"Will you sit and eat with me, Blythe?"

"Oh, Mistress… I usually have a bite to eat once the kitchen fires are out…"

"Look at this table, Blythe…" Halla said, trying to be cheerful when the only place set was hers. The long oak table was built for a company of Riders… or a brace of sons and daughters. But the hall was cold and quiet and Finnan's seat at the head of the table was empty. And I don't even know when he will return! "Let's set two more places, and call the boy in to join us. I couldn't stand to eat alone. Come now, hurry, before the meat is cold."

Halla felt much better when her servants sat to eat. The boy Aiden came in blushing with spit shined hair, feeling a few years older and younger than fourteen all at the same time. Blythe quite properly took her kerchief off and tucked it into a fold of her gown before she sat. Halla said a blessing over the meat pies and roasted chicken. She cut the bird, and saw that her guests got choice cuts, and asked Blythe to pour a little wine. She thought she'd invite her friends to dinner soon. Maybe he will be the imaginary husband, the illusion of a little girl playing at marriage. Except I get the house and the full undercroft of provisions, and I never have to do a thing for it.

It wasn't as comforting of a feeling as she'd expected it to be. She'd have rather had her husband home. She'd like to know how he won the War. It seemed bitter to have peace, and a hero for a husband, only to have him loathe her. What could I have done to give offense?

Her guests were looking at her. Embarassed, Halla realized that they were waiting for their Mistress to eat first. She smiled and cut her first slice of meat, and once she'd eaten they followed suit. The boy looked fit to choke as he scarfed his meat and sopped his bread in the grease, and Blythe pursed her lips in a prim smile. "It's not a race, boy," Blythe told him firmly.

His eyes popped, and he swallowed it all with a gulp, wiping his mouth on his hand. "Sorry ma'aam."

Halla grinned and looked away, to the older woman. "Where do you come from, Blythe?"

"Just a little village on the other side of the river. Course, we'd been staying in the city for quite some time now."

"You evacuated, and never left," Halla guessed.

"It was just me and my old Thorne, after my Maudlin… After she and her young man were killed in the raid."

"I am sorry," Halla murmured, frowning. She didn't need to know more. Burned by fire or speared, or torn apart, it was all the same in the end. "My parents died in the War when I was four years old. Of course we didn't know it as such yet. We didn't know of the wizard's treachery."

Halla closed her eyes in memory… But all she saw was Maukurz, surrounded in cool green and dark blue twilight, leaning against a tree, his slanted golden eyes in sharp warm contrast. She wondered what he was doing.

I don't care! I shouldn't care. I will not go back to see him. It's a disgrace that I've helped him so far.

Halla took a deep drink of wine. She could hear the boy in the background, telling Blythe how he was an orphan now, but he was going to make his own way. The hall suddenly felt stifling, and Halla ran her fingers under her collar.

The door opened with a creak, and two waist-high wolfhounds burst in, tongues lolling, male laughter echoing through the door. Halla's eyes went wide at the huge dogs, and she gripped the sides of her chair. But after giving a quick sniff of the room, they lay down by the fire.

Then her husband walked in, and another man behind him. Finnan rocked to a halt when he saw Halla at his table, dining in style with his servants. "What is this?"

Mortified, Halla rose. She folded her hands infront of her lap for good measure. Only the wine helped her find a pleasant smile, and the words, "I didn't know when to expect you, my lord. And I didn't wish to dine alone."

For a moment, Halla thought he would burst. Finnan was utterly disgusted. But what did he expect should happen? He'd left on their wedding morning without even a word! After… after that! Halla's cheeks flushed, and she thought if he scolded her before the servants and the company, she'd throw it right back at him.

Finnan saw her fire and grit his jaw. "Blythe," he said, snapping his fingers. "I've been hunting. I've killed a stag. Take it to the kitchen with the boy and after serving Edwyn and me, dress it proper. You, madam, may take your supper upstairs. "

Halla trembled with anger and rejection. How could she be blamed for taking a misstep, when he didn't bother to tell her what he liked? She wanted to tell him that if he'd not left her alone, she'd have been far happier home with him all day, and she would have dined any way he pleased. Instead she gathered her dignity about her rose from the table, leaving her barely touched plate behind. She glanced shamefully at Edwyn, a handsome young Rider with golden curls and a sharp face.

She'd gotten halfway up the stairs before it hit her: he'd been hunting. Halla turned halfway, lips parted to speak. How can I ask him where he was hunting? How can I ask if he'd killed an Uruk-hai? She looked at his sword, sheathed on his hip, and on his clothing for any trace of black blood. She could see nothing more than that by now she'd been long forgotten, as Finnan and Edwyn, laughing, sat down to dine.

Halla didn't dare go downstairs to request bathwater heated and the tub brought out. She washed sparingly from the pitcher and basin on her nightstand, brushed out her long pale hair, and changed for bed. She could hear more laughter from the hall downstairs, though no words could be discerned. She lay in waiting for him, thinking that maybe the wine would do it for him, and he'd come up to bed. At the very least he'd want to talk to her, yell at her even. Halla lay still in bed listening, waiting, hoping, until her eyes fluttered shut.

She woke to the sound of doves in the early morning darkness, and pushed herself up sleepily. Her blinking eyes took in the perfect, unspoiled sheets beside her. Finnan hadn't even come to bed.

Halla stifled her sudden tears, but it was a bitter thing to endure. What was so awful about her, so repulsive that her own husband couldn't even stand the sight of her? How long before the entire village—people who looked up to her now—knew that Finnan loathed everything about his new wife?

When Blythe came in with a mug of hot tea, Halla ordered water boiled for her bath. Blythe brought in a fine copper tub—a luxury that should have made Halla giddy with delight—and poured kettle upon kettle in to keep Halla warm. She bathed slowly, regarding her body, her round, firm breasts, wondering what in her slim legs and small waist would invoke such disgust from a husband. She washed her pale blond hair well, and rinsed it with lavender water. Halla planned to confront him, and she wanted to be at her best. She contemplated leaving her waist-length locks loose, but remembered that her new husband was too proper to eat with servants even, and a breach of etiquette like loose hair on wife of her standing would likely be unforgivable, no matter how appropriate, as she was still a maid untouched. Still, she only braided the top half back, leaving the rest to hang as it dried in winding waves. She chose a linen dress of cornflower blue that made her eyes stand out bold, and slapped her cheeks rosy.

Halla lamented the time it took to prepare herself. She nearly ran down the stairs, and didn't see him asleep. Her heart sank, and still she went on, to the stables. Ailen was up of course, mucking stalls for the two pregnant horses that were sleeping in at night.

"Has my husband been here?" she asked. She wasn't about to conceal his treatment of her anymore. Let everyone know he didn't bother to tell her what he was about!

"Come and gone, Mistress," Ailen said, his cheeks coloring to see her. Ailen thought Halla was the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, and of course she was a lady. He'd already thought up countless scenarios in which he might save her from some doom or another.

Halla swallowed hard. She'd hoped until that last moment to be pleasantly surprised, held out hope even after Finnan's horrible behavior. Now there was nothing. For a moment, Halla felt like running back to Aunt Hilda and weeping in her skirts.

Then she remembered Maukurz, and the promise she'd given him without taking it seriously at all. Her breath shuddered as she thought of going to him. How many of his kind had her new husband killed? How many has he killed of our kind?

And yet, he didn't treat her like an enemy. He was near helpless in her hands, though she could see his mighty strength. Halla thought she ought to check his stitches at least. And keep my word, bringing him food. Enough food so I needn't feel bad about leaving him alone there, by the ford.

If he is even still alive…

"Ailen, you must catch my horse now, groom him and tack him up. And put saddlebags on. I plan to be gone for a good long while."

The freckle-faced boy bobbed a bow, and Halla hauled up her flowing linen skirt and ran to the kitchen. "Blythe!"

The woman turned in surprise, but beamed to see her mistress smiling. Not gentle treatment at all, the way Master was to her last night! Blythe thought. "Can I help you, Mistress? Ready for breakfast?"

"Yes, but pack it. I will go to… my aunt's for the day. I want some cold chicken, venison, a quarter wheel of cheese, bread and wine. And have we any blackberries?"

"Red berries, Mistress," Blythe said quickly, amazed.

"Good. Enough for two."

Halla went to the house, and took one of the wool blankets out of her bedroom trunk. She folded it over once more and rolled it to fit behind her saddle. She opened up her husband's weapon chest and found a knife she could strap to her thigh. Halla thanked Blythe, telling her she'd be back in the evening, and took the basket of food to the barn. She thought to bring Maukurz food and check on his wounds, and then go to her aunt, and maybe think of some way to ask for advice that wouldn't humiliate her.

She rode through the flowery meadow, listening to insects hum in the morning cool. She couldn't go fast—she was carrying a large flagon of wine—and so was better able to savor the beauty of the day. Her horse was in high spirits as well, throwing up his proud head and snorting in the chilled but promising breeze. It felt wonderful just to get away from Finnan's house and the shame she felt while there.

The forest closed in on Halla, busy with life: deer slipping between the trees, hares darting through the ferns and pine needles on the ground. Birds flitted and even crashed through the greenery overhead. She saw a butterfly sampling the nectar of wildflowers. Then Halla's horse started to dance anxiously, and so she dismounted well before the water. She unstrapped the saddlebags and threw them over her shoulder, lifting her dress with one hand to cross the ford. Halla realized that she was hopeful to find Maukurz alive, and feeling a bit better. At the same time, she braced herself to accept it if she found him dead.

She wasn't prepared for him to be completely gone.

They killed him and threw his body somewhere, Halla thought, sinking with despair, even as she couldn't understanding why that should upset her so terribly: he was a member of a vile race. Yet she couldn't deny her feelings. She looked down at the ground where she'd sat him, noticing drag marks in the fallen pine needles. She followed them a ways, until she saw smears of black blood.

Heart pounding, she looked up and gratefully saw him. Maukurz wasn't so far away, though it would have taken him since long hours before dawn to get there. He was lying flat on his belly, breathing hard. As she watched, he pushed himself up again, trying to crawl, dragging his leg behind him. "Maukurz!"

Maurkurz groaned and hung his head. Halla hurried to his side and squatted beside him, almost putting her hand on his back before she remembered who and what he was.

"What are you doing? Come, sit down before you hurt yourself worse!"

"Fuck this!" he growled. Halla flinched away from his anger. "Sit there, wait for death? Easy prey for fucking white-skin girls? I can't do it anymore!"

"You will jam your broken bone right through your skin and never walk again!"

He sighed in frustration, a deep guttural sound, and turned to look at her, stray strands of black hair hanging in his eyes. "I don't know how to sit there. All by myself. Smelling your dogs and horses and Men. Waiting to be found. Can't even give them a fight! Better to die trying to get home. Maybe I have luck and make it."

"Where is your home?"

"A long hike into the mountains," he grumbled through grit jaw.

"Maukurz… Sit and have something to eat. I've brought you food and wine and a blanket. I know you are hungry, I've brought good food."

He was still breathing hard, and Halla wondered if he'd even be able to sit. Maukurz grunted and dropped down on his hip. Bracing his broken leg with his hand, he slowly turned himself until he sat panting and exhausted, and quite obviously shamed by his struggle. Halla quickly laid the blanket out, and set out the meat and cheese, bread and berries. She took a long sip of wine, and passed him the flagon. Maukurz grunted yet again, grudging approval of the feast laid before him. He sniffed the wine, and took a sip, then made a face. "Sweet for fire-water. Does it even make you drunk?"

"Drink enough on an empty stomach, yes, quite. But it also quenches thirst… and dulls pain."

He flashed her a hostile gaze. "Made it through the whole War, so you know. Raids and battles… a battle not too far from here, then on to the Deep. Only scratches! Then I go home, and it's ruined and flooded and the Uruk-hai I find there are mad with fear, blubbering about trees and water. Now there is no War, and I live like a rat, and I am broken by a Man who shouldn't have had a chance against me! I should die for shame. I am Fighting Uruk-hai! I do not hide and crawl."

"I didn't know you were so proud."

"Proud? I don't know proud. I know I am faster and stronger and better. I know—I knew—nothing could stand before me. Now… everything is shit. No fighting, no raiding, no… no sharlobu htolat. Live less than a fucking dog."

She had no idea what his brute words meant, so she murmured, "Yesterday didn't you tell me you were free? Aren't you glad for it?"

How could she understand? Maukurz sighed harshly. "I was made to fight, to win fights. What is there for me now? Free… but nothing."

"You would wish to fight and kill me?" Halla asked softly. "Even though I helped you?"

Maukurz flickered his eyes over her. Akh, I would be all over this one. I wouldn't let anyone else have so much as a taste of her. She'd never get my scent off her. But bitter mood aside, he understood her question, though it irked him that she didn't even seem frightened, because she knew she could out-run him in his crippled state.

He shook his head, trying to make sense of his thoughts. It was hard to think right hearing her soft voice, almost as if her voice was enchanted. "No," he decided. "I don't want to kill you. I am… not speaking right. I… don't mean…" He frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know what else there is… but to fight. I was born to make war, now there is no war. Don't know how to do nothin' else. Don't know how to hide in the woods, in caves, watching others always… doing nothing. Baiurz says, we do nothing, so that we can stay alive."

"Baiurz?"

"Oldest Uruk in our group, the one who gives orders. I can listen to Baiurz, or fight him to lead the others, or go on my own. I tried to go on my own. I got jumped by a whole gang of Wild Men. Killed three, got stabbed by another…" Maukurz shook his head, disgusted. "Wound up stumbling right down the side of the mountain."

Halla felt pity for him. The warriors of her kin had farms to return to, wives and children and land to tend. She couldn't imagine a life that was created for no other purpose than to kill enemies. "Have you no skill? No craft to practice?"

"No," he said quietly, taking a mouthful of chicken. "Just war. Good food," he commented idly. "Dry but good."

"Nothing helps you when you're troubled so much as a good bit of food," Halla said, smiling a little. "My aunt Hilda says that. I'm sorry if it's dry… The venison was dried for storage, and the chicken left over from a dish served last night."

Maukurz swept his eyes over her as he ate a good portion of the meat and bread. She was a pretty little thing, though deeply foolish to be so close to him. "Why do you do this?"

"Why do I help you?"

He nodded curtly. "You are not so afraid of me today. Why? I am still much stronger than you."

"I felt… sorry for your suffering. I just went to you, not thinking of anything."

"Hmm," Maukurz turned his gaze away, only to glance discretely at her gown running over her body like water. His superiors had always warned that pity for an enemy—or even another Uruk—was fatal weakness and Halla's words only proved it. At the same time, Maukurz realized that his breathing had slowed, his panicked, helpless frustration had faded, all because of that soft calm the white-skin female brought. As if truly, she'd do him no harm. He'd never been around another living creature who he had felt a sense of safety with. Maukurz-injured worse than ever in his life-succumbed to the much needed respite with only a little inner turmoil. He knew he was severely injured, and that he'd exhausted himself crawling through the forest. But still... the girl's voice and energy lulled him, something he'd never expected to feel, certainly not from a white-skin. Maukurz lay slowly onto his side, balanced on his good elbow, his bound leg stretched out. He sensed her blood quicken as she looked at his nearly naked body, and that pleased him.

He plucked up a raspberry and put it to the tip of his tongue, ate the new food slowly, smiled drowsily. "Sour-sweet," he said, taking another one, then chasing it with wine. Maukurz felt the fatigue seeping in quickly, his body hard at work rebuilding. "You will trap me," he murmured. "Make me tired with food and drink, then kill me in my sleep."

"You can sleep," Halla told him quietly. "You certainly need it."

"What will you do? Talk to me, so I can hear your voice change if you move."

"I couldn't talk to myself," Halla said, smiling. "But I will sing to you."

"And wake me if there is trouble…" he said in a breath that turned into a low, contend rumble as Halla sang Maukurz softly to sleep.

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