Epilogue: Unexpected Connections

"So... they haven't seen the surface in thousands of years?" Sam asked, and Mr. Wendell nodded.

"Indeed not," he confirmed as they strolled beneath the trees. New leaves were beginning to bud and the sound of cheerful birdsong was all around. "The concept of seasonal change was lost to them so many generations ago, they have no memory of it now."

Ahead of them, Hornhûr could barely walk a straight line; his eyes darted and ears pricked toward every bird's chirp and squirrel's rustle in the underbrush, and his nose quivered with the bombardment of new smells as the world seemed to change before his eyes. Only a week ago, there was still a thick layer of snow on the ground. Already, the early thaw revealed earth and leaves he'd had to dig for when he first emerged.

"It's like he's from another planet, in a way," Sam murmured. The last few months cooped up in the cabin with the Orc hadn't been without its challenges, but at least her threat to teach him English had borne fruit. Hornhûr may have been undervalued by his people, but Sam was impressed with his sharp mind and quick absorption. She didn't have to refer to the Orcish dictionary nearly as often now as when they started.

"You could say that, yes," Mr. Wendell chuckled. "It pleases me whenever I visit, seeing him blossom and grow. I confess, he is the first who has had a place in which to flourish. He adapts far better than I gave his folk credit for."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, then blushed a little. "He's... made himself right at home."

"Has he?" the old man said, his brow arched. His warm, brown eyes seemed to probe into her heart, and she found herself embarrassed by what he likely saw there. He smiled gently. "Samantha, I am as old as the wind and the sky, the earth and the water, yet I am not blind, and I do remember the simpler things."

"It's not... all that simple," she protested weakly. "We're so... different. I mean, he... I don't understand him half the time, and it gets really frustrating. But I... there's something about him..." Sighing and shrugging helplessly, she concluded, "I just don't know what to make of him. He looks like... that, but he's not..."

"I see," Mr. Wendell nodded. "He bears the look of a beast, yet he is gentle-natured. What you see, I believe, is the tempering of his ancestry, and likely the reason he was cast out." Furrowing his brow thoughtfully, he clarified, "Perhaps not entirely the reason, but a factor in the decision. You see, his people were obliged to treat females deferentially for their own survival. I can see in Hornhûr a greater degree of this... deference, even with males, than I have ever encountered."

"So... he's too big of a wimp?" Sam ventured uncertainly, and Mr. Wendell chuckled.

"That isn't quite how I would put it, but yes," he replied. "But of course, we can only guess. He has not even told me, in his own tongue, what urged his removal. We have not seen him particularly provoked, either. One might label him... a throw-back, as it were, to his human ancestry. But he may only exhibit such tendencies when there are no threats to him or... his mate." He glanced significantly at Sam; her cheeks reddened and she looked away.

"Are you, um, telling me that... way back in the dark ages," she said awkwardly, "Orcs like Hornhûr... were... that they interbred with humans? Like, happy little communities of Orcs and humans and all their... uh... weird-looking kids?" She smiled wanly.

Mr. Wendell sighed, bowing his head."You have not asked, and I'm certain he has not the means of telling you himself just yet, so I shall tell you myself." Pausing in their walk, he gathered his thoughts. "Hornhûr is an Uruk, or so they called themselves long ago. They were bred for a particular purpose, not intended to survive beyond attaining their master's goal. They were Orcs bred for war, and little else. To make them stronger and more intelligent than their progenitors, and more tolerant of the sun as well, their master bred them with Men."

"Bred them," Sam said hesitantly, glancing at Hornhûr as he bent down to examine a clump of early-blooming flowers. "Like... animals?"

"Yes, very like animals," Mr. Wendell replied. "His people don't recall very much more than myths of their forefathers, even less of those who bore them. For indeed, such were their master's aims and methods that he disdained females, and only bred males. When their master was defeated and Men began to hunt them, their only recourse was to continue breeding with Men lest their race end. Or more specifically, with Women."

"Um...," Sam ventured, feeling very uncomfortable all of a sudden, "you're... probably going to tell me this, um... wasn't..."

"No, it was not," Mr. Wendell said sadly. "Women were captured and dragged into hiding with them, forced to bear half-Orc young as their predecessors had. The Uruk-hai were not aided by other Orcs due to their unique making; Orcs did not trust them. The most they could hope for was shared space beneath the ground; Orcs would not share their females. And so the Uruk-hai had little choice."

"Those women had none," Sam growled, folding her arms over her chest. She found herself staring at Hornhûr as he avidly watched a bird tuck and tie grass and twigs to build a nest.

"Do not blame Hornhûr for the deeds of his ancestors," Mr. Wendell said quietly. "After all, something good did come of their actions."

"I can hardly wait," she muttered, feeling a bit nauseous. "What 'good' came of it?"

"Well, because the Uruk-hai were never exposed to females, they were likewise not acquainted with child-rearing," he said, a touch of ironic amusement in his voice. "An interesting evolution occurred, which you can see in Hornhûr today. To ensure their young would survive, and therefore their race as a whole, the Uruk-hai... softened. At least with regards to females. While my understanding from the few I've spoken with is not complete, I have been able to deduce a few interesting points based on what their society is like now.

"To begin with, females in their clans hold a great deal of power. They dictate with whom they mate, for whom they bear young, how often they do so, and when. They are protected from all harm, whether from outside the clan or within it. If a female does not wish to mate, she does not have to. If she does, she may choose her suitor. Or, indeed, suitors." His brown cheeks reddened a little. "There are even those whose... purpose is... well, you would call them 'prostitutes' today. But even they may choose... whom they serve." A half-smile curved his mouth. "Hornhûr told me that he was labeled 'coward' by his people. An Uruk prostitute will not... associate with a coward."

"Are you saying he's a virgin?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Yes, quite," Mr. Wendell said awkwardly. "While the Uruk-hai are outwardly male-dominated, the females hold power of their own even at the lowest rank. As I understand it, the chieftain of an Uruk clan may have two wives, but no more. Other Uruks in the clan may only have one. They tend not to... 'mate for life,' as it were, but they can, just as an Orc is able to."

"Isn't it a conscious choice?" she frowned. "What do you mean, 'able to'?"

"Orcs... pair-bond, I believe is the term," he replied. "It is a conscious choice to do so, yes, but it is a physical... chemical, you might say, connection that is quite different from the way animals that bond go about it. Perhaps because the Orc is a higher form of animal, incorporating intelligence and emotion, self-awareness and empathy... any number of things which set them apart. The Uruk-hai lost this ability for a time, or were unable to control when it occurred. Over time, and perhaps through cross-breeding with their Orcish cousins, the ability returned. They may bond, or 'mate for life,' if they choose to. However, it is a very strong commitment that is not taken lightly, for unlike among animals, it cannot be repeated with another if the mate dies."

"Ew," Sam remarked sympathetically. She thought of her own parents; her mother grieved for years after Sam's father passed on, but was able, after maybe a decade, to love again. Sam barely remembered whether her mom was happy with her dad, but certainly saw evidence of it with her step-father. If a bond like that had been in place, would her mother grieve forever and never be happy? No wonder the Orcs didn't just do it willy-nilly.

"Tell me what concerns you, Samantha," Mr. Wendell urged. "All that I have seen of young Hornhûr these past few months has told me he cares for you. I do not believe you have anything to fear from him. Were he an Orc, perhaps you would have cause for concern; they are not... quite as solicitous to human women as the Uruk-hai have, by necessity, become."

"Do I even want to know what you mean by that?" Sam whimpered, rubbing her forehead. Before Mr. Wendell could reply, she nodded. "Yeah, I think I do. What sort of... crap would an Orc throw my way? Just so I have the comparison."

Suppressing an amused smile, the old man said, "To begin with, an Orc would have, likely, slain and eaten you almost immediately. They, at least, hold firm to their hatred of Men. They have not the history of interbreeding that colors an Uruk's opinion; in fact, I believe they utterly disdain such practices, and consider issue from an Orc and a Man as tainted. Dufulb was quite old, and remembered tales passed down from his elders; tales which told of the battles with the baalak. They do not even call Hornhûr's people 'Uruk,' but rather 'half-breed.' Very often, they use derogatory terms that would embarrass any listener."

Grimacing a little, Sam stole another glance at Hornhûr, peacefully laying on a rock some flowers he'd picked. A few still had their roots, and a smile played about her face, watching him. One by one, he arranged the flowers side by side, taking great care that their stems all met in a straight line.

Mr. Wendell noticed her soft expression, and followed her gaze. "When you look at him," he said quietly, "what do you see?"

"Innocence," she murmured. "Wonder." She shook herself and turned away. An uncomfortable look was on her face. "I don't know... how I feel."

His smile was kind. "I think you do," Mr. Wendell said.

Sam hesitated, unsure what to say or how to say it. Hugging herself, she said quietly, "I... think about... him... a lot. Not really innocent sort of thinking, either." Squeezing her eyes shut, she felt her cheeks heat up and ducked her head. The old man chuckled warmly.

"He speaks to your heart in words no one else hears," Mr. Wendell suggested. "You found him in the wilderness, held him when he lay dying, and spent the last four months in his company. What made you urge my hand? Why did you want me to save him?"

"Because he was dying," she said incredulously. "God, it's what anyone would do."

Mr. Wendell shook his head sadly. "Not everyone, Samantha. You saved him for his sake, not your own, correct?"

Frowning, she said, "Of course. I don't know what..."

"Dufulb was kept alive, but in such a state that he begged for death of his captors, of the student, and of me," he told her. "Only I, and eventually the student, even knew what he was saying. I was there; I doubt very much that if the scientists had known his pain, they would have done anything for his sake. They saw his potential to serve their own ends, as has been the way of things with Orcs for countless generations."

"They were slaves," Sam said, the light dawning. Everything he'd said about the Uruk-hai being bred... She'd read 'Roots'; even as recently as two centuries ago, mankind was not above breeding other humans for particular traits. One could only get away with that sort of behavior when slavery was institutionalized, as it was then. Slavery was rarely seen out in the open today, at least in 'civilized' countries, but something told her the only reason why Orcs were no longer slaves was because their masters all died, not because some banner-waving advocate urged reforms.

"They were," Mr. Wendell nodded. "From the moment of their first emergence to the day they sealed themselves within their vaults and caverns, they were slaves. Orcs somehow carved out an existence, a culture, a way of living, when their masters were too weakened by war and strife to command them, but these times were never lengthy. Men and Elves did not require the master's presence to slaughter his slaves, so the Orcs remained aggressive and violent toward any intruder. I am afraid they did not often wait for attacks to come; rather, they sought out their enemies, bringing the conflict to them, choosing the time and place for battle, and for vengeance. Orcs live for centuries, if allowed to do so; they do not forget a wrong." Sighing, he bowed his head. "Those were bloody times."

Glancing at Sam, he chuckled, and a dark cloud seemed to lift. "Listen to me, warbling about the past as any aged Man would. What is most important is the here and now; what passed ages ago, is past. We speak of Hornhûr, not the multitudes who came before him. What say you of him? What are your... feelings? I promise, nothing you say will offend or shock me. I have already seen a good deal of it in your manner with him; it seems you only need to speak of it to make it... 'real' to you, perhaps?"

"I guess I... I want him to be... what he looks like," Sam said hesitantly. Her gaze fell upon Hornhûr again. He'd gathered up the flowers into a bouquet and was coming to her, a shy smile on his face. Sighing, she returned his smile, her heart swelling. "I'm glad he is what he is, though," she murmured.

Hornhûr held the flowers out to her, waiting for her to accept them. His grin broadened when she did. "You," he said, nodding to her, "pretty, like flower."

"Thank you," she blushed, ducking her head to hide her pleased smile.

Glancing at Mr. Wendell, Hornhûr nodded to him, then wandered off again. There was so much to see, such a wide world of smells and sounds...

Mr. Wendell watched the young Uruk pick his way carefully around the bushes and trees, examining each one with interest. "He is different, and you fear that," he said evenly, then glanced at Sam to gauge her reaction. As expected, she frowned and looked away.

"Yeah, that's... yeah," she acknowledged with a nod. "I'm ashamed of that, actually. I look at him and... god, this is embarrassing," she faltered, her voice trailing off. "If he was... human, I'd be... well... dammit, there's no delicate way of... Okay, I'd be sleeping with him." She shrugged helplessly. "You probably think that's gross."

"Actually, I don't," Mr. Wendell replied mildly. "The affection of one being to another is perfectly natural. That he is an Uruk and you are a human makes little difference, in the grand scheme of things." Smiling at her, he added, "Let go of your own prejudices, and do not look for them in others. This is between you and Hornhûr."

Closing her eyes and bowing her head, Sam nodded. It was true; she spent too much time worrying about what other people would say, and not enough examining what she felt. In all honesty, no one else besides her cousin, who was half cracked anyway, and a couple of his friends even knew Hornhûr was here. They took turns bringing groceries up to the cabin all through the harsh winter months, keeping Sam and Hornhûr well-supplied. Marty even taught the Uruk how to split logs like a champ. Apart from them, there was Dale's wife and kids, who'd come out after the worst of the storms had blown over, to 'see the Orc.' Other than Dale's teen-aged daughters exchanging an 'ew' face over Hornhûr's bestial features, there had been little comment.

But none knew the way Sam was beginning to feel about her roommate, either.

"Yes," she finally conceded with a nod, "it's between us." Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly. The old man's visits were never without these moments of deep thought and quiet revelation, she mused. It seemed less strange every time she saw him that he actually witnessed the exodus of the Orcs into hiding so many millenia ago he couldn't even estimate a ballpark number. One thing frequently leapt to mind for Sam, though, but usually only after he'd left. Not so this time, thankfully.

"Mr. Wendell," she ventured, "how do you know when an Orc or Uruk gets thrown out? I'm guessing they don't drop you an email about it."

"No, indeed not," Mr. Wendell chuckled. "Let us say that a little bird tells me." As always, his cryptic words were delivered with a twinkle in his eye and an underlying sense that it was a mystery he would not reveal anytime soon. Sam shook her head resignedly.

A completely unnatural bird call sounded from the region of Sam's pocket. Grinning sheepishly, she muttered, "The shattering glass scares the bejesus out of Hornhûr." She took out her phone and answered it.

"Hello?"

Oh thank god. This is Sam, right? Dale's cousin?

"Yes," Sam replied hesitantly, her brow furrowing. "Who is this?"

You probably don't remember me. Shit, I'm guessing about all of Dale's friends are like one big prosthetics nightmare for you.

"Yeah, actually," she conceded. Sam's frown deepened; the voice was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it. The fact that this woman knew her made her wrack her brains trying to come up with the name so she wouldn't have to embarrass herself by asking.

Listen, this is like the shittiest thing anyone's ever done to you, but I need help in a major way, and you're the only one who... well, nobody knows I know you. If I'm lucky, I won't be connected to Dale, either, but you're... further out of the loop and... I'm in so much trouble, you have no idea.

Though Mr. Wendell obviously couldn't hear the voice on the phone, Sam met his eyes in bewilderment anyway. "Slow down, okay? What's going on? What kind of trouble?"

Dammit, hold on a sec...

There was a brief pause, and Sam's frown deepened as she heard a loud, rough voice say something incoherent on the other end. "What...?"

Jesus, sorry. I've gotta get off the grid. Go into hiding. I know Dale's dad had some kind of cabin up in the mountains. Can you get me there? I'll worry about working things out with him later. I'm out of options. I don't know where to go. They're gonna find me. Can you help me? Please?

The woman's desperate voice was hitching as though she were fighting tears. "Look," Sam said, trying to calm her down, "everything'll be okay. Just... tell me who you are. I'm sorry, I'm drawing a blank here."

Sorry, sorry. It's been awhile. Remember that campaign Dale's guys did about... crap, five years ago, I think? Where they ended up getting arrested for public indecency or something?

Sam's jaw fell open as it all came rushing back. It wasn't indecency, but intoxication; that hardly mattered now. She remembered who this was, and all but whispered the name with stunned realization: "Biz?"

A/N: And so this installment ends so another can pick up 'the rest of the story.' If you're wondering who Biz is, check out Weird Summoning. Why she's on the run will be painfully clear... as soon as I get back to writing that fic. :)