Sugar and Spice

It was well past the middle of the night when Nûrzgrat finally gave in to the complaints and let them stop to make camp. Sitting out of everyone's way, he held the sleeping girl in his arms while Frû and Morkoth built up a fire. Brie sat down beside him, Sandy in front. Both women seemed unable to keep their hands off the child, smoothing her matted hair, rubbing her back, murmuring comforts when the girl whimpered. Razkaar wanted to be part of things, and hovered nervously. Thakûf stared at the leader, sitting some distance away, but attentive to all that was happening. Nûrzgrat didn't have the time or inclination to wonder what was going through the young Uruk's mind.

Ghru sat apart from all of them, arms folded over his upraised knees, staring at nothing.

"She'll be cold tonight," Brie said quietly, plucking at the ragged shift the child wore. If she didn't know better, she'd swear it was Dobby's pillowcase.

"I can keep her warm," Raz offered, darting a cautious look at Nûrzgrat. The leader flared for a moment, then settled.

"You... do that," he said awkwardly.

Brie eyed the youngest Uruk. Physically, he looked to be roughly ten years old, if he were a human. It was quite possible he wasn't even that old, emotionally, the way Saruman used such unnatural means to 'ripen' the Uruk-hai for emergence as adults. Thakûf by contrast appeared closer to thirteen; the blossoming of his sexual awareness seemed to bear that out. All in all, though she was no expert, Brie felt relatively safe in letting Raz spend time with the girl. At least for now.

"I'm sure it'll be all right, Nûrzgrat," she said.

"Someone in that village must have taken care of her at least a little," Brie murmured. "I mean, she's here. She made it out of infancy. Maybe... her mother's relatives... somebody..." She shrugged helplessly.

Sandy suddenly leaned forward and gently took Ilsa's little hand. She was clutching Nûrzgrat's shirt front, but her grip was easily broken.

"Holy crap," she breathed, looking at the girl's fingers. Sandy caught Nûrzgrat's eye for only a moment before the leader looked away, anger creasing his brow once more.

"Yeah," he snarled. "They pulled'em out. Likely to keep her from hurtin' any of them." Musta been hard, fightin' against the dogs without a weapon, he thought bitterly.

Ilsa's claws, a typical trait of her orcish heritage, were missing. The unprotected ends of her fingers were raw and rough.

"Those sons of bitches," Sandy breathed. She almost didn't notice Morkoth settling in behind her, until he put an arm around her and leaned close.

"It is good we found her," he said. "I think... they would not put up with her much longer."

Nûrzgrat shook his head. "Didn't look that way, no."

Frû dropped to the ground in the only free space left around the leader. He tilted his head, looking closely at the girl for the first time. "I've never seen nothing like her." Reaching over, he pushed a bit of her hair off her forehead so he could see her face better. "She sure is pretty. Wonder why?"

Looking down at the peaceful little face, Nûrzgrat felt a lump form in his throat. Indeed, she was very pretty. She had a smooth complexion, though darker by far than the Dunlendings. There was no mistaking her Uruk parentage, but somehow her bone structure wasn't as heavy or brutish. It seemed that all the ugliness was reserved for the males.

Brie looked past the cluster of Uruk-hai and saw Ghru staring into the flames of the roaring campfire. He seemed to be taking the villagers' reaction harder than the others. Standing, she went over to sit next to him.

They sat together for several minutes, then Ghru spoke in low tones, his gravelly voice sounding pained.

"I did not know," he muttered. "I thought they gave them up. Didn't know we took them."

"Their women?"

Ghru nodded miserably. "Master took many of them from Rohan. We raided, and brought them back. Some came from as far away as Gondor. Raids, always. We thought... I thought, Dunland was our ally. That part of the deal was... their females." He shook his head slowly. "They were given a choice. Give up their females, or lose the whole village. Females, whelps, old, young... We carried out those orders. We did it."

"Do you know if... any villages were...," she asked hesitantly.

He shrugged hopelessly. "I do not know. Likely. I knew some Uruks who would have been more than happy to take the females and burn the village down, whether given cause to or not. Knew others who would have honored the deal. Taken the females and let the rest live. Or burned the village down if they did not give in. I did not realize... not until you... what we were taking from them."

Brie curled her arm around his and rested her head on his shoulder. "Did you ever come here and... do that?"

Shaking his head, he leaned his cheek against her hair. "None of us did. I would not be surprised if Nûlkol did. He would have been the kind to burn the village down, then demand the females. Likely rape each one in front of her mate before he left. Pushdug filth." Ghru spat on the ground and glowered at the fire.

Snuggling closer, Brie said softly, "I'm so glad Nûrzgrat brought her back. She needs people around her who care about her, and I swear, it doesn't look like she had that."

"She didn't," Ghru confirmed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he grimaced. "Please tell me, Brianna... tell me that... if I make a whelp in you... you will not... not..."

"I promise, Ghru," she whispered, "your child will be the most precious thing in the world to me."


Crickets made the only sounds as Morkoth leaned back on one hand, caressing Sandy's naked form with the other. She lay on their blanket face down, head pillowed on her arms. In the light of a small campfire, he could see the contented smile on her face.

Yes, he mused, make-up sex is very good.

After Nûrzgrat had his chat with Thakûf, it seemed that the threat of being watched had been lifted. Morkoth made sure, of course, but it seemed that the boy had been properly chastised. The trees and bushes were empty, and he could not pick up Thakûf's scent in the immediate area.

Without a spy, the huge Uruk even felt at ease enough to light a small fire for their comfort, and he was glad of it. Not since the pool had he seen the beautiful images on her body, and now he could see them without her underclothes or darkness obscuring the best parts.

He ran his clawed hand down her left leg, following the sinuous form of a dragon, or so she had claimed. He had never seen a creature like it, and could only take her word for what it was. Its arms and legs clung to her limb adoringly, and he now saw that it had two heads. One he was seeing at the moment, seeming to rest sleepily upon her left buttock, a thin forked tongue snaking out and trailing down to flick enticingly at the darkness between her legs. The other he knew to rest upon her left hip, its eager tongue aiming for the part of her he enjoyed the most when they were together. He could not blame the dragon for desiring such a feast.

That was not all: behind her left shoulder was a dragon's head, mouth agape, with sharp teeth digging into her flesh. A few droplets of blood were painted, as if its teeth pierced her flesh. It was this one that drove him the most wild, for he felt jealous of the creature's liberties.

But the colors... the big dragon down her leg was nearly irridescent, shifting among many hues. Tracing the outline with one finger, he felt his desire renewing.

Then it was gone, and he sighed with disappointment. The matter of the girl-child weighed heavily on all of them. Morkoth had managed to avoid thinking about the breeding pits and what happened there, though little Ilsa was a stark reminder. He'd pushed it away, hidden it, buried it, but it kept wanting to surface, and he felt a wave of grief hit him now.

Turning away from Sandy, he tried to master himself.

"Morkoth?" she said softly. He could hear her rising, felt her hands on his shoulders. She embraced him, and normally he would have been able to blot out everything else and focus on the press of her bare breasts against his scarred back, but not tonight.

"Is something wrong?"

"You do not want to hear," he muttered. His eyes began to fill. Very few things had ever dragged tears from him. He could only remember twice: that day in the pits, and when he thought he'd lost Sandy forever.

"Yes, I do," she said, rubbing his chest. He grabbed her wrist and held her hand still. Sighing, she squeezed his shoulders. "Whatever's hurting you, tell me. Does it have to do with Ilsa?"

Morkoth nodded. It had everything to do with Ilsa. And little.

"You know... I was chosen to breed," he said, his voice thick and shaking slightly. He felt her nod, her cheek pressed to his ear. "Master sometimes... let us see our whelps come out, before he put'em in the ground. If he... favored us. Was a treat."

Sandy stiffened. She'd wondered about this part, how the babies got from the mothers into the ground. She had a feeling it wouldn't be pretty. She was not disappointed.

"He... Master tore them free," he snarled. "Ripped those females' bellies open and dragged out the whelp. They screamed, and bled, and jerked... Snaga sewed them back up. None had more than three, four scars... It was all they could take."

He felt her shudder against him, but she didn't speak. He was glad he couldn't see her face.

"I saw one come out once," he continued. "The mother... barely made it. Almost didn't. She had... two scars, I think. Master looked over the whelp... and... he said... it was female." His voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands. Sandy gripped him more tightly, horror building. "He said... he was disappointed," Morkoth sobbed. "Said... he didn't waste his resources on females. Told the snaga to... to sew her back up. She'd given males before, so he could still... still use her."

"Shit," Sandy breathed, squeezing her eyes shut.

"He told me... females were worthless to him, and he...," the Uruk faltered. How could he tell her this? "He offered her to me. Said... she was only good for... for... eating. He expected me to eat my child!" Morkoth forced himself to say. He knew what she would ask next: did he do it? Even if she didn't say it, she was likely thinking it.

"I didn't," he snarled through clenched teeth, as if she really had voiced such a repulsive question. "I defied him. He handed her off to some snaga, and made me watch... watch them tear..." He couldn't go on. Morkoth dissolved into tears that rarely afflicted him, just as he had on that day, watching his child torn to pieces and consumed by his Master's slaves.

Perhaps it was that event, more than any other, that urged his Master to address his defiance with lashing at every opportunity. Trying to break his will, mold him into what the wizard wanted and expected of an Uruk. Maybe he wanted to toughen the flawed Uruk, or weaken his resolve, make him obedient. Whatever the reasoning, Morkoth endured one of the worst punishments of his young life when he dared to weep in front of his Master. Dared to call his Master a fucking pushdug and spit on him for what he'd done.

Sandy thought the worst had happened to Ghru, that being used nearly as a toilet for the relief of cruel Uruk-hai males was the most awful thing imaginable. This was worse.

"Morkoth," she breathed, hanging on to him tightly as he wept, "it won't happen again. I promise you that. Boy, girl... it doesn't matter. We'll adore it, just the same. Our child will be treasured. Nobody will hurt it. I promise."