Romana slumped to the floor beside the injured Uruk, letting a long-held breath out slowly. Resting her elbows on her drawn-up knees, she rubbed her face. It was over. Finally. She was safe in the keep.
"You do not look happy," Rukhtorû observed quietly. He needn't have kept his voice down; the great hall was filled to capacity with wounded men, many of whom were groaning from various injuries. It was more likely that Romana would be joining the ranks of healers and their assistants than breaking out her lute.
"I'm thrilled," she muttered.
"We are in the keep," he pointed out. Gesturing toward the hearth that stretched across one end of the room, he added, "Fireplace from hell."
Snorting a brief laugh, Romana looked over at him. "Do you know why I tried so hard to get us here?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Humans don't like to be cold?"
"There's that," she agreed. "Mostly, though, I wanted to get away from the battlefield. Far away." She shuddered, then looked around at the rows of men. "Not that this is a whole hell of a lot better."
"Why get away?"
"You're going to think this is retarded, but I'm not altogether comfortable hanging out in the immediate vicinity of dead bodies." Movement caught her attention, and she rolled her eyes. "Christ on a bicycle, it's Boromir."
The tall Gondorian stalked between the rows and stopped in front of Romana and Rukhtorû. He dropped to one knee, nearly looking like he was going to bestow a favor on the woman. However, he didn't turn to her.
"Listen well, orc," he snarled. "It is not for your benefit that you sit here among your betters. We have more appropriate accommodations for prisoners of war that I would be happy throwing you into and losing the key. You harm one hair on that woman's head, addled and misguided though it may be, and I will split you open like a pig and drag you by your guts across the floor. Do not doubt I know how to keep you alive while I do it. Do we understand each other?"
Rukhtorû glowered at the man, but said nothing. Rising, Boromir gave him one last threatening glance, nodded stiffly to Romana, and marched away.
"'Addled and misguided'?" she huffed, folding her arms over her chest. "I saved his ass, and now I'm addled? Jerk."
"Should have let him die," the Uruk snarled. "Give me a sword, and I will see to it."
"Pish," she said, waving dismissively. "What's done is done. Let his dad work it out. Though you know," she said thoughtfully, appraising the Uruk, "I can't think of a better person to trot you in front of than the Steward of Gondor. Admittedly, I only know him from stories, but I've never liked him much. Hmm...too bad I've decided not to go to Minas Tirith."
"Why would you go there?"
"Oh, it'll be the happening place here in a couple weeks. Everybody who's anybody will be there," she said, grinning. "You'll of course have thousands of men from Gondor and surrounding provinces in attendance. This lot and anyone they can shake out of the trees will be headed there in short order. Then, of course, the guests of honor: Sauron's horde. Naturally, they'll bring all their friends from out east. It'll be a huge party."
"Battle is coming, then," he said thoughtfully.
"Yeah, pretty much the battle to almost end all battles. The one that actually ends them all won't be for another week or so afterwards." Clapping her hands together and rubbing them, she said, "The shit is poised and ready to hit the fan, my friend. The pieces are laid out on the board. But you and I will be freaking long gone by then."
Rukhtorû frowned. "Stop. What are you talking about? You know what is to come?"
"Well, yeah. I know everything that's happening, and what will happen." Bewildered, she said, "Didn't I mention that?"
"No, you did not," he snapped.
"Huh. Must've slipped my mind."
"Are you a seer?"
"Hell no," she scoffed. "If I were a seer, I would have been warned about you and done a better job with the knife, wouldn't I?"
"And what do you mean, we will be long gone?"
"I've been meaning to bring that up," she said cautiously. "I have...a unique proposal. Something that might intrigue you."
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Do I have a choice?"
"Of course you do," she said, surprised. "Everyone has a choice. Now listen, what would you say to a bit of travel? You know, see the world. Explore."
"You spared my life...for this?"
"Well...no, not exactly," she replied uneasily. "In all truth, I spared your life because I...just...didn't want to take it from you. Sounds kinda lame, I know. Meeting you in battle was one thing; seeing you suffering, dying...add to that, the king wanted us to finish off any orcs we found..." She shook her head. "That's not how I roll. Maybe you would have happily done me in, were our positions reversed, but I just...couldn't."
"You are weak," Rukhtorû sneered. "I would have slain you. Cut out your heart."
"In that order?" Romana said with a smile. "It would sound more threatening if you cut out my heart first, ate it before my eyes, then killed me. If you're going for scary bastard, do it right."
"You mock me," he snarled.
"Nah," she said dismissively. "Just trying to help you out. So what do you say? When your leg's all better, we hit the road, you and me. See the world. I'll bet there's tons of places you haven't been to."
"If I do not?"
"Well, the alternative is languishing in a dungeon somewhere," she replied thoughtfully. "Although, I think you're more likely to be killed than imprisoned. One thing I've noticed around here is that the people are really cranky about orcs of any persuasion. At least it's not specific, I suppose. Like, they really hate Isengarders, but the bunch up in Moria...eh, not so bad. It's pretty universal." Dropping her voice to a low register and furrowing her brow, she growled, "Orc, bad." Then she giggled. "Not many prospects outside of my offer. And what's awesome is that Gandalf is all for it. Okay, maybe not the travel bit because I didn't mention it to him, but the not-killing-you part, he's on board for that."
"Gandalf is the wizard, is he not?" Rukhtorû asked hesitantly.
"Yeah," she replied, nodding. "You probably noticed he looks a lot like your former master. He just got a promotion. Pretty much muscled Saruman out of his job. If you're interested, those two are not men, they're Maiar."
"Maiar? What is that?"
"Servants of the Valar. There are several Maiar floating around. A couple more wizards like them. Sauron is a Maia as well."
Rukhtorû blanched. "Saruman is...the equal of the Dark Lord?"
"I wouldn't go that far," Romana said, shaking her head. "Sauron is pretty god damned powerful, more than our two wizard friends, that's for sure. After all, the Valar sent five of them here to counter him. Four, now that Saruman has thrown his hand in with the enemy."
The Uruk snorted. "I am your enemy. If we were not here, if I had my sword..."
"Yeah, yeah, you'd kill me, cut out my heart, shit down my neck, blah, blah, blah," she retorted. "The fact of the matter is, you would be taking a dirt nap if I hadn't come along, and if you don't come with me, you'll still be taking a dirt nap."
"Where would we be going?"
"Glad you asked," Romana crowed, digging in her pack. "I never get to go anywhere fun with these boys. It's always mines, swamps, haunted forests, and battlefields. Ah, here we are." She pulled a weather-stained map out and smoothed it on the floor between her feet. Rukhtorû leaned forward with interest.
"All right, we're here, at Helm's Deep. That bit there is Isengard, just to give you your bearings," she said, then dragged her finger westward, down the Isen to the coast. "I was thinking a seaside holiday would be nice. Ever eat lobster?"
"No, but I have eaten foolish tarks," he growled.
"Lobster's way better," she replied easily. "Not sure how we'd get a hold of any, but that's a good hundred, hundred-fifty miles to come up with a plan, huh? From there, who knows? Up northward into Bree-land? Ah, man, the honeyed mead at the Prancing Pony in Bree is to die for. I'm not much of a drinker, but holy crap, you'll think you died and went to heaven."
"Why me?" Rukhtorû asked, eying her up and down with a smirk. "I am not good company for a human."
"Nonsense," Romana snorted. "You just need to be properly motivated."
"Ah," he said, leering. "You will bed me, then. That would motivate me."
Romana glared at him, eyebrows arched nearly into her hairline. "I wouldn't go hanging my hat on that possibility, if I were you. I figured freedom and discovery were motivation enough. Apparently I misjudged your capacity. I was under the impression that Saruman made smarter orcs, not hornier orcs."
"If you do not wish to mate, you should not kiss me," he snarled.
"I'll keep that in mind," she retorted. "But for the record, you kissed me. Just so we're clear."
"You did not stop me."
"I was surprised," she said, shifting uncomfortably.
"You enjoyed it."
"Maybe. But you whimpered, as I recall. Oh, stop your growling. Just admit you liked it too, and let it go. Good grief, you're as bad as a man. Pride goes before a fall, you know. Ask your master about that one."
They were interrupted by the approach of one of the healers. He curled his lip with disgust at the Uruk, but directed his attention to Romana.
"My lady, forgive my intrusion, but are you able to assist? We are short-handed here..."
"Say no more," Romana said, standing up and stretching. "I'm at your service." Turning to Rukhtorû, she said, "Give it some thought. Obviously, that leg's got to heal first, so you've got time. Just think about it." Then she followed the healer across the hall.
Rukhtorû frowned at his leg. It pained him somewhat, but seemed to be improving. Someone had sewn it properly, muscle and all, so the healing would be faster and more thorough. But he was tired. The blood loss was only beginning to recede as a factor in his overall weakness, now that he was eating decent rations, getting plenty of water, and bedding down in a warm, dry, clean place. His strength was returning rapidly, which was a relief. He didn't much like being so helpless in a hall filled with his enemies, and he with no weapons or means of defense.
Still, it could be worse. He wasn't entirely sure what a 'dirt nap' was, but he could guess it had something to do with being dead. That was something he did not wish to be at the moment. Not with the memory of her kiss still haunting his thoughts. Yes, he had enjoyed the sensation, coupled with his inexplicable submission to her. To be submissive in any context was abhorrent to him, yet for some reason, with the woman, it had been a natural position to take, and had certainly encouraged her to let the experience go on far longer than the Uruk would have expected.
And it felt good. There was no denying that.
