Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Lord of the Rings.

AN: This short story came to life because of the inspiration Zoop's amazing works gave me.

"It is quiet here; I do not mind it so much. And so I wait. Torment or torment. Pain or pain. Whichever way it goes, I will join my lads soon, and we will scream together. I am Uglúk. I have spoken."

(Isengard's deceit: The death of Uglúk byZoop)

oOoOo

Uglúk didn't die that day, at the edge of Fangorn. A patrol has found him five days later. After the battle of Helm's Deep men had been ordered to collect the survivors, any survivors, from the plains of Rohan. The Rohirrim for healing, the servants of the White Hand for interrogating. How many fighting Uruk-hai and Dunlander could still roam the land like Uglúk's and Mauhur's company did? To where and for what purpose had Saruman sent them out? King Théoden needed answers and needed them fast. Soon he was going to ride to Gondor with every available man. He had to know what enemy forces remained in Rohan to attack his nearly defenseless people the moment he left his country.

So Uglúk was carried away to the Hornburg. He was not aware of the journey; the blood loss, thirst and infection had rendered him unconscious by then. Upon arrival he was put in the dungeons and into chains without any fuss. That was when – after ten days – he opened his tired eyes again.

He was in a dark place. He could see nothing but formless shadows as he looked around slowly. His head swam from weakness, gorge rose in his throat. A red-hot fire was throbbing across his belly and chest.

He could feel being in a standing position, his arms stretched above his head, a cold stone wall pressed to his back. There was a sharp pain in his wrists and a dull ache in his shoulders. No, he thought bitterly, more like in a hanging position. He tried to move his right leg. After an inch or two he met resistance and rattle of chains. And the stench of whiteskins everywhere. He was not in Isengard, that is for sure. He nodded to himself. So, he was a prisoner of the strawheads, not dead yet. There would be some more pain before he could join his lads.

oOoOo

Nindelyth woke that morning with some apprehension. Maybe it was just a dream, which she could not remember, or the weather or the row with head healer Mundwynn the previous day…. She did not know but felt a little helpless and worried as she donned her simple grey dress. She didn't brush her long brown hair, only tied it back with a dark green ribbon on her way to the kitchens. She had to hurry, if she wanted to grab a bite before reporting for duty in the infirmary of the Hornburg.

As Nindelyth scurried along the long corridors, the unpleasant memories of the previous day flowed back into her mind...

It began quite innocently: the novices (Nindelyth was one of them) were given their tasks for the day. The other girls were assigned to healers who tended the wounded men, to learn how to sew and dress wounds properly, how to use herbs against fever and infection. As usual, Nindelyth got the task of cutting lint, mashing leaves and roots in her mortar, even emptying bedpans. Since she had started apprenticing in the infirmary two moons ago, she did not get close to the patients, not once.

She knew, that coming from Gondor, she was a stranger here. But, with her eighteen years, she was one of the eldest among the girls, and she had worked diligently and incredibly hard to gain the healers' approval, especially Mundwynn's. But that seemed never to happen. Though she was deeply hurt by Mundwynn's mistrust, for a long time she had said nothing. But on that day, she became so exasperated, that she spoke out of turn and on a raised voice. At the end of it she was curtly dismissed "to meditate about respect for her elders", without any answer to her question: 'Why?'.

Suddenly the scent of freshly baked bread and frying bacon filled her nose and chased Nindelyth's dark thoughts away. She arrived at the kitchens.

oOoOo

Uglúk was thirsty and ached all over. Strange, he mused dully, he had never suffered this much because of his injuries before. It had something to do with the Master's voice being silent now. 'You will not know pain! You will not know fear!' he heard from the not-so-distant past. Uglúk snorted with grim amusement. The old windbag said that bullshit to his lads too. And indeed, they did not feel neither pain, nor fear now. They were all dead.

But what about him? Where was this damned dungeon of men? And how did he get here?

Uglúk shook his head and growled. This was also strange, not only the pain. These…. questions. He was not used to think this much. But now he simply could not help himself. The thoughts filled his mind and he heard them. It was his own gravelly voice in his head, not the Wizard's whispering.

And his own voice said that a dungeon built from stone must belong to a fortress. Edoras or Helm' s Deep. But Edoras was far too far from the edge of Fangorn, where they had been ambushed. He was quite sure that with his wounds, he could not have reached Edoras alive. So, he must be in Helm's Deep. But if he was held captive in the Hornburg, then the battle must have been lost, and the fighting Uruk-hai, his brothers…

His growl became a roar of grief. And when his throat finally failed him and he spat blood onto the ground, he closed his eyes and let darkness consume him once again.

oOoOo

Nindelyth went upstairs after a short breakfast and entered the halls of the infirmary. Upon seeing Mundwynn's tall frame and the cluster of women around her, Nindelyth felt her stomach clench. But she was not in the wrong here! She swallowed her apprehension, lifted her chin defiantly and reported for duty.

Mundwynn's gaze landed on her. The head healer thought for a moment, then spoke:

"Nindelyth. Just in time. I have contemplated your … notions about your tasks. I think I've found something more challenging than bedpans for you."

Nindelyth's sudden happiness dimmed somewhat when she saw a little vindictive spark in Mundwynn's eyes. The healer went on:

"You see, yesterday we've received a special patient…"

Not much later Nindelyth was collecting a few items into a basket. Lint and washrags, a needle and sinew, some kingsweed and a sharp knife. Her hands trembled. 'How in Béma's name did I get myself into this mess? Why didn't I shut my mouth for once?' she asked herself bitterly. She was angry. She was terrified. Tending to an orc of Isengard! What a disgusting, humiliating and dangerous task! It was unheard of. But undeniably it was … a challenge. At this thought she almost dropped the basket. She must be out of her mind!

The midday hour found Nindelyth padding down to the cells. She carried her basket and a bucket of lukewarm water. The dungeons were dimly lit, long shadows followed her. The pitter-patter of her steps reverberated from the walls. Two corridors beneath her black, pointed ears twitched once.

oOoOo

Uglúk looked up when he heard a knock on the door. So, time for the next round of interrogation, huh? He'd already got a taste of the whiteskins' "hospitality" the previous day. With dried blood clogging his nose, he couldn't tell which one of his tormentors returned. No matter. He snarled silently and steeled himself. The guard stationed permanently in his cell unlocked the door and let the visitor in.

It was a woman.

Uglúk was staring flabbergasted at her.

She was dark haired and slender, quite diminutive compared to him. She was carrying a bucket and a little basket. The guard knew her, called her Ni.. Nin.. lyth, or some such shit. She greeted the lad with a nod. And then she looked at him.

For a moment he could not breathe.

oOoOo

Nindelyth became increasingly frustrated. She could not wash the beast's neck and shoulders properly with its hair getting constantly in the way.

The orc's hair was long but thin, and so dirty, that she could only guess its color. Blond or… rather grey? The long tresses were stuck to its skin like a stinking, greasy cobweb.

Nindelyth huffed in exasperation and put her washrag down. She pulled the green ribbon out of her hair and resolved herself to tie the beast's mane back. It was easier said than done. The orc was so much taller than her; she had to step quite close to it to reach its head. She didn't know if the beast could understand her, but she swallowed nervously and muttered to its chest:

"I am going to tie… your hair. Please don't …. move, orc." She wanted to say to not bite, but that would have made her sound … cowardly. And she was not a coward.

Yet, she flinched, when the beast suddenly growled.

"Uruk"

The word, which could hardly be called speech, was uttered in a deep, gruff voice. The beast undeniably understood her and could talk. And just now it was talking to her.

Nindelyth blinked, uncomprehending. The beast snarled in menace or annoyance and tried again.

"Uruk. No orc."

Nindelyth looked up into the … Uruk's strange, pale-white eyes. Those eyes were cold and very stern. Very human… in an inhuman face. Nindelyth began to tremble, unable to look away. There was a mind behind those eyes. There was a "he".

The Uruk didn't move or speak any more, so Nindelyth stood on her tiptoes and raised her hands, holding the ribbon tightly.

It was not easy, prying the tangled tresses from his sweaty skin and tucking them behind his shoulders, but eventually Nindelyth succeeded. She strained to reach the nape of the … Uruk's neck, to tighten the ribbon around his hair. He didn't make it easier for her with bowing his head or something. On the contrary, he straightened his spine and legs just a little bit more. Nindelyth's tired toes eventually gave out, and without any support, she lost her balance. Before she knew it, she was flush against him, her face pressed to his bare chest.

Hot. He was so hot. That was the only impression that reached her mind before she hastily staggered half a step back. Her nose hurt from the collision with his body, the hard muscles of his upper abdomen, to be precise. For a moment, the Uruk didn't move, didn't blink, didn't even seem to breathe. He just looked down at her with those frighteningly intense eyes of his. His gaze wasn't cold anymore.

Nindelyth waited till her heartbeat slowed down a little and the hot flush left her face. With considerable courage and an uncertain sigh, she stepped back to the Uruk and raised her hands again. This time the Uruk bowed his head. Nindelyth looped the ribbon around his mane, her trembling fingers brushing the nape of his neck. His breath hitched and his head came even lower, closer to her face. He tried to take great gulps of air through his nose. Was he sniffing her? 'Hurry, hurry, you ninny!' she thought desperately, while she was trying to tie the knot as fast as she could. She almost jumped, when the Uruk began to growl. It was a low, rumbling sound, deeper than the constant rasp of his breathing. Having finished the knot, Nindelyth picked her washrag up again, relieved that she could put a few more inches between herself and the Uruk. She continued cleaning her patient, albeit a little shakily. The Uruk's strange growling never ceased.

oOoOo

Uglúk slowly relaxed. There was relative silence in the cell. Only the dripping of water, the swishing of cloth on wet skin and his purring could be heard. The girl worked cautiously and didn't look up at him anymore.

She was a strange one, this girl. She was afraid of him, he could smell it, even with his freshly broken nose, but she touched him none the less. Touched him, like no one else did before. (If he had known the meaning of the word, he would have said 'gently'.) She was soft too. That was the only impression that reached his mind when she fell face first into him. And then he couldn't help himself; he had to inhale her deeply, to seek her unique sweetness under the stench of fear.

Those damned touches and that thrice damned softness! Those and his fever must have muddled up his mind to cause that embarrassing purr. It was not even the Uruks' way! It was the snaga way. He'd heard about it a long time ago, whispered in secret among the orcs in Isengard. A male's purring was for one female only, called mate. Mate. He didn't like the word. He had been seeing the snaga males constantly pining after their mates. If having a mate meant that, he wanted nothing to do with it.

But it was not his choice.

During the following week – or weeks, he didn't know – she was tending his wounds. As time passed, the strawheads – especially one bastard called Oswin – turned more and more viscous. So, she had to come to him almost every day.

Her hands were warm and soothing on his aching body. They didn't talk, but she looked into his eyes more and more often. Especially after Oswin's visits, when she tried to fix his broken ribs or smeared healing salve on his burned limbs. He didn't understand her expression; he hadn't met anything like that before. But at those moments the nasty smell of her fear was replaced by the scent of … sorrow. Then he understood. She pitied him.

At first rage bloomed in his chest. He didn't need a whiteskin's pity! From then on, he always stood tall, his head held high. Gritting his teeth, stifling his groans of pain, he looked down his nose at her. But after a day or two he realized the sad truth: he might have fooled her, but he couldn't fool himself. In the deepest recesses of his mind and heart he craved not only her touch, her softness, but her heart too - feeling for him.

oOoOo

Nindelyth was two levels above the dungeons, but she already could hear the Uruk's gravelly voice. He was roaring from the top of his lungs. As she was getting closer to his cell, she could make out his snarling words.

"Why should I tell you anything? That you could hunt down and kill them, the last of us? Well, fuck yourself whiteskin, I say nothing!" he roared.

Nindelyth grimaced. So, the Uruk was being interrogated again. During the last three weeks there had been at least fifteen sessions of this ….. well…. the Uruk said nothing, so it had been rather torture, not interrogation.

New wounds appeared on Uglúk's body now, cuts and lacerations and burns. Those wounds were inflicted upon him not in battle, but when he was bound and helpless.

She slowly became ashamed of their treatment of the Uruk. And she felt sorry for him.

She could tell that somehow, he sensed her pity, and it didn't sit well with him. He tried to hide his suffering from her. Even in his battered state, he clung to his pride. There was not only a mind behind his eyes. There was a soul too.

Nindelyth sighed and unconsciously caressed her sore ribs. She really didn't know who the monster was any more.

oOoOo

Uglúk could tell that something was wrong with her, long before she entered his cell. His nostrils quivered as he took a long sniff from her faint scent. He could smell blood on her … and the sour stench of her sadness. Not so long ago it would have excited him, would have stirred his lust for cunt and killing. But now it only caused his stomach to turn.

He forgot his interrogator and the pain of his tortured flesh. His fists clenched and he growled. She had been hurt: beaten or worse!

One last sniff told him who had done it. His head whipped around; his burning eyes pierced the very whiteskin before him. He began to shake as a hot tide of fury set in.

- You are dead. – he snarled – I will see to it! Now.

The all-consuming rage did what three weeks of torment and suffering could not: set the beast within him free. Seven feet of muscle and madness strained against the chains. Blood trickled down his forearms and ankles, but it didn't stop him. Nothing could stop him from killing the bastard who had hurt his Lyth.

The iron resisted his inhuman strength, but the rock could not. The wall cracked, and the four large nails holding his chains were ripped out of the stone. Within a moment he was free.

One long stride, a slash with his claws at the throat and the man was dead. The corpse collapsed with no sound at all.

Then he heard the faint noises of battle from the courtyard.

oOoOo

Nindelyth could tell that something was amiss, as soon as she entered the corridor. The guard stood at the end of the long passage, not in the Uruk's cell. The young man gripped his sword hilt tightly and handed her a heavy set of keys.

- I shall be out here. Oswin's order. – he said on a strained voice. – Call me if you need me.

Nindelyth accepted the keys without a word. Oswin had locked himself up with the prisoner. Alone. With the noises emanating from the cell… she knew what that meant. She knew what happened, when Oswin wanted to not be disturbed. She shivered with disgust and memories of pain. She fumbled with the heavy lock, and then entered the cell, closing the door behind her.

Everything was as it had been during the last weeks, except that Oswin lay on the ground in the puddle of his own blood. The Uruk was crouching above the corpse, a key in his hand. The next moment his last chain fell to the ground. He was free.

If the guard outside was nervous, the Uruk was definitely quivering with tension. As he saw her, his agitation seemed to ebb somewhat. His piercing gaze raked over her, but it was not a leer, it was an assessing look. He was looking for injuries, she realized. Her stomach dropped: somehow, he knew what had been done to her.

In that moment Nindelyth's paralyzed mind started to work again. She wanted to scream, to call the guard. The moment she opened her mouth, the Uruk was on her. His huge palm covered her lips and half of her face, muffling her voice. His other hand grabbed her bodice; his claws scraped the skin of her neck. She stumbled forward from the force with which he tore at her clothes.

And then, before she could really fall into panic, he released her and nodded grimly.

- Good. – he rasped, looking down at her half-exposed breasts. – It is enough for them maggots. They think I claimed you; they don't dare touch you.

Nindelyth just stood there trembling, a step away from a vicious beast, who killed her intended (her tormentor, whispered her mind) and couldn't flee, couldn't do anything, only ask:

- They? Who?

- The orcs of Isengard. – Uglúk replied with an ugly sneer on his face.

- What? – Nindelyth stuttered while he grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door. She stumbled, but the iron hand on her wrist held her on her feet.

- Are you deaf? – snapped the Uruk impatiently – Can't you hear them?

Eventually, through the rushing of blood in her ears, she could hear the noises. Clash of blades. Shouts and screams. Roars. Coming closer. Now she began to tremble in earnest.

The Uruk stopped abruptly, his nostrils quivering, his ears twitching.

- Fuck! – he growled – Uruk-hai.

His eyes snapped to her face, and he watched her for a long moment. His strange, pale gaze was so sharp, so calculating, she could almost see the gears turning in his head.

Then with a fierce snarl he picked her up and tossed her onto the ground. The back of her head slammed into the stone floor. Her scream was cut short by his hand on her mouth. She tried to wriggle free, but his other hand on her chest was enough to hold her in place. He kicked her legs apart and knelt between them.

Now she was terrified. The Uruk's palm pressed onto her bruised ribs so hard, that she could hardly breathe. Bile rose into her throat. He turned her head to the side. And then he bit her.

The piercing pain in the junction of her neck and shoulder made her scream into Uglúk's palm. The Uruk covered her body with his, his bare chest heavy and hot on her breasts. Sobbing in terror and pain she strained against him with everything she had. He only grunted as he was sucking at the wound, swallowing great gulps of her blood. Her strength quickly gave out, and she stilled beneath him. After what felt like a lifetime, he rose and released her.

Nindelyth just lay there prone, helpless. Fear and blood loss rendered her almost unconscious. Her vision was blurred as she looked up.

Blood was dripping down the Uruk's chin. He was shaking from head to toe, his hands curled into fists. And his eyes… Those pale-white eyes were unfocused and on fire. Then he shook his head, as if he were drunk, wanting to sober up.

- This will do. – he muttered hoarsely – Now the Uruks too will know that you are mine. You are safe.

He beckoned to her, urging her to stand up and follow him. But she could not. Darkness engulfed her and she knew no more.

oOoOo

Uglúk ran. He almost didn't feel the girl's weight. She was unconscious, her body hung limp on his shoulder. His left hand was clutching the back of her thighs, holding her firmly in place. His right gripped the guard's sword.

He dispatched of the young man in stride, knocking him to the ground and breaking his windpipe with his boot; the whelp couldn't even draw his weapon. 'Pathetic weaklings, these whiteskins' he sneered to himself. 'Even a snaga can kill them'.

Uglúk's unerring sense of direction led him out of the maze of corridors. Up and up, he went, trying to avoid the noise of massacre from the courtyard. After what seemed like a century, a strong, cold draft caressed his brows and bare chest. A narrow door slightly ajar appeared before him. He peered out cautiously. The door opened to a secluded corner of the great yard, at the base of the massive outer wall of Helm's Deep. Fifty yards away a stream crossed the wall, which was half in ruins there. He could see the signs of hasty repairs.

The roiling mass of bodies that was the orc skirmish moved away from the ruined wall – their apparent way in. Uglúk growled. He had no other choice. If he wanted to leave, he had to chance it through the same pile of rubble. Without hesitation he run across the yard and waded into the stream. The water wasn't particularly deep, it reached just above his knees. He scrutinized the wall in front of him, searching for a place where he could climb up. He just grabbed a promising stone to haul himself up when water splashed behind him and a drawn blade swished out of its sheath.

Uglúk cursed and whirled around. A whiteskin stood there, merely four feet away from him, brandishing his sword at the Uruk's chest. Uglúk snarled and dropped the girl unceremoniously into the water. 'She better not drown' was a fleeting thought in his head as he charged at the man.

This was a seasoned warrior, he could see on his stance, nothing like the youngling who guarded his cell. Their blades clashed and clashed again. 'I have no time for this' anxiety thrummed in the back of Uglúk's mind. He dropped his sword.

With an unintentional roar he swatted the man's sword away with his forearm and simply tackled the Rohirrim down. They landed in the water, Uglúk on top of his opponent, grabbing the man's neck, pushing him under the surface. He had no time to drown the whiteskin properly, so he went for a fast kill. His fingers closed around the man's chin and the back of his head and he yanked violently. The whiteskin went limp beneath him. Uglúk was on his feet and beside Nindelyth in an instant.

She was coming to, coughing, and flailing frantically. Uglúk simply picked her up, lifting her out of the water. She was clutching his shoulders like a lifeline. The Uruk put her on her feet and knelt before her.

- Up you go! On my back! Hurry! - he ordered, eyeing the battle not so far. Orcs, Uruk-hai and men – all of them his enemies now – were maiming and killing each other in a bloody whirlwind, not paying any attention to them. Good. After taking in the danger close by, the girl obeyed slowly, still in a daze. Her frail arms went around Uglúk's neck, and when the Uruk stood up her thighs embraced his hips. She was so fragile against his body. He could feel the delicate bones of her wrists when he grabbed her hands and yanked her higher on his back. She yelped in pain and he winced. He let go of her and said:

- Hold on to me tightly! If you fall, I won't be back for you, understand?

She was silent, but he could feel her nod at the back of his head. With a satisfied grunt he began to climb.

oOoOo

Nindelyth was laying on her side in a fetal position, her knees almost touching her chin. It was freezing cold in her wet clothes. She was in some kind of cave, the rock beneath her felt like ice. Nindelyth was barely aware of the hour long trot up the mountainside. She remembered somewhat better the struggle before, when the Uruk had scaled the ruined wall. He was climbing like a giant spider, finding every nook and cranny to hold onto. Despite his torture and the weeks of confine he was so breathtakingly strong! Sometimes their combined weight was hanging only on his fingers and her heart stopped, but in a moment his biceps flexed, and they were safe on the next tiny platform where he could put a few of his toes. He was breathing harshly and sweating profusely, his hot skin slick under her desperate grip. She found – quite appalled – that his earthy, male scent didn't offend her. So, she just plastered herself to his muscled back, buried her face into his mane and prayed that the climb would end soon.
Now her whole body was trembling, trying to produce some warmth, but it was useless. Her fingers tentatively touched the crude bandage on her neck. At least she wasn't bleeding anymore. 'We are going to freeze' her thoughts were getting sluggish as sleep beckoned to her.

She heard movement and rustling of fabric behind her. The Uruk was doing something. Then heavy steps approached her, and a firm hand grabbed her shoulder.

Nindelyth flinched when the Uruk turned her onto her back. She looked up at him and her eyes went wide. He was kneeling beside her, and he was stark naked.

- Strip! – he growled.

Nindelyth shook her head. The Uruk bared his teeth impatiently and grabbed her leg. A little whimper left her mouth when he yanked her skirt up. She tried to stop him, but the Uruk swatted her hands away easily. She kicked out towards him and wanted to scoot away, but her pathetic efforts were useless. He knelt onto her stomach to hold her in place. She cried out in terror when she felt his fingers now fumble with her torn bodice. She couldn't breathe, his weight pressed down on her middle with bruising force. In a frenzy of despair her nails tore into his cheeks to scrape his eyes out.

That did it. The Uruk shifted his position, jerked her up and snarled into her face:

- Stop it! Don't wanna tear your sodden rags off, but I'll do if you don't stay put. Do you wanna freeze?!

He was waiting for her answer. His pale-white eyes were boring into her, holding no lust or malice only annoyance. With great effort she shook her head.

- Good. Then strip! – he let go of her so suddenly that she fell back onto the ground. He stood up and turned away. Nindelyth could breathe again. And move. With slow, shaky hands she began to undress.

When she was as naked as he, Uglúk laid down beside her and spooned her from behind. One of his arms went under her head; the other sneaked around her waist and pulled her to his chest. She instantly went rigid, but when he didn't move and his body heat enveloped her, she slowly relaxed into the curve of his huge body. His heavily muscled arm provided a comfortable pillow, his broad chest radiated heat like a furnace. And his large palm, spreading across her belly, filled her with a strange sense of … safety.

She felt torn and confused. She was afraid of him, his brutal hands, his snarled orders. But those hands never really hurt her, and those orders were for her protection.

She dared close her eyes, and the familiar rasping of his breathing gradually lulled her into sleep.

oOoOo

Uglúk needed rest but couldn't sleep. Not with her slumbering peacefully in his arms. It was a novelty to hold a woman without struggle, without screams and tears. It was kind of … nice. Quite frankly he was proud of himself. He gave her warmth. He gave her rest. And she trusted him enough to fall asleep in his embrace. That was his greatest achievement so far.

When he tried to undress her, she was terrified of him. That annoyed him the most. Not her squirming, not her feeble attempts to hurt him. What angered him was her panic. Could she not see that he meant no harm?!

But now she was calm. The putrid stench of fear didn't mask her natural scent anymore. The scent of drying hay and sunshine and something sweet that was her. It drew him to her, and the pull was strong. He buried his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply. His eyes drifted shut.

His fingers twitched on her stomach (and another part of him twitched too, but he ignored it). Her skin was incredibly soft. He wanted to feel it some more, so very carefully he moved his callous thumb a bit. And then – the first time in his life – he experienced the most incredible sensation: her skin answered his feather light touch and caressed him back.

Uglúk laid wide awake and stared into the darkness all night long.

He had no idea where to go from here. He took responsibility and inconvenience upon himself by taking her with him. But he could not leave her behind.

His decision had been made when he had heard the noise of the skirmish earlier that day. It would have been far easier for him to slip away alone in the chaos, but he simply could not leave her to fend for herself. He did not trust the other whiteskins to protect her properly. The other whiteskins – her own kind – had done nothing to save her from suffering in the hands of that bastard Oswin!

The fact that she had come with him without any protest baffled him. He had been prepared to take her even against her struggling and screaming, for her own good, but there had been no struggle at all!

She had trusted him then, as she trusted him now, and an unfamiliar feeling tightened the Uruk's chest.

A quiet resolution formed in his calloused soul.

He hardly knew how, but he would be worthy of her trust.

10