The third wagon held four weakened, sleeping Uruk-hai and two strong enough to sit upright with their feet dangling off the back. Both had an arm flung over the side to keep steady over the uneven ground. Neither had any idea what to expect upon arrival at Helm's Deep, though the whiteskins had shown no aggression just yet.
There was still time, Mog mused, but he felt far less conviction in the thought.
What's more, he felt no desire to see such an end. Was it Hilda allowing him so close, though she trembled at the sight of him? Perhaps her smooth pale face? She had darker hair than he'd expected. Had they not always called the Rohirrim 'yellowhairs,' and yet hers was brown? And her eyes... like earth, rich and many-colored, with browns and greens intermixed. He knew what a female hid beneath her clothing, and found himself sifting through memories of others he'd seen, trying to decide which most probably matched Hilda's form. It alarmed him to be so consumed with such thoughts, to feel his body quivering with need, his insides churning with longing...
Another moment and he'd alert his leader to what was going through his mind. This he did not want. Glancing at Burzash beside him, he noted a distance in the Uruk's gaze, as though he wasn't looking at the wagon trailing behind them, but at something much further away.
"Whattayou reckon?" Mog ventured quietly.
Burzash startled and looked sharply at Mog. "About what?" he asked suspiciously, eyes narrowing.
Tilting his head, Mog examined the leader's expression. There was something familiar in it. "That one... Elfhild," Mog said.
"What about her?" Burzash growled, a warning in his eyes and voice.
Mog shifted a little. "Told her I was sorry."
Burzash seemed to sigh with relief and nodded. He returned his gaze out the back of the wagon, now watching the plains roll past beneath his feet.
"Thanked her for comin'," Mog continued, watching the larger Uruk carefully. Burzash sagged and winced.
"I didn't," Burzash muttered. "I couldn't."
"Why?" Mog pressed. "We are, ain't we? Sorry? I am." Especially now, he thought painfully.
"Fuckin' forgot my name," Burzash growled. "Looked at her... and I didn't know my fucking name."
Ashamed, he glanced at Mog, hoping not to see ridicule in the other Uruk's eyes. Though one side of Mog's mouth was turned up in a slight smile, he wasn't laughing at Burzash.
"Yeah," Mog said, nodding slowly. "Me too." They both returned their gazes out the back of the wagon, an understanding between them. "What're we gonna do?"
Burzash shook his head. "I don't know. Ain't never... felt this before. Don't know what to do." Breath quickening a little in confused worry, he went on, "If I go near her, they'll fuckin' kill me. But... I gotta be. I need her, Mog." He cast a desperate look at the other Uruk. He'd never felt so helpless in his life, not even standing unarmed among all these whiteskins, where one glance in the wrong direction would make him dead. This feeling was galling and humiliating and terrifying in ways nothing had ever been before.
He knew how precarious their position was now, and how incredibly unlikely it was that Eadburga might feel any sort of interest in him. Pursuing her would spell ruin for them all.
"Yeah," Mog agreed, his own thoughts filled with Hilda once more, remembering her scent and what it did to him. "Hilda... Know whatchou mean." Meeting Burzash's eyes, he whispered, "You and me do anything, they'll kill us all."
"We gotta... we gotta swear," Burzash said fiercely. "Don't... just don't."
Mog nodded. "Yeah. I swear."
Reaching over, Burzash clasped wrists firmly with Mog. Knowing they were in it together, that no matter how hard it would be to deny what was overwhelming them, gave them the false confidence they needed to face the rest of the journey to the Deep.
"I wonder," Mog mused. "You think Rukh feels this? For Romana?"
Furrowing his brow and thinking about it for a moment, Burzash slowly nodded. "Yeah. I think he does. Better ask him about it. How he... keeps his hands to himself." He chuckled mirthlessly.
"Soon as we get a chance, ask him," Mog agreed. "So we know how to fight it, eh?" Burzash nodded, feeling somewhat relieved.
Neither had any idea how difficult that pull was going to be to resist.
Leofwen used her body to shield the pitiable Uruk from the sun's glare, though he likely hadn't seen it for many days. She had been trying for most of the journey to coax a swallow from him, to ease some water past his lips.
Seated next to the soldier driving the wagon, Eadburga looked back with concern.
"Do you think... there is hope for him?" she asked, her brow pinched with worry.
"I... I do not know," Leofwen breathed. Meeting Burga's eyes, she said, "I never imagined I would feel pity for them. But I cannot look upon them as they are and not be moved."
The head healer nodded. "I feel the same." Her eyes somehow found the back of Burzash's head two wagons away, and she swiftly turned away, returning her gaze to the front.
The sleeper in Leofwen's care barely responded to anything she did. Even so little as the barest trickle of water invoked coughing and choking, growing more feeble with each repetition. She took to massaging his throat, urging a swallow, and found that he did so, but very slowly.
Leofwen was nearly brought to tears by this Uruk's plight, yet she had only just begun.
Her hand on his neck rose to his sunken cheek, and she lightly stroked the dry, rough skin. His parched lips did not move or even twitch. The only part of him that moved at all was his chest, rising and falling with his shallow, labored breathing. The only sound he made was the rattle in his lungs with each breath.
How would she manage to get medicines into him? She bit her lip to stop its trembling. The sickness that raged through his body met no resistance; he had nothing to fight with. Tears filling her eyes, she leaned close and whispered in his ear, "I am here. I will help you, but you must try. Turn from the darkness. Please turn away, and come to me."
Excruciatingly slowly, the Uruk's head rolled toward her voice. Leofwen smiled with relief, and caressed his face. "Good. That is good. Thank you."
Rukh glared at Maukum. In the same wagon, Kalus lay in nearly the same condition as the sleepers now, which was worrisome even to Rukh. The Uruk's decline had been swift; Rukh wondered if he had suffered the same illness as the others all along, and his own loss of will made him fall prey to it at last.
Regardless, Maukum glowed with health his 'brothers' did not share, and sat straight and proud while even Burzash had shown signs of weariness when the wagons were finally loaded.
"I'll fuckin' kill you," Rukh snarled quietly, "if you do anything."
Maukum slowly turned to stare malevolently at Rukh. "Ain't your place."
"No?" Rukh growled, arching his brow. "You do not think so?"
Sneering, Maukum replied, "Your female holds you back. She has you by the balls. She commands you. And she will not let you kill me."
Rukh was startled and failed to hide it. Did they all think this? Narrowing his eyes, he hissed, "She does not command me. Do you want me to prove it?"
"No need," Maukum smirked, looking away. "When they turn on us, and you must fight for your life, be wary. I do not forget insults."
Snorting dismissively, Rukh shook his head. "You do not know whiteskins," he said. "If they wanted us dead, we would be dead now, not filling their wagons and going to their fortress."
"Time is all they need," Maukum shrugged. "They will turn. They are treacherous."
Rukh grunted and shook his head. "Dunlendings, perhaps. They could not be trusted. I would not turn my back on a Dunlending." Tilting his head to the side, he looked more closely at the other Uruk. A slow grin split his face. "I see it now. Some of us came from these folk; you came from Dunland. It is no wonder you are a miserable piece of shit."
Maukum glowered at the larger Uruk, seething impotently. "And you did not? How are we to know what cunt bore any of us? You do not look any different from me or this bit of filth," he snarled, gesturing toward Kalus. "Master did not tell us because it does not matter."
"To you, it does not matter," Rukh snarled. "There is much he did not tell us that matters now."
"I do not give a fuck for what Master did not tell us," Maukum snapped. "Only for what he did. I remember my orders. Do you?"
"I do not hear him," Rukh growled. "Nor do I heed him. The Voice is dead in me. I do not wish to even remember it. If you would live, cast it from your memory."
"And whose voice should I heed, eh?" Maukum challenged. "Yours? Burzash's? Romana's? If she would wag her tongue for my benefit, let it lick my balls..."
Rukh's fist shot out, connecting with Maukum's nose so hard, black blood spurted in all directions. "You will do as Burzash says," Rukh hissed. "Or you will die."
Erkenbrand held the reins loosely in his hands, not guiding the horses pulling the wagon but rather letting them follow the lead wagon ahead. He'd been fixated on the contents of that wagon; a woman and a soldier together on the buckboard, three emaciated Uruk-hai lying side-by-side in the bed, and what appeared to be a monstrous berserker lounging near the back, gazing about the plains in smiling wonder, looking for all the world like a young boy on a sight-seeing trip.
Yet the man's thoughts were elsewhere at the moment. He could not seem to drive away the things he'd seen. He poked and prodded the visions as one would worry a toothache.
He saw his men – hardened by long years of battle against these creatures, the memories of Helm's Deep undoubtedly still fresh – carefully lifting the spindly bodies of their enemies into the wagons as though they might shatter if jostled too much.
Like his father before him, Erkenbrand was a knight of Rohan. He had served his King in one fashion or another since he was strong enough to lift a blade. He knew nothing save a warrior's life, and while his grasp of strategy and planning aided him in managing his holdings and maintaining order and security in the Westfold, he would never be happier than he was in the saddle wielding a sword against his land's foes.
Among his enemies were counted these very creatures he'd agreed to accept into his hold.
When the Uruk-hai began to appear years before, they were quickly found to be more difficult to defeat than Dunlendings who pilfered across the border but rarely appeared in force. The great Orcs of Isengard proved to be a greater threat even than the remnants of northern Orcs that settled in the White Mountains to the south. They were bigger and stronger, to be sure, but more cunning and better organized. Ruthless and focused on destruction, heedless of injury, burning and plundering all before them without remorse...
So they had appeared when he met them in battle. They did not seem so now.
Erkenbrand never imagined he would see Orcs of any breeding in this condition. Unbidden, he recalled seasoned warriors, maimed in battle yet not slain. Soldiers who had lost limbs or suffered damages that weakened their arms so they could not hold a weapon, or pained their bodies so greatly that they could no longer sit a horse. He had seen many men fade into despair long before advanced age would take them to a natural ending. They believed their use had long since ended, and they had nothing left to offer their folk but a sad remnant of lost glory, never to be regained.
He saw before him the remains of a once great warrior race, he now realized. When the fevers broke and their strength began to return, what might they feel? He had never considered their side of the argument before Romana showed it to him. How might the Uruk-hai recover from such a devastating defeat that lost them not only their master but their entire way of life? For those in delirium, might they be dismayed to awaken in the hands of their enemies, too weak to defend themselves, with no where to run?
Speaking with one of the healthier ones had not entered his mind while he watched them taking such great care in dressing their comrades, lifting them from the ground, and easing them into the wagons. It was clear their gentleness was more than a fear that the emaciated Uruk-hai might break if handled roughly; the creatures knew well that pain is felt so much more by one so thin and weak. They handled their brethren with full knowledge of how easily they could hurt them, and chose not to. Erkenbrand had been far too stunned by seeing anything akin to kindness or compassion in them to consider approaching one.
Glancing at Romana beside him, he saw tears welling in her eyes, yet she seemed to be stoically resisting them. A blink sometimes caused a drop to fall, but she hastily swiped it away. Her gaze was fixed ahead, but if she truly saw the Hornburg growing larger as they neared or not, he couldn't say.
It was clear to his eyes, at least, that she did not gloat over her victory, nor did she take any particular joy in having chided him into agreement in this enterprise. She could see as well as he that the battle to save these creatures had only just begun.
Looking ahead again, Erkenbrand's eyes fell upon the berserker, yet another mystery of these creatures that baffled him. He had seen Uruks like him scaling the battlements, first over the walls, and charging headlong into a forest of spears as though they feared nothing. There were few so ferocious as his like, bathed in blood even before engaging the Rohirrim, roaring into battle with barely a scrap of leather about their waists. The shock troops of Isengard, and one of their number among those in better health than any...
Yet he had a look of innocence about him that belied all Erkenbrand had ever seen of them. It was difficult to reconcile the hulking brutes he had faced and slain with this benign, smiling, young-seeming... He was not even sure what to call him.
Brow furrowed, he turned to Romana, for she seemed the likeliest to know the answer to this mystery. "Tell me of the large one. Why does he seem so calm? I have seen his kind slaughtering mercilessly until a surfeit of wounds brings them down. Heedless of injury and mindlessly aggressive, yet I see no signs of these things in him."
Romana drifted from her reverie and looked upon Foshân. A slight smile softened her features. "He's a child," she said simply.
"What do you mean?" Erkenbrand asked with a frown. "He is greater in size than a full grown Man."
"No, I mean up here," she replied, tapping her head. "He's a child. I don't think he's any further developed than, say, a five or six year old. Whether it was some oversight of Saruman's, or something he did intentionally, I don't know. Foshân was bred for size, I assume, but not necessarily for intelligence." She smiled ironically. "A smart Uruk wouldn't charge into a bunch of spears without armor. All he got was size, strength, and the childish desire to please."
Shrugging, she continued, "I don't know how many of the berserkers are... were like him. He's the only one I've actually talked to. You know, if I told him to attack your men, and kill them all, he'd do it. He'd scare the crap out of you in the process. He would do exactly what he's told because that's how he's wired. Like a child."
"I... find that... concerning...," Erkenbrand said hesitantly.
"I've told him not to fight," Romana assured him. "He has assumed that means none of them are allowed to fight. He's stepped in and broken up a couple of fights between Burzash and Maukum."
"Which ones are they?"
"Burzash is the one who's kind of their leader," Romana explained, then shook her head. "No, not 'kind of'; he is their leader. Even Rukh recognizes that. Maukum is the surly lump of shit in the wagon with Rukh. They have been fighting for dominance over this group since the beginning. Mostly posturing, but once in awhile it's come to blows."
She took a deep breath and fixed Erkenbrand with a steady eye. "Just a warning. Burzash is the better leader, by far. Maukum would rather everything went back to the way it was when Saruman was in power. He wants to always be at war, to take what he wants, to destroy everything in his path. We're keeping an eye on him because nobody wants that. Burzash recognizes that any aggression from any one of them at this point is going to doom them all. I just want you to know that Maukum is alone in his attitude. None of the others will follow his lead. So if he does something completely stupid, please don't punish the rest of them."
"If any of my folk suffer for the decision I have made...," Erkenbrand growled.
"Then punish the one who did it, not all of them," Romana interrupted sternly. "Try to be fair, Erkenbrand, please. These guys have been through the mill. I know, they've put your people through hell too. But they didn't know. Now, they do. If one of them steps over the line, I won't stop you from taking down that one. But I will stand in the way if you go after the rest of them."