Maukurz sat on his furs, Baby lying on his back between Maukurz's outstretched legs. There was a haze of quiet happiness on the Uruk's face as he studied his son. In one way it was hard to imagine that Baby would ever be as big as he was; but then, he could see his son's strength already. He lay his finger over the child's palm, and Baby curled his fist around it. The first time Maukurz pulled quickly away, Baby's fingers released. But the second time, Baby held fast. Maukurz grinned at that.

Baby's eyesight had sharpened considerably in three days, and if anything he had plumped up a good deal more. He could follow Maukurz's hand moving at a low speed. When Maukurz turned him on his belly, Baby looked up right away, his little head wobbly but his eyes curious. He tried to push up on his chunky arms. A few more days, Maukurz thought. And he'll be pushing all the way up.

"He's awake?" Halla asked, just waking up herself.

Maukurz scooped Baby carefully into his arms, surprised when the little creature made a happy-sounding squeal. "Yeah, he's awake," Maukurz said, smiling, his voice hushed. He turned around, glad again to see how much better Halla looked with a few days of rest. The color was back in her cheeks, at least. "You want him? He's probably hungry."

She nodded, reaching out her arms to take Baby under the blankets with her, as Maukurz lay beside them. The tiny Uruk nuzzled quickly against her chest, and Maukurz brought the blanket down to the middle of her arms so he could see, saying, "Beautiful."

"After all that you saw, you think so still?" Halla asked, laughing softly. She knew the answer already. Halla trusted Maukurz intimately and implicitly, and had no choice now but to rely on him for her most basic needs.

Maukurz nodded, eyes shining and serious and warm. "You need anything? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You can teach me your language now," Halla told him, smiling. "You will want Baby to speak it. And he should have an Uruk-hai name."

"I know. I was thinking… But it's tricky. I never thought I'd name anyone before, least of all my own son. A name should be… important. Say something. We must decide what we mean to say with his name first." Maukurz put his palm over Baby's head, smoothing the nursing little Uruk's crop of thick black hair. "He's so small," Maukurz laughed gently, amazed. "He's strong… it's just hard to believe one day he'll be grown."

"Thank you," Halla said quietly. "For going to her. I know that must have been hard. It's hard for me just to think of it."

He looked down, nodding, admitting, "I didn't go to her. I couldn't get to the door. I went to see Edwyn first, had him get her out."

"That was best, I think."

Maukurz's eyes were caught by Baby's hand, pressing against Halla's breast, the little grey fingers curling into Halla's soft skin. He smiled and said, "That Edwyn's not so bad. Not like I thought he'd be. None of you are."

"You thought we ate you," Halla reminded him, grinning.

"I thought you were like those Dunlending urhbagu. That means like, a bag of shit, you understand me?"

Halla shook her head playfully. "No, I most certainly don't understand that."

"Because they're no more use than a bag of shit, and just as stinking. They claimed to serve the same thing as us, but they only served themselves. No loyalty. They didn't know how to fight together as a group. They gave up too easy. But you all are very brave. You, and Edwyn, and Ailith. You help more for each other than even some Uruk-hai would for their own kind. I thought, except for Rohan's better soldiers, all white-skins were like the Dunlendings."

Maukurz leaned forward, kissing her softly. "Then I found you—or you found me—and you are nothing like that, you are perfect. So I thought, you were perfect, everyone else was shit. Still, you are perfect, but I think your people—those two at least—are good too. I don't want any more war with them."

Halla placed her hand against his face, smiling gently, glad. "Teach me something, Maukurz."

"Mm. Halla kulat taar ậmbal. Halla is the most beautiful."

She repeated him quickly, grinning. "I like that one. Now one about you."

"About me…?" He looked down at Baby, asleep now. "Brus lủk baalat madurz. I have a free-born son."

Halla bit her lip, deeply happy for both of them. "Brus… lủk…"

"Baalat madurz," he said, brushing a finger over her lips as she repeated him once more. "See? Easy, taar ậmbal. I must go speak to the others now. And get some food cooking for you, right?"

Halla nodded. He kissed her again, then pulled the blanket up and tucked her into the warm furs with their baby.

The other Uruks greeted him with the same questions about Baby: was he well, was he growing bigger yet, as if they hadn't seen him moments earlier. Even Baiurz couldn't get his thoughts off the little one.

But Maukurz had something else on his mind: the comments Edwyn had made to him about the Dunlendings. Now that his son was safely born, and Halla out of danger, Maukurz felt more than ever that it was important to have revenge for Dagalur. Not so much because the Dunlendings would even connect it to Dagalur's killing, but for the group, for the two Uruks he still felt that he led, and for Baby, who would one day be responsible to them as well, as they were responsible for him.

These thoughts also made him wonder: will there be more little ones? The idea froze him: he didn't want Halla so close to death, he didn't think himself able to put her there again. He wanted to talk to the white-skins again, Edwyn or even Ailith, to learn if there was any way it could be done better, easier for his woman. There would have to be some balance between the need for more of their kind, and Halla's ever-important health. Maukurz would not take her for granted again, getting her pregnant so easily, as if there was some Power who'd ultimately be responsible for her breeding.

Now, however, was not the time for that problem. He squatted down near the Commander, who looked at him with narrow eyes and said, "I know that look. Thinkin' bout blood."

"Yes and no," Maukurz said.

"Explain."

Narzum and Shatauz, fletching arrows, looked up expectantly, a dark gleam in Narzum's eyes.

Maukurz frowned a little, trying to put it into words. "We have changed. The old rules mean nothing, they were the Master's rules. Since we're starting this new life… I think some things need to be said, and done. And one of the most important things is that we stick together, just like you always said, Commander. That means getting blood vengeance for Dagalur."

"Oooh yeah," Narzum said, sucking his breath over his teeth. "I'm with that, Captain. Been too long as it is."

"Quiet," Maukurz replied, holding up his hand. "I don't mean to say that we need to start a fight we can't win with those white-skins. I don't mean to endanger us by terrorizing them. We'll do it like I said last winter: creep after one when he's hunting."

"One each," Narzum amended.

Maukurz flashed him a dark glare of warning. "One. In payment for Dagalur's death. They got girls and babies too, even if they're filth to us. If we killed two, then we would owe them a life. That is how I see it."

The Commander stared stonily at Maukurz. A slow, almost relieved smile began in his eyes, spreading to his lips. "I think you must do it. Just as you said, Maukurz. But be careful. Don't rush, don't take your Man until the time is right."

Ailith settled into her warm bath, taking a long, deep drink of brandy-spiked spiced ale. She set the cup on the floor, dipped her washcloth in the hot water, then ran it over her thigh—finally refusing to look away from the four long, deep scars running parallel over the side of her upper leg.

That was the work of the second Uruk. She could remember it with such horrific ease, how he'd grabbed her thighs, how her left leg had suddenly began to burn and sting, how suddenly there had been blood all over her. The violent theft of her virginity had been so blindingly painful she'd not fully understood what that second warrior had done until she awoke later, lying with the other survivors on the floor of her neighbor's barn, one of the only buildings that had somehow escaped the burning. It had been this wound that caused the healer the most concern, but fortunately it hadn't infected, no matter how badly Ailith wished for death at the time.

Nor had Maukurz's sharp bite on her chest infected. Halla's Uruk had stepped out of the ghastly red and black burning darkness of a devastated house, blood on his chest and mouth. He had grabbed Ailith by the hair as she ran past—a stupid mistake on her part, one that she would pay for forever. Halla's Uruk had gone first, in a manic rush as the Men of the village had rallied for one last doomed stand. The other two had heard Ailith's screams and joined him. They had stood guard, protecting him as they waited for their turn.

Even though she had seen now that there was more to Halla's Uruk than just vicious monstrosity—he loved, he hoped—Ailith would never be able to forgive him for what he'd done. Even though it had been… helpful… to see him on his knees before her, miserable and begging and apologizing… that memory was not powerful enough to cancel out the first. It was a great blessing that the other two who had raped her were not living with him.

But she was not bitter tonight, nor weeping at the memory. Tonight, Ailith examined her scars with as much detachment as she could, imagining, impossibly, that she was Harlan, seeing such devastation for the first time. If she married him, and he took her to his bed, would he see those scars and lose his nerve? Would the idea of following behind Uruks revolt him so much he would cast her out in the morning, shaming her once more? It was very possible. Ailith brushed her fingers over the long ridged scars, finally paling somewhat but still quite obvious. What was worse—the hideous injury they had caused her inside, which was now healed, or these lesser wounds which would last forever? Which was more likely to sour Harlan's affection for her?

Or… Was it possible he could overlook her scars?

Ailith draped the rag over the side of the tin tub. She cupped her hands with water, splashing her face clean. I was strong enough, she thought, to face him again. I was strong enough to help Halla give him his son, whether he deserved it or not, because it was the right thing to do. But am I strong enough to risk my heart, for the small chance that the Man I want to love might see some small worthy beauty behind such wanton destruction?

Harlan was a good Man, kind and noble and serious-minded. But am I asking too much of him?

There was only one way to know for certain. Only one way that might spare her the utter humiliation of being tossed out like the contents of a night pot on the morning after her wedding.

Ailith stepped out of her bath, dressing a bit slower than was her custom. All her dresses save one—which was for the winter—were plain, as befitting a woman trying to make her own way in the world, unaccustomed to frivolity she could not afford. Most of her dresses were grey or brown. But she had one in a lighter shade of blue-grey, and she chose it along with the one thing she had of her mother's: one single pearl, from a far off land, that hung on a cord of black silk. She tied the cord around her throat, carefully combed and braided her hair, and bent to let her little puppy kiss her face. There was a slight tremble in her fingers as she opened her door.

Spring was in full bloom outside. Children ran laughing through the twilight. Maidens wore white flowers in their hair. Old people—the few that had survived the War—sat outside their simple homes, throwing bones and drinking ale and talking about days left long behind. Ailith walked along the road, under the growing starlight, at long last hearing calls of welcome and greeting from her neighbors. She thought that she finally had everything she wanted—almost.

Harlan was sitting on the steps of his new stone house, the house the neighbors had pronounced knowingly as too big for a widower. His long blond hair hung loose over his shoulders, his pale beard was cut close to his square jaw. He smiled warmly when he saw her, setting aside the wood he'd been whittling, and standing up. "Are you on your way to the tavern? I was thinking about getting a bite to eat myself…"

"No," Ailith said, coming to stand before him. Tears blurred her eyes suddenly, and she blinked them away, seeing the confused look on Harlan's tanned face. Looking into his bright blue eyes, Ailith couldn't find the words to say, and she suddenly felt faint and dizzy.

"Hey… easy…" Remembering how fearfully she'd reacted to his kiss, Harlan was wary about putting his arms around her again. But he was afraid she'd swoon if he didn't. He caught her carefully in his strong arms; to his surprise, she lay her head against his chest. "What is it, honey? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she whispered. Ailith laughed softly, realizing it was true. "Nothing at all is wrong."

He looked down on her, bewildered.

"I want you to take me inside now, Harlan." His eyes lit up with questions, and Ailith said, "You take me inside now, and you decide for yourself, if you can love me as I am. Because I don't want to wait anymore, wondering and wishing, crying because I'm afraid you can't. You take me inside, Harlan… and if you still love me afterwards, I will marry you, and give you children."

She could hear his heart pounding through his thin blue tunic. He looked around, into the road full of villagers. He might have swept her off her feet, but for all the neighbors. Harlan reached behind him and opened the door. He took Ailith's hand, kissed her trembling fingers briefly, and led her into his house.

Harlan's bedroom was modest but warm, smelling of the fresh rushes on the floor and lit by oil lamps. He drew Ailith into his arms before his narrow bed, taking her face in his hands and kissing her softly. Ailith sighed at the touch of his lips, so soft and gentle, at such variance with the strength in his arms. "Shall I put out the lights?" he asked her, his voice a low murmur.

"No," Ailith said, taking a deep breath. She backed out of his arms, and with shaking hands undid the laces of her simple dress. The dress fell to the floor around her feet, and she kicked it softly away, then stood before Harlan, shaking now, unable to meet his gaze and see what thoughts were going through his mind as he saw her scarred body. A little sob escaped her throat as he stepped up to her again, bare-chested now.

"Shh," he whispered. "If you don't want this, I understand."

"I do," Ailith cried softly. "But you can see what they did—"

Harlan interrupted her by sweeping her off her feet easily. He carried Ailith to his bed, and lay her down carefully before discarding his pants and boots. She snatched a shaky breath as he crawled over her, eased his weight gently onto her body. She could feel the smoothness of his skin, the soft light hair of his chest. He smelled of soap and sawdust, and Ailith loved him completely.

"You are beautiful, Ailith," Harlan told her, lacing his fingers with hers. "And now you are my wife."

Ailith sighed, closing her eyes as Harlan took her body in his arms, and taught her how to love.