This is the last chapter I wrote in the bad old days, so there's no more finished stuff left. That'll put an end to my relentless update spam, I'm sure!

The sun still lingered high enough in the sky to warrant the use of the shadow-ring when they set out again, chewing on the cooked meat and wondering how far they would get this time before some absolute git decided to delay them or stop them altogether.

"Shattered are the great cities of bone

shattered are the bones of the cities' builders

shattered are our weapons

now all we wield are our own bare bones

bright and brittle under the wrathful sun

bleached and polished in... in... uh..."

Burzum repeated the last three lines twice before giving up on them and moving on to the next verse. He'd been at it for at least two hours, and his voice was beginning to sound rather like someone had used his vocal cords to clean a particularly nasty space between his teeth. The incredible perseverance with which he returned to his new song when it was clear that his inspiration was somewhere else entirely was, while admirable in principle, really starting to piss his mates off. Ghâshsag had been desperate enough to escape the torture to step outside the shadow and keep telling himself that his fondness for fire somehow made him sun-resistant.

"Cold are our bones, cold is our flesh... curse it, this is not working," Burzum stated the obvious. "Do you think I should try making it rhyme?"

For a while, Grishtakh was optimistic enough to think that it was someone else Burzum was talking to. However, a quick glance around revealed that he was the closest to the pretentious fool and thus cursed to answer his question. "I don't think that would make it any better," he blurted.

"Oh, is it that good? My thanks to you." And then Burzum continued singing.

Grishtakh felt another part of him, if not downright die, then at least go into a very deep coma. To save his black and twisted soul, he began to back off in a dark-struck panic, his eyes momentarily failing him in the ring's shadow. His throat went slack when his back hit something, and he let out a sound stuck between a wail and a moan.

"You little pervert, go slap your backside against someone else's crotch," said a voice in the dark. The jovial tone would have confirmed the speaker as Gutbrúg even if his familiar voice had failed to do so. Grishtakh whipped round, for where his friend was, after the events in the tower Krazum could usually be found as well, looking annoyed and suspicious at the goblin who kept following him.

"Krazum!" Grishtakh cried and grabbed the redhead's arm, startling both him and little Gruzlak. "Have you got any poison?"

"You'd be lucky to get something with which to stop your ears from me, you louse," Krazum hissed, his heart still beating a little faster. "I assume you want to silence your singing friend?"

"No, I want to kill myself to silence his voice in my head."

Krazum glanced at Grishtakh's earnest-looking face. "As much as I would like to snuff out the life's flicker behind your eyes," he drawled, "I have no ready-made poison right now."

"Life's flicker..." Burzum gazed at the sky through his dark veil. "That makes my soul stir. I shall use it in my song!"

His shoulders slumping at this new blow from the cruel fate, Krazum wanted a drink so badly he felt the need of it shoot through him from his mouth all the way down to his bladder.

Blissfully ignoring all that, Thraknash scanned the landscape with keen eyes. Although he was no great friend of trees and grass, they were a strangely invigorating sight to behold now. All that greenness, all that blossoming life, ready to be turned ashen and rotten and dead... or not. He could either follow his cursed instincts and ruin it, or leave it untouched without repercussions; the existence of these choices made him smug and happy.

His newfound happiness had failed to dull his perceptiveness, and he narrowed his eyes at a strange shape in the shadow of a small group of trees. It looked rather like a large rock, but something about it, on it... wait, someone...

"Is that who I think it is..?" Krazum asked as the group drew closer, breaking away from the cloud.

"It is! Hey, Grishtakh, look over there, look at that rock! Come on now, come out!" Ghâshsag all but exploded, waving his hand at the shape.

For upon the rock sat a thin, grey Orc with deep red eyes and a face that a long, hard life had carved its marks into. His vaguely chestnut-coloured hair hung in a limp, lifeless braid, its body as wiry as the rest of the Orc's body. There were three old scars on his head; the skin around them was ashen, and hair no longer grew from it. He had been scratching the scars when he had been spotted, so he merely lifted a couple of fingers in a greeting of sorts before resuming this obviously very important activity. Overlooking such an unenthusiastic greeting, the two smallest twits of Moria ran to him, too excited to mind the sun.

"Trying to be impressive again, isn't he..." Krazum muttered.

"Shouldn't you rather be asking what he's doing here in the first place?" asked Thraknash, sounding mildly amused.

Krazum shrugged. "Moglurz! What are you doing there?"

"Sitting," was the other Orc's answer. His throat did not seem to like shouting very much, so he said no more, only giving Sharrásh a quick nod and smile, and waited for the rest of the band to come to him. Ghâshsag and Grishtakh were the first ones, and they nearly knocked him off the rock in their zest.

"Did you leave Gorluk's group, Moglurz?" asked Grishtakh.

"Did you have to kill Gorluk's group so you could leave, Moglurz?" demanded Ghâshsag.

"Well, you brats," Moglurz said with a smirk, "all I did was tell Chief Gorluk that he would no longer need my services and that was that."

"Really?"

"Didn't he try to stop you?"

"Lads..." Moglurz grinned and spread his arms to show off his wiry, lean muscles. "What could he do to stop me?"

"Ooh," said Grishtakh.

"Aah," said Ghâshsag.

"Don't excite the little bastards too much," said Thraknash, sauntering over with a pleased look on his face. "The rest of the tribe's already taken off, I see."

"And Chief Gorluk, he's gone too, right?" Krazum half-whispered, his gaze flitting nervously to and fro as if he thought the huge Uruk could somehow hide behind the rock or the thin trees.

"Yes, he left a long time ago with the others. I've been here ever since." Moglurz nodded at a pile of charred twigs and sticks on the ground: his campfire. "Could use some new food right about now..."

"How did you know we'd be coming this way?" Thraknash asked.

"Well, lad, I'm glad you asked! Let me tell you everything in detail." Ignoring the groan this prompted from the young Uruk, Moglurz lay a hand on his heart and gazed at the distant, setting sun. "I heard it in my dreams and on the whispering wind. The earth itself told me of your coming. That's because I..."

"Because you're as old as the stars and in touch with nature in ways we whippersnappers are not, yes. I don't know why I even bother to ask when I know this is what I will get every time," Thraknash interrupted, trying very hard not to grin.

"I don't know either if you already know what will come of your questions." Moglurz looked amused. "But in all seriousness, Sharrásh told me."

Thraknash glanced at Sharrásh, whose face revealed absolutely nothing. He then turned back to Moglurz. The old Orc had sat there alone for a few days, Thraknash thought, and so he decided to humour him for once. "How?"

"With his mind."

Immediately Thraknash regretted his charity. "Right."

"A bit like sanwë-latya, then? I didn't know Orcs could do that," Anguelen inserted. His tone of voice was light, but for a moment it succeeded in wiping the grin off Moglurz's face.

"There are..." Moglurz said, trying to give off an air of mystery now that the look on his face was more serious, "...many things Elves don't know about Orcs."

"And he'll regale you with tales of each and every one if you don't watch what you say," Thraknash warned Anguelen. He then turned to Moglurz, trying to look stern. "I can see you've been bored, sitting here all by yourself, but that doesn't mean I'll let you talk crap all day! Why can't you blather at Sharrásh instead? With your mouth, that is."

"Speaking of mouths, Thraknash..." Moglurz smiled. "How about you shut your big Uruk gob and give me some food?"

No one argued with the fact that Moglurz could use some fattening up, and so the completely predictable stop in the journey came in the form of staying at the camp site and waiting for the starving Orc to fill his stomach. He ate slowly and blissfully, savouring every little crumb of what he was given. Licking the remnants of the meat's lingering flavour off his fingers, he looked at Thraknash curiously as they sat together.

"I see you've started to act more like the kinds of Uruks I knew before the war," he observed.

"What? In what way?"

Moglurz nodded at the two Elves sitting in the warmth of the setting sun. "You've arranged some entertainment for your mates. I remember the other one. Is the dark-haired one a friend of his?"

Thraknash blinked. "That's his brother, and..." He suddenly realised what the older Orc was talking about. "They're not some band bitches, you know! Anguelen is... well, I'm not sharing him!"

"Aaah. That sort of thing."

"What? What sort of thing?"

"You don't have to look so damned flustered, Thraknash. I've lived long enough to see that happen with Orcs before - never with an Elf, though, but then you always were a little..." Moglurz looked to the sky, reaching for a suitable word. Finding none, he simply shrugged.

"You're mocking me again, old one."

"Why shouldn't I when you're so damned mockable, eh? Now kindly stop bitching and go get me that beer at last like I asked you to do ages ago."

Thraknash frowned. Speaking of bitching... "Krazum was supposed to do that. Where is he?" The red-haired Orc was sitting on the rock Moglurz had left, sharpening his sword very carefully. "Krazum! Come here!"

Krazum's ears twitched. He glared at the Uruk and put his weapon and sharpening stone away as slowly as possible before stomping over with as much irritation as he could convey with his body language. "What now?"

"I'm the bloody leader here, aren't I? The one who says what the rest of you maggots are to do?"

"That's what you call yourself," Krazum admitted sourly.

"Shut up. So I tell you to do your part in the camp because I'm your leader and I can tell you to do that. Now why the fuck have you still not even started?"

"Because I'm not obeying you, Uruk shite."

Thraknash snorted. "You obeyed Grilták just fine, didn't you..."

"Commander Grilták was different."

The Uruk considered this statement. "Is it because he fucked you?" he asked.

Krazum was silent; his teeth were pressed together so tightly for a while that talking would have been somewhat difficult, anyway.

"Is that what I have to do with you, then? Do I have to fuck you to make you listen to me?"

"You can go fuck yourself!" Krazum snapped.

"That's how it's going to be with the two of you now, is it?" Nobody had seen Anguelen join them, and his chipper, abrupt tone made the Orcs jump. "I knew you'd want to try someone else besides me one of these days, but so soon..." He paused, looking contemplative. "I want to join in, or at least watch."

Moglurz leaned back and watched with keen interest the beginning stages of drama that unfolded before his eyes. Like the twits of Moria, he had long ago learned to find entertainment in other people's disputes and romantic (well, as romantic as they ever got with Orcs) involvements. Those goblins, he thought, were so good to a tired mind. No wonder Sharrásh had always liked being near them.

"I don't really like him that much, Anguelen," said the Uruk sweetly. He had been talking quite loudly, and by now all the other Orcs were listening as well. "I probably wouldn't even let him give me head if I got paid for it."

Raising his chin with jabbed pride, Krazum voiced his indignation. "I'll have you know that I could get paid for the head I give. Commander Grilták wouldn't have kept me if I hadn't been able to offer him the level of service he was accustomed to." He snorted angrily. "And what do you mean, you don't really like me that much? I'm the one who healed the gaping arrow wound in your leg after the war! You're the one who reminded me, so you should remember!"

"Yes, you did do that - while chanting the gangrene spell because you wanted my balls to fall off!"

Krazum shook his head haughtily, as if pitying Thraknash. "You Uruks truly are the whiniest of all Orcs. It didn't even work, did it? You've still got your balls, don't you?"

"Yes, but stop taking such an interest in my balls," Thraknash admitted, squirming. "Even now I can't be sure that you won't go at them like a rabid Hobbit the moment I let my guard drop."

"I've no interest in your stupid Uruk balls, damn you!"

"You had plenty of interest in another Uruk's... "

"Quiet!" There was that belligerent glint in Krazum's eyes again, the one that meant he was in the mood to piss and moan. "And what was it that you said a bit earlier? Something about you being the leader here?"

There was some stirring among the snaga-Orcs. The little bastards were raising their brows at each other, and it didn't look as though anyone else was all that pleased with the information, either.

"As the only Uruk in this group," Thraknash announced, "it's a given that I'm the leader!"

Krazum flashed a humourless smirk. "Bah. Even I have more leadership experience than you."

"Yes, and we all know how you happened to get it," Thraknash laughed. "Working under Grilták so literally must have worked wonders for your career, eh? Yes... I can only imagine what it must be like. Fucking yourself to the top, yet never being on top in any other way."

"His rank was all I had fucking left of him!" Krazum bellowed. "And that's not what matters here, what matters is that I don't want another Uruk leader! Just because you were bred in a fancy mudpit and have a bit more muscle than us others doesn't make you better than us!"

Looking somewhat bored of this beginning tirade already, Thraknash sighed. "So let's say that someone else should be our leader. Who would it be? One of the little idiots? The one who can't look at blood without being sick? The old coot, the irreverent little shit, the one who hardly ever talks, the one who thinks he's an Elf, the tiny little one? Who would you suggest?"

"The Elf?" Looking pleased at the stunned silence he had caused, Anguelen continued. "I jest, of course. I don't think you should have a leader at all."

Gutbrúg stood up straight, raising his ever defiant fist. "That's the best suggestion I've ever heard for leadership problems! None of us wants to be ordered around, me least of all, so let's not have a leader at all!"

Krazum turned his head to stare at the goblin incredulously. "Gutbrúg," he said, "what sort of Fourth Age rubbish is that?"

"It's the solution to our problem, is what it is. From this moment on, I won't be led. I'll acknowledge no chieftain, no commander, no captain, no king. You can command me all you like, I won't obey."

"That's nothing new, you..." Thraknash paused. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "Fine. Nobody leads. Everybody happy with that?"

Everybody cheered at that - even Krazum, after he had had a few seconds of time to get used to such a radical idea. It was certainly better than answering to yet another Uruk, or worse... an Elf. The terrible possibility that the others might have agreed to have Anguelen command them wouldn't leave Krazum alone, so he was definitely not going to complain. He sat down, tired after a nearly sleepless night at the tower, the journey that had continued almost immediately after that, and now the argument. At least Gutbrúg wasn't trying to do anything to him at the moment; he had to admit getting laid again had been a relief of sorts after so many years, but Gutbrúg was so bloody thorough.

Not to mention the fact that he was from Moria of all places. If Grilták could see how low his lieutenant had been brought... Krazum sighed and wondered just how much more complicated his life was going to get, and whether he would be able to stand it all. He lay down - just to rest his tired muscles, he told himself - and drew his limbs closer to his body, blinking slowly at first, then so slowly that he didn't open his eyes again for hours...

When he woke up, it was already dark. The Uruk was still sitting there, but he had at least brought new sticks and every now and then threw one on the relit campfire. Krazum raised his head and saw Moglurz over the flames, talking to the Uruk. What the devil could they have been talking about all evening? The time they had spent serving Chief Gorluk as bodyguards? Krazum groaned, suppressing the twinge of envy he felt for their easy chatter, and sat up groggily.

And then Krazum started. The Elf lay there against a tree, taking a nap as well; not an unusual thing to do by any means, but he just had to do that creepy open-eye thing while sleeping. "Oi! Doesn't that ever make you feel weird, the way he doesn't sleep properly?" Krazum asked, interrupting the other two Orcs.

"I'll just take a break here," Moglurz announced, glad to be able to let the young Uruk chatter at someone else for a change. He bit into a lovely, spicy piece of meat and listened.

"What do you mean? He's quite asleep, you know..." Thraknash said.

Krazum blinked. "But didn't you once say that he's always awake?"

"Damn it, Krazum, I'm only fucking one Elf! That doesn't make me an expert on their sleeping habits!" snapped Thraknash, shrugging aggressively. "Although I suppose in a way he is always awake. Or something. You ask him."

The redhead looked at the sleeping Elf, his fellow redhead. Yes, the open eyes did make him look alert, but they also made him look rather dead. Dead and alive at the same time. Shivering, Krazum decided to continue talking to the Uruk instead. "Anyway, shouldn't we speak some language other than Common in his presence?"

For a moment Thraknash felt the need to rub his eyes in frustration, but he knew that this sort of irrational behaviour was exactly what could be expected from Krazum. He would just have to counter it with solid logic and hope for the best. "Why now, all of a sudden? We always talk shit anyway, nothing that would interest anyone in his right mind."

Krazum snapped his fingers. "But that's the thing. He's not in his right mind, is he? Come now, don't tell me you've forgotten all your Orkish already. Even you Uruk-hai can't be that dumb."

Thraknash sighed. There was never any way out of this when Krazum was concerned, was there? He would just have to ride the wave of madness until it dried out. "Which dialect do you want to use, then? And it had better be something I know as well, not some weird mix of dialects you learned in the south or something."

"What, Southern Mordor?"

"No, that weird shit Orcs speak all the way down south, you know, where even Men have dark skin. But I don't suppose you speak Udûn, so how about Southwest Mordorian?"

"I do, actually, but I'll be buggered if I speak it with you. As for Southwest, I never learned any of the dialects as they always talked Common to me there. Gorgoroth dialect?"

"I don't speak that. Eastern?"

Krazum blanched. "...Eastern?"

"Yes, Eastern Mordorian! Do you speak it?"

"No, I don't!" Krazum said a bit too hastily. "Why would I speak a language like that, anyway..."

"I don't know!" Thraknash sighed again, this time more impatiently. "Núrn?"

"I'm not speaking that, I hate those bastards from Núrn. Dunland immigrant fucking dialect concoction?"

"You insult me. Central Mordor is my final offer."

Krazum pondered that. "Which dialect?"

"I don't know, I just realised I don't speak any of them after all."

"For fuck's sake! Black Speech, then!"

"Oh sod off, you know I don't like to use Black Speech."

"Yes, I know." Krazum eyed the Uruk crossly. "After all, it is but the dying language made for us by Our Lord of Darkness who even now is withering away in that tower..." Thraknash groaned, "...and I know you just have to be such a berk about it, but damn it, Thraknash, we'll be sitting here all bloody night if we don't settle on a language to use!"

As much as Thraknash longed to remind the other Orc that it was he who had suddenly decided that they must use Orkish in the presence of the Elf, he really didn't want to spend all night arguing with Krazum - and he just knew that that was what Krazum longed to do, to make someone else's day a little bit sourer. "Fine," he grunted in his former master's language. "Let us speak the slave-tongue. I bet it makes you all wet with glee to be reminded of your thraldom, you forge-rat."

"It does indeed feel good to have a reminder every now and then of the good old days," Krazum said with dignity. His eyes turned hazy, as if they had been conditioned to do so immediately at any word referencing the dreaded 'good old days'. "Yes, the past... the forges, the whippings, the wars. I'm sure it wasn't all just fun and games and skipping through fields of battle, but I do so miss it all, don't you? And I miss my old commander as well, and our troop, and..."

Thraknash snorted. "Pfft, Grilták... it was a decent mudpit we were bred in, famous for turning out strong Uruks, but it wasn't him that gave it such a good reputation."

"I can't see why. He was so strong, so fine..." Krazum mused airily.

"You keep saying that, and I keep telling you you're wrong. What was so great about him? Just... give me just one example. I'm really curious about this."

"There are many things to tell..."

Krazum was lost in his dreams for a while and just sat in front of the fire looking quite vacant. Then, as if remembering he still had unfinished business in the world of the living, he blinked and began to tell Thraknash of one cool autumn night in Grilták's tent.

Grilták had sat sprawled on his chair, looking like a great Orc-lord with his powerful muscles, his even-coloured dark brown skin and his manly features. Krazum, however, was not admiring said features at the moment as he was on his knees and had his head firmly in Grilták's crotch. Oh, he was so hard, so thick, so long...

"Sauron's incorporeal nutsack, Krazum, I don't want to hear of your obsession with his cock! If I wanted to fawn on something thick and long, I'd just look between my own legs or ask Anguelen to drop his trousers."

"Bah. Neither of you could possibly compete with him... but fine, I'll continue."

So, Krazum was rather busy doing one of his duties as Commander Grilták's servant, this particular duty being one of the most pleasant ones to him. There was just something wonderful about having the commander at his mercy for a while, having some control over him for a change - not that he was bitter about not being quite his equal yet - and listening to his ragged breath, smelling the strong scent of his arousal. Commander Grilták's scent was so much better than anyone else's, so much...

"Krazum!"

"...still don't know how he did it, I never met anyone so amazing before... uh, what? Er, yes. Going on..."

The commander was making pleased sounds as Krazum moved his head up to concentrate on the most sensitive parts of the cock, stroking and fondling the balls underneath. Krazum blinked at the heavy hand that suddenly descended on his head and wondered if Grilták wanted him to move his attentions elsewhere. But there was no sign of that; instead, the strong fingers spread a little and Grilták ran the hand ever so slowly down Krazum's greasy hair. When the fingers reached his neck, they grabbed a fistful of red strands and pulled, forcing Krazum to look up.

"Wait, what? He stroked your hair?"

"That's what he did."

"Then why did it shock you so much when Sharrásh did it?" Thraknash asked, confused.

Krazum scratched his ear and looked around quickly before turning back to the Uruk - Thraknash didn't care enough to point out that Moglurz did sit quite comfortably within hearing range - and speaking in a low, conspiratorial voice. "You know he's quite... old, don't you? I get the feeling sometimes that he's so crazy with age he can spread it to others - did he ever touch you? That time when he did that hair-stroke thing, it was nothing like having your hair stroked while you're giving head to someone. He spoke aloud then, but I swear I heard more than that in my head, some weird shit I couldn't understand..."

Thraknash briefly thought back to what Moglurz had said about Sharrásh talking to him over a distance. Then he remembered this was Krazum speaking, and therefore he could safely ignore all that.

Krazum, for his part, twitched and shifted and tried to look more chipper. "But Grilták! He wasn't weird when he did that. He just pulled my hair a little and told me to stop because he preferred shooting his load somewhere other than my mouth."

"Yes, he was charming like that."

"Unfortunately, we were right out of oil..."

Thraknash yawned. "And you went back to giving head?"

"Of course not, that was not what he wanted. He just spat on his hand a couple of times and used that."

Thraknash grimaced. Then he got a more graphic image in his head and winced, his own hole clenching up in terror at the mere thought of what it would be like to be rammed with nothing but spit lubricating Anguelen's cock. Then he got a mental image of Krazum being reamed by Grilták and felt downright sick. "But back to the original topic... what exactly did he do that was so wonderful?" he asked, still shuddering.

Krazum looked at Thraknash as though the Uruk had grown a hand in the middle of his forehead and was giving him the two-fingered salute with it. "Stroked my hair! Isn't that obvious?"

"Oooh, he stroked your hair. That's nothing just about anyone else with a hand couldn't do, after all, see..." Thraknash leaned forward, reached for Krazum's head and patted it.

Krazum dodged before the pat became a stroke and snarled, much to Thraknash's amusement. "He did it because he approved of what I was doing! You're just being a snide little shit as usual!" Krazum rested his chin on his hands and stared at the fire, huffing at the sound of Thraknash snickering to himself quietly.

Eating his last strip of meat, Moglurz thought about Krazum's little story. "Wasn't Grilták an old mate of Gorluk's?"

Krazum's previous annoyance all but evaporated. "Yes," he said, sounding like he might start stammering if he used a longer word.

Moglurz left it at that. Strange boy. He certainly liked to talk about his beloved commander every chance he got, except when the big Uruk was present. Then again, he contradicted himself so much that Moglurz would have had a hard time believing he really was so closely involved with Grilták if Thraknash hadn't confirmed it.

While Moglurz pondered his bandmate's previous Snaga-Uruk relationship, Thraknash was once more seized by a strange fit of mischievousness. "Anyway, I couldn't help but notice you were rather quick to deny being able to speak the Eastern Mordor dialect..."

Krazum pulled his back very straight, eyes wide. "Yeah? Why should I speak it, anyway?"

"Well, I just seem to remember that you were quite fluent at it at some point."

"Well - well, if you were able to tell what I was saying, doesn't that mean you speak it too?"

Thraknash shrugged. "You were talking to Gorakh, and since he's from the east too..." He grinned at the wild look in Krazum's eyes. "Oh, is that it? Were you bred in the... east?"

The string of curses with which Krazum replied to that definitely had an eastern flavour to it. "And what does it matter anyway, you Uruk twat?" he finally spat in Westron when he realised he wasn't being understood.

"It seems to matter to you." Thraknash shrugged again and felt egged on by the other Orc's outrage. "So, which mudpit was it for you? The Greater Dunghills? The Big Splat?"

"You're really asking for it, you know."

"Or are you perhaps from the worst place of them all... north-east Mordor?"

"You what?" Now it was Moglurz's turn to look up in outrage. "Ooh, now you've done it, you young whippersnapper. Nobody talks shite about the Great Northeast and lives to brag about it!"

Krazum's scowl slowly melted and became a smirk. "Well, well, Thraknash. Looks like it's two against one now... how about it, Moglurz?" he asked, standing up.

"Oh yes. It looks as though our young Uruk friend needs to be taught a lesson in humility," the older Orc agreed, also standing up. "I regret not having done this sooner, Thraknash, but better late than never, don't you think?"

"A sharkû and a blood-fearing ninny! Oh, I am ever so scared now!" Thraknash jeered but began to back off just to be on the safe side. He happened to look down and noticed Anguelen watching the proceedings quite intently, the faraway look of dreaming in his eyes gone. "Not that I can't take them alone, but now would be your chance to show how much you care about the integrity of my body parts and help me fight those two."

"Hmm." Anguelen yawned. "You know, I was once asked whether I felt I was more like a warrior or a lover..." he began and squirmed briefly for a better position. "I told the man the truth, of course, that I am a lover of warriors."

Thraknash looked at the two Orcs advancing on him deliberately slowly, clearly enjoying the situation tremendously. "Well, Anguelen Warrior-Lover," he said, "should you wish to continue being the lover of this warrior a little while longer, I suggest you get up and help me survive."

"Ooh, I'd love to." Anguelen got on his feet and dusted his trousers. "Haven't been in a good fight for quite some time."

Moglurz pulled one side of his thin-lipped mouth up, showing some sharp teeth and a yellowed tusk. "But we're not going to hurt him," he drawled, "much."

"Of course you aren't," said Thraknash, bravely standing behind Anguelen. He had never before seriously attempted to fight Moglurz, and he was not sure what to do. The prospect was making him giddy, though... giddy enough for him to cross over into outright stupidity. "An old geezer like you. The only way you could do any damage to me would be to fuck me - if you can get it up anymore, that is!"

"Oooh." Moglurz tilted his head, stroking his chin and baring even more teeth. "Hitting below the belt now, are you. The weak must do what they can to win, don't they!" He considered Thraknash's challenge, and a sinister glee lit up his eyes for a moment. "Unfortunately for you, I can get it up just fine. Shall we try this, then?"

"I'll believe it when I see it," taunted Thraknash, laughing nervously.

Anguelen raised an eyebrow at Moglurz, clearly interested. "Oh? And how hung are you... sharkû?"

"Like a Balrog, you brat," growled the Orc, staring at the Elf darkly from beneath his brows.

"That's no lie, I've seen it," said Thraknash, legs twitching as though he wanted to start backing off.

"Really? Perhaps then you should think before issuing a challenge like that?" Anguelen asked, sounding even more interested.

"But it always works when you do something like that," Thraknash attempted to whisper quietly enough so that Anguelen could hear it but the two snaga couldn't. Judging by their sharp-toothed grins, the young Uruk had failed; subsequently he lost his nerve. "You can't let him do it to me, Anguelen, I won't walk for a week!"

"Oh dear."

"And I won't fuck for a week either, I might add," Thraknash said hastily, hiding behind the Elf's back.

"Oh, that settles it. I'm afraid I can't let you fuck him, no matter how exciting it would be to watch," Anguelen told the old Orc, nodding firmly.

Krazum's fangs glinted in the campfire's faltering light. He cracked his knuckles eagerly. "No matter, even better... we'll just bruise him, just a little bit. He'll walk afterwards, but next time he'll think twice before running his mouth."

"Yes, let's fight! And I get to bugger anyone still standing once we're done!" Anguelen exclaimed, looking somewhat deranged with excitement.

"Er..." Krazum's battlelust disappeared almost instantaneously. "Skai. That was really underhanded."

Moglurz also considered Anguelen's ultimatum and his options. The young Elf was good, wasn't he; he certainly was willing to go through with what he said, unlike Thraknash. There was no way in Utumno Moglurz would lose to those two, but winning would grant him a prize that did not exactly make him keen to win. The Elf may have been a good lay, but actually taking it up the arse from him... no, that sort of thing was for Thraknash, not for a good old-fashioned Orc who knew better than to turn his back to the enemy.

Letting the tension go out of his muscles, Moglurz shook with silent laughter. "In that case, I'll leave you alone for now... but one snotty word about the northeast from you, Thraknash, and I just might forget about the safety of my hindquarters!" He patted the Uruk's shoulder amicably before he went.

"Yes, and perhaps next time your Elf won't be there to lend you his back," said Krazum, not very sorry to give up the fight with this moral victory.

Thraknash eyeballed the two as they went back to doing their own things. It looked like Krazum was heading straight for little Gruzlak, who had been watching the whole thing with shimmering eyes. "Well, I can tell he's never going to let me forget about this."

"Ah, Thraknash," Anguelen breathed, his long arm slithering over the Uruk's waist. "That's not what you should be worried about. You should worry about what to do now that I've had to listen to all this talk about big cocks and fucking."

"You're not exactly innocent in this, either," the Uruk snorted. He looked at Anguelen's arm and licked his lips nervously. "...do I get to be on bottom, then?"

"I think that can be arranged," said Anguelen, smiling.

The camp had gone quiet by the time Anguelen was finished with Thraknash. Trying to rut without drawing too much attention to it had certainly been interesting, but he had eventually just decided not to care if the whole bloody band wanted to gawp at them. There had been some snickering from Ghâshsag and Grishtakh, but they had returned to their game with Gruzlak quite soon; and with Eldehto sitting as far away from them as possible with his fingers in his ears and Krazum trying to behave like neither of the Elves existed, there were not that many others left to disturb them. In the end, nobody really cared.

Anguelen thought it was one of the most wonderful things that had happened during his journey. He was not very bashful by nature, but he had learned to expect yelling and even punishment for not watching his tongue and behaviour all the time - and here he was, lying naked under the sky with the Orc he had just shagged, right where anybody could see them. His arm was still draped over Thraknash's waist, his chest against his back. Oh, life was good. He had to grin a little when he thought about the way things had gone, and how it had only been a week since their clearly fated meeting. Perhaps there would eventually be something more in store for them indeed.

Thraknash opened his eyes and swivelled his head towards the Elf, terrified. "How the fuck can you be hard again?!"

"Curses, I shouldn't think too much before going to sleep," Anguelen mumbled. He was poking Thraknash's thigh and fighting the urge to poke between his thighs instead. After all, he thought, even the Uruk-hai needed some sleep every now and then.

"You could, I suppose, think of something other than screwing." Thraknash lay still and tried to estimate how much more his body might be able to take that night. "What are you going to do, then?"

"Oh, it's not that bad, I can fall asleep after a while," Anguelen declared with utter conviction.

"Can you?"

"Manwë's bollocks, Thraknash. You must think I have no self-control whatsoever."

Thraknash bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a near-hysterical (and worse, unorkish) giggle.

"Worry not, Uruk weakling," Anguelen murmured into his ear, an unmistakable smirk in his voice. "I can just have a wank while you get your rest."

"Can you, now?"

The Elf still hovered close to his ear, breathing lightly. "...damn it, Orc, you know me too well. I cannot."

Thraknash turned over, looking into those deranged eyes without fear. "Not with my hot body so close, eh?"

Anguelen stroked the Uruk's thigh with his hand, as well as his ego with his words: "It would be akin to fasting with a feast teasing your cock right next to you."

What a screwed-up metaphor... what a typical thing for Anguelen to say. It was such a good example of the lack of tracks in his mind that Thraknash had to grin as he found himself drenched by the wave of fondness that often followed the Elf's strange utterances. He groped gingerly between his legs.

"I think I might be up for one more round, but it's my turn on top now. I hope you're ready."

"Always," Anguelen chuckled. Despite the bruise his ego had taken earlier, Thraknash was certainly acting brave now, and Anguelen felt oddly proud of him. Perhaps there really was something more in all this for them.