Payment Due

The following day, Lily was horrified to see the Uruk beaten on the parade ground with all the camp watching. Morglok was dragged from his cell in the crisp morning light, and tied to a post. Pappy applied the whip himself, sending it singing through the air to lay open the Uruk's broad back. Morglok's eyes were squeezed shut through the flogging, his jaw set firmly against any pained groan or cry that might have sought release. He couldn't even stand on his own.

But Lily was more appalled by the look on Pappy's face, seemingly more bestial than the Uruk's. It was clear to her that he took grim pleasure in abusing the Uruk, perhaps too much pleasure. Even after Morglok passed out, his body going completely limp, Pappy continued. A quiet word from the captain, repeated more urgently when it was ignored the first time, finally stilled the whip. Silence descended on the camp; all were staring at the broken body of the Uruk, dark skin blackened by its blood, flies beginning to gather at the promise of a meal.

She looked at their faces, these people she had lived with in the stockade's settlement for so many years. Some were openly pleased. A few appeared disappointed that the Uruk still lived. Slowly, the crowd dispersed, going back to their chores, their lives, their comforts. Guards came and dragged the Uruk back to his cell. Lily did not want to speak with Pappy now, nor the captain, and went straight back to her own little cottage. There were things she needed to do.

Well past midnight, Lily crept to the prison and let herself in. Among her many privileges was a set of keys for opening all the cells, for she often needed to visit at odd hours. The guards were not very attentive within the prison; only a handful of prisoners were there, and none were of much interest apart from the Uruk, and even he was no longer a threat. Lily easily slipped from shadow to shadow, avoiding their meandering, disinterested patrols, and let herself into the Uruk's cell.

It was pitch dark in there, but that couldn't be helped. A torch would only arouse suspicion. She could hear his breathing, slow and steady, as he slept. Following the sound, she reached out and felt for him.

"Morglok," she whispered tentatively. I must be mad, she thought, sneaking up on a sleeping orc in the dark. When her fingers brushed his skin, she was relieved; still warm, though his breathing should have told her his condition. Still, it was reassuring.

"Morglok," she repeated, nudging what she hoped was his shoulder.

"What do you want?" he growled suddenly, not troubling to keep his voice down.

"Sshh!" she hissed.

"Why are you here?" he asked a bit more quietly.

"Ask no questions," she snapped. "Can you stand?"

There was silence for several moments, broken only by the rattling of chains as he shifted his body. "Yes," he replied simply.

Groping in the darkness, she found the manacles and with shaking fingers, unlocked them. Her hands brushed his skin many times, but she willed herself to continue, swallowing the revulsion that instinctively rose.

Freed from his bonds, he allowed her to assist him to his feet. She bade him lean on her, and led him out into the flickering torchlight of the corridor. His footsteps were sluggish, his limbs unused to movement, his body so wasted it was a wonder he could walk at all.

"Guards?" the Uruk questioned when they made it to the end of the hall without meeting anyone.

"They think you are broken," she whispered with some effort. He was very heavy, and his bad leg forced him to use her body nearly in the office of a crutch. "There are no others in this wing. The guards are few. We will meet none until we are nearly out. Then...payment is expected." She grimaced at the hateful thought.

"What payment?" Morglok asked suspiciously.

"Never you mind," she said. "It is for me to pay, not you."

He seemed satisfied and fell silent until they reached the guard post at the exit. The guard on duty rose when they entered, and Morglok growled low in his throat. Lily set him to lean against the doorframe and approached the leering guard.

"Going through with it, are ye?" he asked. "What sick ideas you got in mind, woman?"

"Enough," Lily said. "Answers were not part of the bargain."

"Fair enough," the man said, then took hold of her and pulled her close. She stood stiff-armed and rigid as he kissed her roughly, his mouth reeking of ale and onions. "Come along, Lily," he breathed. "You're like a dead thing. Loosen up."

"That was also not part of the bargain," she snarled through clenched teeth.

"Saving yourself, eh?" he grunted, then pulled his hand back and let it fly, striking her so hard she spun and fell against the rough table. Looking up, she saw the Uruk in the doorway, his head cocked to the side, confusion on his bestial face. She looked away, fixing her eyes on the wall, knuckles whitening from her tight grip on the table as the guard forced himself upon her.

I will not scream, she told herself. It will be over soon, please let it be over soon.

When he was finished, she composed herself with as much dignity as she could muster and went to fetch the bewildered Uruk. As they passed the guard, now lounging satisfied in his chair, feet on the table, he sneered at the towering prisoner.

"There's some mighty fine cunt there, orc. Have a nice night."

The cool night air caressed her face like a lover's kiss. Her objective was behind the slaughterhouse, ironically enough. There, covered by an ages-old overgrowth of vines, was a door. Few but the commanders and some of the common folk knew of its existence. Its purpose was as an escape in times of siege, though no such threat had appeared for many generations.

Lily wrestled with the rusted lock, growing more desperate as time dragged on. She wanted so badly to get away from this place, where friends had become monsters overnight, and humiliations were required as bribes. She fought to suppress the scream of shame and fury the guard had planted in the pit of her stomach.

Rattling the key in the lock with growing hysteria, she nearly shrieked when the dark, clawed hand of the Uruk closed over hers and pulled her away. With little effort, he turned the resistant key in the lock and handed it back to her. Putting her shoulder against the door, she pushed it open squealing on its hinges. Together, they left the compound. Lily closed and locked the door behind them.

The air seemed much cleaner and more inviting outside. They made their slow progress to a line of trees in the distance. Lily had her mare tied up there. If they made it that far, perhaps they stood a chance.

There was no moon that night, so the guards never saw them leave. It wasn't until they were safely in the woods a mile away, and Lily was sorting through the bundles on her mare's back, that Morglok finally spoke.

"Why?" he asked.

Glancing up at him, she considered her words carefully. "I don't know what you are," she said hesitantly. "I know what you said, but that tells me nothing." She handed him a long, thick cloak from one of the bags. He wrapped it around his shoulders, yellow eyes never leaving hers. "I thought I knew my people well. I believed them when they told me that sometimes a rough hand is needed to coax valuable information from a prisoner." Looking away with sudden embarrassment, she said quietly, "Lies. It was all lies. The longer you have resisted, the more they are revealed to me. I no longer believe they want information from you. I don't think they care. They just...hate you. Hate what you are. What you represent, perhaps. Their hatred has turned them into...your kind."

He grunted, then shook his head. "Not my kind. We do not do what your Pappy has done."

Shuddering, she said, "Then I am sorry. You must hate us."

"Don't hate you," he growled. "They will pay; not you."

"Morglok," she said, forcing herself to look him in the eyes. "There are women, children in there. You can't..."

"Don't care about women and children. Only Pappy. And the guard." His lip curled with a snarl that rumbled deeply in his chest. "I saw. Did not know men hit their females."

"Is that all you saw?" she snapped. "Did you think that was the only unwanted thing he did?"

The Uruk started slightly at the venom in her voice, the blaze in her eyes. Water seemed to be glistening in them, though it did not fall.

"You did not want the mating?" he asked, uncertain.

"Whuh...mate...Of course I didn't want it!" she exploded. "Have you any idea what mating is? Mating, indeed! I let him have his way so I could get you out! He thinks I brought you to my cabin because the cell floor is too filthy! He thinks I ride you like an untamed stallion at this moment! Mating! Aggh!"

Morglok realized that at some point of her tirade, he had sat on a fallen tree trunk. "That is why he let us go?" he asked incredulously.

"Men don't think clearly when they're offered a willing female," she retorted. Hugging herself and shuddering, she snarled, "Anyone else would have known it was the feeblest of deceptions. I can only hope that, when your absence is noted, he receives vigorous punishment."

Something seemed to dawn on the Uruk, and he nodded sagely. "Females do not like mating."

Shaking her head with exasperation, she said, "Don't be stupid, of course we do. There has to be some compensation for the pain of childbirth, you know."

His head tilted to the side. "But you said you did not want mating..."

"Not with him!" she cried. "And certainly not with someone like you watching." She squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered anew. "Sweet Valar, whoever trained you left a gaping hole in your education."

"I do not understand females," he snarled angrily.

"Nor will you, if you keep on the way you're going," she retorted. A bit of her pent up rage had been released, and she felt a little better. "Can you ride?"

He shrugged. "Never tried. Too big for wargs."

"Get up; I'll help you mount." With that, she roughly pulled on his arm. He resisted, glaring at her. His lip curled in a snarl. Remembering herself, and what he was, she let go. "Forgive me," she said, bowing her head. Slowly, she looked up, and met his glare. "I've had my hands all over you for a month," she muttered awkwardly. "I should not take such liberties."

"Touch me all you like," he growled. "I will not be ordered around."

Nodding, she extended her hand to him. He took it; her pale hand nearly disappeared in his great black one. With difficulty, she helped him into the saddle, then mounted in front of him. She shuddered when his arms encircled her waist.

"I smell him on you," the Uruk said in her ear. She recoiled from him.

"At my first opportunity, I plan to wash his filth off me," she snapped, then kicked the mare's flanks sharply. The sudden standing bolt into a trot nearly unseated the Uruk; his arms tightened reflexively around her. Smug, she urged the horse into a canter, and they rode into the night.