Disclaimer: I do not own LOTR or the Grimm's fairy tale Rapunzel, only this storyline, my OCs and my artwork.

Chapter 1

"It was like a scene straight out of Beauty and the Beast. I kept waiting for a teapot to start singing."

— Jennifer L. Armentrout (Onyx (Lux, #2))

"Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."
— J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Harry Potter, #6))

Akhtoru sunk his teeth into his kill, relishing the tender flesh running through his teeth and scraping at his blackened gums. His stomach hissed and tugged painfully again, urging him to swallow faster and disregard the luxury of savouring his meal. He was close to moaning at how wonderful the meat tasted. It had been too long since he'd had a large meat sack like this for himself, but then again one didn't always have the good fortune to come across a full grown elk crumpled to the ground with a broken leg, having tumbled down the steep steps of rock beneath it. It was still alive when Akhtoru sniffed it out, and even at the sight of him had started to desperately squirm away with the terrified eyes prey always wore. One crush neck later and the Uruk was once again continuing his trek for a secluded camp for the night. The chances of that in an unfamiliar land 2 nights in a row were slim at best, so when dusk had claimed the day and his hunger could not be ignored any longer, Akhtoru contended himself with squeezing his bulk against the corpse of a rotting away tree, its roots escaping from the earth.

After having his trail picked up by a rouge band of orc hunters as he approached Angmar, (something he hadn't particularly been interested in visiting, but the dark lands were places his kind were always inclined to be drawn to), his only options had been to take an excursion into the homes of the half men, back track in the direction of Rivendell (a nasty place that stank of golug hai even leagues away, that he had barely managed to slip around the first time) or take his chances further north.

Of course, he wouldn't have had that problem at all if he hadn't strayed too close to the villages of the halflings in the first place. He hadn't survived this long by going on random excursions of pure curiosity into open areas of land, and because of his sharp thinking was likely to be one of the few survivors of his race; if he didn't know better, the last of them.

Perhaps he was tired of being cautious, of always living every day in solitude and away from any great forms of danger. Akhtoru had been born into a fiery world, learning to eat, piss and fight all in the space of hours; his kind were pack animals, they slept together, fought together and marched together.

But now here he was, far more than a stone's throw from anyone who wouldn't skewer him on sight.

Though a pathetic one, this was the only reason Akhtoru could think of to explain his change in course. The plan had been to stay in the wilderness, away from the civilisations of man, dwarf, elf and halfling altogether, but then again plans were rarely ever executed perfectly.

When he finally few upon the mouth of the forest, Akhtoru was barely a mile ahead of his hunters. They were more persistent and cunning that he would have thought, seasoned enough to stay down wind so that he had thought they had given up and relaxed his pace. The lapse of defence had almost been the end of him, but by some unforeseen luck Akhtoru had managed to create more distance after a brief skirmish that had lead him to kill one of his pursuers. However now he was running with a thick cut still bleeding down one shoulder and an arrow lodged in his thigh, wedged tightly between muscle and bone.

Uruk kai had an almost endless endurance; Akhtoru and his kind often ran for days with only the briefest of stops, feeling little pain while adrenaline coursed through their black blood, however the throb of his wounds were starting the become more pronounced as he stumbled past the first winding trees. Blood loss was making him dizzy, and while usually he would avoid large congregations of trees with abhorrence in memory of those that had lade waste to Isengard, right now all he could think about was the slim possibility of disappearing into the forest.

When Akhtoru finally halted, he clung onto the coalish bark of one tree, briefly noting how it seemed to be peeling and jagged. He stared at his own hand as it gripped the wood, disgusted by his own fatigue. His head was now pounding, and he could make out the thick iridescent fog that seemed to make him even more sluggish. His eyes stung as if he had stood too close to the smoke of a fire and his face was now slick with sweat and grime.

Panic filled Akhtoru as he felt himself growing heavier. With a last rush of defiance, he broke into an ending sprint, desperate to find clean, free air away from what ever sickness was flooding the place. The tumbling leaves and hooks of thorns scratched at his thick skin, causing him to roar as his wounds were tugged at. At some point the arrow was bent and snapped off, though the head still sat in his thigh. Akhtoru still desperately ran onwards.

It seemed an age later when he almost literally crashed into a distinctly solid stone structure of greyish, mottled granite. Thick rocks and sediment unevenly crafted an unintentional staircase away from the fog that wanted to steal Akhtoru's breath. In a split second decision he flung himself up and scaled the building with his talons. As he reached an impressive height the trees finally released him, granting him the clean open air that blew him awake instantly. He almost wept in relief, drinking in deep breaths as if he had just been diving.

A new sun was burning at the light blue of the sky, a paradox to the freezing air of the higher altitude. Akhtoru hungrily admired it until the pain in his nails reminded him of his precarious position. He looked above to see the top of the tower near where he was, a sturdy balcony proudly hanging only a few feet above him. Not even considering entering the claustrophobic forest again, Akhtoru continued to climb, quickly forcing his well built arms to pull him over the ledge of the balcony and place his clawed feet securely on the stone slabs.

Despite his recent renegade behaviour, Akhtoru remembered to be wary. He crouched low with a hand lingering near his hunting knife as he entered inside. Momentarily, he was stunned. The interior was a large circular room with a tall ceiling of bulking timber beams, several veils of long translucent fabric draping along them and down the walls. A dark wooden stair case was growing around the circumference of the room in a spiral until disappearing in a high landing Akhtoru could fully make out. Endless shelves of books, oddities, papers and even an odd golden contraption that enclosed several circles of glass were snuggly fitted between the steps and pillars, while a thick blue armchair sat alone in the precipice of several layered animal skins and carpets. A light scent of something unknown to him caressed his nose.

However, the strangest sight of all was of a mass of reptilian scales relaxing in the armchair and two narrowing red eyes glaring at him from the unravelling pile. His pointed ears pricked up to catch a noise behind him. Before Akhtoru could unfreeze from that stare he was under, a sharp pain exploded in his skull and everything went black.

There is a horribly low amount of stories about orcs compared to Legolas fics, so I thought I would add something of my own.

This has been a story that been bugging me to be written for a good year, and I finally have a plot worked out enough to start. A cross of Grimm's Rapunzel and LOTR, hopefully minimising the mary sue-ness of it all.

Thank you for reading, and please review to tell me what you think :D

Love,

Renzin xo