Turning her attention back to the slowly roasting coney, Eoforhild tried not to pay particular attention to Aandar. In this way, she could pretend she was not sitting next to one of the wizard's monsters. Yet she did not need to see him to be uncomfortably aware of him. He had torn the flesh from his rabbit and had started cracking the bones to noisily suck out the marrow. Each snap seemed to echo in the silence of the late afternoon and make her cringe.
"Meat good," he murmured half to himself as he licked his fingers. "Not fresh, most time. No blood." Gesturing at the pile of discarded eviscera between his feet, he grunted. "Blood good." Eoforhild blanched and averted her eyes. Noticing her reaction, Aandar sighed.
"What eat?" he growled. She darted an uncertain look at him.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean," she replied.
"You," he said, pointing at her. "What eat?" Waving a hand at the spitted rabbit, he snapped, "Don't like meat. What eat?"
"I... do like meat," she said. "I prefer it cooked, that's all. I eat other things besides meat, though, if that is what you are asking."
He nodded. "Ask. What eat?"
"Well," she said thoughtfully, "there were vegetables from farmers. We had bread. Once in awhile, fruit as well." Glancing at his furrowed brow, she smiled a little. "Fruit is sweet, and difficult to come by... where I lived. But we were never in want of bread. Several of the ladies were..." She stopped herself and spared him another cautious glance. He seemed wrapped in her words, yet not making any unwelcome conclusions. She relaxed somewhat. "Some were quite good at baking."
"Only meat. Bread bad," Aandar said, feeling almost as though he'd been cheated. He'd eaten bread in Isengard and found it to be one degree of foul or another most of the time. He had no concept of vegetables or fruits, and so dismissed them. Yet it seemed the female's experience was broader, and he was curious.
Eoforhild nodded in agreement. "The bread was indeed vile, I must say. I don't suppose..." Halting, she reminded herself with whom she was sitting. This was not some young man visiting the brothel, nor was it a tradesman come to sell foodstuffs for the larder. He was a killer and a rapist. She was not sure she wanted to become familiar with him as though he were not.
Tilting his head, he frowned and prompted, "Suppose what?"
"I... only wondered who... who might have baked it," she breathed.
"Hmph," he snorted, turning back to the fire. He began methodically breaking sticks in pieces and tossing them in amongst the flames. "Snaga most like. Cook for Dunland fucks. Eat bread. Cook meat." He spat on the ground and curled his lip disdainfully. "Say, Uruk bad. Say, Uruk dumb. Say, Uruk suck cock. Dunland suck Master cock. Dunland don't know suck Master cock. Pushdugûrzu flâgîtu." Grinning and shaking his head, he laughed.
"So... you believe cooking meat... is a bad thing?" Eoforhild asked cautiously. She didn't particularly want further details on the more... ribald references. The last time she was intrigued by the complexities of his life, she was introduced to some very disquieting things.
Sobering, Aandar regarded her. "Not you. Dunland fucks. You not Dunland. You..." His brow furrowed deeply. "What name?"
Swallowing hard, she said, "Eoforhild."
Aandar grimaced at the difficult word. "Nar," he said, shaking his head. "Too big. Need small." Appraising her a moment, a slow smile curved his mouth. "Thaktor." That was a good name for her, he decided. In his opinion, it described her well. Yet she did not seem pleased.
"I do not wish to be called by another name than my own," she said stiffly. "Not anymore."
"Not like?" he snarled harshly. Eoforhild flinched, expecting him to strike her. His growl quieted somewhat. "Why not like?" he asked more calmly.
"I do not know what it means," she said evasively. Truly, could he understand what it had been like, being branded with a number, her own name driven into hiding by the Pitmaster's lash and the wizard's lists and ledgers? To be categorized as little more than a broodmare, yet less respected than the horses her folk so loved?
A boyish grin curved Aandar's mouth. "Thak mean face," he informed her, reaching up to brush her cheek with the back of a clawed finger. She startled from the unexpectedly soft touch. "Tor mean... nice look at. See, good."
She darted a glance at him and found his expression did not seem to be teasing or taunting. Her hand rose of its own accord to lightly touch her own cheek. Eoforhild could feel the raggedly-healed scars left by the first Uruk. Her eyes widened and her chin began to tremble. She lurched from the log she was sitting on and staggered away.
Dumbfounded, Aandar watched her abrupt departure, and a moment of panic gripped him. He thought she was going to leave entirely. But she only went to a large tree nearby and sagged against it. Her shoulders shook and she covered her face in her hands.
There was, actually, very little Aandar understood about whiteskins. One of the things that baffled him was the leaking eyes business. He wasn't certain, but it looked a bit like that was what was happening here. Standing up with a slight wince, he limped over to her and breathed in her scent.
She was still afraid of him, so nothing had changed from when he first reached for her in the tunnel. This reaction made no sense. "Thaktor," he murmured, "what wrong?"
"Please do not call me that," she hissed over her shoulder, but did not turn around.
"Why?" he asked. "Insult?"
"You cannot understand," she muttered.
"Not dumb," he snarled. "Tell. Why?"
Releasing a shuddering breath, Eoforhild hugged herself and closed her eyes. "I used to be... beautiful... in the eyes of Men. Many... preferred me over... over others, and I... benefitted from such... regard." Glancing back at him, she winced and looked away quickly. He was alarmingly close, perhaps only a few feet away, and looking at her so intently, she felt a spark of anger flare. "Your kind butchered my beauty," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I have nothing... nothing left of it. You mock me with such a name. That is 'insult.'"
Aandar wasn't quite sure what to think, certainly not what to say. Her scars were what made her so beautiful to him. Surely she was as proud of her marks as he was of his! But he remembered hers were not received in battle, nor was she able to pay them back in kind. There were, admittedly, some of his own he did not care to brag of.
"No insult," he said. "Face... not ugly. Body... not ugly. Aandar like." He smiled, hoping she'd be pleased.
Her shoulders shook with bitter mirth. "Fit only for Orcs, then," she said quietly.
"Nar," he purred, stepping closer. "Fit for Aandar." His clawed hands closed on her upper arms and he nuzzled the back of her neck. She stiffened and shivered, then whimpered and easily pulled from his loose grip.
Turning, she stepped backwards, retreating from him. He was stunned by the terror in her face. "You promised! You said you wouldn't!"
He blinked, uncomprehending for a moment. Seeing how she shielded herself, he tilted his head with impatience. "Akh, Aandar promise. Don't break word. No fuck, just touch. That all."
Taking a deep breath, she fought to pull herself together. Her heart was racing. "Do not touch me. Please. You... you frighten me."
"Aandar promise," he insisted angrily. "No fuck. Don't promise not touch. Don't want touch now?"
She stared at him incredulously, and wished desperately that she was wearing a more dignified dress than his over-sized tunic that only reached to mid-thigh. She most certainly did not want him taking liberties with so little barrier between his roaming hands and...
Eoforhild had not been remotely prudish since she began whoring, but there was a familiarity in such engagement. Those men were her own kind, they understood the limits according to what was paid, and though often repellent, their touch was familiar. Though minimal given her profession, she retained some measure of control over the situation. Were she to allow Aandar to run his hands all over her, his familiarity would put her back in Isengard, back in the breeding room, and back into helplessness.
He'd already admitted to being insatiable. She felt certain touching her would not be all he did, promise be damned. Though he seemed different from the others, he was still one of them, and he was repellent to her.
Gritting her teeth, she snarled, "I do not trust you, Aandar. Or your word."
Leveling a clawed finger at her, he growled, "You insult."
"What do you expect?" she cried. "What have I seen of your folk? Brutal monsters with but one intent: slaughter and rapine. There is no trusting a beast that cannot think but of cruelty and misery."
"Not beast!" he roared, quivering in fury. "Aandar not beast! Not dumb! Can think other thing. You insult. Like Master. Like Dunland. No better." He slashed the air with his flattened hand. "All time, better than Aandar. All better than Aandar. Master say, shut mouth. Master say, follow Dunland leader. Master not give fuck for Aandar! Uruk-hai leader say, Akh, Sharkû, akh, Goth, paash-izg zuat ghru-lab, Sharkû! On knee, suck Sharkû cock, not give fuck for Aandar, only leader!"
Gasping for breath, he stood there seething and glaring at her. Eoforhild clutched the neck of the tunic he'd given her and stared at him, afraid yet aware of the bitter disappointment in his words. "Your... leader... did not defend you?"
He blinked at her for a moment, then snapped, "Nar, not defend. Make shut mouth. Get Pitmaster; say, shut Aandar mouth. Aandar mouth run too much. Dunland insult. Leader say, take it. Say, Aandar not kill Dunland. Pitmaster say, put Aandar in piss-pit; that shut Aandar mouth."
Eoforhild's eyes widened. "What? You were put where?"
"Piss-pit," he said succinctly, curling his lip in remembered indignation. "Two day, get piss and shit from Uruk-hai. No meat, no drink, just piss and shit."
"Had you killed someone, and this was your punishment?" she asked with disgust.
Taken aback, Aandar snarled, "Nar, not kill. Want kill, but no kill. Big mouth don't shut, Pitmaster say. Big... dumb... mouth." His brow furrowed and his head bowed. He turned away sharply and went to slump sullenly on the log.
Leaning back against the tree, she regarded the Uruk. His was positively the worst grasp of the common tongue she'd ever encountered in her albeit limited exposure within Isengard. It hadn't occurred to her that this might be a source of ridicule for him, or that he would feel something akin to embarrassment from such a shortcoming.
She also realized that she had insulted him. He'd shown remarkable restraint. It was not just rape she knew these creatures to indulge with their victims. He could easily entertain himself in a myriad other ways. While there was no doubt in her mind that he had done the sorts of things that plagued her dreams, for whatever reason he was not doing them now. She must not give him a reason to change his mind on that score.
"Aandar," she said timidly, yet could not quite bring herself to approach him. He glanced briefly at her, a scowl still on his face. "I... apologize. You have given your word. I... believe you."
He didn't look at her, but he nodded sharply and snorted. Then he rose and stretched, roughly rubbing his injured back. Eoforhild stiffened and watched him carefully, but he seemed to have no more sinister purpose in mind than to gather more wood for the fire. She breathed a sigh of relief that he did not seem overtly sore about the conversation.
The sun was beginning to set, casting the already cold mountainside into late winter's chill. As Aandar was ensuring they had enough firewood to last the night, and keeping the flames high enough to warm them, she wondered what the sleeping arrangement was meant to be. The thought startled her into renewed panic.
Yet the smell of her well-cooked meal of rabbit began to seep past her fears, and she found herself edging back to the fire. Sitting cautiously a few feet from the Uruk busying himself with arranging the wood to burn steadily through the night, she took up the skewer and blew delicately on the sizzling carcass to cool it. He darted a curious look at her, but otherwise paid her little mind.
Night was coming on quickly, so Aandar began clearing a spot next to the fire for sleeping. This was often how it was when on the march with his fellows; bare earth and the hope you'd picked the spot without a root or stone to plague you all night. He ran his hands over the cold, hard-packed dirt carefully, feeling out even the smallest pebbles and casting them aside. He made sure he cleared enough ground for them both.
Physical contact was so pervasive among the Uruk-hai that it didn't immediately occur to him that Thaktor, being a whiteskin, might not want him up against her as they slept. In the barracks, when things calmed down enough for sleep, they lay clustered and pressed tight, resting heads on another's limbs or with arms draped over another's torso. True, there was often a fair amount of groping and pawing, but it was of a friendly sort. He didn't mind a lesser Uruk jerking his cock of a morning, as long as it wasn't expected of him.
But as sometimes happened, someone bigger than Aandar made an undeniable 'request,' and it was either take him in hand or get it rammed down your throat. Aandar always chose the hand.
It was strange to imagine resting without two or three dozen of his fellows curled up around and beside him, their warm bodies a comforting press against his, the growling snores lulling him contentedly. Such closeness gave a sense of belonging he got nowhere else, not even in the exchanges of idle banter in the mess hall or on the march. He wanted this closeness with Thaktor, for she was beautiful, soft, and warm. Her scent was fascinating to him; he'd never been in the company of a whiteskin female long enough to note what they smelled like. Now he had time and freedom to explore her.
Sitting down in the cleared space, he looked expectantly at her. She was delicately biting small pieces off the coney with her flat teeth. Sometimes as she chewed, her eyes closed and she sighed. He guessed she hadn't gotten fresh meat any more often than he, and smiled in understanding.
When she finished and set the coney down (still with plenty of good bits left, he noticed with consternation), he said quietly, "Thaktor, come. Lie here." He patted the ground next to him.
Eoforhild slowly turned her head. She'd expected it, but was not sure she was ready to be so close to him. Perhaps he wasn't one of the ones who assaulted her, and perhaps... perhaps... they were not entirely guilty in the torments they inflicted, if their Master was manipulating their minds as Aandar said, but he was still an Uruk, and memories of their treatment were still fresh.
Yet could she prevail against him if he demanded her compliance? She knew she could not, and slowly rose. Taking a deep breath, she reluctantly approached him.
"What do you want from me, Aandar?" she breathed unsteadily.
He laid his hand flat on the space next to him. "Lie here," he said firmly. "By Aandar. Close. Warm. Feel good." Because she was flinching some more and had turned her face from him, he added, "No fuck. Promise."
Closing her eyes, she decided to make some sort of stand. She did not want to be his slave, accepting yet another person's will suppressing her own. Perhaps it was a small thing, but she'd been separated from it for so long, to have it back in her own hands gave her so much relief. It was almost as though her life were returning to normal. Holding her chin up, she said tightly, "You must... call me by my name, or I will not lie next to you."
"Thaktor," he rumbled quietly, patting the ground again. "Come. Lie."
"No," she said firmly. "That is not my name. I told you my name. I will not lie next to you unless you say it."
Aandar growled deeply, then huffed with impatience. Furrowing his brow in concentration, he tried to remember the strange-sounding word she'd said, and came up with a jumble of vowels with no meaning. Uruk names were easy; they put pictures in your head when you said them. Her name did nothing.
He supposed he could make her lie down. But she was free, as was he. He wouldn't want her to order him about or make him do things he didn't want to do. He had plenty of stripes across his back to prove how much he hated that. And besides, she'd do it, he just needed to do one small thing; say that weird word. Not so hard.
Except he couldn't remember it.
Grunting, he gave up trying to remember and asked as nicely as he could, "What name?"
Sighing with annoyance, she said, "Eoforhild."
Frowning, he rolled the name over and over in his mind, testing it, tasting it, examining it. He did not know its meaning, but it must mean something. Names always meant something. That he didn't understand what his meant was immaterial. He knew the word in common but had no idea what it meant. Or what the Pitmaster was talking about when he said, 'What good you'll be is the mystery.' It didn't make sense.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he concentrated on her name. When he felt he had probed and prodded it enough, he looked up at her and said slowly, "Eh... oh... for... hild." Her eyebrows rose a touch, and he felt more confident. "Eh-oh-for-hild," he said more quickly, yet still beating the syllables out like a dusty rug.
Eoforhild had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. He seemed so like a very young man in his eagerness to please and quick hurt when insulted. She was beginning to see that his face, though brutal and dark-skinned, was very expressive. Perhaps his eyes pierced, but the rest of his face was open and almost friendly at times.
A beast may hide in ambush, she reminded herself, and her smile faded.
"Eoforhild," he said triumphantly.
A small sense of relief at the victory eased her tension somewhat. Nodding, she said, "Promise to use it, if you please. Call me Eoforhild."
Sagging with disappointment, he grumbled, "Call Eoforhild. Not... not Thaktor." Then he added under his breath rather petulantly, "Like Thaktor. Remember Thaktor. Don't remember Eoforhild."
"It is not that difficult," she said defensively, then froze as he leveled a glare at her. "I do not mean..."
"Not... dumb," he snarled. "Eoforhild say nothing. Thaktor say all. Say Thaktor, see you." He gestured with both hands, as though to cup her head in them, though she was several feet away. "Say Eoforhild, see nothing. Mean nothing."
"Oh," Eoforhild said in sudden comprehension as she slowly knelt in front of him. "You do not know what it means, and that makes it... difficult to recall. Then... does your name mean something?"
Nodding, he sat up and pointed at the center of his chest. For the first time, she made herself look there. She'd only glanced at his back; she'd not made note of his front. The firelight did little to show the scar he was pointing to, yet she was able to make out twin undulating lines in horizontal orientation, perhaps a handspan across and separated by roughly two fingers of distance. It seemed a terribly crude representation of water.
Looking up at his face, she asked, "Your name means water?"
He chuckled. "Nar. Aandar mean 'mystery.'" He shrugged and waved vaguely at his chest. "Don't know this. Don't know 'mystery.' Pitmaster give name, burn Uruk-hai with name."
She felt rather certain she knew why he was called 'mystery' in his own tongue, for he presented such a large one to her, even as he revealed the greater mystery of his time in Isengard. Staring at his scar, she recalled her own brand, and raised her arm to look at it now, when she had purposely avoided it up to this point.
Even such a brief glance filled her mind with screams of torment, and she hastily looked away.
"What Eoforhild mean?" Aandar asked.
Shaking herself, she replied, "Nothing... interesting. I believe it means 'boar battle' or somesuch nonsense. My father hoped for a strong child." She bowed her head sadly. Her only consolation for the destruction of that town was that it was not the one she was raised in, and so her parents were not there. She'd shamed them enough even before she was taken.
"What part mean 'battle'?" the Uruk asked curiously, tilting his head.
"The 'hild' part."
He grunted and nodded. "Eoforhild strong. Go to pits. Live. Bad in pits. No battle, just shame."
"The battle has not ended," she whispered.
Looking at her oddly, he said, "What battle?"
"Memories," she said quietly, staring at the ground between them. "Painful memories."
He watched her for several moments. While her eyes did not leak, she still seemed sad. He rarely saw sad Orcs; never saw sad Uruk-hai. Mostly what made an Orc sad was missing his mate, for they were not allowed within the valley.
Aandar didn't even know what a mate was, certainly not what would make it so wonderful that its absence saddened an Orc. But it was always the answer whenever he asked.
"Eoforhild miss mate?" he suggested. She startled and looked up at him in surprise.
"What makes you say that?" she asked.
"Sad. Orc sad, say, miss mate. Yuh miss mate?"
She swallowed hard and felt herself trembling a bit more than before. "I... have no mate. I am... sad... because I miss my home. My family. My... my friends."
"What family?" he asked curiously. "What friends?"
She took a long shuddering breath. "My family... is my mother and father. I have an older brother. He has likely gone to fight for our king. My friends are... those I... work with." She refused to look at him, and told herself that she had told him quite enough about her 'friends.' No further details should be given.
His head kept tilting to the side, his brow furrowed. "Mother?"
Wincing, she decided to put a stop to his endless banter now. He obviously wanted to know what the word meant, but she did not wish to discuss what a mother was when she had been forced to bear the spawn of his kind several times. So soon after gaining her freedom from that place, and escaping a fourth foul begetting, seemed a grossly inappropriate moment to even bring up the subject. And should he continue with his inquiry, the matter of her 'friends' might lead to revelations she was not inclined to make. "Please. I do not wish to talk about it. I want to sleep."
"Akh," he nodded agreeably, and lay on his side. He pillowed his head on his arm.
Turning her back to him, Eoforhild reluctantly lay down with a good two feet between them. Surely this would satisfy him. She was just settling as comfortably as she could when he spoke.
"Touch? Please?"
Tensing, she hissed, "I do not want to touch you, nor do I want your hands on me."
He huffed behind her, clearly disgruntled by her refusal. "Promise, keep yuh warm. Touch warm."
"The fire is doing quite well," she said tightly, even as a slight breeze struck her lightly-clothed body and she shivered.
Sighing, he said quietly, "Need touch. Need Eoforhild close."
His voice was pleading, she realized. Harsh as it was normally, it seemed almost sadly desperate now. Though no anger hardened his voice, she did not trust that he would remain calm, for she knew he would continue to ask. She was taught well by the Pitmaster the folly of defiance.
Shuddering, she gingerly moved backwards into the curve of his body. She felt his heat nearly as much as the campfire's. It gave her pause; she'd never actually been embraced by one of them. They stood at the end of the table to do their business, and made no effort to draw her close. She'd been glad of their coldness, for intimacies in such a situation would have been even more horrific.
But now she was finding that they were not cold by any means. Aandar's body was quite warm indeed. Almost... comforting. She shook that thought away as dangerous. Do not let your guard down.
He drew up his legs, curling forward against her and obliging her to curl forward as well. This put her backside in contact with his manhood. Though flaccid, she could feel it.
Again, she wished for voluminous layers of skirting to protect her nakedness from him, regardless that he still wore his leather breeches. They did not seem to diminish her awareness of him. To add to her discomfort, he wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her even closer to him. She stiffened and sucked in a frightened breath.
"No fuck, just touch," he breathed close to her ear. "No fuck."
Eoforhild tried hard to relax into sleep, for she was truly exhausted. In the span of one day, she had faced death in myriad forms. Her life was saved by the last person she could have imagined doing so. Behind her, the Uruk's breathing was already evening out and growing deep.
She woke up that morning in a dank cell hundreds of feet below the earth, expecting to die. Hoping to die, for the humiliation and pain of the 'breeding' were too much to bear. She would have defined a 'good day' as one which saw her death at the hands of an overly-rough Uruk at the table. Failing that, she might have died during the brutal fortnight of accelerated growth, sucked dry by the parasite within her. In the end, the gorey extraction would have finished her for good and all. It was a relief she clung to.
Unexpectedly, all her 'plans' for the day were set to ruin by a simple debt from an Uruk. She'd taken his part for selfish reasons, she knew; she didn't want someone worse. Though he'd likely bruised her, and she was still a trifle sore, it was not as bad as what she'd endured before.
It was disturbing to acknowledge that, had she not aided him in fooling the Pitmaster, he would not have been simply replaced by another and sent back to the ranks. He was chosen for this particular duty; if he could not fulfill it, his use was ended. By his own words, he would have been slain where he stood.
She had truly saved his life. And as any Man bound by honor would do, he reciprocated, saving hers in return.
Eoforhild might have attributed his deed to simple lust or collecting spoils on the way out, but for his own words: 'Owe yuh.' So he must have considered it a debt owed. But now that debt had been paid, and they were even, weren't they?
Perhaps now it was a matter of survival. She did not know where they were, though she guessed it must be the Misty Mountains. It was a hostile place, to be sure. Yet she was no use to him for protection. Her 'talents' did not include swordplay of the kind required in the wilds. He seemed content for the time being to deny his natural lusts in exchange for her presence, but for how long?
Or was his aversion to solitude so profound he'd pay any price?
Even as the thought formed in her mind, she felt him shift slightly and purr like a cat with a belly full of milk and a gentle hand stroking its fur. She could even feel the vibration in his chest against her back. She wondered at the sound he made, but stiffened with alarm when his encircling arm moved.
With one lazy movement she might have blocked had she been ready for it, Aandar shifted his hand up from her waist to cover her breast. She lay paralyzed, afraid to move. His rumbling seemed to stutter for a moment as his fingers lightly squeezed.
She willed herself to remain still, biting back a protest. A whimper of fear escaped her. She still believed if she woke him, he would finish what he started rather than honor his word.
Yet he only cupped her breast, sparing her his claws. Settling in with a contented sigh, he drifted deeper into sleep, holding her snugly against him.
Drawing a shuddering breath, Eoforhild slowly let her tensions ease a bit. Though she felt trapped, it did not seem like the same sort of entrapment she felt before. Her jailor had given her the keys to her cell, as it were. If he were to be believed, to be trusted, she was free to leave if she wished.
Now that he was quiet again, she went over the things he'd said and done since the breeding room, and asked herself if this were truly so repellent an arrangement. Her beauty was destroyed, albeit by his kind, but not by him. Even if her town had not been leveled by the raiding Uruk-hai and Dunlendings, she would not be able to return there.
It was hurtful enough being whispered about behind her back for a choice she had made. She received many hateful glares from women whose husbands sought her or other ladies' services in the brothel. She did not wish to be the object of scorn for something she had no ability to prevent.
Her folk were known to her, with all their virtues and faults. There might be a scrap of pity shown her from those sharing her profession, but no others. What was done to her would be impossible to hide; she bore the marks of Isengard upon her face and body. The whispered words would surely imply that her whoring had gotten her what she deserved. That she complied with the wizard's demands and aided his goals. That she willingly spread her legs for his Orcs, because she's a whore, and a whore doesn't care who or what fucks her.
It would never occur to the people she'd known that even a whore can be raped.
In truth, Aandar knew nothing of her past. For him, she came into existence when he entered the breeding room. Unbelievably, he saved her from death with so little acquaintance, when the Pitmaster who'd been her tormenter for months did not spare her a glance as he scampered off to save his own hide. Should she condemn Aandar for the deeds of all his folk, or for those of the Pitmaster, or even the wizard?
Or should she give him a chance? Let him be her protector and try to ease his loneliness. No others of his kind escaped through that tunnel; as far as they could know, he alone of his kind survived. Perhaps that morning, she would have been smug over his loss, but now... He was more than a nameless Uruk sent to rape her. He was a person who had experiences that were, perhaps, more brutal than her own. He had strengths and weaknesses like anyone.
He also had feelings that could be hurt, and the capacity to extend comfort to another. Where had these things come from?
As she pondered the question, she decided he'd been well-named.
Translations:
Pushdugûrzu flâgîtu = Dungfilthy idiots (converting the noun, pushdug into a plural adjective to describe flâgît)
Thaktor = lovely face
Akh, Sharkû, akh, Goth, paash-izg zuat ghru-lab, Sharkû! = Yes, old man, yes, master, can I suck your cock, old man! (Sharkû, meaning 'old man,' is how the Uruk-hai refer to Saruman)
A/N: Among my Uruk-hai, blow jobs are generally indicative of submission to a more powerful individual. Not a particularly 'mutual' thing at all, and often used in reference to bowing down without a fight or 'selling out.'