Chapter 11

The fact that they were inside Lurtz's tent, aware of the proximity of the others and surrounded by the familiar night sounds of the camp, added a new edge of excitement to their lovemaking. Saruman's orders and the battle they were about to face were on the minds of both Uruks as well. Soon they would not have much time for pleasure. They were both aware of it; so there was no need to waste time talking about it. The two Uruk-hai warriors felt strangely defiant about their union, and the bond between them grew with every new touch.

They made love three times that night, drifting in and out of sleep between their rough and passionate couplings. There was unwont sweetness in the realization that they would wake up and immediately be able to smell, touch and taste familiar flesh – flesh that willingly yielded to embraces, playful tongue strokes and teasing bites; flesh that was willing to give and to take pleasure.

Uglúk woke up when the grey light of a new morning trickled through the roof of the tent. He remained complete still in Lurtz's possessive embrace and relished this moment, yet he was disturbed by the dark whisper in his mind telling him that this happiness would not last. The taller Uruk had buried his face in the side of his lover's neck, and Uglúk felt damp breath wash over his skin in slow, soothing waves. A heavy arm rested on his chest and belly, the meaty hand still temptingly close to his flaccid, satisfied member.

With a sigh, Uglúk eventually turned his head and softly purring rubbed his face against Lurtz's cheek. He knew better than to end his lover's slumber with a teasing bite, well aware that the Uruk-hai leader's warrior instincts knew nothing of sleep and might take over the unconscious body fast enough to hurt him. Before Lurtz's eyes opened, his nostrils widened to sniff the air. With a pleased grunt, he took in Uglúk's warm scent and the thick, musky fragrance of their lovemaking.

Then the slit-pupiled eyes flashed open, and Uglúk was greeted by his lover's broad, trademark grin. A few seconds later Lurtz's hand came to life on the other Uruk's belly, and a sharp nail began to travel south in a playful, suggestive movement. Uglúk's wiry body responded with a shiver, and he sighed with both delight and regret upon noticing his lover's reawakened hunger – mostly regret though, because of what he planned to do.

He quickly struggled out of Lurtz's embrace as long as it was still drowsy and undemanding, deliberately ignoring the surprise in those bright yellow eyes. The grin died away and was replaced by a frown.

"No... not right now," Uglúk mumbled sheepishly and sat up.

He could not bring himself to meet Lurtz's confused gaze. Instead he looked up and down his torso, pretending to inspect the wounds left by their fight. Then he reached for his belt and took out the small flask with Saruman's potion. The disgusting taste of the cold liquid made him squint – at least this part he did not have to pretend – but he was careful only to swallow a very small portion of it, making sure that enough of the brew was left in the bottle.

"Elf shit muste taste like this... pretty useful stuff though," he phrased as casually as he could muster and flung the carefully recapped flask on the narrow strip of space between them. Stretching and yawning he got up and lumbered out of the tent without looking at Lurtz, with false cheerfulness announcing that he had to take a leak.

As soon as he was outside the tent his facade crashed. Balling his fists, Uglúk began to curse first in Black Speech, then in Westron and at last in their own Isengard dialect for good measure. It was not in the nature of the Uruk-hai to play games and lead others on. If they wanted to be cruel, they were cruel – openly so, but the same was true for their rarely bestowed loyalty. In any case, deceit was not their strength, and Uglúk was no exception.

He would have loved to accept Lurtz's invitation, and the knowledge that he had acted out of concern for his pig-headed lover did nothing to mitigate the shame and wretchedness gnawing at his bowels. He felt hollow and miserable. Even if Lurtz eventually decided to brush aside what had passed and forgave him the weakness he had feigned, Uglúk dreaded the time that lay ahead. He walked back to his own sleeping place, convinced that he would spend a lot of time without his lover in the future.

"Hey, back so early? Big one tired of your sorry dick and kicked you out?" a hoarse voice bellowed.

"Hold your tongue, Azgoth, or I shove it down your throat along with your cut-off balls," Uglúk snapped back.

"Oooooh, that is sooo unlike you... We are mightily pissed off, aren't we?"

"You don't know me very well..."

Uglúk was standing face to face with the other Uruk now, ready to strike.

"Never had the chance to. Looks like you've been too busy fucking our dear boss lately. Or is it the other way round?"

Azgoth grinned broadly, but as a matter of fact he was just as angry as Uglúk, and the latter knew exactly why. Azgoth was Second in Command, but he had become so by Saruman's decree, not because he had fought for the position or otherwise earned his comrades' respect. Being the firstborn, Lurtz's leadership might have been not less of an arbitrary choice, but his brothers and the White Wizard alike had watched his every step from the day of his birth, and from that very day on he had proven his value to both sides.

Once Lurtz's rank was sufficiently clarified, everything seemed to have been settled. Nobody paid any attention to Azgoth, who was caught in a most unfavorable position. Lurtz treated him like a tool, dishing out orders without noticing the inferior Uruk's resentments, and the others did not like Azgoth because they perceived him to be just a servile henchman of their ill-tempered leader, albeit without any valor and pride of his own.

Uglúk knew very well that his companions were partially right in their assessment of Azgoth, and he shared their low opinion of this particular Uruk without investing the energy to hate him. The Second in Command could have challenged Lurtz's leadership several times, but he had not dared to do so while others of lower rank had possessed that courage. Yet he was obviously very much afraid now that Uglúk was after his position.

"You worry too much about things that are not your business and too little about those that are."

The voice of Lurtz's lover had been perfectly level, while a malicious smile spread on his face. He edged even closer to Azgoth, glaring at him with an unholy lust for bloodshed in his eyes. It was quite amusing though to see how his quick tongue had thrown the other Uruk off balance. With an annoyed grumble Azgoth retreated, muttering an insult. It sounded half-hearted, and it was unintelligible even to Uglúk's keen ears.

"Gutless pig!" Uglúk spat, sincerely disappointed that Azgoth had not attacked him.

But Azgoth was not that stupid. He knew as well as any other Uruk in their troop that Lurtz had an uncanny instinct for finding out who had started a fight, and it had not escaped his observation that only very few instigators had survived their leader's wrath. Therefore Uglúk was left in relative peace during the next couple of days.

The Uruk-hai were now following the course of the Anduin southward at a fast pace, covering such great distances in the daytime that they were too tired for quarrels at night. Only the odd complaint could be heard from time to time when they set up camp. Lurtz was in a black mood, and Uglúk was not alone in suspecting that their leader had somehow learned that Saruman was not too pleased with how things were developing.

As much as he missed his lover and longed to reestablish their closeness, Uglúk felt it was better to keep to himself for now and divert his fellows' attention from Lurtz, who was still burdened with a completely useless left arm. During the long hours of running Uglúk and every other Uruk witnessed the awkward sway of Lurtz's upper body as he ran. His impairment was painfully obvious.

Uglúk kept an especially close eye on Azgoth. He could sense that something foul was in the air. Unfailingly Azgoth was there when another Uruk uttered a curse or a complaint, always eager to express his low opinion of Lurtz and trying to fuel discontent and doubts regarding their leader's abilities. At times Uglúk was on the verge of grabbing Azgoth and rip him to shreds where he stood, but whenever he was close to choking on his anger – which happened more and more often – he grimly reminded himself that this pleasure was reserved for Lurtz.

The Second in Command, on the other hand, observed Lurtz's lover just as closely. He had actually started to believe that whatever had been going on between the firstborn of the Uruk-hai and Uglúk was history. Since then not a day had gone by without Azgoth attempting to provoke the other Uruk.

The apparent longanimity Uglúk displayed eventually lured him into making a crucial mistake: They all knew their leader's habit of shunning their company at camp, and since they had set out to pursue their enemies with urgency, Uglúk seemed no longer to be exempt from that rule. It never occurred to Azgoth that Lurtz might actually openly seek out his lover.

One night, just after nightfall, Lurtz decided to walk over to Uglúk's place. It was another chilly, moonless night. Sharp needles of icy rain had been falling for hours, their cold sting noticeable even through leather armor, their wetness uncomfortable on the toughest skin. The Uruk-hai had reached a bent in the river, and from its shores the looming shapes of the Argonath could be seen in the distance.

Soon, very soon they would attack, but for now they had to deal with stale meat, wet ground to sleep on and cold rain from above.

"If our dear leader hadn't been so busy with his fuck-toy, we could be on the way back to Isengard already," Azgoth said, dropping his metal armor and weapons with a loud 'clang.'

"In any case, why don't we shoot them in the boats?" he continued. "They are sitting duck on the river... Guess Lurtz would want to do it himself though, and since he cannot..."

Azgoth's rant ended abruptly. As always, he had been watching Uglúk from the corner of his eyes to enjoy the other Uruk's helpless anger. But something was wrong, because suddenly a perfectly happy smile was spreading on Uglúk's face, and Azgoth's tirade was not echoed by his few followers' muttered agreement as usual.

Suddenly a heavy hand fell on the speaker's shoulder, and he was swung around with enough force to send him skidding on the wet leaves. With a broad grin on his face, Lurtz waited for Azgoth to regain his footing. The Second in Command shot furtive glances to all sides, but it did not look as if anyone was eager to come to his aid. Uglúk was the only one who dared to step closer, and he did so with the air of someone picking the best seat to witness a special event. Azgoth's heart fell. He had seen this sort of grin on Lurtz's face before...

Even Uglúk was caught by surprise when Lurtz charged without bothering to confront Azgoth verbally first. Their leader's anger was not cold as usual, in spite of the deliberate, wicked grin he had just displayed. It was red hot, and although the Second in Command had seen Lurtz fight before, he was in no way prepared for the kind of strategy the leader of the Uruk-hai employed against him.

Lurtz simply hurled himself forward, bringing his opened mouth down on Azgoth's face, razing off two thirds in a single bite. Well aware of his handicap, he was intent on bringing the other Uruk down as fast as possible to use the advantage of his greater weight. He rammed his left shoulder against Azgoth's, slowing down the hand brandishing a knife long enough to allow him to evade it. Azgoth could still see with his left eye, but he was too stunned to anticipate the strong grip that pulled his left leg forward.

He fell backward with Lurtz already straddling him in his fall. The uncontrolled impact hit the air from Azgoth's lungs and pinned his left arm under his torso, where Lurtz had shoved it in midair. But with his other hand he was still holding on to the knife. He brought it down fast, burying it in Lurtz's thigh. A sharp yelp escaped Uglúk's throat as he saw the blade coming. He was sweating profusely with the effort of restraining himself from joining his lover in the fight. His face felt feverish and flushed, and his entire body shook violently.

For a split second it looked as if Azgoth would use his weapon against Lurtz's lifeless arm, although he would have gained nothing, except maybe the creation a brief diversion. When the knife shot up once more, Lurtz's right arm reached around with a speed and agility that was startling to behold in such a heavy creature. His fist closed around his opponent's wrist, and the sharp metal tumbled through the air in a wide arc, while Azgoth's arm was pulled over his head in an unnatural angle. The movement ended in a horrible, grating sound that announced the tearing of sinews and muscles, as the arm was dislocated from its socket.

Knowing that he was as good as finished, every muscle in Azgoth's body contracted. Assembling all of his strength, he bucked under the other Uruk's body to throw off his lethal opponent. His legs thrashed out wildly, kicking up wet dirt and dead leaves, but to no avail. Lurtz merely shifted his weight a bit, deliberately pressing down on Azgoth's heaving chest. A dull crack could be heard, telling of further damage to the defeated Uruk's body.

Azgoth only managed a final, defiant snarl when Lurtz's knife came down, cleanly cutting through his throat. The snarl changed into a sputtering, high-pitched gurgle, and black blood sprayed up, landing on Lurtz's chest and face. This face was the last thing Azgoth ever saw: a broad, grinning visage now displaying a calmness that verged on obscenity. More sprinkles appeared, and the yellow eyes in this unmoved face narrowed, now bespeaking disgust. Then the face was gone, and everything went black.

Lurtz stood up, wiped off his knife on the dead Uruk's clothes and sheathed it with a slow, conscious movement that still held a warning, as if he expected others to attack. His eyes swivelled over Saruman's crowd of Uruk-hai warriors. They were completely silent, except for the sound of their collective, ragged breathing that revealed their great excitement. Uglúk's eyes were wide and shining with a turmoil of emotions. He tried very hard to suppress a gleeful grin, but failed miserably. His relief and pride were only too obvious.

"In a few days we will fight the enemy and catch the halflings to take them to Isengard. I will not suffer any disobedience – nor will Uglúk, my Second in Command. Is this clear enough for you?"

Approval was muttered, first restrained, then growing louder until it had become an unearthly howl that would have chilled the blood of the enemy, had he been around to witness this scene. The Fighting Uruk-hai would never have admitted this, but as much as they loved to indulge in battle and prove their strength at any given time, they also appreciated a certain level of stability when it came to issues of leadership. Most of them were not sad to see Azgoth's motionless and mutilated body on the ground, and as for Uglúk, they were sure that he would not bother them too much.

"Good," Lurtz snarled, his voice still menacingly low. He surveyed their ranks with glittering eyes, trying not to look too obviously satisfied. Then his gaze shifted and sought out Uglúk's still wide-eyed face.

"Let's go," he said with a softer voice and a barely noticeable nod, stepping over the corpse that would be left behind where it was. Tomorrow they would move on. For all he cared the crebain could feast on the former Second in Command and let the despised wizard know that Lurtz had no patience with those who poisoned his army's morale – not even if they had been appointed by the White One himself.

Uglúk rested against Lurtz's chest, drenched in sweat and breathing hard. His heart was still beating so violently that he heard its 'thump-thump-thump' pound in his ears, its throbbing visible in the corner of his eyes. Every fiber in his body hurt, but it was a good hurt, numbing and comforting. He had not known that an orgasm could feel like this: as if his body had been taken apart in a matter of seconds, only to be totally remade a moment later, leaving him utterly exhausted, yet with a new awareness of his own existence.

He looked at Lurtz through half-lidded eyes, seeing that his burly lover was equally worn out. Good. They would sleep now. And tomorrow they would go to battle...

...and after we have won, we can get drunk on Orc beer and fuck each other until we are too weak to crawl.

Why does this feel so unreal?

"What are you thinking?" Lurtz purred, studying Uglúk's dark face with a lazy expression.

"Huh...?"

This was unexpected. As strong as their bond had become; it was unlike Lurtz to ask such a question. It alarmed Uglúk right away.

"I was thinking of tomorrow – our battle," he replied after a while.

"Worried?" Lurtz's voice was bereft of any emotion. Yet another unusual question.

Uglúk bit his lip until his sharp fangs drew blood.

I will not lie to him.

Lurtz recognized his friend's dilemma. He raised himself a bit and laved his tongue over Uglúk's bloody lip – a lascivious as well as an oddly reassuring gesture.

"Yes..."

"Don't."

Wrapping both arms firmly around the smaller Uruk's body, he pulled Uglúk tightly to his chest, relishing the expression of perplexity that spread on the latter's face like a wildfire.

"You bastard! You stinkin' BASTARD!"

Lurtz's hands closed around Uglúk's neck; sharp claws denting sweaty skin.

"Hold your tongue, Elf-bait."

Then he closed his mouth over Uglúk's with an evil grin, sucking the air from his lungs and thus causing him to struggle against his solid body. Finally his victim tore himself away, gasping and panting for breath. Growling, they kissed and teased each other until they were too tired even for that. Melting into a mutual embrace, they drifted into sleep, possessively and protectively holding each other until the new day dawned.

The new day was mild and unusually sunny. Their enemies were so close now that their scent pervaded the woods, and Lurtz knew that the time for their attack had arrived at last. The small boats of the Fellowship had been dragged ashore, and the small, seemingly ill-matched group had begun to disperse. The leader of the Uruk-hai narrowed his eyes and watched a young-looking, blond Elf and a man stand on the riverbank, discussing something, and too absorbed to sense the Uruk-hai's closeness.

Suppressing a tense snarl, Lurtz sneaked closer. It vexed him that the whisper in his mind – the cold voice of the hated Istar – had become so strong again. He could not make out what the Elf and the man were talking about, but the Elf was evidently worried. He had been aware of the Fighting Uruk-hai's presence for some time, but apparently he had not mentioned this to his fellow travellers before.

Maybe the one he spoke to knew anyway. The face of the dark-haired, ragged looking man was drawn and weary, yet he emanated a confidence that was rooted in something that was beyond the understanding of the Great Orc watching him. This was no dim-witted Dunlending who would make easy prey.

And there were the Halflings: Man-like creatures, yet almost ridiculously small. Undisciplined too. Two of them were running up the hill-side now, their large feet stirring up loads of rustling winter leaves. If they had shouted all the time while running, they could not have produced more noise.

Lurtz sneered to himself and observed the Hobbits with an expression that revealed nothing but cold contempt. These creatures were no fighters. They probably would not have made it far without the protection of their strange, seemingly ill-fitted company. Anyway... they were conveniently scrambling towards Uglúk's group. His Second in Command would make sure that the other Uruk warriors heeded their orders and did not touch any Halfling-flesh.

One of the Halflings carries something of great value. Bring them to me alive and unspoilt.

Without forming actual words, his master's icy, invasive touch conveyed a warning. Whenever Lurtz began to wonder what it was one of the Halflings carried, he felt like hitting a wall – or rather a wall hitting him, forcing him to bend before the only power that he would ever acknowledge, simply because it could destroy him with a single blow of its ancient and mysterious mind. And the firstborn of the Uruk-hai wanted to live. Now more than ever...

His attention snapped back to the strange group by the boats when he noticed that the man called Aragorn was becoming very agitated. Lurtz heard him call out the name 'Frodo,' and then the Dúnedain whirled around to follow the route the two Halflings had taken merely a minute before him. The Man-warrior's footfall was light and effortless, and as soon as he was out of sight, Lurtz gave a ferocious snarl and left his hiding-place to rejoin the other Uruk-hai, whom he had ordered to stay behind in the trees.