"FOOL! Where are you Fool? I will find you, and I will have you!"

Ash whimpered and tried to run. Skrithûrz grabbed him by the shoulder and shook his head.

"No Ashbazg. Not today. He will not touch you today." A few of the other Orcs growled in agreement. Garmog hobbled over to him, his bruised and bloody body making Ashbazg hurt in his chest.

"You have protected us. We will protect you."

Ashbazg hadn't even healed from his last whipping yet. His back still leaked blood whenever he moved to fast or stretched too far. And now Tûzantar was looking for him. He would find him. He had his scent, and would not be denied his fun. The small Orcs said they would protect him. How? Tûzantar was a big Uruk, almost the size of a berserker. They couldn't stop him. He could feel the fear uncoiling in his belly, rising to choke him. He started breathing harder.

"Peace Ashbazg. We will stop him."

The Tûzantar came around the corner. He spotted Ashbazg and his tongue lolled from his mouth like a Warg. He never used Ashbazg for the things other Uruks tried. He just liked to beat him and humiliate him, and that was what got Tûzantar off. He would beat Ashbazg bloody and half-dead, and then play with himself over his victim. He did it with others as well. He was too big to take alone, and he had many who would fight for him. Now he had found his prey, and would want it.

He purred, the evil in his voice making the skin crawl. "Come come Fool. I know you enjoy our little fun together. In fact, I would say you run just to make me beat you harder in my anger. Is that why you run and fight back? To please me more?" he groped himself, his excitement becoming apparent to all who could see him.

Durgaz stood and looked at the giant Uruk. Short and bandy legged; Durgaz looked like something Tûzantar would eat for dinner. He held a short curved blade in his hand, and there was no fear on his face as his yellow eyes glared balefully on the big Uruk.

"You will not touch Ashbazg. Not today. Not tomorrow. Never again will you touch him."

Tûzantar laughed and reached out to grab Durgaz, who moved faster than most would believe the Orc to do. Tûzantar looked down in disbelief at the end of his arm. Were there was once a hand and a wrist; there was nothing but a bleeding stump. He did not like this. He loved to give pain, but did not like to receive it. He turned to run, but these Orcs of the Misty Mountains knew the score. If he ran, then he would bring down the wrath of the Uruk-Hai upon them, and maybe even the White Hand. But if he never made it back to the sleeping barracks…

The thick black arrows that Orcs favored peppered his body. Able to see in the dark, the boworcs had hidden in the shadows, waiting for the signal. That signal had been the taking of his hand. Ashbazg still shook, as much with fear as confusion, and finally elation. He was dead. His tormentor was finally dead, and he would be free. He watched as Durgaz and Skrithûrz lifted the dead body and drug it to the forge fires, others following behind the brush dirt over the bloody stains. They dropped it in, and Ashbazg felt like crying with joy as it burned.

"I told you my friend. We would protect you today, as you protected me. As you have protected others from the Uruk-Hai. I am sorry that we have not protected you sooner."

Garmog inched his body down the wall to ease the pain, finally coming to a rest beside Ashbazg. His nose broke, one of his tusks cracked, and numerous other injuries, the old Orc was in pain. He had gone to the barracks two days ago to deliver swords, and they had set upon him after he had made the delivery. The Uruks thought the snaga easy prey, a chance for them to get their cocks wet without having to fight as hard. The wily old Orc had killed two before the Uruks became more interested in beating him to death than raping him. When Durgaz had awoken Ashbazg to tell him, he had run to the barracks. He knew in his heart that something bad was happening.

He had leapt from the doorway into the middle of the beating, his claws and teeth extracting terrible vengeance. He was not an exceptional fighter, but threaten his friends, no more than that, his family, and he would fight like a tark hero from the stories. He had tore through the surprised Uruks, tore them apart. He had got them off of Garmog, held them off long enough for the Orc to run. Then his punishment came. They had tied him to the whipping post, and the entire barracks had at him with the whip. A berserker had held it and brought his strength to bear, and his strike had laid Ashbazg open to the bone. After the whipping, they had left him tied to the post. One by one, they had fallen asleep until they were all out and he still stood tied to the post, his blood dripping down to the floor. They must have more entertainment planned for him when they woke up, otherwise they would have just eaten him.

That wasn't to be his fate though. Durzag and a nameless Orc had slunk through the sleeping bodies and had cut him down from the post and had brought him back to his home. And now his biggest tormentor was dead, and he was safe once again. Well, as safe as one could be in this hell of Isengard. He looked to his side to find Garmog rising with the help of Bagûrz and Akrûrz. He beckoned to Ashbazg, and he clawed his way to his feet and followed. They stopped in the mountain Orcs version of a central chamber, an area like they would have back home where they would get together and tale tales and enjoy themselves before going to their homes. Kraibag, the Orc who handles all of the tattooing, stood there with his tools, but a wooden stool. It was directly in the middle of the chamber, and all the Misty Mountain Orcs were gathered there.

These Orcs were different than the Goblins of the same Mountains. They were different than the Orcs of Moria, and had what was considered strange ways. The Moria Orcs called them 'mannish', too man like by half. These Orcs had laws, rules that helped their lives. They had systems, they had codes of honor and respect. Much too mannish by half. They had been called though, and the hold the Dark Lord held on them, the taint that had allowed the dark forces to control them that ran in their blood, had forced them to abandon home and wife, child and hearth, to come here and do the work demanded of them. They had brought their ways with them, and had hidden them from Saruman, in case he would destroy them for it. One tradition was about to be put in place now, and they would observe it. Garmog called out to those assembled, his voice rough from the pain of his injuries.

"I, Garmog, of the Shattered Tooth clan, call this assembly of the tribes together. I put forth to accept Ashbazg, son of the Uruk-Hai and woman of Rohan, as a member of the Shattered Tooth Clan. What say the others?"

Ashbazg was startled. Make him a clan member? They had explained how important becoming a clan member was. What it meant to be a part of a clan. His heart felt like it was going to rip from his chest with longing at what that would be life. He tried to focus on what the others said. They could force him to not be accepted. They went around a circle, seven Clan leaders in attendance to say their piece.

"I, Skrithûrz, of the Stone Knife Clan, say he cannot become a Shattered Tooth."

Ashbazg felt hurt in his heart. Skrithûrz was his friend. How could he do this to him?

"Instead, I say that Ashbazg the Uruk-hai becomes a member of the Stone Knife Clan."

Ashbazgs head was spinning. What would even happen now? He had no idea, had never heard of this, and never got this far in his talks with them.

"I, Durgaz, of the Cave Fish clan, cannot allow him to become either Shattered Tooth or Stone Knife. I say, he must become Cave Fish."

And so it went, around the circle. Falling Rock, Hidden Moon, Rising Axe, Bloody Maw, and Broken Bones Clans all stated that he could not join the other, but would have him join theirs. Garmog nodded and looked to an elderly Orc. While many Orcs were old, this one was considered ancient. He had forgotten when he was born, but he knew he had lived at least one thousand summers. Aarshlût, the dawn-killer he was called. He was their shaman, their magic. The collected thoughts and dreams of the Misty Mountain Orc Clans, he had traveled with them to make sure they had continued to be Misty Mountain Orcs, and not reverted to be like any of their rabid cousins.

"Ancient One, the eight clans in attendance have claimed the right to ask this one to join their clan. What must we do?"

Aarshlût looked upon Ashbazg, his voice, still strong if only slightly raspier than his younger years.

"I see… great confusion young one. You know not what to do. But your heart… your heart it yearns for this. You wish to be a member of a clan, you wish to be one of us, to have a family who cares and protects like we have done since you came down to us. You have spilled the blood of others like you to protect us. You have killed others like you to protect the lives of us. You have had horrible things done to you to spare the indecency of it being done to one of us. How could a Clan not want you as a member? Look at me Ashbazg."

The Uruk looked up to the old Orc. His eyes, sunken in the pits of his face, glowed kindly at him. Aarshlût looked down at this face, the young face for all the appearance of being grown. He knew nothing of the world, nothing of being an Orc. Thank those that had went before that he had come to them, not the Moria Orcs or the ones from the Black Mountains around Mordor. He was a child. And as everyone knew, it took more than one person; it took a village to raise a child.

"I have made my choice. Ashbazg will either be accepted as a member of all of the Clans who have asked he join or I will take him as a member of Dawn-Killer. I am the only member of it left to this world, and I would not deny him family besides myself. Choose."

The Clan Chiefs agreed to the wisdom of Aarshlût, as they always did. Ashbazg was lead to the stool, where his wounds were stitched or packed with herbs to heal them, and Kraibag set to his work.

When he finished, the white ink shown out against the dark skin of Ashbazg. The stone knife, the broken bones, the shattering tooth. After an aside from Aarshlût, a sword was added to the sun that had been tattooed on Ashbazgs chest not so long after he had first arrived. The symbol of the Dawn-Killer Clan, making him the only other member.

"Rise, Ashbazg of the Shattered Tooth, The Stone Knife, The Cave Fish, The Dawn Killer, The Falling Rock, The Hidden Moon, The Rising Axe, The Bloody Maw, and The Broken Bones Clans. Anywhere that you go, if a member of these Clans sees the markings on your body, they will help you anyway they can. If a member of your clan calls out to you for help, will you help them?"

Ashbazg nodded. "I will. I'll give my blood, my bones, and my soul for em."

Aarshlût patted him on the shoulder. "That's a good boy. Come, you need to rest, and to hide. They march for Helms Deep soon, and they'll be all down here. Can't have em see you."

So Ashbazg was asleep when the waters came. How his new clansmen screamed. How they screamed as they died. He could still remember putting Aarshlût on his back and trying to swim. The Old Orc letting go and saying his time had come. Trying to pull Garmog out of the pits, only to realize that his friend was dead, that the boiling water had gotten into his mouth, burning him inside to out. Watching, helpless, as Bagûrz and Akrûrz were held in the hands of an Ent, bashed into the ground over and over until they were nothing but bloody stumps. He had tried to fight, tried to stand so hard. His legs could not. So he had crawled, crawled away, only to get caught in the river and swept downstream like trash.

He jerked to full wakefulness, his breath rasping from his throat. After all those years, he was still haunted by it. Still hurting at his failures to protect them. Still disgusted at his cowardice. The sun was rising. He greeted it with fresh tears on his cheeks. He heard her stirring behind him. What would today bring? She had trusted him somewhat last night, but that did not mean she would trust him today. For all he knew, she would want him back in ropes again. He was resigned though. This was his fate, one he must accept if he wanted to live. Just a bit further, out of Rohan, and she surely wouldn't follow him much further out of it. Then he would be free again.