Halla leaned forward on Silver's neck, gazing into the darkness. "Nellwyn!"

"Halla!"

The young woman stood her pitchfork against the stable door and ran out of the barn, chaff clinging to her straw blonde hair. "Halla, how was it! Or should I say, Mistress Halla now? Lady of the Manor?"

"Hardly, Nellwyn… Anyway, I need your help. Or your mother's help, really. I… I've an injured horse in my upper field, took a nasty kick. I need to stitch the wound and make sure it doesn't get infected."

"Oh, Halla! Morning after your wedding, and you're out inspecting the herd! You should still be in bed with your Rider!"

Halla forced a weak laugh. "Right… Well… Work doesn't stop, you know. But… your mother? It's rather urgent. He's bleeding pretty bad…"

"You need her, herself? She's gone to check on Mildred, who should be having her baby any day now, but that was a good while ago. I could fetch her…"

"Uh—No… If you know where she keeps her supplies, that is. I've the needle and thread already, but I need her salve."

"Sure. Let me run to the house."

Halla waiting impatiently, while Silverfire stomped his hooves and swished his tail at the flies that came out as the summer sun warmed. Nellwyn came hurrying back, her braids flying, a small clay pot in her hands. "Hope this is enough."

Halla reached down, and Nellwyn clasped her fingers.

"Not even the tiniest little hint about Finnan?" Nellwyn asked.

Halla slipped away, clutching the pot. "Thank you, Nellwyn, I really appreciate it, give your mother my love!"

"Halla!" Nellwyn called. "Don't you like him? Did it not go well?"

"Just fine!" Halla shouted over her shoulder, cantering away.

"Trust me, boy," Halla murmured, keeping her legs steady on Silverfire's sides. The young horse wanted no closer to the Uruk-hai, and he was dancing skittishly long before they reached the river. Halla was prepared to fix the Uruk up… she didn't need to fall off her own horse on the rocky trail! She closed her fingers on the reins, halting the colt a good distance from the river and jumped down. She looped his reins loosely around a tree-branch, hoping he wouldn't realize he could break away with only a little effort. To tie a horse tightly in such a situation could lead to it breaking its teeth on the bit, or even its back, if it panicked to get away.

She swallowed deeply, taking her supplies from the small leather satchel she'd grabbed. She heard no sound but the babbling of water over the rocky ford, and the singing of birds safe overhead. But he was still there, his breath raspy, his eyes closed. Halla thought he slept.

"You came back," he said quietly. "Got strong drink?"

"Actually I do have a little something, because I've got to stich some of those cuts up, and that slash on your… your stomach."

He opened his eyes warily, searching her. "Give it."

Halla dug in her satchel and found the flagon of liquor she'd poured, from one of her wedding gifts. Somehow she didn't think her new husband would miss it, or even her. She reached out—still not wanting to be close to him—and passed him the flask. He snatched it and drank quickly, like he was drinking water.

"Don't finish—that." Halla shook her head. "I wanted to pour it over that belly wound."

"Fire's better. You gonna burn me?"

"Of course not. We've better ways. Stitch you up, keep it clean. Give me the flagon, I'll fill it in the stream. We'll just have to make do with water, though it's not as good."

The Uruk was skeptical, but he left it alone. He wasn't in the position to complain about her treatment.

Halla retrieved some water and knelt slowly beside his terrifying presence. Even incapacitated… his very breath was a growl, a deep rumble from somewhere in his broad chest. He opened his eyes and watched her, unnerving her by the moment. She decided not to look at him. Help him out as best she could, and ride home as fast as she could. She set the water down, took out the bone needle and her thread, and looked at it thoughtfully. Was there some way she could sew him without touching him?

"Know what you're doin' with that?"

"Well enough," Halla said, rather primly. He was questioning her skill now? She took out the bandages and supplies, and then stopped to stare at them. And him. "I've got to… to get you cleaned up."

She hoped he'd look away. Sometimes hurt Men closed their eyes. Grit their jaws. The Uruk stared straight at her, his head rolled halfway to the side to get a better view over his broad shoulders. He watched her pale hands a good deal of the time, pouring water, wiping lightly with bandages. He thought he wouldn't feel her touch, but even feather light, it made his grey abdomen ripple and contract. She was sewing his skin up, which bit a little, and ached near the knife wound from the Dunlending. He looked to her impassive face, the little determined line that creased between her eyes as she concentrated. "Fix up many Men?"

Halla nodded, refusing to see his glowing feral eyes. "You get used to it, I suppose. Animals too."

"Why animals? Why not eat them?"

"We don't eat our horses," Halla told him firmly. "And we don't eat the dead."

"Don't eat what dead? You… eat no meat?"

She tilted her head in surprise. "No—I mean… No dead Men. Or horses. But we eat dead goats and cows and pigs. And chickens, and wild foul."

"And Uruk-hai."

"Of course not!" Halla was so astounded—and irritated—that she looked him head on, pausing in her sewing. "What would give you that idea?"

"Truly? You don't eat us when you kill us?"

He was utterly sincere. Halla frowned, and began to work again. "No. Never. But you eat Men, don't you?"

"Not for a while."

Halla touched her throat in brief horror, and then she steeled herself again. "I shouldn't be doing this for you."

"Won't tell anyone," he said lightly. "Got my word."

He was laughing at her now, she was sure. Or trying to put me at ease?

"There. Did I hurt you?"

He shook his head slowly, still staring. Ill mannered, Halla thought.

"Well I just might now. I need you to sit up soon, so I can bandage this big gash. And I think that leg's broke, and likely other places too. If the break's not clean I don't know what we'll do. I don't trust myself to break it again and re-set it." Halla sighed in frustration. "I don't like leaving you here, either. Soon enough hunters will come up this way, and I'll have wasted by time."

"You want me to move," he said, closing his eyes.

"Well I can't drag you... But let's not worry about that yet. Can you use that arm you grabbed the drink with, and put this ointment on your wounds? It will keep them from going rotten."

He opened his eyes again, and they seemed unduly warm. "You do it. Hurts my arm."

A chill went through Halla, and she felt suddenly frightened that he'd grab her up, do what his kind was known well for. She slowly took off the stopper off the jar and scooped salve onto her fingers, and tried not to feel her stiches over a belly that was stony and soft at the same time. She was surprised by the softness of his skin. Harder than hers of course, harder than a Man's, but yielding and smooth all the same. His body was almost that of a Man's as well, not like the little Orcs with their gangly arms and bowed legs, although he was massive and hard like granite. A perfect warrior to destroy homes and lives. But he didn't grab her.

Halla stood abruptly, feeling his eyes tail her skirts as she walked to the river to wash her hands again. She returned to him, squatting down. "I'm going to check that leg before I make you sit, and find sticks to splint it."

"Splint it?"

"To keep the bone straight as it heals. I have to touch your leg now. To see just where it's hurt."

Halla moved down to his long body. He was wearing nothing but a long leather breechclout, all but naked, and old leather sandals. Everything about him was immense, sculpted, not a bit of loose flesh, not a bit of weakness. If Men longed for things like women did, one might yearn for such thick, powerful legs. Halla tried not to shudder, imagining the things she had heard, the things she hadn't let herself see during the War.

"Afraid?" he asked.

Halla denied it, not knowing her scent was thick in the air around her. "Just not used to seeing one of you out of uniform, nor so close. I always had a good horse to run away with."

"Never been caught," he murmured.

Halla drew a tight breath, and shook her head. She had to martial her will to touch his lower leg, the one that was oddly bent from the knee. She ran her fingers up his leg, feeling a break halfway up the shaft of his heavy bone. The Uruk winced a little, as if she'd finally hurt him. "It's not so bad," Halla assured him with the quiet, firm tone she'd take with any Man. "It's clean, and it doesn't stick out. You'll likely walk again one day."

"One day?"

"You didn't think you were going to live this morning. I'd say you've got a fair chance of it now, and keeping your leg too."

"How will I eat… if I can't get home… and I can't hunt? You… will bring food?"

Halla withdrew, unable to answer. She went to retrieve sticks, and returned without answer. She'd brought him a small, round loaf of bread from the kitchen, but she couldn't bring herself to commit to visiting him every day. "I must straighten your leg now, and bid you bend your knee a little. I think your knee is only wrenched about, not broken."

"Hard to break Uruk-hai," he told her. "But… my leg don't move. Tried all night long…"

"I will help you," Halla said firmly. She took hold of his leg below the knee and above the break, and slowly urged it right. The Uruk sucked his breath, exhaling it in a rolling growl that panicked Halla deep in her core. But he moved with her, coaxed along by her hands. Soon she was able to splint his lower leg and wrap it as tight as she dared with her bandages. That, at least, hurt the great Uruk: he was panting again, his eyes closed, and Halla was astonished to feel herself pitying the creature.

"There now," she said quietly. "Let's take a little rest, before I sit you up. I've got a bit of food for you now, for as soon as you're sitting."

"Gonna… puke…" he panted roughly.

"Yes, I'll bet you do feel a little nauseas. But I must say, you're a good patient."

"Patient…" he repeated, opening an eye and looking at her quizzically. "Patient waiting?"

"No, patient as in, you are my patient, because I am healing you. Or doing what I can, at least. Why, what would you call it, someone hurt like this, needing a healer?"

"Aaps," he exhaled. "Meat. No healer. Break a leg, go to the butcher. At least, that was the way in the War."

"But that's awful," Halla said, examining him in surprise. "You had no healers… in Isengard?"

"No. Not necessary. Master saved officers maybe with dush-tab… his magic. But not regular warriors… he just makes more. Master made so many… Now few left. All dead."

Halla shook her head. "There's no bottom to Saruman's treachery, we know that well. He was a friend to Rohan, or so we thought. Until he made war on us, brought you all in to fight us."

"Not brought. Made. Bred us to fight his war. But I am free now, I don't hear my Master anymore."

She pinched her lips in disdain. "I didn't know you had females of your kind, but I imagine that only makes sense—"

"No Uruk females. Sharlobu, like you. Master said, 'Carry off their strongest women', and so we did."

Halla blanched. Her shaking fingers covered her mouth. She forced herself to absorb the shock—forced the awful image away—and asked the most important thing, letting a little hope rise. "Are… are they still alive?"

The Uruk shook his head, closing his eyes, as if to a painful memory. "No one is alive, only me and a few others. All the rest—all in the pits—drowned when the tree-monsters broke the damn. Locked in, you see. Pit filled with water and—"

He cut himself off, seeing tears shining in her eyes. "You hoped they lived. The ones taken in raids."

"I am foolish to do so," she chastened herself. "I'd counted them dead already… But I hoped… No doubt they would not wish to live anyway." It was not the Uruk's fault for speaking the truth, but Halla knew she'd never erase the picture in her mind of her cousins, her kinswomen, forced to bear such… offspring.

"Some wished to live," he said quietly. "Strong, strong females. Tree-monsters killed them, they died with Uruk-hai and Orcs, all the same. Not Master. He was in his tower. Safe."

"A curse upon him," Halla hissed.

A faint smile brushed across the Uruk's face. "Your curse has much company… from all sides of the War."

Halla nodded, business-like, pushing it all away. "Come, you must sit up now. I will wrap the last bandage around your belly, so that no dirt gets into the big gash I've sewed up."

He breathed hard, drawing his strength. "Something hurts… in my back. Makes me… can't move right."

Halla frowned. "Can you wiggle your toes, on the leg that is not broken?"

He did, slowly. Halla bit her lip, and ran her fingers over his sides, pushing softly, illiciting another wince. "Broken and brusied, all the way through. But you didn't break your back, so that's good. And so no excuses. Sit up now."

"You will help?"

"I doubt I can do much to lift you," Halla said quietly. "But… take hold of this arm, and with the other I will try to push you up as you sit."

She loathed being so close to him. His rumbling growl was almost right in her ear as he grasped her arm and began to pull up. Halla braced her other arm against his back, her fingers clenched, trying to help as much as she could without touching him overmuch. He was so hot, even in what shock his body must be enduring from his injuries. His skin was hot, his breath was hot stirring her hair. His scent seemed to spike as she touched him, a scent she couldn't describe although it triggered a panic in her. Not foul… but deep, and predatory, and male. She looked pointedly over his shoulder, into the clean forest, feeling his hand reach for his lap. He's moving himself about, she thought, bile rising in her throat. Well, probably doesn't want me seeing his parts. The thought amused her: Uruk-hai modesty. And she was dead wrong in her guess.

Without looking—any more than she had to—Halla wrapped the bandage around his belly. When he lifted his arm to let her wind the bandage around him, Halla thought she saw a hideously large bulge beneath his clout. Her throat went dry and her pulse fluttered like a drunken butterfly. "There," Halla gasped, tucking the bandage and backing away. She had to breathe hard to steady herself. Just tend him. Just tend him the way you would any soldier. And that happens with Men too, sometimes, when you care for them. Just not… so big. Or so dangerous...

"Are you hungry?" Halla asked, determined to keep the fear from her voice. She'd no idea that he'd registered her fear, that he could taste its varieties, its swells and troughs; she'd no idea his senses had been meddled with so much that the scent of her fear, the taste of it over his tongue, was a sweetness to be craved.

"Very hungry," he purred. He couldn't move much, but her closeness, the sweet smells of her fear, and the flowery meadow scent of her hair, the warmth of her body brushing against his… He wished more than anything that she'd take a seat on his lap and let him fill her to bursting. He'd never had a woman touch him of her own will, and it was a powerful seduction to the injured warrior. As long as he lived, he would not forget the feeling of her fingers rubbing ointment over his hard belly.

"You promised," Halla whispered, horrified.

"Aye," he breathed, wondering how she could tell. She wouldn't look at his stiff cock, and he hadn't told her… Perhaps she could scent his arousal?

Stop being a fucking idiot, he scolded himself. Panic her, she'll never come back, and I'll die here. She ain't gonna climb on my club and jump about! And I ain't strong enough—or fool enough—to stick her there. "You said you had food?"

"Food…" Halla gasped, slightly bewildered. "Yes. I've food for you. Though you… you think of that again, I won't ever bring any more, and the crebain can have you."

A rich sound rolled from his chest, and Halla realized it was his laughter. "You can read thoughts?"

She glanced at him from the corners of her icy blue eyes. "I'm not blind."

The Uruk grunted a little. "Can't help that. Been a while, you know. Living round nothing but other Uruks… You are… very desirable. But I won't touch you. I'm not that stupid."

"Because… because… I wouldn't come back…" Why was it so impossible to string her words together? Because a beast had called her desirable? He desires rape, Halla, and he's a monster. Nonetheless, it was sickeningly bemusing that her own husband thought her a hag, and her enemy thought her… desirable.

"How many?" Halla asked, grasping for a different subject.

"How many what?" he asked, charmed by her obvious confusion.

"How many of you, living nearby?"

"Huh. Like I'll tell you, so you tell your kinsmen. But tell you one thing… we're living like rats, hiding from everything, hunted by everyone. You'd be pleased."

"But you haven't attacked us."

"No, what for? We want to stay alive, right? That will tell you enough about our numbers. And I told you already… We've no females. Don't suppose you know any willin' to help out with that?"

Halla swept her shocked eyes to his bright, feral, golden gaze, ready to shout at him. Until she saw the smile on his face… and the sadness behind it. What would it be like, to be the last of her kind, with no hope at all for the future? Despised by all? I am not feeling empathy for an Uruk!

"Here," she said, digging in her satchel. She pulled out the small loaf, and tossed it to him.

He sniffed the bread, and found it wholesome. He ripped it apart and devoured it, starved. The female stood, her slim, rounded hips rolling as she walked to the river to fetch him more water. It was almost—almost—worth being hurt to have such a lovely creature waiting on him like his own personal snaga. It was frustrating to want her, and not be able to take her, but he feasted his eyes on her, memorizing her shape so he could call it up later, when his need grew too demanding to ignore.

She returned, squatting before him, avoiding his eyes again. But she brought him water.

"You think you can drag yourself back into the forest a little, at least against those trees? I can try to help you, but I think you're strong enough to do it, and you won't hurt your leg as much now that it's bound up. At least you'll have some cover…"

"Yes. I'll try. Feelin' much better now."

Halla smiled a little, pleased with herself. "Well you're nothing like better, but it helps a bushel to have someone tend to your hurts. I suppose we're the same, in that respect. Come on, then. Let's get you away from the trail."

The Uruk would have been less movable than a boulder, but he used his mighty arms, and as much of his uninjured leg as he could with his bruised back limiting his motion. Halla swallowed her revolted terror and hooked her arms under his armpits, clasping her hands over his broad chest and dragging him along in short spurts. After a long while, they made it to a small grove away from the trail, where her Uruk-hai patient might remain unseen.

"If no one brings hunting dogs up here, you might be all right."

"Your dogs… scared of Uruk-hai. Won't… come close."

"Well, I hope you're right, for your sake."

"You will come back?" he asked, after he'd caught his breath. "Bring me food?"

"Yes," Halla said quietly. "And when you get well, and you get back to your people, you can tell them that I was kind to you only because you all have not bothered us since Isengard fell."

"The War is over, and I told you. We can't attack Horselords. No more fighting for Maukurz."

"That's you? Mau… kurz?"

"Maukurz. Yes. You… have a name?"

"Halla," she replied, shaking her head. "And now we're properly introduced."

"Huh?"

"Nothing… I'm just being… It's just odd, is all. To be talking to you."

Maukurz grunted. "Yes, very odd, for me too. But not bad."

Halla stood up, hands on her hips. Maukurz kept his golden eyes locked on her, his gaze following her always, like he's hunting me. "You'll have to make it until tomorrow on your own, Maukurz. I've a household to run, and likely my servant woman will wonder where I've gotten off to. But I'll try to bring you a good deal of food tomorrow, enough to hold you a few days."

"You will bring…" Maukurz frowned slightly. "Talk? When you come? Stay for talking?"

"You are lonely," Halla realized.

"Very lonely," he replied quietly.

"I will try," Halla said, and then she fled Maukurz. She hurried back to her horse, untied him, and leaped into the saddle, galloping away as if the wind could clear her strange, tangled feelings away. Halla had the feeling of trying to feed a wild wolf from her hands: unable not to try, and knowing all the while that it was madness to do so.

I will help him to heal, and then abandon him just before he gets his strength back. And then I will forget him, and think of nothing else but trying to make good from this horrible marriage.