2nd of June, by the Shire Reckoning, two years after the end of the War of the Ring. [Specifically after the death of Saruman.]

Rohan was so empty. But he should have expected that. There hadn't been many that returned from the war. But that was a good thing. That meant there were less people around to try and find out what the little hut was. Who lived there. Sure, he would have to deal with it sooner or later, but he would take that later. It would give Rokku enough time to get stronger. Get his legs under him. Then they could disappear, deal with the harsher weather. Dag crouched down, watching as his brother grabbed at nothing in the air. He should be moving by now. He should be walking again, barking orders. But he wasn't.

The scar that twisted across his face, all it did was make Dag remember the sickening crunch from the shield of a horselord, and then having to hold his brothers arm, to hold him up, until they could escape. When he had taken the great helm off, bits of scalp had came away, and Rokku had grunted like a crying babe. His skull had been dipped in in the back, and Dag didn't know what to do. They couldn't get back to Isengard, not with Rokku like this. So for all this time, nigh on two years, he had taken care of his brother. And the war was over, but he still didn't live yet. He could have ran out on him, easy enough. Survived well on his own. But he wasn't going to do that to his friend. Even if they weren't really brothers in anything but race, Rokku had always been like a brother to him, as the snaga said a brother acted like anyways.

So every morning, it was the same. He would rise with the son, and make sure his brother ate something. Usually soup or broth. He had discovered soon after they found this hut that anything that required a lot of chewing would almost choke Rokku to death. So soup it was. He'd bathe him, change his sheets, because the big Uruk-hai would mess himself in the night most times. And then Dag would go out into the plains, looking for deer or any other animal that he would be able to bring down for food. Bring it home, and do any repairs to the house that was necessary. Try to get Rokku out of his bed, get him to walk. If he wouldn't walk, try to get him to crawl. Anything to keep him active and get him out of the bed. Then the Uruk-Hai would clean the house, check the weapons, the battered armour he had managed to save, and would finally get himself to bed after making sure Rokku was asleep.

It wasn't the life that the white wizard had imagined for his fighting Uruk-Hai, but Dag was find with his life. They hadn't died in the great battle, or the drowning. They hadn't died at the black gates with the others of their kind, and they weren't some snaga slaves deep in the mountains were they couldn't see. He'd doubt Rokku would have survived it anyways. They probably would have eaten him. Dag wouldn't lie and say the thought hadn't crossed his mind. Just eat the big one for food, and run for the mountains. And as always, he felt ashamed for the though. Whatever Rokku was now, he had protected him, saved him. They were special. They had been born from the same sire, according to the marks on their chest. They had been together since the moment they were thrown in the barracks together, and had always helped and protected one another. Dag had seen what happened to those that weren't protected, the ones that were different, and Rokku had always saved him from that.

So that was Dag's life. Take care of his brother. Scout for food. Make sure the riders didn't come. Make sure the Dunlending's weren't coming. If they did, he was never quite sure what he would do. Get Rokku out? How? Even wasting away as he was, he was still big. Maybe not as much weight on him, but he was still as tall as Dag was. And they'd have to leave everything behind. Dag firmly put the thoughts out of his mind. Tomorrow was a new day, and any problems that they had would be dealt with then and only then. Otherwise, he'd lose his mind. And if he lost his too, who would take care of Rokku?

He had been watching them for months. The skinny one barely left the bed, did nothing but babble and cry. The larger one was capable, always hunting, always repairing the house and keeping things together. He didn't know anything about them, but they would do for his purpose. At the least, they were orcs. They would eat the brat if they didn't do anything else with it, and that was find enough for him. And after they took it, he could always speak to the Kings soldiers about the little hut with Uruk-Hai. They wouldn't care if one was sick. They'd still kill it, and put all the heads on pikes. Yes. That would solve his problems well. Gods curse that bitch of a sister! She had to make him promise to Bema that he wouldn't kill her child. But she hadn't made him promise anything about it dying by another hand. And that's exactly how he was going to get away with all of this, without shaming his family any more than it already had been. Ulfwine had not partaken of the eodred to Gondor, citing his weak sister, so ravaged by the Uruk-Hai raiders, as his reasoning not to travel with the army. And then she had whelped that half breed creature, and then decided to hang onto life for until a few months ago after doing it. He had to move away with her from Meduseld, out here into these plains, away from his friends, away from the women that were all aching for a husband by now.

Instead, he had to be here. With a yowling brat and a buried sister. He could have always left her in the grass and walked away, but the creature had an uncanny habit of scenting him out. So instead, he waited. And when the big one left for the morning, like he always did, Ulfwine drug the half asleep creature his sister had borne to their little hut. A bit of rope, a couple knots, and it was tied to the door. And he was free to leave. He couldn't help but aim a mean kick at it's head as he left. Payment for all he had suffered over the past few years, caring for both it and his sister, until her untimely death. Then Ulfwine disappeared into the grass, wandering back into the general direction of Meduseld. He would finally get his own life back, and never had to worry about feeding that foul little creature again. He ignored her cries, as he always had done, already thinking about a nice cup of caffee and a pretty wench to pinch.

The simple things in life, the ones that all men of his caliber deserved.

Crying.

Wasn't Rokku. Dag knew that sound well enough by now, the guttural growl and snarl and howl as tears streamed down his face. Sometimes Rokku reminded him of the great berserkers, he was just never angry. He just cried sometimes. Shifting the deer on his shoulders, Dag drew the knife at his side and kept walking forward. If it was a child, that meant parents were near. He might have to kill people today. It was more meat, if there were few and he got the drop on them. He sat the carcass down close to the clearing he had made for their little hut. Peering through the waving strands, it looked like... it looked like a goblin. He crept forward, noticing the rope around it's neck. The little creature was trying to walk, pulling on the rope, it's face changing colors as it couldn't get enough breathe in, between the rope and the crying. Where had she even come from?

He cast about smelling the air. There was a lingering scent of manflesh. He licked his lips unconsciously. But it was growing cold, so they weren't here anymore. And he could almost bet that if he smelled the rope, it'd smell like manflesh too. In the time it had taken him to think that over, smell the air, the little girl had gotten to her feet and run forward again. With a growl, he stomped forward, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck to hold her steady. The little orc child, and now that he was close he could see that was exactly what she was, squirmed and kicked at him as he tried. Finally fed up, he cuffed her around the head into silence and stillness, cutting through the rope. He crouched down, staring into her eyes. She still trembled, still had tears in her eyes, and he was shocked at how much she looked like... well, them.

"Mama!"

She rubbed her eyes, looking at him. She wanted her mother, eh? Well he certainly wasn't her mother. And she'd be too much of a mouth to feed, already straining what they had. He gripped the knife uncertainly, looking at her. She was weak. Almost pathetic. No wonder the wizard had put them in the ground to get away from this weakness. He gripped the knife again, knowing that the best thing to do was kill her, here and now. She would only bring them trouble. He sighed as she crumpled to the ground, saying 'Mama' over and over again. He couldn't kill her. Not after he had spent so much time looking after Rokku. He couldn't continue to save one that was weak and kill another for being weak. Rokku had always said that if you protected something smaller than you, one day it would get big and save your life. He had used that philosophy with Dag, and when the lean Uruk-Hai had finally filled out like he was supposed to, he had saved Rokku's life by bringing him here. Reaching down, he awkwardly patted the little ones back, trying to get her to stop crying.

"I don't know where your mama is. But you can stay here, if you want."

The little girl just kept crying. The large Uruk-Hai stayed there, rubbing the little ones back, until she stopped and he noticed she was asleep. Picking her up, he took her inside and put her on his bedroll. If he put her in bed with Rokku, he might roll over on her. Standing, he rolled his shoulders, pinching the broad bridge of his nose.

What the hell had he just gotten himself into?