Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...
What a fucking idiot, Nûrzgrat groused to himself, leaning against the longhouse door and rubbing his face. Posturing like a whelp on the training grounds, wanting all to notice how fierce he was. Except it was a different kind of strut, something he didn't even realize he was doing until it was over, then he couldn't get in the damn longhouse fast enough.
His hands still shook, for fuck's sake! Why was he making it worse for himself by strutting about like a cock in the yard? As if that woman might have herself another look at him and like what she saw. As if that were even possible...
"Nûrzgrat?"
Startled, he dropped his hands and looked up to see Thakûf seated on Frû's bed. They stared at one another for several heartbeats before Thakûf finally said hopefully, "Mates?"
The leader pushed himself away from the door and stomped to his chest, flipped it open and rummaged around for a shirt. "No," he grunted.
The young Uruk sighed with disappointment. "Fuck."
"Tell me about it." Yanking the shirt over his head viciously, Nûrzgrat growled, "Wanna talk to you, boy."
"I didn't do nothin'!" Thakûf immediately cried.
"I know you didn't fuckin' do nothin'!" his elder barked. Thakûf flinched under the leader's harsh tone, and Nûrzgrat huffed angrily at himself. Struggling to calm his nerves, he slumped onto his bed and stared at the floor, resting his elbows on his knees. Unfortunately, his dark-skinned, clawed hands were right in front of his eyes, like a taunting reminder. "That girl," he began unsteadily, and cleared his throat. "That girl ain't for you, Thak. So you best not go after her."
"But she's..."
"It don't matter," Nûrzgrat snapped, silencing the young Uruk. "She's a whiteskin. Worse, she's from this... world, I suppose. Didn't come through no windows or doors or whatever the fuck."
"But..."
"No buts. You leave her alone. Don't go near her." He glanced up and winced at the look on the boy's face. Hating himself even more, he forced himself to go on. "That's her da and her mum that's with her. They ain't gonna think it's funny if you go sniffin' round her. So don't."
Thakûf bowed his head to hide his deep disappointment. "What if... she gets to likin' me?" he asked in a small, broken voice.
Swallowing hard, Nûrzgrat shifted on the straw mattress. Then he sighed and nodded. "She oughta like you. You're a good lad." If she was from somewhere else, she might, he thought, but didn't have the heart to rub Thakûf's nose in it any deeper.
Encouraged, Thakûf looked up and smiled, though it was clearly forced. "Maybe... we could be friends?"
"Yeah. Friends," Nûrzgrat replied without conviction. "Just... don't go after her, expectin' somethin' more."
The smile faded from Thakûf's face, and he looked away again. "I won't."
Nûrzgrat wished he was anywhere else but here, destroying the boy's hope with both hands. When no unclaimed females were around, they could have hope. They could imagine that one day, the one would wander into their lives, and everything would be wonderful. Reality was harsh and cruel, granting their wishes and pulling the ground out from under their feet in the same stroke.
"Sandy didn't want Morkoth, when she first saw him," Thakûf said hollowly, as if to convince himself. "Brie didn't want Ghru, neither."
Even worse, the boy was still trying. "No. They didn't." Taking a shuddering breath, he went on, "So... you keep your distance. You let her come to you, when she feels safe enough."
"All right," Thakûf agreed quietly. "You leavin'?"
"Yeah," Nûrzgrat replied gruffly. "Just wanna check on Brie. Make sure this... midwife's treatin' her right."
"You worried about her?"
"Course I am," he growled. "She's... she's my friend." He clamped his jaw tightly against a sudden, unexpected surge that threatened to force a distinctly unwelcome reaction. He glared hard at the ceiling as if it offended him, his eyes burning.
Thakûf watched the struggle for control on the elder's face and it suddenly dawned on him. "Nûrzgrat? Did you ever want Brie as a... a mate or somethin'?"
The instinctive warning growl flared and died quickly, and Nûrzgrat met the younger Uruk's eyes levelly, though his voice was unsteady. "Boy, there's females you wanna fuck, and females you wanna mate with. I never wanted to mate with her."
Sensing that any further inquiry would be met with hostility, Thakûf kept his mouth shut.
Standing up, Nûrzgrat went back to his chest and pulled out some more shirts and breeches. Morkoth hadn't packed enough for him, and now that he had the chance, he figured he'd amend that. Wadding up the clothing in a haphazard bundle, Nûrzgrat left the longhouse as agitated as he'd entered it.
When Sandy left the family in the shelter, Mae was momentarily stricken with shock at the hulking Orc that greeted them.
Though perhaps 'greet' was a strong word.
He rose from the bed where he was sitting next to the sick woman, and seemed to rise and rise until he towered over them. He glared at Mae and her family as if they'd committed a terrible misdeed by simply drawing breath. His burn-scarred face scowled while a low, threatening growl poured from his chest. Sandy's explanation was swift, her description of Brie's symptoms and the steps she'd taken brief, then she was gone, taking a basket with her. Faelur nervously interposed himself between Mae and the great beast, but she had no confidence her husband of twenty summers would last five minutes in a fight with such a massive creature.
It was several moments before her shocked eyes noted the bundle in the Orc's arms, and the tiny brown fist clutching the front of his shirt. Swallowing, she took a brave step forward. Yellow eyes, alert and intense as a predator's, swiveled round to focus on her directly, and she halted. The Orc had been told she was here to help; surely he would recognize that.
"Her name... is Brianna?" Mae asked nervously. The Orc's ears pricked toward her voice and his head tilted slightly, in the manner of a dog that has heard a strange sound. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
"Aye," he grunted.
"I am a healer," she said, and moved slowly toward the bed. "I mean her no harm."
"Don't go near her, Mae. Stop this moment," Faelur commanded, keeping his eyes on the Orc. His voice drew an impatient huff from his wife.
"I need to see her," Mae hissed over her shoulder, casting an annoyed look at her husband. She was nervous enough in the presence of this strange Orc without Faelur posturing ineffectually. He was likely to make some gesture or comment that could be viewed as a threat, or at the very least seen as terribly rude, and call down the Orc's wrath on their heads.
The Orc seemed torn, standing like a wall between them and the sick woman. Mae now saw that his fatigue-bleary eyes shifted between her and Brianna, unsure whether to let down his guard. He did not spare Faelur from his untrusting scrutiny, either; the Man bore the brunt of the Orc's glowering, unblinking examination. Gradually, his brow unbunched a few degrees, and his eyes blinked rapidly. "Just you," his deep voice rasped harshly, inclining his head toward Mae. She nodded briskly and with some relief.
"It is all right," she said quietly to Faelur as she passed him. "See to Gwen, if you please."
Faelur had never attended his wife at a sickbed; if he accompanied her to a patient's home, it was usually due to the dangers of the Chetwood. Not being particularly skilled himself, he always hired a swordsman to protect them. Those times were rare, however; most of the time, he conducted his business in Archet, and she performed her duties in town or around the outskirts. He had never seen an Orc in such close quarters; at least not a living one. On rare occasions, an Orc might be slain and brought into the village square to prove the ending of a known menace, or spotted at a distance taking flight before the local guardsmen and their hounds could catch it up. They had always been a vague sort of worry, a concern for others, a tale told in the night to frighten children. The size of the brutes in this settlement filled Faelur with fear; he was torn between protecting his family from this giant, monstrous creature, and fleeing for his life. What protection could he possibly offer them, after all? The one remaining guard he'd hired wasn't here, and he stood unarmed before a huge Orc. All he could see were sharp teeth, deadly tusks, brutal claws, and the sort of build that guaranteed his life of relative leisure would not sustain him should matters turn violent. He was certain to fall, quite likely after suffering horrendous pain, and then what would become of his wife and child?
He didn't even notice the swaddled infant in the great beast's arms.
Automatically obeying his wife's command in his distraction, something that in itself was disturbing, Faelur edged closer to their daughter where she sat on the end of the bed. Why hadn't Bronhador accompanied them, he wondered desperately, as the lout was hired to do? Yet the fear that the swordsman might even now be fending off an attack outside set his heart racing. At a loss, he awkwardly put his hand on Gwen's shoulder. She immediately hugged his waist and trembled, her terrified eyes fixed on the Orc.
Mae cautiously settled herself beside Brianna and looked down at the woman's wan face. A pot of water with a cloth draped over the side stood on the floor nearby, and Mae availed herself of them. Soaking the cloth in the cold water, she gently bathed Brianna's face. Feeling gentle hands, Brie slowly opened her eyes and frowned.
"Who...?"
"Ssshhh," Mae said quietly, soothing the woman's forehead with the cloth. "All is well. My name is Mae. Your Nûrzgrat found us and brought us here. I am a midwife. How do you feel?"
"Pretty lousy," Brie replied, a slight smile on her face. "He came back? He found Frû?"
Shaking her head, Mae said, "There was no one but Nûrzgrat. We were beset, and he saved us and brought us here."
"Us?"
"I, my husband, our daughter," the midwife explained, "and a man my husband hired for our protection." Taking a deep breath, Mae forced herself to remain calm and gentle of voice for this woman's sake, but her remembered fears were threatening to overwhelm her once more. Her only child was nearly taken from her; she'd watched men who had become, over the last week, as trusted as friends, slain in the road while she and her family ran for their lives. A creature whose reputation bespoke far worse torments than those men intended, had appeared out of nowhere and quite unexpectedly helped them. It was difficult to maintain her composure after a day such as this.
But it was clear that this woman needed aid. While the bleeding had stopped, she was weak from its loss, and now her body thirsted. It was common enough after childbirth to weaken from lack of water. Brie's undoubtedly difficult labor had served to exacerbate the problem, rendering her too weak to remain awake long enough to drink. Easily remedied, but it would take time.
Brie's expression seemed disappointed. "Oh. You're married."
"Yes, I am," Mae nodded. "Do not trouble yourself. Rest. I will look after you. Here," she said, taking a cup from next to the pot and filling it. "You must regain your strength. Drink." Making sure the woman took the entire cupful, she began to relax. There was a certain comforting routine in these things, enough to allow her to think clearly and see the scene about her for what it was: a new mother, a devoted spouse, a newborn. That the spouse was an Orc did not seem to alter the truth of this, for his worry was appropriate, understandable, and surprisingly Man-like. There was nothing to fear here. "I apologize, but I must see for myself that you are mended properly. Do you have any objections?"
Brie shook her head and closed her eyes. Mae turned to the Orc. "I must examine her," she said firmly. "I trust you will allow me to do so?"
Ghru couldn't take his eyes off Brie, and slowly dropped to a crouch, resting one knee on the floor. He tilted his head to the side. "Will she...," he began, but could say nothing more as his voice choked off and his eyes blinked rapidly. Moved by his obvious grief, Mae reached out and touched the Orc's arm.
"She will be well," the midwife assured him. His eyes darted to her face. "I promise. Her body lacks water. Whenever she is awake, she must drink." Now that he was close, she could see the child in his arms more clearly. A slight smile curved her mouth. "Is this hers?"
Jaw grinding against the raw emotions that had been hammering him for days, Ghru glanced down, then met Mae's eyes. "Aye," he breathed. "And mine." He looked at Brie again, and let out a shuddering breath. "Didn't mean to..." A tear escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek.
"Some things cannot be helped," she reassured him. She boldly dabbed his cheek with the cloth. "You cannot help how you were made; nor can she."
Ghru bowed his head. "She knew... one of mine... would be big," he whispered brokenly. "She... she knew."
"Take heart," Mae told him. "I have no intention of leaving her to suffer. I have seen far worse than this and brought mother and child through. Gwen," she said over her shoulder. "Take this child so he may rest." Eyes widening in sudden panic, Gwen stared at her mother for several moments, unwilling to move.
Stiffening, Ghru recoiled slightly. Mae shook her head. "No, listen to me. You have clearly sat vigil for some while. Sleep is what you need as surely as she does. My daughter has aided me at bedsides for years; your child could not be in more capable hands." She glanced over her shoulder and gave her daughter an encouraging nod.
Again, the giant Orc appeared conflicted. Gwen reluctantly rose, and could barely force her feet to close the distance between them, regardless that he was still kneeling on the floor. But she knew better than to disobey her mother's commands in a sick room. Steeling herself, the girl tentatively extended her arms toward the sleeping baby.
Though wary, Ghru was also exhausted. He had, indeed, held vigil at his mate's side ever since Nûrzgrat brought her back. Perhaps it had only been a day and a night, and he had often gone days without sleep, but it had been some time since he'd deprived himself so. His body protested the denial of rest, yet he dreaded losing his mate while he selfishly succumbed to weariness.
"You promise?" he pressed, holding Mae's gaze intently. "You will tend her, and she will live?"
"Yes to both," Mae replied confidently.
After a long moment of searching the midwife's eyes, Ghru eventually relented and carefully shifted his daughter into Gwen's arms.
In spite of her revulsion and fear of these monsters, Gwen had a weakness for babies, and the little brown-skinned, pointed-eared child was a lovely one. She found her brow smoothing and a smile drifting across her face as she looked down at the contented child. "What is its name?" she asked, gently rocking where she stood.
"She is called Hontor," Ghru replied.
"A girl," Gwen nodded. "She is quite... beautiful." To her surprise, she realized she meant it.
Swelling with pride, Ghru chuckled. "Got her looks from her mum. Obviously."
Glancing at the Orc, Gwen saw the slight smile and the fond look he gave the baby. She wasn't quite sure what she thought of an Orc with a sense of humor. It seemed so... unnatural and natural at the same time, and very confusing.
"Well," Mae said briskly, "I'll have a look at Sandy's work now." Shooing her husband away, she set to examining the stitching the redhead informed her of.
Faelur stepped aside and discretely turned away from the womanly proceedings. It was uncomfortable to be ordered about by his wife, yet she seemed at her ease, and he had to admit a desperate need for someone with reassuring confidence. At the bedside of a new mother was not a place he had ever been, not even when Gwen was brought forth. He certainly hadn't been in such a place with an Orc growling and snarling threateningly. Perhaps the beast was quiet now, but he knew that would change in an instant if any of them made the slightest move. Though the Orc had retreated to a large chair in the corner, its foul gaze was fixed upon every move Mae and Gwen made, clearly watching for any excuse to lash out.
Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Faelur resolved to divert the beast's attention. He weighed the potential for conversation, albeit crude. It had spoken in short, clipped sentences - likely the best the vile creature could manage - and did not now seem inclined to speak more. Indeed, the tall, lanky Orc was leaning back in the chair and rubbing its hideous face tiredly. Behind him, Faelur could hear his wife and daughter conversing in low voices, Mae ever the instructor, teaching the girl how to bring the children of others into the world.
Faelur turned to the Orc and ventured cautiously in a low voice, "So. Your child is, erm... lovely."
Ghru slowly lowered his hands from his face and peered up at the man. The whiteskin's gaze darted about, looking everywhere but at Ghru, not even showing the same bravery or courtesy of his mate. He stunk of fear so acutely it made the Uruk's nose twitch. It was also clear the man didn't mean the words he said. Ghru curled his lip in a snarl.
"Aye," he grunted.
"A couple of days old, I expect?"
"Aye."
Without any help from the Orc, the subject ground to a halt, leaving Faelur floundering for something else to say. Since his gaze kept finding its way to the walls and ceiling, he settled for that. "This house is well made."
"Aye," Ghru muttered.
"Did you find this place?" Thinking that a bloody stupid question, Ghru just snorted in reply. "Houses already built when you came?" Faelur clarified.
"No. We built them."
"Truly?" the man asked, finally looking at the Orc with something akin to incredulity on his face. Ghru's scowl deepened. Faelur stammered anxiously, "I meant no offense. I just... well, I did not think... that is... Where did you learn such skills?"
"There was a ruin here," Ghru growled. "Couple walls left. We looked at it and figured it out. We are not stupid."
"No, no, of course not," Faelur said hastily. "I only meant to say..."
"Save it, whiteskin," Ghru snarled. "I am done."
Faelur nodded, his mouth closing tightly.
Finishing her examination, Mae nodded, pleased. Sandy had done very well for not having much experience. No permanent damage was done, either. The tears would heal nicely, given time. Returning to her task of hydrating the poor woman, she managed to coax a few more cups full of water into Brianna. The young woman was strong-willed, and responded quickly. While it would likely be days, perhaps weeks, before Brianna was back to normal, Mae at least felt confident that she would recover.
"My baby," Brie said weakly, looking around. Mae soothed her brow with the damp cloth again.
"She is fine," the midwife replied. "My daughter has her."
Brie chuckled as she relaxed. "How on earth did you get her away from Ghru?"
Mae smiled. "It was not easy. He is very protective of you both."
"He always has been." Then her brow pinched with worry and she looked intently at Mae. "Am I going to die?" she whispered, her expression serious.
Mae had heard the same question of many women who'd endured a trying labor. She smiled kindly. "Perhaps one day. But not today."
"Good," Brie sighed with relief, then looked over at Ghru, engaged in what appeared to be a very awkward conversation. Smiling faintly, she said, "I don't think he can live without me."
The statement struck Mae as devoid of any conceit; the woman was simply stating a fact, as one would describe the sky as blue or the grass as green. Remembering the unguarded looks the Orc had given this woman, Mae decided that Brianna was likely right, and felt a tremor of envy for such devotion.
Mae's marriage to Faelur was not one of love, but of duty and obligation. She endured it, but did not enjoy it. There was more passionate caring in the gaze of that Orc than she had ever seen in Faelur's eyes. Though she had long since dismissed the desire for love as frivolous and lost to her, Mae found herself longing for it once more. But as it had ever been, the moment was brief, and drowned swiftly by bitter acceptance. Her smile strained, Mae urged Brianna to take another cup of water.
At the foot of Brie's bed, Gwen held little Hontor in her arms and looked down into that peaceful face. She could see the mother's features here and there, in subtle ways, but mostly she saw the father and his race in the heavier forehead, blunt nose, and pointed ears. Was it from her mother that the infant acquired such smooth skin? The Orc's flesh appeared burned and marred, mottled by many shades of brown and black. None of these flaws could be seen in the child.
As calm returned in the quiet shelter, Gwen recalled where she was, and how she came to be here. She was wearing a shirt given her by an Orc who seemed, nearly as she could tell, her equal in age. She could barely recall anything else about him, so frightened was she on arriving in the settlement. While Berendir assured her that the Uruk-hai were wicked beyond reckoning, and all she'd heard of Orcs were grisly tales of their rampages, she saw nothing that should frighten her. After all, if these women were at their ease, and cared enough for the Orcs to bear their children, then surely there was nothing to fear, was there?
She looked to her mother for reassurance that this was so, and saw that Mae was focused entirely upon the sick woman, having settled into her routine and paying no mind to the Orc. Yet her father fidgeted nervously, shifting from foot to foot, clasping and unclasping his hands. Watching him made her nervous; a mere glance at her mother eased her fears.
Confused, Gwen turned her attention to the little child, gone silent in her arms. Hontor was gazing up at her curiously, large hazel eyes unblinking. Cautiously, Gwen offered a finger for the child to grasp, and giggled briefly when those eyes crossed to focus on the digit. Then a little hand reached up and gripped Gwen's finger, and the girl couldn't help but smile.