Razashûk wasn't thrilled at the prospect of meeting another of Saruman's wayward spawn, but figured they were less likely to get killed by another Uruk-hai than by whatever else patrolled the Mannish road. Following the careless footprints led to a patchy path that hadn't seen much use, and soon enough they found the source, near the mouth of a small cave embedded in the side of a hill. They approached, slow and cautious.
His hair was blacker than midnight at Angband in the dead of winter, and his skin resembled nothing so much as charred meat. He had a solemn look about him, and when Razashûk and Durgrat were close enough that their steps were audible, he acknowledged the other Orcs' presence with nothing more than a curt nod, then immediately turned his attention back to the crackling fire in front of him.
"Not anyone I know," Durgrat whispered, more to himself than anything.
"Hello," said Razashûk, figuring he might as well try to ingratiate himself. The Uruk got up to get a better look at them, sighing and straining as if it was some monumental task.
Standing up, he was even taller than Durgrat, and had he not been slouching only a moment earlier, the other Orcs would have assumed he had an iron rod stuck up his arse. He glared at them both, unblinking, and the only twinge of expression he finally let slip was his upper lip curling into a hint of a sneer.
He remained silent, so Razashûk prodded him. "Why didn't you cover your tracks? We found you, and so could anyone else."
"I'm not a coward. I do not wish to whimper and hide from those who would hunt me."
"I see," said Razashûk. For that statement alone the hulking Uruk struck him as not terribly bright, but in a completely different way than Durgrat. "What are you doing out here?" he asked.
"You first," said the Uruk.
"We're uh, going east, just for a change of scenery," said Durgrat. "We teamed up because it'd be less lonely and boring, I guess. He needed someone to carry things, I needed someone to help squeeze into tight places." He smirked and nudged Razashûk.
"And that's why we lost," the Uruk said. "People like you, ruining it for the strong and capable, lashing yourselves to our backs and crippling us with the burden of your inferiority." He turned to Durgrat. "You especially should know better. How is that scrawny maggot going to be any use to you? Saruman didn't make us powerful so that we could bend to the beck and call of the worms wriggling on the ground."
"I like how he wriggles," said Durgrat. Razashûk elbowed him back.
"You could at least give us a name to put to that gloomy face of yours," Razashûk said.
"I am the great warrior Morburzhûn," said the Uruk. "I hail from the iron fortress at Isengard, now tragically fallen into ruin." He made a very dramatic gesture, thumping his chest and gazing up at the sky.
"Oh, I'm from there, too," said Durgrat. "If you're so great, how come I've never heard of you? What have you burned down, who have you slain and eaten?"
"You're the foolish one if you haven't heard of my deeds," said Morburzhûn, though he still didn't bother naming any. Razashûk couldn't help but notice his armor looked nearly spotless and he didn't have so much as a skinned knee.
"Seriously, I don't even remember you throwing your weight around down in the caverns. Have you at least kicked anyone in the nuts for getting out of line?"
"Let me know when you're ready to take things seriously," said the dour Uruk, who then went still, eyes shut and arms crossed in front of his chest.
The other Orcs turned away to confer between themselves. "I hate this guy," said Durgrat.
"Me too," said Razashûk, feeling an odd little wobble in his guts at the thought they could be bonding over their shared dislike of big stony bastards who could feel no joy but the grim satisfaction of dominance.
After a few more minutes of doing a spot-on impersonation of a disapproving statue, Morburzhûn shifted and cleared his throat. "Against my better judgement, I will allow you to share my campsite, just this once. However, as underlings, you must abide by these basic ground rules..."
"Holy fuck, cram it," said Razashûk. "We didn't ask for your pity. We can build our own fire. I'd rather freeze than put up with this."
"I'll keep you warm," said Durgrat.
Morburzhûn frowned. "Don't waste resources," he said. "Just be quiet and stay put, and we'll be safer together."
Razashûk hissed and looked at Durgrat. Durgrat looked like he was going to give the other Uruk a begrudging nod, but just sort of let his head slump to the side and hang there. "You've got a point."
Morburzhûn flexed his shoulders. "I will return when my work is done," he said, and strode away.
As he came back, the soft night murmurs of chirping crickets and hooting birds were soon overtaken by a raspy voice and occasional bursts of laughter. He found Razashûk and Durgrat crouched together in the cave entrance, near the dying embers.
"...so the woodcutter finally untangled the last vine from around his ankle, ran out of the cursed thicket to the edge of the gorge and reached the bridge, only to discover it had fallen apart..."
Morburzhûn let out an exaggerated harrumph. "Look at you dolts, loafing about with your heads in the clouds. While you were swapping your little fairy tales, I was gathering supplies to ensure my survival. How have you even avoided death this long?"
"I'm delightful," said Durgrat. "You last longer when people like you."
"I applaud your subtlety," said Razashûk. "Speaking of which, I'm sneaky, that's how I do it. You don't need to be strong if nobody fixing for a fight even notices you."
The insults apparently bounced right off Morburzhûn's helmet of a skull, and he continued scolding, unruffled. "Nobody ever conquered the world by skipping past it whistling a merry tune."
"I don't think anyone ever tried," said Durgrat.
"I'm really not sure what else you were expecting us to do," said Razashûk. "It's not as if there's any washing up to take care of. Or any food to fix," he added with a pointed look.
Morburzhûn chucked the firewood to the ground and clenched his jaw, conspicuously baring his fangs, and appeared to be on the verge of giving some sort of lecture when the sound of snapping branches and rustling leaves rudely interrupted him.
The Orcs all spun around, and made various displeased faces. It was the ranger that Durgrat and Razashûk had run into on the road, and apparently they weren't alone in that, as Morburzhûn waved his fist and howled "You!" when the Man emerged from the greenery.
The ranger flinched and nearly dropped his knife. "Crap!"
"Oh, look who's cursing now," said Razashûk.
"I wasn't expecting all of you, having a malevolent little convention for making your disgusting plans! I was only looking for the really big one." Before Morburzhûn could protest that he wasn't affiliated with those other, unworthy peasant-Orcs, the ranger charged towards him but got his foot snagged in a hole and stumbled. "Son of a..." he paused to collect himself, "Son of an apple core!"
Razashûk and Durgrat snickered. The ranger glared. "I'm sorry you don't appreciate attempts at class and dignity."
"Oh, we appreciate them," said Razashûk. "We need all the laughs we can get out here right now."
"Step aside. I'll deal with you later. This creature needs to be put down like the mad dog he is. I've seen what he's capable of. He's scum." The ranger glared at Morburzhûn with a far more intense disdain than he showed towards Razashûk or Durgrat.
"See, that's what we've been trying to tell him, but he won't listen to it coming from us," said Razashûk.
The ranger swiped at the air in front of him as if fanning a stench away. "Don't try to commiserate with me!" He backed off and found himself entangled in a cluster of dead branches. He yanked his cloak away from the tree, then inspected the newly-ripped hem. "Aw, fish guts!"
Even Morburzhûn's mouth twitched a little at that, though he managed to crush his face back into submission before it displayed too much non-scornful emotion.
"I will return, mark my words!" The Man flung himself back into the leafy darkness and disappeared.
"We, uh, defeated him, I guess," said Durgrat, as he wandered off away from the disarrayed campsite.
"Don't think this means we're friends now," Morburzhûn said.
"Don't worry," said Razashûk. He rolled his eyes and stomped off after Durgrat, who was sitting on a boulder, fidgeting.
"That tark followed us, and that fucker who ought to at least try to get along with the few of us left..." He trailed off and scowled.
Razashûk plunked down next to him and leaned against him. "And I really wanted to mess around with you some more, but..." he swept his hand in the direction of Morburzhûn and made a fart noise.
"Yeah," said Durgrat, grimacing at the other Uruk, who was still preoccupied with staring very intensely at the now-rekindled fire.
"What an insufferable shitstain. No wonder he doesn't bother to hide. Everyone listens to him for a few minutes and then just leaves."
"And 'Morburzhûn', really?"
"Hah, I know! That can't possibly be his real name," said Razashûk.
"Yeah, he probably got one of those crap ones from when the overseers got bored and didn't feel like coming up with any more good names, and then nobody liked him enough afterwards to give him another. I knew a few who got saddled with those. This one deserves it."
Razashûk was surprised to hear that naming among the Isengarders wasn't all that different from the way his own tribe approached it. He wondered if Durgrat had kept the name he was born with.
As usual, there wasn't much time for him to sit around and marinate in his meandering thoughts. They jolted when a harsh and not particularly discreet whisper came from the shrubs behind them. "Psst. Hey." They jolted again when they realized it was the ranger, coming back for...what? He put his empty hands up and then waved them over. "Come over here. I have an idea," he said.
"We know your idea. It's to capture and kill us, and we don't like it," said Durgrat.
"No, no, this is a different one," the ranger replied.
The Orcs looked skeptical.
"Hear me out, please. I find myself in a bit of a troublesome situation. I need to prove myself. I've been patrolling this road ever since I became a ranger, and aside from you two and that other Uruk just this past evening, not a single suspicious person has been encountered, and no dangerous incidents have happened."
"That's good, though, right?" said Razashûk. He knew Men weren't supposed to make much sense, but even for them this seemed a pretty stupid thing to complain about. He began to ponder if the Man was a ranger at all, or just some stray loony who happened to have nice clothes.
"Yes, but it makes me look bad. As far as most everyone's concerned, the world outside the village walls is a terrifying morass of deathtraps and bloodthirsty monsters. Since I haven't got rid of any, obviously I must not be very good at my job."
The Orcs remained quiet, not sure where he was going with this, and fairly sure he'd be bad at his job either way.
"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I thought up a plan that could benefit all of us. It comes from a story my grandmother told me when I was little. It was about a clever man who claimed to be a troll-slayer, but the troll was in on it the whole time, and he traveled from village to village gathering fame and fortune for pretending to slay it. It could be just crazy enough to work."
"Oh! I know that one, except you've got it wrong. It was a plucky young Goblin who befriended an Elf with a head injury, and at the end there was an earthquake and everyone died," said Razashûk.
"What's in it for us, exactly?" Durgrat asked.
"You'll share in the bounty I collect for 'killing' you. Also I have a great abundance of potatoes. It's only my wife and me at the house, and we just can't eat that many."
Razashûk scrunched up his face in thought. Durgrat perked up at the mention of food that didn't require effort to obtain, aside from feigning one's death in front of an entire hostile village.
"Hold on a moment," said Razashûk. He signaled to Durgrat to follow him, and they backed out of earshot. "Do you think this is on the level? Frankly, it's tempting, seeing as he doesn't seem sharp enough to swindle us."
"Yet he's willing to swindle whoever runs that village."
"Hmm, you've got a point there. Maybe the big boss is a just a fucking moron, though."
"Aren't they all," said Durgrat.
They both went quiet for a moment, then Razashûk looked back to see that the Man's pale face was still poking out from the foliage and staring at them in anticipation. "We should either give him an answer or stab him and get it over with," he said.
"Let's see where this goes," said Durgrat. "We've already taken some strange chances and are still alive."
"I can't argue with that," said Razashûk. They sauntered back over. Razashûk cleared his throat, which had no effect on the scratchiness of his voice, and said "We accept your offer."
The Man's face lit up. "Fantastic. I'm called Torold, by the way," he said, with a hopeful look as if he was expecting something in reply.
"Uh. All right, then," said Razashûk. Durgrat remained quiet. Torold's smile faded, but he nodded.
"There's a huge fallen oak tree down the road a ways, split right in half down the middle. You can't miss it. Meet me there at dusk tomorrow."
"Fine," said Razashûk. After all, if they had second thoughts, all they had to do was not show up.
They shared an uneasy respite at a tolerable distance from their ungracious host, then packed up while Morburzhûn drifted off to sleep in order to avoid having to explain their leaving, or making some attempt at a farewell out of habit. Razashûk figured the huge Uruk would be happier just having them disappear without bothering him anyway.
He slung the last of the bags over his shoulder and made one final look around to be sure they hadn't left anything too suspicious. "I forgot something. I'll catch up to you in a moment," Durgrat reassured him.
After a few minutes, Durgrat reappeared, easily catching up to Razashûk. "Raz, check out what I got." He waved the Orc over, and proudly displayed a shamefully pristine black leather bag, no doubt filled with various items they had no time to fawn over. Razashûk didn't have to ask where it came from.
"Oh, what the fuck?! I don't know if you noticed, but Morburzhûn's got a pretty foul temper. Sassing him is one thing, as he seems awfully accustomed to it, but you've crossed a line here."
"Don't worry about him," said Durgrat.
"But he could pulverize us!"
"Yeah, but he'll have to stand up first, and I tied his boots together while he was asleep. Oh, and one of his gauntlets is lashed to his belt. I would've got the other one, but he started twitching."
Razashûk wasn't sure if he wanted to smack Durgrat or attempt to shove him to the ground and do any number of filthy things to him.
"That's what he gets for saying those things." Durgrat peered back towards the cave and sneered. "Who's stupid now?"
Razashûk picked up his pace and zigzagged towards the road, telling himself that at least he didn't have to worry about the ranger, even as little shreds of doubt with names like liar and ambush teased at the corners of his mind. He hoped they wouldn't make too many more enemies before the journey was over, pretend or otherwise.
Morburzhûn = "black dark heart". I know, right?