Smoke From a Distant Fire

"Ghaashkarn!"

Sandy nearly fell on her backside in the stream at the sound of Morkoth's voice roaring from camp. Stumbling to the sandy bank, she hastily pulled her clothes on, nearly pitching face first into a bush as she hopped on one leg, halfway in and out of her jeans.

"What's going on?" Brianna cried, likewise struggling into her shirt with her still-splinted arm.

"Something's wrong," her friend muttered, then ran as fast as she could. Brianna kept pace, her heart pounding with fear.

All sorts of terrible visions ran through the women's minds as they closed on the camp, yet when they arrived, the six Uruk-hai were standing around in a group by the fire.

"What is it?" Sandy gasped breathlessly. Morkoth detached from the others and swiftly embraced her.

"You are safe," he murmured.

"What's going on?" Brianna asked. Ghru fidgeted, flexing his hands. Without waiting on him, Brianna went over and touched his arm. "Ghru, what..."

Shaking, he grabbed her fiercely and held her against him.

"I found some tracks," Nûrzgrat finally said. It seemed he had been running hard, and was just getting his breath back. "There's a village just south. It's burning."

Sandy broke away from Morkoth and turned to the leader. "How close did you get? Could you see anything? Do they need our help?"

"Help?" Nurzgrat barked incredulously. "Help who? The villagers or the Dunlendings?" He spat on the ground. "We poke our noses in, and the Dunlendings'll tell us to mind our own affairs. Or they'll just kill us." He spread his hands out. "We got no armor. Not even hides."

"You have swords," Sandy pointed out fiercely. "There may be survivors. We could help them."

"Yes, let's help the stinking whiteskins," Frûmâdûrz snarled sarcastically. "They would rush to our aid, I'm certain."

"Fine, you can sit back here and jerk off," the red-head snapped. "Pass up your best chance at... at making amends for being such an insufferable bastard."

"She's right," Nûrzgrat said after a moment, coming to a decision. "Morkoth, Ghru, Frû – get the swords. Brie and Sandy, you take Ghru's knives. You come with us, but stay the fuck out of the fight. Watch the younglings; keep'em safe." He looked around at the stunned faces. "Am I fucking talking to myself? Move your asses!"

A dark-skinned man with tribal paint streaks across his high cheekbones held the flaxen-haired woman's wrists in a single hand while the other tore at her dress. Her screams were deafening as she struggled, but not loud enough to drown out his laughter. All of a sudden, her face went slack, her screams stopped, and she looked up past his shoulder, her mouth agape in silent terror. The Dunlending had a moment to wonder at what might have stolen the woman's attention before his head was swept from his shoulders to land several yards away.

Her rescuer kicked the man's corpse to the side, then inexplicably extended a black, clawed hand, offering to help her stand. She looked into his brutish, flame-scarred face, the face of a monster, of a beast she knew only in tales of destruction and repulsive violation.

"Come," he said, his voice gravelly and deep. "No harm will come to you."

His yellow eyes, though framed by a face out of nightmares, told her he was not lying. She accepted his hand and stood on shaking legs.

"Go that way, between those two houses," he said, pointing back the way he'd come. "My mate will see to you." He then firmly shoved her in that direction. Confused, she did as she was told, hugging herself and stumbling forward quickly.

To her surprise, two human women stood just outside of the flaming village, a pair of orcs smaller than the woman's savior sitting with them. The one with dark hair hastened to her.

"Over here," she said, wrapping an arm around the woman's shoulders and guiding her to their little group. The other woman with strikingly red hair handed a waterskin to her and she drank gratefully.

"Not too much," she chided gently. "It's all we have." The woman nodded, and stoppered the skin.

The dark-haired woman looked back toward the village and bit her lip anxiously. "Everything's on fire."

"Yeah," the other agreed.

"He's afraid of fire, Sandy."

"Shit," Sandy breathed. "You stay here. That arm... just stay. Thakûf, don't do anything stupid. Raz, stay put."

"Where are you going?" the other woman asked.

"If they have to enter a building, they're already down one," Sandy replied grimly. "Gotta go even it back up." Gripping the long knife in her hand, the red-head took off into the chaos of the village.

The Rohirrim woman slowly turned her head to look at the smaller of the two orcs sitting close by.

His face was twitching as he stared wide-eyed at her, and he was breathing quickly. If she didn't know better, she would think him terrified of her. It was laughable, yet somehow she had no room for mirth at the moment.

Frûmâdûrz was in trouble. He hadn't actually seen true battle yet when his home was destroyed. He'd been trained, certainly, and had done his share of killing other Uruk-hai who gave him trouble, had taken part in a few very one-sided raids, yet he'd never been in a fight like this. Understanding how to avoid being struck by a blade was a lot different from managing to successfully do so long enough to prevail against your opponent.

Or both of your opponents.

He had two Dunlending in front of him, and it was all he could do to block their swings. He couldn't get a hit in, for if he went for one, he was open to the other. It was largely a stalemate, though he was taking wounds with every passing second, and giving few.

He'd almost given himself up for dead when he heard the sound of steel-shod feet running up behind.

Out of nowhere it seemed, two Riders of Rohan flanked him on either side and engaged the Dunlendings, making short work of the surprised raiders. Once the threat was dealt with, Frû turned on the Riders and opened his mouth to ask who the hell they were and where they came from, but one of them didn't give him the chance.

"If you want to draw another breath, orc," he growled, gripping Frû by the front of his shirt, "you will help us."

"I was helping!" Frûmâdûrz cried indignantly.

"My wife is here, somewhere," the other man said, his voice shaking. "They would have gone to the longhouse. There is a cellar beneath."

"Then we go there," the first agreed, then shoved the Uruk in the direction of the biggest inferno in the entire village.

The sweeping descent of Morkoth's broadsword cleaved the Dunlending's spine, killing him instantly. The man crumpled and fell across the body of a woman he'd just slain, tearing her body apart in his madness.

Morkoth had never felt such rage as he did now, looking upon the dead female staring skyward. The expression on her face – shocked horror – was one he'd seen many times. One he'd caused. Two more Dunlendings came at him with swords waving. Roaring a challenge, he charged.

He could hear them. The screams of terrified women and children. Ghrulagûrz stood frozen in front of the longhouse, unable to move a muscle. Flames licked the timbers, roaring through the building before him. He knew there were people inside, but he couldn't move.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?" Nurzgrat barked as he ran up, blood dripping off his sword. Taking a deep breath, he realized why the big Uruk was transfixed by the fire, and gripped Ghru's shoulder. He was relieved to see Morkoth come around a nearby building to join them.

"We gotta get in there," he began, then started in shock as Frû raced up in the company of two horse lords. "Where the fuck did you lot come from?"

"No time," one said firmly. "There's a trapdoor in the floor, over near the far end of the main hall." The other was wild-eyed with panic; he could hear the cries inside the building just as well as the Uruk-hai. The first man was about to enter, when Morkoth exploded.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" the big Uruk bellowed. All turned in the direction he was facing, and nearly fell over in shock.

"Cover your noses and mouths," Sandy instructed briskly. "Don't breathe in the smoke if you can help it."

"You should be outside the village," Morkoth snarled as he did what she told him.

"Ghru isn't going in there!" she snapped. "You'll need an extra pair of hands."

"Not yours!" he roared, then immediately shoved her out of the way, knocking her to the ground. Sandy almost yelled at him for the rough treatment, until she realized three more Dunlendings had converged on them, and the Uruk-hai were engaged in another fight right on top of her. Covering her head, she dove out of the way.

"Come on!" the steadier of the two Riders called, and leaped over the burning threshold into the longhouse. The other Rider, Sandy, and Frû followed without hesitation, leaving the three remaining Uruk-hai to deal with the attackers.

It was like walking into hell, Sandy thought. The heat was intense, the sound from the fire so loud she could barely hear herself think. Ash and heat burned her eyes. And on top of the fire's roar, the screams.

"This way!" the lead man cried. The main hall of the longhouse had several support beams tipping precariously, about to collapse. Sandy fixed her eyes on the square of wood ahead of them.

The man pried open the trapdoor, and began shouting instructions in a foreign tongue. The women and children began coming out. Their expressions of relief were replaced with fear when they saw Frû, and outright panic when Morkoth and Nûrzgrat came crashing in.

"Get them out!" the first man cried, pushing one woman after another at the Uruk-hai. Sandy grabbed a small boy about the waist with one arm and took a slightly older girl by the hand, then raced outside. One by one, the survivors were escorted out, and their unexpected rescuers dove back into the inferno for another.

"Is that all?" the second Rider asked desperately when it seemed the cellar below them was empty.

"I know not!" the first replied. A loud creaking sound interrupted. The support beam right next to them began to fall.

Before they could leap out of the way, Nûrzgrat was under the beam, holding it steady with both hands. He bellowed in agony as the flame-wreathed wood seared his flesh, but he held on. The second man ran down the stairs.

Seconds later, he emerged, dragging an hysterical woman by the arm. They were all so covered with soot and grime, she thought them Dunlendings, or worse. Her fears seemed confirmed when she laid eyes on Frû. She screamed, and tried to go back into the cellar.

The first Rider was now helping Nûrzgrat hold the beam, his gauntleted hands better protected. The second man, still not satisfied that every nook and cranny of the cellar had been searched for his missing wife, flung the distraught woman at Frû and disappeared down the stairs once more.

She struck his chest in desperation to free herself. She screamed for help. He just stared at her, transfixed.

"Get her out, dammit!" the man at the beam cried, straining to hold it up. If he didn't have the orc's help, it would have fallen by now.

Frû ducked and flung the woman over his shoulder, then ran out.

The second man finally came back out, nearly in tears. He thumped his partner and the orc on the shoulders, and they gratefully let the beam fall. The huge timber crashed loudly over the cellar's trapdoor, ending any thoughts of another quick search. Then they abandoned the longhouse themselves.

The group outside the longhouse only had a moment to gasp for breath before the ones bearing arms were obliged to fight once more. Five Dunlending warriors descended on them. Roaring their challenges, the Uruk-hai charged back into the fray, accompanied by the Riders. Sandy herded the women and children out of the village. It took her a moment to realize Frû came with her, still carrying the choking and feebly protesting woman.

"I'll take her, Frû, it's okay," she said. He shot her a look that she'd never seen from him before. "Now, Frû! And tell Nûrzgrat to get his ass out of the fight. His hands are burned. I can't believe he's even holding a sword." Snarling, the Uruk lowered the woman to her feet, glared once at Sandy, then ran back.

"Come on," Sandy said, grabbing the woman's elbow and dragging her after the rest of the survivors.

The sun was low in the western sky when calm finally descended. The raiding Dunlendings, numbering twenty in all, were dead or had run off in a panic. Wearily, Sandy had to chuckle. What an interesting story they'd be telling back home. She raised her soot-covered hands and sighed. Just took a god-damned bath.

There were a dozen women and five children. Morkoth and one of the Riders were checking the perimeter, making sure no more of the Dunlendings were close enough to stage a counter-assault. Sandy surveyed the rest of the group. Nûrzgrat was shouting expletives at the top of his voice as Brianna applied a healing salve to his burned hands and chastised him for being such a baby. The second Rider was wrapped in the relieved embrace of a woman that hadn't been in the longhouse at all, but had stumbled to their location soon after the Uruk-hai entered the village. While Sandy was helping the boys, Brianna discovered the woman had been rescued from assault by Ghru. She had to smile. Way to pay it forward, big guy.

Razkaar had apparently decided that human children weren't nearly as terrifying as adults, and was sitting with the five kids, chatting amicably about... well, whatever it was little kids talked about. One girl who couldn't be more than four, was absolutely fascinated with his ears, and kept tugging on them. To Sandy's surprise, he was more amused than annoyed by her attention. Thakûf was likewise a source of entertainment, for he was just as unabashedly curious about them as they were about him. Sandy kept glancing over there, hoping the notoriously uninhibited Uruk wouldn't do anything offensive.

Then there was the woman Frû had rescued from the longhouse. She sat there, hugging herself and staring at her knees. Sandy wasn't entirely surprised; every time the poor girl looked up, she found Frû staring at her. Every attempt by one of the women to tend to her, however, seemed to be met by cringing and retreat. It was suspicious and unsettling, making Sandy wonder if she had been assaulted at some point, whether today or before. Though exhausted and still PMSing to beat the band, Sandy decided she'd have to step in, since Brianna was busy, and waved to get the Uruk's attention. When he noticed her, she beckoned him over. Frû glanced back at the Rohirrim woman, then dragged himself over to sit by Sandy.

"What?" he grumbled.

"I couldn't help noticing," she said conversationally, yet keeping her voice down, "how smitten you are by that woman. Want to talk about it?"

"What is 'smitten'?" he growled.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Sandy pressed. Frû only shrugged, but glanced at the woman anyway. "Just an FYI. She's a local. Probably well aware of what you are, and where you came from. She might not be as... tolerant as Brie or I, you know?"

The Uruk slowly turned his head and glared hotly at Sandy. "Fuck. You," he snarled. Then he jumped up and stormed away.

Sighing, Sandy rose and went to the woman in question. She started, looking up at Sandy warily. "Can we talk?"

Frûmâdûrz felt sick to his stomach. At least, he thought he did. It seemed that his guts were crawling around inside him. Something... strange happened to him when he entered the village, and he didn't know what to do with himself now.

It was when he heard the screaming, he remembered. He'd heard screaming before. He'd made whiteskin females scream a few times, as well. It usually excited him, aroused him, urged him to do whatever was necessary to prolong it, increase the volume.

Today, though, the screams agitated him. Made his stomach twist. Filled him with the urge... no, the need to stop it, at whatever cost. He knew, walking into that burning building, that the only way to stop it was to get them out. Thinking about it now, he knew that another effective way would have been to let them die. But that thought hadn't crossed his mind while the screaming was filling his ears.

He ran his fingers roughly through his hair, holding his head in both hands. He needed to know her name. He needed to understand why looking into her eyes seemed to shatter him into a million pieces and make him feel whole and complete, all in the same moment.

"You have spied on us," Morkoth accused harshly as he and the Rider made their way back to the group.

Haelm sighed. "Aye, that we have. I hope you can forgive us. We were following orders."

"We were not trusted," the Uruk growled.

"No, you were not."

"Are we now?"

"Yes," the Rider replied firmly.