A/N: Trigger warning. Things get a little graphic.


The Kids are Out of Control

The most Nûrzgrat could do was ram his shoulders into his captors every few yards. The one called Shagal had an iron grip on his arm; the rope she tied around his wrists had long since made his hands numb and useless. A foul-smelling strip of cloth covered his eyes; another was tied about his mouth as a gag.

Brytta was in no better shape, but at least they hadn't done anything else to her. It boiled in his gut, the need to protect her from them. Bereft of sight, his ears pricked at every sound she made and his nose locked on her scent. He was nauseated by the fear scent she was generating. Worse than that, he could feel her, deep inside him as if they shared thoughts. He had no idea why, and wished profoundly that it wasn't so, but her desperation loomed darkly in his mind, and her heart seemed to be beating out a rabbit's panicked rhythm in his own chest. They had to overcome their captors or they were both done for.

The Orcs marched them through the darkness, sometimes climbing, other times descending, until the air became cooler and their footfalls changed from leaf-muffled to the rasping sound of feet on dusty rock. He swallowed the panic welling inside him; they were going underground. He hadn't been inside the earth since leaving Isengard, and an instinctive fear of entrapment came over him.

They surely sensed his worry over Brytta, for they taunted him with it by pawing at her all the way into the caves. The little terrified squeals and sobs they urged from the woman earned his furious retaliation, and more than once he received a clubbing for lashing out.

"Behave yourself, now," Shagal growled, shoving him into a rock wall so hard the air was punched out of his lungs and his head rung. "I might be nice later." Flattening her body against his, she pinned him there and once more made a grab for his privates. Nûrzgrat grunted and snarled, jerking aside. Shagal rammed her forearm into the back of his neck and smacked his face into the wall. Her hand squeezed his privates so hard, his pained grunt came out higher than usual. "Savin' it fer duh tark, yeah? Mebbe Shagal let yuh do dat. When I gets mine." She drew her rough tongue up the back of Nûrzgrat's ear, making him recoil. "You's gonna be a good fuck. Gonna like ridin' yuh, half-Man." She maneuvered her hand down the front of his trousers, making no effort at gentleness. His suddenly violent lunge for escape foiled her attempt to get a grip on him.

"Come along now," the one-eyed Orc chuckled. "'Fore yer da goes down fer his nap." A gasp from Brytta informed Nûrzgrat that a similar handling was being dished out to her. "Plenty of time fer fun later." Another shaking sob. Nûrzgrat struggled against Shagal, desperate to know what was happening. "This little bit's worth her weight. Didn't yer da have a thing fer tark cunny back in the day?"

"Seems he did, yeah," Shagal snickered. Another clout to the head stunned the Uruk, then she launched a series of rabbit punches to his kidneys. Nûrzgrat groaned and sagged against the wall, his ears still ringing.

"If he don't wanna have a poke fer old times, I'll give'er a go."

"Wanna see dat."

The one-eyed Orc snorted. "You can join in, my pet. Always more fun together, eh?"

Nûrzgrat could only growl, grunt, snort, and roar incoherently through the gag. It was so tight, he couldn't close his mouth. His only available weapons – tooth and claw – were taken away by his bindings. The Orcs knew exactly what they were doing.

Brytta stumbled along, barely able to keep her balance. The one-eyed Orc was free with his hands on her body, roaming at will, diving between her legs at times or fondling her breasts. He expertly fed her terror; every whimper, every sob drew a pleased chuckle from him. It seemed her mind was dulled by panic, and she couldn't calm herself enough to think of a way to escape.

In all her years as an Orc hunter, Brytta had never been captured by them. The advantage had always been hers. Now it seemed that for every victory, there must have been a tally kept, and it was time to pay the debt.

The one-eyed Orc pulled her close and rasped in her ear, "Gonna enjoy every scream, tark. Gonna make yuh beg me to kill yuh. Where yuh want it first? Cunt or ass? I got no preference." Snickering, he licked her cheek in a mockingly slow manner. A terrified scream tore from her throat as she tried to pull free.

The spike in Brytta's fear seared Nûrzgrat's insides. He twisted out of Shagal's grip and, using his torso as a battering ram, knocked the Orcess off-balance. Shifting his aim by scent alone, he turned and aimed his head low to charge the one-eyed Orc. He couldn't see where he was going, and missed by a yard.

The other male that he had forgotten about grabbed Nûrzgrat by the hair and threw him several yards.

"He ain't a good boy, is he?" the one-eyed Orc remarked with a chuckle. "Reckon he's gone and claimed this little bitch, eh?"

"Likely," Shagal replied. With a grunt, she let the Uruk have it hard in the head with her cudgel once more before hauling the rattled Nûrzgrat to his feet. "All right, dat's enough. Da won't be happy if he's dead 'fore he gets his laugh." Nûrzgrat swayed off-balance for a moment. Shaking his head seemed to send his brains bouncing around in his skull. He staggered along in a daze, barely able to focus.

Eventually, the group came to a halt. The air seemed less confined, the walls less close. In his dim mind, Nûrzgrat felt as though they'd entered a large chamber. Then clawed hands removed his blindfold and he got his first look around.

He'd expected darkness. Orcs were well-known for their night vision. While the cavern wasn't awash in light, there were many tiny flickering flames as from candles or small pots of oil set aflame. Shadows danced on the walls as drafts through the chamber stirred the little flames. Nûrzgrat blinked several times, struggling to focus his eyes. They seemed to be off on separate missions, and wouldn't join forces until he'd gritted his teeth through a couple of sharp head shakes. Rattling them back into tandem, he looked around, bewildered.

At the opposite end of the somewhat circular room was what resembled a throne made from several stones carefully fitted together. Upon the throne sat an aged Orc who, quite unexpectedly, was missing one leg at the knee. Nûrzgrat was surprised; accidents in Isengard which rendered Orcs limbless routinely resulted in the injured party being summarily disposed of. To see an Orc so lamed and apparently leading this small band startled the Uruk.

The Orc was clearly ancient as well, even to Nûrzgrat's inexperienced eye. None of the Orcs 'employed' by his master were this bent and wrinkled. He'd seen them deformed, diseased, and filthy, but never quite this... weathered. The Orc sat hunched forward, one long gnarled arm resting on his good leg while his other hand rubbed the stump at the end of his thigh as if it pained him, or perhaps out of long habit. His red eyes narrowed and his lip curled over sharp, jagged teeth.

Once the immediate shock wore off, Nûrzgrat turned to reassure himself that Brytta was all right. By his heightened awareness, he already knew the answer, but he didn't trust it as much as he did his own eyes, such as they were. She seemed none the worse for wear; at least she was clothed. He'd almost tasted her vulnerability by the stream when that was not the case. She turned and met his eyes; he could see the uncertainty, the question in her twitching brow: what was to become of them? He could imagine all manner of fates, none of them pleasant, but he had no way to tell her that, no matter what came, he'd die fighting at her side. All he could do was give her a short nod.

"Well now," the leader drawled slowly, his voice rough from age. He leaned back in his seat and glowered at the newcomers. Then his frown deepened, and his gaze flicked between the tark and the half-Man, lingering on the latter. Unsure, he shook himself and addressed the hunting party. "Send you out for meat and you come back with these. Not what I asked for."

Shagal pushed Nûrzgrat forward, forcing him to his knees a few yards from the leader. In the dim light, he could now see that the Orcs all wore hides and furs that covered their torsos and left arms and legs bare. If not for Shagal's scent, Nûrzgrat wouldn't have been able to tell she was female, so like the males did she appear. He couldn't say he was happy to have finally met an Orcess.

"Caught dis half-Man and his tark pet in our huntin' grounds, da. Thought yuh might like tuh meet'em." Grabbing a fistful of the Uruk's thick hair, she yanked his head back so the patriarch could see his face better.

"What use is one'uh them Isengarders, eh?" he snapped. Nûrzgrat started. "Aye, old Barash knows what yuh are, yuh bastard. Waste of good Orc seed, makin' your kind. I was happy tuh hear the lot of yuh got drowned. Should've happened a good bit earlier, but late's better'n never, eh?"

"Heh," Fulak chuckled, shooting a smug look at the cowed Uruk. "Looks like they missed one."

"Why didn't you?" Barash barked furiously. Turning on Shagal, he snarled, "Yuh know yer mam don't hold with them half-breeds, and she's tired'uh cleanin' up after yer pets. Get'em outta here 'fore she finds out."

"But da...," Shagal protested, but Barash held up a silencing hand. He was staring off into space, as if listening. After a moment, the aged Orc glared at Shagal. "Now yer fucked. Akhûna's comin', and she's pissed."

"What about you, da?" the Orcess pressed, a note of desperation in her voice. "Yuh used tuh have a bit of fun with dem tarks..."

"Used to," he repeated pointedly. "Ain't none of us got the stomach for it like we used tuh. 'Cept you and that." He pointed with clear disdain at Fulak. "Get'em outta here. Do it now."

"Yuh want'em dead, Barash?" Fulak inquired hopefully. It was apparent to Nûrzgrat that the patriarch's dislike was not something his captor could do much about, but it didn't stop the Orc from sucking up.

"I want'em outta here!" Barash roared, leaning forward menacingly. "Take'em back where yuh got'em, quiet like. Knock'em senseless if yuh have to. So they don't come back here..."

"Killin' 'em'll do dat," Shagal offered, only to receive a particularly savage growl from her father.

"You listen to me," he seethed, leveling a gnarled finger. "Things ain't like they were. We got a good place here, and you ain't fuckin' it up with this shit. Get them outta the den. Do it now!"

Before Shagal and Fulak could move, another Orcess stormed into the chamber. She was older and more shriveled than the leader, her skin sagging on her exposed arms and legs, yet she radiated an aura of authority that even Brytta recognized and instinctively respected. Like the males, she was bent and hairless, her bald pate marred by scars. Her long, sharply-pointed ears bore multiple piercings, and not just of metal rings; there were one or two animal bones thrust through the thin tissue near the ends.

Despite her clearly advanced age, she did not appear remotely fragile.

"Yer whelp's gone and fucked up again, ain't she?" the female roared. Her gaze fell on Shagal, standing over a bound and gagged creature whose origin was unmistakable. Perhaps worse in the matriarch's estimation, Fulak guarded another, even more reviled captive. Akhûna scowled.

"A baalak and a tark," the elderly Orcess spat.

"Dey was together, ma," Shagal informed her. "Couldn't take one without duh other."

"Shouldn'uh taken neither!" Akhûna shrieked. She rounded on the patriarch, matching his glower with her own. "She takin' after you, yuh foul old bastard."

"Not no more, my shaûk," Barash replied calmly. Turning to Shagal, he ordered, "Take this one out the back tunnel. Conk him so he don't know how to get back." When Shagal readied herself for an indignant retort, her father's tone shifted to furious. "Don't you backtalk me! Get that stinking filth outta my den!" Scowling mutinously, Shagal did as she was told.

Nûrzgrat roared in protest as the Orcess dragged him to his feet and headed for another tunnel. His frantic eyes locked on Brytta.

"Don't fret about the tark, baalak," Barash grunted impatiently as Nûrzgrat was hauled away. "Now you," he snarled at Fulak. "Give it a minute, then you take the bitch out the front. Don't argue with me! The pile of shit's bonded to'er; he'll find her when he wakes up."

"You're not serious," Akhûna hissed, glancing at her mate. Barash nodded grudgingly. The Orcess seemed caught between indignation and disbelief. Brytta's eyes darted between them, taken aback by their exchange. Shocked enough by the unheard-of event of simply letting them go, she found herself focusing intently upon the elderly Orcs. What they spoke of now was just as unexpected.

"He's a baalak," the Orcess pointed out scathingly, and spat on the floor as if the very word was poison. "They ain't Orcs. They don't get the gifts that Orcs get. Least of all that one."

"I ain't sayin' it's right," Barash replied. "I been your bonded mate for hundreds of years, Akhûna. I know it when I see it." He gestured toward the tunnel Shagal had dragged the Isengarder down. "That befouled get of tark and Orc is bonded to that bit of shit."

"What does that mean?" Brytta asked, too anxious to keep quiet. Both Orcs leveled their impatient gazes upon her. She felt like a young child who has spoken out of turn among the grown-ups.

"It means they don't like yuh," Fulak supplied with a cackle.

"Stow it!" the patriarch barked. "You ain't clear of my wrath yet, lad." He regarded Brytta for a long moment, as if he was taking her measure. Finally, he grumbled, "He's bonded to yuh. Given time, he'll hear yer thoughts, feel what yuh feel. It's somethin' mates can do, if they feel inclined." Noticing Brytta's look of disgusted horror, he sneered. "Course, it's wasted on you lot. Tarks can't do it. Yer selfish spirits've got no room for nobody but yerselves." Then he sighed, and shook his head. He muttered half to himself, "Feel sorry for the bastard. Stupidest thing. Even a baalak'll live hundreds of years past a tark. Why'd he set it on a fuckin' tark? His one chance..."

"Shouldn't've even got the one," Akhûna growled defiantly. "It ain't natural. Them bastards ain't natural. Shouldn't be able to. It ain't right."

"Whether it is or isn't ain't in our power to change," Barash replied placatingly. "It's there and it's done."

"Could just kill'em both," Fulak suggested. "That'd wipe that stain off right quick."

Akhûna shot him a venomous glare. "When did killin' tarks ever win us peace?"

"Just the baalak, then?"

Glowering, the Orcess bared her teeth. "Get'em outta here like Barash said. Both of'em. Then you and that baggage of yours come and take your medicine." Fulak's shoulders sagged as though he were a young boy anticipating a dressing down. Turning a baleful eye on Brytta, she added, "Just you remember this, tark. We had yuh, and let yuh go. Don't come back here with yer sword out. Just leave us in peace. Can yuh manage that?"

"If you hold to your promise," Brytta warned as Fulak grabbed her arm and steered her away, "I won't trouble you again."

"That 'baggage' is yer whelp, yuh know," Fulak muttered under his breath, careful not to be overheard by the stern matriarch. He obediently marched Brytta toward another tunnel in the opposite direction of where Nûrzgrat was taken.


Nûrzgrat could barely keep his feet under him as Shagal dragged him down the pitch-dark tunnel, so rattled was his head. The tunnel's twists and turns defied the Uruk's attempts to memorize their path, and seemed to be taking much longer than it should. Well into the journey, her hostile grumbling reached a peak, and he found himself shoved into a side chamber, where he landed on his face. Quick as lightning, Shagal was on top of him, rolling him onto his back with his bound arms beneath him, and yanking at his breeches.

The Uruk came alive, kicking frantically and twisting his body to hinder her. The pitch dark of the chamber compromised his defense; there might have been several Orcs pawing at him instead of the one for all he knew. Were there others in these tunnels? He had no way of knowing, and resorted to physical protests instead of his usual roaring and bellowing. The silence was only broken by the scuffing of Nûrzgrat's boots as he tried to gain purchase, his grunts as he resisted, and Shagal's heavy breathing.

"Don't care what da says, I found yuh, yer mine," she muttered, dodging his kicking feet enough to straddle his hips. "I likes dis," she added with a laugh, for he'd braced his feet and was trying to buck her off. "Keep dis up when I get on yer cock."

He didn't waste his breath trying to yell through the gag. It was clear to him now that setting him free was furthest from the Orcess's mind. She'd force some use out of him first, and probably gut him when she was done. He didn't have to make it easy on her.

Short, sharp barks nevertheless erupted from Nûrzgrat as he twisted and writhed. He felt a breath of air as his breeches were torn open, and fought all the harder. Out of nowhere, he received a fist across the mouth that dazed him further. Shagal's calloused fingers encircled his throat and squeezed.

Straining to break her hold, the Uruk tightened his neck muscles. One hand released him, only to deliver an unexpected, staggering blow to his gut. The air exploded out of his lungs, then she had his throat in an even tighter grip. In moments, he couldn't breathe; even in the darkness, he saw stars exploding before his eyes. His feet kicked frantically, trying to regain purchase on the dirt-slicked stone.

"Dere it is," Shagal crooned after keeping up the pressure for another few minutes. In a fog, he wondered what she was talking about, then he felt it. Before he could register that her treatment had forced him to hardness, she had him inside her. She kept a firm grip on his throat, barely letting him sneak shallow breaths as she rocked on him. "You's a good fuck," she murmured appreciatively. "Feels nice, don't it? Yuh likes dis."

Infuriated at letting himself be had so easily, Nûrzgrat gathered up what little strength he possessed. His feet scuffed and slid, then held, and he pitched sideways with all he had. The sudden move threw Shagal off him, but all he could manage for a few precious seconds was to drag gulps of air into his starved lungs and cough raggedly.

He soon learned how angry Shagal could get when interrupted.

"Bastard!" Shagal roared, her voice echoing off the tunnel walls. "Stupid baalak fuck!" Her foot and sometimes her fists pounded his prone form, kicking him about the head and torso mercilessly. Then she was on him again, and he felt her claws at his privates once more. He feebly twisted away, but she punched him hard in the groin. "Yuh think you's strong? Stronger'n me?" she shrieked madly. Now she was furiously pounding her fists into his privates, punishing him for his defiance. Nûrzgrat nearly fainted. "I take what I wants! Show you who duh boss here, an' it ain't da, it ain't ma! You's my toy, baalak! Yuh don' give it tuh me, I takes it!"

"Shagal!" another voice called from somewhere near, coming closer. "Shagal!"

"Now what?" the Orcess grumbled, giving Nûrzgrat one last punch to the kidneys.

"Where's the Isengarder?" the other voice, possibly belonging to a female, asked desperately. Nûrzgrat sagged with relief at the reprieve, and took advantage of the moment to get his breath back.

"What's it tuh you, shit-eater?" Shagal growled.

"That him, then?" the newcomer asked, and Shagal grunted in the affirmative. The second Orcess nearly landed on Nûrzgrat as she dove to kneel at his side. "What happened to Isengard?" she cried, grabbing him by the shirtfront and shaking him. "What happened? What did the trees do? Did anybody else get out?"

"Ah fuck, not dis again," Shagal sighed with annoyance. "Bugger off, Kraibûf. He gots nothin' tuh say."

Gasping for air, Nûrzgrat tried to steady himself and respond, but the gag was tight and he could make no sensible reply.

"Shut it, you!" He received a cuff to the head and stopped trying.

Kraibûf seemed too distracted to concern herself with Shagal or her plaything. The Orcess's voice thin and feeble with sorrow, she whispered, "Why? Why did it happen?"

Unable to sit up, Nûrzgrat stared into a darkness so complete it hardly mattered what he was looking at. All he could manage was a mournful groan.

"What'd I tell yuh?" Shagal demanded, delivering a kick to the side of Nûrzgrat's head, rattling him further. Still, he was able to follow the conversation, if only just. Shagal's tone was sarcastic and cruel. "Give it a rest. Yer mate's a rotted corpse somewhere in dat valley and yuh ain't gettin' his ass back. Get over it."

"Easy for you to say," Kraibûf whimpered. "Yuh got your mate."

"Yeah, fer what he's worth," Shagal muttered. "Yuh got a whelp off yer mate, and yuh got Burbur diddlin' yer cunny anytime yuh want. What more d'yuh need, eh?"

Nûrzgrat could almost feel the hatred billowing off the newcomer. "Just you wait, Shagal," Kraibûf warned, her voice trembling. "Just you wait."

"Fuck... off," the Orcess snarled. "Now git on outta here; I gotta take dis shit pile out duh back door."

"Door's the other way," Kraibûf informed her sniffily.

"Dis a short cut," Shagal snapped. "Mind yer bidness. Go bend over fer Burbur, why don'tcha? A good fuckin'll take yer mind off yer troubles."

"It ain't all about fuckin'," Kraibûf snarled. Her voice was fading, as though she'd shot the comment over her shoulder in parting. Nûrzgrat braced himself for another attack.

"Stupid cunt," the Orcess muttered scathingly. "Up yuh git." Grabbing the Uruk's arm, she hauled him roughly to his feet where he swayed for a moment. "Before some other curious fuck comes wanderin' by."