The Aftermath

In a bewildered fog, Brytta returned to Gurvalthen and Hengolwen, unsure what to say. Both women were shocked; they'd seen enough to know that Frûmâdûrz was dead. Hengolwen looked as though she'd been struck in the face. Only Gurvalthen seemed able to speak.

"What happened? How did it come to this?"

Brytta shook her head. "I don't know."

"Did he say anything?"

Again, Brytta shook her head. Turning to Hengolwen, she forced herself to ask, "Do you have a shovel?"

"Oh no," Gurvalthen protested. "He doesn't mean to bury her family's killer in her back yard. Surely not."

"A shovel. Please," Brytta repeated stiffly.

As though waking from a dream, Hengolwen looked about her with haunted eyes. "Yes. The shed." Brytta hastened away.

"Are you certain?" Gurvalthen pressed, urging Hengolwen to look at her. "I'll grant you, he can no longer do you harm, but... here?"

"I am empty," Hengolwen whispered. Leaning back against the wall, she stared at nothing, and said no more.

The shovel was easily found in the neatly ordered shed. Brytta fetched it and hurried to Nûrzgrat. He hadn't moved, except to rest his forehead on Frû's shoulder. She could see his own shoulders shaking a little, and wondered if he was weeping, or trying not to. A surge of sadness rolled through her, slowing her steps.

The last week in his company had done something to her. Brytta could not see his despair, his remorse, his sorrow, and not feel the need to comfort him. It was a strong urge, one that rarely struck her except with close friends. Had he become that dear to her? Or was it simply pity, and guilt? Unsure, she pushed the thoughts away for the time being. He looked neither welcoming nor accepting of anyone's attention at the moment. Still, she felt compelled to ask.

"Do you need... help?" she offered awkwardly. Nûrzgrat slowly shook his head. "I think... Hengolwen is terribly upset. We'll take her into the house to... to calm herself. If you need anything..."

She let the statement hang. At a loss for anything else to say, she laid the shovel on the ground nearby and took her leave.

When Brytta entered the house, Gurvalthen was already urging ale into Hengolwen. The latter was sitting at a small table by a window near the door.

"There we are, that's it," the healer said soothingly. "Another sip will do you good."

Hengolwen obediently accepted the offer. She took the cup from the healer's hand and drank.

"Now then," Gurvalthen said as she straightened, "ale is fine for sudden shocks, but I've always felt that tea does a fine job of calming the nerves afterwards." She then set about fetching the necessary items from the cupboards, stoking the hearthfire, and laying out a tray of tea cups on another table.

Hengolwen seemed to come around after a moment, and rose. "Oh, let me. You are a guest in my house..."

"Nonsense," the healer replied, shooing the woman away. "Back to the table with you. I can find my way around a kitchen as well as anyone. Have you any cream?"

Smiling, and taking heart in the simpleness of tea preparation, Hengolwen sat at the table and directed the healer from there. "Cream is in the cold cellar. I keep the tea in the pantry, just there. Third shelf down. And the sugar, on the second. Oh no, not that old thing. Here, let me fetch the good tea pot."

Brytta watched the two women fuss about for a few minutes, then her gaze wandered out the window. If she stood at the far edge, she could just see Nûrzgrat at work. He'd stripped to the waist and was digging lethargically, reluctantly. Eyes burning, she covered her mouth with her hand, lest a sob escape.

This wasn't the way he'd wanted their mission to end. Even through the window pane's distortion, she could feel it, in every movement of his body. Something had gone terribly wrong in his conversation with Frû. Until he finished his work, she wouldn't learn what happened. She found herself greatly desiring that his task would end soon, not out of idle curiosity for the details, but to share in his sorrow. Her arms trembled with the need to embrace him.

"Brytta?"

Startled, she glanced over at Gurvalthen.

"Do you take cream in your tea?" the healer asked, though it seemed Brytta's preferences were the least of her worries.

"No," she replied. "Nor sugar. I... prefer the bitter taste..." She closed her eyes for a moment, then returned her gaze out the window.

Gurvalthen exchanged a concerned look with Hengolwen. The latter drew a calming breath, then said, "I... I know it is silly, but... I do hope you will stay the night. All of you. I would sleep easier..."

"Of course!" Gurvalthen cried with relief. "Oh dear, it has gone suppertime. You must be starving. No, no, you stay right where you are. I can manage." She waved Hengolwen back into her chair, and launched herself at the pantry once more. "Yes, I see. We have... Oh good. Mm-hm. Now, if you could tell me the whereabouts of your smokehouse and root cellar, I might be able to toss together a satisfactory stew."

Brytta barely heard them. The longer she watched Nûrzgrat's shadowy form in the sparse glow from the windows, the more her heart ached.

She didn't hear the door open, but she saw the bright glow of a lantern as Hengolwen approached the Uruk. The woman hung the lantern on a branch so Nûrzgrat could see, then she returned to the house. Brytta forced herself to ask if he said anything.

"Not a word," Hengolwen answered. "I confess, I didn't know quite what to say to him. He seemed... distant, and barely acknowledged my presence. I felt as though I were intruding on a private moment." She eased herself into her chair and pulled her shawl a little tighter. "He looked... pitiable. And sad, in repose. Perhaps I should have... But how could I?" Hengolwen looked at Brytta with agonized eyes. "How could I forgive him?"

"In time, you might find you can," Gurvalthen offered from the hearth. She already had the broth simmering, and was peeling a few potatoes. "But you needn't feel that you must."

Hengolwen frowned and looked away. After a few moments, she said, "Tell me about this... bond. What it means. What it does."

"I barely understand it myself," Brytta replied. "We learned of it... I learned... We were told..."

"What is it?" Gurvalthen interjected with concern, for Brytta had begun to stammer nervously, grinding to an uncomfortable halt.

"I shouldn't say anything, but we would know nothing of this bond if not for...," Brytta sighed, rubbing her forehead. "We were set upon by Orcs on our way here. I would have expected harsher treatment, but it was toward Nûrzgrat their greatest wrath was directed. He was beaten... quite badly about the head. Only a pair of them tormented us; the others merely wished us gone from their den. One of them recognized Nûrzgrat's... condition, and spoke of it."

"I see," the healer nodded when Brytta paused. "Nûrzgrat is bonded to you, then. Is that right?"

Brytta nodded miserably. The revelation could not be avoided, she realized. "The Orc said it is shared by mates. He said... he referred to it with reverence, and spoke of spirits, as though... it is a much deeper connection than a simple vow. It is because of this... spiritual component that I suspect..." She cast a pained, apologetic look at Hengolwen. "I suspect it is... meant to be. In some cases. Perhaps."

"What do you mean?" Hengolwen whispered, her brow creasing. "Are you saying that Frûmâdûrz is... was... meant to be with me, as he said? For what purpose?"

Shaking her head, Brytta turned away. "I don't know. I only know that... it is different for Nûrzgrat and... and me. I feel no threat from him, and he has said he has no desire to... pursue me as Frû did you. And... other things..."

Gurvalthen's brow arched with interest, but did not pursue Brytta's fumbling words. "He is different, Nûrzgrat is," Gurvalthen agreed. "A different Orc entirely." She eyed Brytta shrewdly, though she spoke to Hengolwen. "You and I will, of course, share a bed. But I wonder, do you still only have the one spare in the loft?"

"Yes," Hengolwen replied quietly, then her eyes widened. "Oh my. Brytta, I do apologize. I didn't even think... Let me find some bedding. I will make up a pallet of sorts for Nûrzgrat. I don't mean to imply you must share the bed with him."

"It's all right." Dragging her gaze from the window, Brytta smiled a little. "I know it is... unseemly, but... I want to be close. He... he has nightmares. And after today..." She looked outside once more, and fell silent.

Nodding, Gurvalthen motioned for Hengolwen to join her by the hearth. The woman rose and approached, her expression concerned.

"What is it?"

"As I suspected." She surreptitiously angled her head toward Brytta.

Hengolwen's brow creased, and she briefly bit her lip. "It wasn't that way for me."

The healer patted Hengolwen's arm reassuringly. "For you and Frû, it could not be any other way than it was. But for these two..." She shook her head. "The seeds are sown. I wonder why she denies it."

"But... could it have been...?" Hengolwen looked desperate for confirmation from Gurvalthen, and the healer gently stroked her cheek.

"Had he not been there that day," she said softly, "had he not entered your home, perhaps things would be different. But he did, and so..." Gurvalthen shook her head. "Don't linger on such worries. Pity him, if you feel you can. Forgive him, if you are moved to do so. But sleep tonight with the assurance that whatever may have been but wasn't, whatever could have happened but didn't, it is over now."

Somewhat mollified, Hengolwen glanced toward Brytta sitting rigidly at the table, her gaze focused outside. "She is a good match for him. The way she stood between me and Frû... She is a shieldmaiden born. And perhaps more."

"Well, I do not intend to leave my worries unanswered. He is, after all, known to me. I owe it to those ladies to watch over him in their absence. Goodness knows, his kind are like ignorant children when it comes to matters of the heart." Gurvalthen vigorously wiped her hands on a rag and marched purposefully over to Brytta. "I wonder, could you tell me something, Brytta?"

Once again, the woman was startled from her distraction, and gazed up with surprise.

Gurvalthen settled herself in a chair and reached for Brytta's hands. "I have watched you for some while. I was not born yesterday, and my eyes have not failed me yet. What holds you back?"

"I... I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"Do you fear what might be said of you?"

Narrowing her eyes, Brytta shook her head in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Do you love him, or no?"

Brytta blinked, and she stared at the healer in shock. Her breaths quickened in near panic, and she glanced around. Her gaze fell on Hengolwen, looking at her with something akin to pity.

"What... what makes you say...? I... I don't..."

"Sh-sh," Gurvalthen told her calmly. "You needn't tell me now. But I suspect there will come a time when you will ask yourself this very question. I hope you have a satisfactory answer."

Utterly wrong-footed, the swordswoman avoided the eyes of both women, and fiddled nervously with the ties on her shirt. "I don't know. I have done his people... such wrong. Treated them like... like animals. Killed their children." Brytta covered her mouth, her eyes shimmering. "How could he possibly forgive me?"

Hengolwen rested a hand on Brytta's shoulder. "I have seen the cruelty of the Uruk-hai first hand. Whatever you have done, I assure you, they have done also. Yet just as you have decided to change, so have they. Nûrzgrat and his fellows showed me that they are capable of kindness and giving, though the greater part of their lives was spent in hatred and violence. I have forgiven him. Have you?"

"Of course I have," Brytta assured her. "He has shown me the same things."

"Then is it so impossible to imagine that he can forgive you?" Gurvalthen asked.

Bowing her head, Brytta sighed. "Perhaps not. But... can I forgive myself?"

"It was a different time," the healer said gently. "Just as it was for him. The world has changed, and so have both of you. Embrace what you are now, if it is to your liking."

"I look at him," Brytta murmured, "and I see... all those I have heedlessly slain. When I saw the children in his settlement... I viewed them as threatening. I almost drew my sword..."

"Children?" Gurvalthen's face lit up, and she gasped with joy. "Oh, you never said! Was it Sandy or Brianna? I know they so much wanted to give their mates children."

Brytta smiled a little. "Both, as I recall. I only saw Sandy's boy. There was another young girl of about four or five. Brianna had just borne a little girl, I believe."

"How I miss them," Gurvalthen lamented. "I should love to visit someday, and see how their children turned out. They were so worried. Are the little ones...?" She hesitated, loathe to use the words 'ugly' or 'brutish.'

"As I said, I only saw the boy. He was... quite handsome, really. Like his father in a way. I could see some resemblance, at any rate. But... smoother and... softer, I suppose. So was the little girl; quite fetching."

"Well, that is good news. I recall Nûrzgrat looking so wistfully at the children as they played." She gave Brytta a significant look.

The temporary change of topic gave Brytta a moment to gather her forces, and her wits. "I feel guilt for what I was. What I did. I lament that I was ever capable of slaying... infants. No matter their parentage." She swallowed hard, and paused to regain control. "Are my feelings true, or borne of my guilt? When I forgive myself, will I wake up and find that I have made a false promise to him?" Shaking her head, she added, "He should be my... my lover, not my penance."

"That is very wise of you, to question yourself on this score," Gurvalthen observed. "Be certain of your feelings before you reveal them." She eyed Brytta thoughtfully. "And so you will sleep by his side tonight?"

"Sleep. Yes," Brytta confirmed pointedly.

"In spite of what he might assume by your doing so?"

"I am no stranger to a man's bed," Brytta replied tightly.

The healer chuckled. "Who among us is?" She exchanged an amused look with Hengolwen, who blushed, but smiled knowingly. Sobering, Gurvalthen continued, "I don't think there is cause for worry, not tonight. You will be a comfort to him, after such a grievous day." As if only now becoming aware of the hearty smell wafting through the house, she clapped her hands and cried, "Oh dear! The stew!" She then leaped to her feet and hurried to the hearth.

Brytta sighed with some relief. They were weighty words she'd spoken. Unaccustomed to revealing herself to anyone, for she'd spent much of her life in the company of stoic men, it was uncomfortable to her being so open with virtual strangers, as these women were. But perhaps she needed to speak aloud the worries of her heart, if only to be certain of them herself.

"I'll want to have a look at him, when he's through," Gurvalthen commented as she stirred slowly. "If he was struck as hard as you say, he might be damaged. He really shouldn't be about such strenuous work regardless."

"I dare you to tell him that," Brytta smirked. Her humor was brief, however. "He has had... fits, for want of a better word. He has lost his wits and collapsed, several times. Not for days, but while we were... When the abuse was occurring, it happened... frequently."

Gurvalthen had stopped stirring and was staring at Brytta. "He has the falling sickness?"

"I... I don't know. He seems to have recovered somewhat, but I could see earlier that he still has pain." She shrugged helplessly. "Had we stopped for a proper rest..."

"You would not have arrived in time," the healer finished resignedly. "Under the circumstances, I suppose... But I will look at him."

"I watched for changes in his eyes," Brytta pointed out. "I knew someone who suffered as he did. Nûrzgrat's eyes never changed."

"That is fortunate. Now I think this stew is ready."

It was long past the dinner hour when Nûrzgrat finally slumped into the house, his shoulders sagging. The three women looked up from their quiet conversation. Brytta's breath caught.

He was exhausted, his eyes barely open. Even his ears seemed to droop. His chest and arms were streaked with sweat and grime from the grave. Every contour of his muscular body drew her gaze. In spite of his defeated expression, she could not take her eyes off him.

What was flitting wildly through her mind was not something she would ever speak aloud to anyone.

"'S there somewhere I can wash up?" he mumbled without looking at anyone.

"Yes," Hengolwen replied. "A rain barrel, just outside. There is stew, if you're hungry. It's gone a bit cold..."

The Orc didn't answer; he just turned and walked back outside. Brytta finally let her breath out.

"Mm-hmm," Gurvalthen noted, eyeing the smitten swordswoman knowingly.

"Were he a Man," Hengolwen murmured with a smile, "I suspect you and I would have to restrain her."

"Indeed," the healer agreed. "For her own good, of course. To avoid unseemly displays."

Brytta shook herself and gave both women an indignant look. "Mind your business."

Gurvalthen and Hengolwen shared smug looks over their teacups, but said nothing more. The time was almost upon Brytta, when Nûrzgrat would return and be told they were to stay overnight. He'd seemed so distant all evening that none had mentioned the arrangements to him.

For a moment, Brytta struggled with her former and current mind with regards to Nûrzgrat. Her old self would retreat from any intimacy with an Orc. To be honest, she would have avoided such things with a Man she'd only known a short time. Even telling herself that the remainder of the night would be spent asleep, not locked in amorous embrace, did little to settle her nerves. Perhaps had he not revealed himself in a way that was so unexpectedly arousing – filthy and sweaty, for Eru's sake! What sort of woman had she become? – she might feel less desire for his embrace. She wanted to believe her current mind sought only to comfort a friend in need, and if she might offer him such support while he rested, then so be it.

Nûrzgrat took the news of Hengolwen's hospitality with indifference, merely begging leave to go straight to bed. Hengolwen directed him to the ladder leading to the loft above, and they all watched him ascend in silence. The creaking of the rope-slung bed told them he'd done as he said. Brytta was struck with a strange nervousness she could not define.

"Would you ladies like sleeping shifts?" Hengolwen offered. "On such short notice, I'm sure you can't have brought anything."

"I would love it," Gurvalthen smiled. "I daresay Brytta's journey was not spent in cozy inns, much less warm stables. A return, even for a moment, to common comforts would likely be welcome."

"Yes, it would. If you have something extra, I would appreciate it."

"Of course," the woman beamed. Everything seemed so... normal, for which she was grateful. Hengolwen fetched the clothing and sighed with relief; after such a horrible evening, she would not have felt safe alone in her home. As she handed out the shifts, her gaze wandered to the loft. There was little sound, except the growling breaths of a sleeping Orc. Nûrzgrat's were uneven and halting, frequently long and shaky. What furrowed her brow and made her smile a little at the irony, was that she felt much safer with him under her roof. An Orc, in her house, gave her a measure of calmness. It was terribly strange.

Brytta retreated to the curtained alcove that separated Hengolwen's 'bedroom' from the main space, and quickly shed her clothes. The sleeping shift was light and well-made; she fancied it might have come from a seamstress in Edoras. To her consternation, however, the neckline dipped rather more than Brytta would have preferred. But looking down at her bosom, so rarely cradled in lace, she wondered if it would please him. Then immediately chastised herself for thinking such things.

"I hope you sleep well," Hengolwen told her as Brytta began to ascend the ladder. "It is rather close up there, but at this time of year, it should be comfortable enough."

"Hengolwen, if I can keep my eyes open past pulling the blanket over myself, I'll let you know," she laughed.

When Brytta reached the top, she saw that Nûrzgrat was huddled on the far side of the bed, facing the wall. His bare back was to her, and in the smoldering hearthfire's glow, she could see some of his many scars. She awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed.

"We're meant to share," she murmured timidly. "You don't mind, do you?" His shoulder twitched in a shrug. "Very well, then." Moving slowly, Brytta peeled back the blanket and eased herself in beside him. She thought about putting her back to his, but at the moment, her curiosity was too strong a force to deny. What was said between him and Frû that led to such tragedy? So she lay on her side and faced him, then hesitantly reached out to touch his shoulder.

"Nûrzgrat?"

It began with a short, sharp gasp, then he began to shake. He wrapped an arm around his head as his control dissolved. Tears he'd swallowed, threatened, and denied all evening overtook him, and Nûrzgrat fell apart.

"Oh no, no, Nûrzgrat," Brytta babbled desperately. She pulled on his arm, urging him to turn over. "Come. Please."

Reluctantly, he rolled toward her, ducking his head. Brytta enfolded him in her arms and drew him close, until his head was upon her breast, and her hands were stroking his back, his hair. One arm gripped her hard, hanging on desperately as though he might sink into oblivion without such an anchor.

"It's all right," she murmured, attempting through her own sorrow to sooth his. "I'm here. I'm here."

Below, Hengolwen stared at the ceiling, her hand covering her mouth as she listened. She exchanged a look of surprise with Gurvalthen. "I had no idea they could weep."

Gurvalthen nodded. "Nor I. The healer in me claims his injury makes him... less stoic. But friendship tells me he grieves most horribly." She glanced up and chewed her lip for a moment. "I have seen, and heard, men express grief and pain many times. But until this moment, I couldn't say that I heard true grief. Not enough to move one known for remorseless hate... to such despair."

"This is my fault," Hengolwen whispered thickly. "He must have done it for my sake alone."

"I don't know the why of it," the healer replied. "But the cause of this is not laid upon your doorstep. Perhaps it is no one's fault, in the end."