must be mistaken…? The little orc settled in close to Pushkrimp, not close enough to touch him but not so far that he was out of reach. Maybe he was testing him a little, to see what his intentions were, if he truly meant when he said he wanted to do right and wanted nothing but the best for Horza…
This would become a fixture in their lives. Neither thought another living creature would want to be anywhere near their bodies as they were, scarred, damaged, unattractive… But instead of revulsion and disgust being expressed, they both looked at each other through shy glances and a gaze that would sometimes be held for just a moment too long. Though… maybe it wasn’t long enough… Horza wanted to be closer to Pushkrimp and he the same. The little orc has offered often to wash the uruks back but he was hesitant, in spite of the fact that he has done the same for him many times. Pushkrimp wasn’t disgusted by Horza’s scars. He didn’t pity him either, though his heart ached and his throat squeezed shut ever time he remembered the fateful raid that had their paths meeting.
If he was only an hour later-
“Pushkrimp?”
Horza said his name with a peculiar accent. It always made his ears heat up a little. He picked at his nails under the water, swallowing thickly as he sighed.
“...go un-”
“W-Wha-?”
“G-Go-” Pushkrimp motioned over his shoulder with a tilt of his head. They both spoke in accents and dialects that were difficult to understand. Still, they didn’t get nearly as frustrated with each other as they thought the other would. A very pleasant surprise. Pushkrimp hoped that his anxiety would soothe after this gets done and for a brief second, he forgot about it as Horza’s cheeks darkened a little and his eyes lit up. Horza’s eyes are so… pretty… No, maybe ‘handsome’ would suit him better… or would he prefer ‘beautiful’...? Pushkrimp’s heart seized in his chest as the little orc waded behind him, cloth in hand. There was energy behind his step.
Until he saw his back.
I-It’s just like…
Gashes littered his back. Some mimicked symmetry, others were elongated, mismatched, hideously deep. There was no mistaking exactly what they were and the reasoning behind such punishment. The reason itself mattered not. It was cruel and they were as deep as they were faded. Old…
His own scars…
Pushkrimp picked up on Horza’s apprehension almost immediately. His initial, gut reaction was that of shame. Shame… His body sagged and his ears seemed to drop. Pushkrimp’s posture was no longer at ease and instead rigid. Expectant. He was anticipating something, though what he was unsure of. Ridicule? Disgust? Disappointment? Horza should be angry, perhaps. The suffering Pushkrimp experienced was nothing in comparison to his own, the Uruk would readily admit to this. His pains are old though not forgotten, still fresh in spite of all the centuries since they bloomed onto his back. He would never forget the bite of the switch against his back and his shoulders and the bitter words that shaped him into the thing he would become. Pushkrimp didn’t want pity, he didn’t even want understanding. He only wished Horza wouldn’t despise him further than he likely already did.
But how could he hate him so?
The first touch was on his right shoulder, delicate and feather light. It made his shoulder twitch with enough vigor that Horza thought he had harmed the larger uruk. Pushkrimp wouldn’t turn to face him, for fear of what he would see looking back at him. He didn’t want to know what the orc thought of him. He didn’t want to know if he even understood what he was looking at. Pushkrimp hoped he wouldn’t but…
He did.
Horza swallowed thickly and gently swiped the cloth against the Uruk’s back. Even here, there was hair… He could have smiled if he didn’t feel as though he would be sick. There were many, many markings on Pushkrimp’s back, nearly all whipping scars from his youth. Uruks greatly frowned upon being wounded in the back, something orcs shared with them. There were no markings of beast attacks, of other weapons of any kind. Only that of a whip against a young and defenseless Uruk’s back. Horza lowered his head as he gently washed Pushkrimp’s back, a touch that he was totally unfamiliar with and trembled against. Perhaps he was a little fearful of it, of Horza in such a moment of vulnerability. But Pushkrimp didn’t dare show much more of it, for fear that the little orc would stop touching him forever.
I meant to save two chapters as drafts on AO3 but accidentally published them instead so enjoy a double update for my fanfic How to Solve a Problem like a Balrog. 😅
Summary for chapter 7: With Narvi returning to Khazad-dum and Gil-Galad returning to Lindon, it is up to Adar, Celebrimbor, Galadriel, and Elrond to rebuild Eregion and prepare it for war. However, as Celebrimbor walks through his own city's streets, he is overcome with painful memories of his relationship with Annatar and must try to control his PTSD flashbacks and rising panic attack as he discusses Eregion's defenses with his friends.
Summary for chapter 8: The Uruks do their best to cheer Celebrimbor up, but it's going to take some tough love from Galadriel to put his own trauma driven thoughts into perspective.
It started terribly, but it could turn into something special.
Warnings: Wounds and Wound Care, Delusions, Recreational Drug Use
Fear is what gave him the courage to fight back, but fear is also what is now staying his hand. Gogat couldn’t keep what was real and what was imaginary in check. No matter how hard he stared, he couldn’t not see a terrible beast crouching just ahead and to the side of him. Gogat remembered all the stories that his clan would tell pups, as warnings to a possibly horrific fate of unending torment. The long, black hair, fair skin, piercing eyes and- oh shrakh- those claws… If that wasn’t an elf perched in front of him, then he didn’t know what was.
The right side of Gogat’s face throbbed and ached. It was warm- somehow warmer than the rest of his feverish body- and every few seconds his eye would twitch painfully and uncontrollably. He was able to keep his mouth shut and hide his pain well enough, but that… elf has keen fucking sight and seemed to always know the moment that things were becoming unbearable for the uruk. Once again, he rose to his terrible height. Gogat’s heart dropped before skyrocketing between his ears. His eyes… oh shrakh! Gogat’s eyes were jumping between the elf’s and his claws… Fuck- those claws… C-Coming closer to his f-face…!
Again! He’s trying to shove something down his throat again!! It takes every fiber of Gogat’s being to clench his jaw shut and clumsily raise his arms in a pathetic attempt to fend off his attacker. So many different and terrible possibilities raced through his mind: was he being poisoned? he was, wasn’t he?! is he going to die? oh fuck is this fucking elf going to steal his breath?! He was already becoming lightheaded from holding his breath. There was a long and drawn out hiss that escaped from the elf’s maw as he sat back onto his haunches.
“I-”
“NO! You a-aren’t turning ME into an elf, y-you DAEMON!”
…
…well, that was certainly something Hûra wasn’t expecting to hear today of all days. The fear was so poignant and frankly bizarre, he was at a loss of both words and actions. Turning him into an… elf…? He’s never heard something so ridiculous in his entire life! But… wait. That dialect… No, he simply misheard, or rather, heard something he wanted to hear. The lad was hysterical and could barely be understood. At this rate, he’s going to reopen his wounds… again. Hûra’s face dropped as he sighed once more. “I’m sorry, Gogat. I hope you can forgive me later…”
He needed the pain relief; it wasn’t in question and it wasn’t debatable. Gogat was weak enough that Hûra had little trouble in fending off his feeble attempts in pushing him away and managed to pry his mouth open and place the herbal medicine deep enough down his throat that when he quickly removed his fingers, the lad had no choice but to swallow out of sheer reflex. An uneasy knot formed in his stomach as the pup coughed and immediately attempted to shove his own fingers down his throat to either dig out the “poison” or force himself to vomit. No amount of begging would make him stop, so Hûra firmly but gently grasped his arms and softly hushed him and pleaded for him to calm down. Whatever fight was in him quickly died, and Gogat began to quietly sob and shake.
The extensive care that he needed far exceeded beyond that of pure physical healing. There was a lot of damage, but it wasn’t right to say that the pup was wrong. He had moments of cluttered hysteria, seeing and hearing things that weren’t accurate to reality. Most of the delusions centered around Hûra, himself, being a perceived threat- usually an elf that wants to turn him into an… elf? Or that he wants to poison him. Or steal his breath. Truly odd things… It was exhausting to tend to him… but Gogat still had moments of lucidity, and in those moments, slowly but surely, Hûra was forming an unsteady bond with him, and the delusions became less and less violent, as well as Gogat’s reactions to them.
Ibranniz had become rather close with the lad, taking to laying at his side or even on his person if he can handle the contact. She’s always a soothing presence, even to Hûra. And it’s no wonder that she’s attracted to him… Gogat was absentmindedly stroking her side as she lounged at his side. At first, he was terrified to touch her; not because she was a caragor, but because she was a dire. He at first did it in secret, scared of the scolding and inevitable punishment that he would receive. But… that punishment never came. And when he actually smiled when catching his caragor laying on top of Gogat? It did put him at ease, even just a little bit. In the haze of the pain of his face, there was another. Nausea and a deep rooted ache curled his toes and made writhing in pain nearly impossible. And with his now rapidly approaching headache on the horizon, Gogat felt like he was about to lose his fucking mind. And him smoking that pipeweed really wasn’t fucking helping at all.
“A-Ah- Um, s-sir…?” Oh fuck he’s gonna puke. Under different circumstances, Gogat wouldn’t dare to ask anything of Hûra; not only because he wasn’t in a position to do so, but because he was truly grateful to him despite the lingering fear he still feels towards him. Hûra was sitting far enough away that the smoke was barely noticeable, but even that was too much for Gogat who was already in the throes of withdrawal. Hûra turned his head, worry already knitting his brow as Gogat struggled to a seated position.
“What is it? Are you in pain?” Well… yeah? No shit…
“Urk… Uh- Hrmm… y-yeah but… I- uh, I’d- fucks sake- I need a s-smoke…” Gogat wiped his sweaty palms onto Ibranniz’s coat. She didn’t seem to mind much at all, though. The caragor is a grounding presence- one that he’s thankful for, given how he feels like he’s suffering from vertigo and that his head was about to fucking explode. He didn’t expect much- hell, he didn’t really expect anything at all- but to his surprise, Hûra got up without a word of complaint and offered him his pipe. His very own pipe…
“Go ahead, lad. Have your fill and worry not for me.”
Gogat didn’t think he heard him right. When the pipe wasn’t immediately retracted, he dumbly took it up between twitching and trembling fingers. The herb was still warm and smoldering in the pipe. Gogat focuses on it until his unbandaged eye stings and his injured one throbs with an intensity that nearly makes him swoon. This was his- was Hûra’s- own pipe, his own pipeweed… Yet he was giving it to Gogat. And then he smiled, gently placing his hand on the lad’s shoulder before stepping away, giving him some space.
He didn’t ask anything of Gogat, merely reminded him “Should you still not feel well, I shall give you something for your pain.” That is all. He… he just didn’t understand. How long has it been since he felt… this? Not since- N-Not since…
…
It was sweet and light, but still somehow flavorful. Between tears and hiccuped sobs, Gogat’s trembling body and throbbing headache became less because of his withdrawals, and more from the overwhelming emotions he was feeling. He was wrong about this el- NO!- about this uruk. For the first time since he’s quite literally ran face first into this uruk, Gogat can see him with both clear eyes- er, eye?- and a clear mind:
Hûra was no monster. His face was soft, but it had depth, weariness around the eyes. Around his soul… He could have left him to die- could have killed him outright! …but he didn’t. Hûra dealt with his shrakh and his outbursts and his attempts to maim him, and asked for nothing in return. “I want you better. That’s what you can do for me.” Even after he was finished, Gogat couldn’t bring himself to utter a single word. He is a coward, unable to look his elder in the eye and say “Thank you for saving my life, sir. What can I do to repay you?” He was scared of the answer, yet strangely enough Gogat was becoming more terrified of the prospect of parting ways with the shaman.
He must regain his strength and heal as quickly as possible. The longer his consciousness lingers, the more desperate his desire to earn his favour and somehow repay this debt, not out of obligation, but out of a want to strengthen the bond that was beginning to form between the two of them. Instead of speaking of when or how Gogat will go about his business alone, Hûra speaks as though he truly wishes for the lad to remain by his side! Ibranniz has long since forced Gogat onto his back, pinning him in place without outright crushing him. Unfortunately for him, lamenting and bitching and moaning won’t rush along his healing, no matter how much he wishes it to be so. So he closes his eyes and tries to ignore the thrumming of his heart and the specks of hope that have begun to sprout somewhere in his chest. Both exhausted and wide awake, Gogat can’t stop his mind from racing with thoughts both fair and foul. Still, he hopes against hope that this time- this time- it would be different. That it would end- no, wait… He doesn’t want this to end. Not yet…
Tagging @astariaeverlasting since they wanted to see this~
She looked at the camp from where she sat. The rocky outcropping loomed like a great wing over where she had pitched her tent, shielding it from any sneaky weather that may have started up overnight.
Smoke billowed from the tiny fire at the center; Thûn and Skaga knelt beside it and spoke quietly to one another. They'd become close in the last week, ever since the larger of the two nearly lost his life protecting the other from a caragor pack.
She remembered the worry that crept into her throat when she saw Thûn stained with inky dark blood as his smaller counterpart dragged him back into camp. That had been a long night with the sawbones. She sat and bathed the Uruk's brow alongside the impromptu healer, Burz, as he stitched wounds, reset bones, and poured thick draught into their comrade.
He whispered to her during a pause in his ministrations that Thûn likely wouldn't make it.
"'E's a tough bastard, that one, but half of 'im is swelling a caragor's belly. Dunno if there's enough left to keep that 'eart beating."
But, to her surprise and relief, the large pale-skinned Uruk was up and eating in the early hours the following morning. He chuckled at her worry, brushing off her tender touch.
"Takes more than a few pissed off 'gors ta kill me, Tark." His words were bold, rough, but she didnt miss how he leaned slightly into her palm before shaking it off like a horse with a fly.
She smiled. This little band was an odd one. She never imagined herself traveling intentionally with several aggressive orcs, but the ranger, Talion, was right. They needed to stop the Dark Lord before he covered the lands in darkness. She could always feel the threat of him like a frigid chill down her back. Even the thought of him made her pull her cloak tighter around her body.
Nearby, the first Uruk to have joined her (well, assigned to her was a better word) stood silent and serious. Krukzog had been with her the longest and she knew his mannerisms the best, which was saying something as most Uruk were erratic at best and feral at their worst. Krukzog was prone to sneering and puffing his chest at the others to show his position as her bodyguard, a position that he hated once but grew to hold with utmost respect and dedication.
She smiled at him as his eyes caught hers and he scowled.
"What?" His voice was intense, low and rocky in his barrel of a chest. His rude tone never meant anything, so she shrugged and returned to the map that laid over her legs. Heavy footballs drew her attention away again as her protector came to crouch beside her, leaning over her shoulder in that way that he did that meant he wanted closeness, but refused to ask for it. She didn't dare touch him, so she let the heat of his skin seep into her back instead.
To their left, a shadow moved through the trees and both of their gazes shifted momentarily as the Olog Braz-Ul stepped into the camp, two massive elk slung over his shoulder. The three Uruks by the fire swarmed him, chattering excitedly and taking the kills from him to be processed and turned into breakfast and travel-ready rations. Krukzog snorted softly and brought her back to the map.
He dragged his finger over the paper, his claw-like nail tracking along the river.
"We keep on this way, we're bound to reach the outpost by week's end. Few more days. Can ya handle that?" His speech pattern always surprised her; it was clearer and more clipped than most Uruks. It belied the intelligence behind his snarling countenance.
"I can. I'll ride as much as the horse can handle. We can shift the packs to Braz if needed, as well. I promise I will not be a burden to you."
Another snort and a bump with his elbow.
"You aren't one." Krukzog stood and resumed his casual yet guarded stance as those down below worked in relative silence.
A few more days, he said, and she'd have a chance at a real bed, fresh clothes. Maybe even a hot bath? She dared to hope.
The First One (or, The One where Birnj meets Orcs)
Her horse hated this. That much was certain. The big stallion was trained well and would stand quietly next to raging rivers, hollering children, and flocks of birds as they took up from the tall grasses. But, this? He danced around beneath her like he could bolt at any moment.
There were orcs everywhere.
Big, loud, armored warriors pushing past smaller and more lithe hunters and assassins, all of them with toothy grins and bright, twitchy eyes.
Birnj also didn't like this.
This outpost was several days ride from her village and she was exhausted. She'd heard the village elders talking about it. About the Man who was turning the Dark Lord's armies against him and sweeping across Middle Earth like a beacon of light. Some of them even referred to this Man as the Bright Lord.
They got one part right, at least. He was definitely employing Uruks, bolstered ranks of them no doubt able to topple the mightiest of evil. And all of them turned their eyes to her as she rode up to the gate. Two Ologs approached, making her horse sidestep and paw at the dirt.
"I come to speak with the Ranger." All the confidence she had practiced into her voice fled the moment she spoke aloud. Hells, she wanted to run. Laughter like rocks tumbling from a cliffside broke out through the amassed orcs.
"The Bright Lord ain't expectin' visitors. 'Specially not of the... 'womanly' persuasion." The Olog on her right spoke clearly, slowly, through a mouth big enough to swallow her whole.
Birnj replied, shakily, "No, I don't believe he is. I'd speak with him all the same, if you'll permit. I've come to offer aid to his cause."
"Aid?" A sneering, wretched voice wafted from behind the trolls. The crowd parted and a hunched figure came forward, eyes like molten suns in the painted scowl of his face. "Aid, is it? What makes you think, horse woman, that the Bright Lord would have any use for your aid?"
He spoke as if every word left a vile taste in his mouth. The woman shrunk from him despite sitting a foot or so above his head. He carried a long spear in his hand, feathers and tokens rattling against the iron tip as he walked, and he sniffed aggressively at the shoulder of the horse.
"I could help deliver messages." She offered, "Or cook. Sharpen swords, fletch arrows, give relief to the sick or wounded. Please..." Birnj fumbled with an honorific for the Uruk as he walked widely around them. On her right, now, he caught the hem of her dress and lifted it just enough to reveal her boot before she batted it away and backed her stallion up several steps.
"I wish to see the Bright Lord. Let me through." Her voice warbled like she was about to cry. The Uruks pressed forward, stalking like wolves towards her. "Let me pass!"
"What about the aid you promised, pet?" Another smaller fellow licked his lips, eyes ablaze. "Food, didn't you say? I'm SO hungry."
"So am I. Starvin'. And ain't you some soft, tender, succulent meat, ay pretty one?"
More laughter rose up, this time tinted with an edge of something she couldn't name but knew intimately. She would die here if she didn't spin this horse and bolt, but turning her back to them felt impossible. Like if she took her eyes off of them, they'd pounce. The poor frightened horse, Aesi, reared and lashed out with his hooves, forcing Birnj to tuck her face into his mane to keep her balance.
"Stay back!"
The voice was loud and laced with command; it was like thunder broke through her chest and splintered her bones. Aesi settled instantly, champing at the bit as his rider fought to catch her breath. Around them, all the Uruks seemed also to simmer in their feral fervor. Most dropped to a knee, while a few, like the painted spear-wielder, simply lowered their gazes.
That's when she finally saw him.
He was just a Man, by all appearances, of average height and build with a dark curtain of hair and a sword upon his back. This was the Bright Lord? She squinted, unsure, but soon she, too, bowed her head.
"What business have you? Why are you here?"
His voice was softer now, no longer booming with authority but, rather, sharp with wariness. He came up alongside her, even going so far as to pat the copper red coat of her mount.
"My lord... sir. I am here to... to offer my skills and my blade, if necessary. I wish to help in any way I can."
It was the Man's turn to squint. His pale eyes watched her, curiously.
"You wish to help?" He glanced back to his army, to their fanged smiles and fondled daggers. He looked up at the tower that sat within the outpost; black birds circled lazily.
When the ranger's eyes came back to hers, there were crinkles in the corners.
"Let's talk."
(Another piece! @astariaeverlasting, you've fed the fire lol)
