Well, due to popular demand, I've decided to go on with this. (OK, there are just three of you asking for more, but that's good enough for me.) Besides, all your lovely comments got me thinking, so here we are.

II

Any thoughts I might have had of moving on had been destroyed. Of course I knew the longer I stayed in one spot, the more chance I had of getting caught, like a snaga in one of Shelob's webs, but I was also powerless to leave. Besides, I asked myself, where the hell would I go, anyway?

The next day I watched her as best I could. Her daily routine consisted of the sorts of simple tasks that probably would have brought scorn from my fellow orcs: milking the cow, tending the garden, leading the sheep up the forest path to a high meadow where they could graze in the sunlight. While they were there she still busied herself with some sort of drop spindle that wove a tight thread. Then, as the afternoon wore on, she led the sheep back down to their pen behind the house. On the return trip she sang, some simple tune about the return of spring. Her voice was pretty, light and free-sounding, and I held myself even more still as I watched from behind the trees. Somehow I just wanted to keep on watching and listening, and I knew if she ever spotted me it would be all over. Also, for some strange reason, I didn't want to frighten her. I didn't want her to see me as something to be feared.

The day after that was much the same, but on the third day I could smell changes in the wind. A boy somewhere in the odd stage between childhood and manhood came up to her cottage leading a pack horse, and he stood, shifting his weight awkwardly as she came out of the house and put several leather satchels on the beast's back. The boy looked even more awkward as she led him around the property, pointing out things he apparently was supposed to attend to -- the sheep pen, the cow, the vegetable garden in back.

She paused on the narrow path that led up to the front door. "And my roses," she said. It was the first time I had heard her speak. Her normal voice was as pretty as her singing one. "I know they don't look like much now, but they should be budding in a few weeks, and I'd hate for anything to happen to them."

The boy nodded, and she paused for a moment, looking around her with sad eyes. Then she appeared to take a breath, and said, "No use waiting any longer, I suppose. Let's be off."

And they made their way down the forest path, down to the hamlet whose name I still didn't know. Hell, I didn't even know her name. Frustrated, I had to hold myself back to a distance I knew was safe, even though I wanted to keep following her, wanted to know where she was going, and why.

But just as with so many of my other questions, this one went unanswered. The next day it was the boy who led the sheep up to the highland meadow, and it was that same damned boy who milked the cow and put the sheep back in their pen. It looked as if the cow's milk was his reward for minding the place; after his chores were done, he shouldered a pair of wooden buckets and slowly made his way back down to the village.

The stupid kid had forgotten to water her roses, though. After a while I slipped out of my hiding place in the woods and went to the well located just past the barn. A wooden bucket hung there, and I filled it, then untied the rope and went off to the path in front of the house.

She'd been right; the bushes didn't look like much, just stubby little gray twigs sticking out of the ground, but when I looked closer I noticed some reddish bulges at the end of each branch. So I poured a bucket of water along each side of the path and hoped that would be enough. I'd never had to try and keep plants alive before -- my job had been to hack down trees and burn straw-head villages, not water their bloody roses. I'm sure if Kordash and Muldag had been around to see what I was up to, they would have laughed their sorry asses off. But they were dead and I wasn't, and it was my damn business what I did with my time.

Besides, she didn't want the roses to die, and that's what mattered.

After I was done I replaced the bucket at the well and disappeared back into the woods -- I'd already taken enough of a risk by wandering around her place like I owned it. The last thing I needed was that damned kid to come back because he'd forgotten something. But no one came, and I was alone again -- more alone than I'd wanted to be.

Where the hell had she gone, anyway? Wherever she was going, she hadn't looked that happy about it. So maybe that meant she wouldn't be gone long. But those packs had looked pretty full. Then again, how would I know what a woman would take with her if she were going away from home? The women brought into Isengard hadn't had much more than the clothes on their backs, and sometimes not even that...

Her sudden absence just made my solitary existence in the woods that much worse. When I could look forward to seeing her, I hadn't thought much about what I should do with myself. But now she was gone, I didn't have time to do much except brood. It wasn't what I was made for; I itched for some kind of action, and snaring stupid rabbits and unwary squirrels wasn't exactly enough to keep me satisfied. What good is a warrior, when the wars are all over?

Two more days went by, each one longer than the next. I finally decided the hell with it and went into her house instead of peering in the windows. The doors didn't have any real locks, just a stout piece of wood put in place to bar the entry. But that only worked when you were inside. Maybe everyone knew everyone else up here and didn't see any reason to lock the doors. I don't know.

This time I wiped my feet carefully -- after all, I didn't know when she'd be coming back -- no need to frighten her with strange footprints in her home. There was no way my large prints could be confused with anything the boy looking after her place might leave behind.

Up close, the place looked even more clean and tidy. Neatness was never something impressed on us orcs -- to say the least -- but as I looked around I could see a few of its benefits. For one thing, it would be a lot harder to lose stuff in a place where everything was kept in order. It smelled good, too, of something familiar that I didn't recognize at first. Then I remembered the time Darhang had found a beehive in Fangorn and almost got himself stung to death retrieving the golden liquid inside. I'd gotten a taste, before the real fighting started and the beehive ended up smashed to bits under a gang of quarreling orcs. This place smelled a little like that honey had tasted.

The front room looked mostly the same, although I noticed that the big weaving device had been partly dismantled and was leaning up against the far wall. The hearth was cold, swept clean, and so was the fireplace in the kitchen. A copper kettle gleamed on its trivet, but the larder was empty of anything that might spoil. Some sort of plants hung drying from a rack near the window cut into the far wall, but they were the only things out of place. Wherever she had gone, it looked as if she planned to be away for a while.

I could feel a snarl pulling at my mouth, even as I quit the kitchen and went on to her bedchamber. Again, everything had been left neatly in place. I reached out with a grubby finger to touch the embroidered flowers on the piece of fabric that covered the bed, but then stopped. No point soiling the thing. She might notice -- if she ever came back.

Frowning, I went to the large carved cabinet that stood opposite the bed and opened it up. Shelves with neatly folded clothing met my gaze -- or at least, there was clothing on one side of the thing. I didn't want to touch anything because I knew I'd never be able to put it back as neatly, but it was pretty obvious even to me that there weren't any women's clothes in there -- no gowns, no skirts. What was left looked like a couple of folded tunics and some breeches. So a man lived here -- or had lived here once. There wasn't any sign of him now, except for these clothes that had been hidden away.

Was that where she had disappeared? Had she gone to meet him? I heard an angry snarling sound and realized I was making it. No matter that I didn't know who she was or even her name. Somehow I had started to think of her as mine, and the idea that some -- man -- could be touching her made me want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze.

Then I saw it, just as I was about to slam the cabinet doors shut. On top of the tunic on the middle shelf sat a heavy silver ring, plain except for a twisted ropy pattern on its outer edges. I knew it was far too big to be hers. So it too must have belonged to whoever owned these clothes. I glared at the ring for a moment, and then it hit me.

He was dead.

Whoever had lived here with her, he wasn't coming back. That would explain the unused clothing, the extra bolster on the bed, the solitude in which she lived. It might even account for the tears I'd seen in her eyes as she came back from the village, clutching that piece of paper in her hand. Bastard probably got himself killed in the war, and left her here to try and keep up the place all by herself. Idiot. If I'd had a woman like that to stay home with, I would have hunkered down and let someone else do the killing.

Alien thought for an Uruk-hai, I suppose. After all, I'd been bred to fight and kill. No one had ever bothered to point out to me that maybe sometimes it was better not to fight. Or maybe...

...Maybe there were some things really worth fighting for. Things you'd fight for because you actually believed in them -- not because that's what you were born for, or because someone told you to do it or they're relieve your neck of the weight of your head. Fighting to protect your woman, and your land.

For a long moment I stood there, staring at that blasted ring and thinking thoughts that had never crossed my mind before. Up until now I hadn't had to worry about much except staying alive and making sure that anyone who crossed me died a hasty death. For the first time I was starting to understand why those straw-heads fought so hard to save their scrubby little villages. At the time I'd thought they were just a bunch of pathetic fools too stupid to cut and run when they had the chance. But now...

Now I knew I had to get out of here. I'd lingered far too long, although I was reasonably sure that the lazy twit who came by to check on the place wouldn't be along for some time. He never seemed to make it up here before the third hour of the morning, and it was still just barely past dawn. But I was pushing my luck -- how did I know someone else might not happen along?

No one did, of course. The cottage was very isolated, which helped me in watching her, but it seemed an odd place for her to live. You'd think she'd want to be down in the village with the rest of her kind instead of stuck up here in a mountain clearing with only the sheep for company. Then again, maybe she finally had decided not to live here anymore. I had no way of knowing.

Time passed, and the forest grew greener as spring advanced. The roses rewarded my clumsy efforts by opening buds of deep red and white. Still I lingered in the forest clearing, stupidly hoping she might return. It had only been a few weeks, after all. Travel down the mountain was slow, and would be even worse coming back up. You couldn't expect her to move quickly, burdened with a pack animal.

I had to believe she was coming back. Otherwise, I didn't know what I would do. Once I had resolved to linger here, I had a hard time deciding to go anywhere else. Just another day, I kept thinking. Just wait another day, and then figure out what you're going to do. What difference does it make?

And then she came back.

I heard her before I saw her, heard once again that lilting voice, this time singing something about "nine-fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom." I didn't know what she was going on about, but the sound of her voice held me rooted in place as I peered out from behind a large pine.

A delicate brown pony with an irregular white blaze on its forehead trailed behind her, followed by that stupid boy who had been keeping such a haphazard watch on her home. The day was warm, so she had no cloak this time, and her clothing looked finer than what she'd worn before -- the green gown had embroidered flowers around the low neckline, and I could see the swell of her breasts against the fabric. Again I could feel the need rise in me, but more than that I just felt content to see her, to know that she had returned. Gold gleamed against her neck and in her ears, and it hurt just to look at her. Hurt to see how beautiful she was, and how hideous she would probably think me.

Keeping a safe distance, I ghosted from one tree to the next, following them until they reached the cottage. The boy helped unload the packs from the pony, and the two of them disappeared into the house for a few minutes. Then they came back outside, and I could see her stop and bend down, cupping a blood-colored rose bud in one hand.

"They're beautiful," she said. "Thank you for taking such good care of them for me."

The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other and stared down at the ground. At least he looked embarrassed. No doing of his that the roses had prospered. Stupid kid had probably forgotten that he was even supposed to water them.

Maybe she was used to him being silent and awkward. She didn't seem to be at all put out by his lack of response, and after a moment she bade him farewell and went back into the house. The boy stared down at the roses as if seeing them for the first time, frowned, then lifted his shoulders. And finally he took himself off, wandering down the path with that shuffling step of his, until he was out of sight.

Then she and I were alone together. Together, even though she didn't even know I existed. But at least she was here in her mountain clearing, and so was I. Whatever had drawn her away hadn't been enough to keep her away, at least.

For now it was enough to know that we breathed the same air again. Enough to know that she was back in her house, with me watching over her. For the first time in my life I felt the need to protect instead of destroy.

Strangely, it felt good...