Chapter 2

It was the night of a New Moon. The Uruk-hai travelled south, but winter was in the air wherever they went. The ground beneath their feet was hard, and the cold air barely stirred from their movement but carried faint sounds across the stillness of forests and grass-covered plains. They had learned to move as stealthily as possible for such big and strong creatures, and they had truly begun to cooperate as a unit. Lurtz had quietly assessed the skills as well as tolerable weaknesses in his warriors. He had also noticed that some of the Uruks were starting to bond beyond the friendly swagger and brawling that had been their short-lived privilege at Orthanc.

He had to admit that Saruman's orders had been sound: the few weeks the Great Orcs had spent in the Dunland foothills had proven valuable for their training. This was a sparsely populated area, largely considered uncivilized by Men and Elves alike. The army of the White Hand had had its opportunity to learn more about the world outside the iron confines of Orthanc without alerting the peoples of Middle-earth to its existence. The Dunlendings kept to themselves – they were a superstitious and fearful people; their ties with the surrounding population long severed. Lurtz remembered how the highest of the Istari had chuckled to himself when he imagined what his fierce Uruk-hai would make of their first encounter with Men...

The Uruk's body shuddered in an unexpected flash of anger. No, he did not want to think of his mysterious master!

Shaking his head and tossing some strands of coarse black hair out of his face, Lurtz made speed, feeling rather than hearing how the others took on the challenge. They were already catching up with him, the low sound of their breathing still as regular and effortless as before.

He had decided that they would run the whole night, using the darkness as cover. Their strategy needed to change now that they were approaching land inhabited by Men and Elves – land usurped by the mortal enemies of Saruman and of that other Dark Lord. But as much as they all craved the excitement of a good fight, they were still under orders to avoid these opponents and not prey on them.

The Dunlendings had offered little fight – the Uruks' first taste of manflesh had left them with the impression that this species called 'Man' offered some rather light entertainment combined with the reward of delicious, tender meat. Their stomachs were well-filled, and they carried supplies of that tasty meat to sustain them comfortably for a couple of days. Very well then; they would hunt animals later. There was an abundance of them in this forest called Fangorn.

At dawn they set up one of their make-shift camps in the dense woods. Guards were assigned, and they immediately proceeded to check the camp's perimeter, making sure there was nothing suspicious in its vicinity, no hiding places for enemies. Lurtz handed out the food rations to his warriors, and he saw that they were content with what they got. No one cursed or grumbled complaints under his breath.

He should have been pleased, very pleased with his Uruk-hai fighters, who had learned to be as disciplined as they were fierce when unleashed. But he was not, nor did he relish his power over them at this moment. The tension between his shoulders was still there, and even the monotonous and mind-clearing task of running for a whole night had not taken away the uneasiness that haunted him.

In spite of a full stomach and the knowledge that they had put another twenty-two leagues behind them Lurtz did not sleep well. He woke up with a start several times, only to stay awake for the better part of an hour each time, listening to the gentle breathing and the sometimes not-so-gentle snoring of his companions.

Around noon he could not go back to sleep at all. He was grateful for the twilight of the forest and the heavy clouds blocking the sun. The carpet of needles and the earth on which he lay had softened from the warmth of his body, and he tried to huddle against it, wrapping the blanket tighter around him to ward off the daylight.

When the rough fabric brushed against the tip of his still relaxed member, a gentle, delicious ache ran through his body and gathered in his loins. As always when he became aware of this feeling, Lurtz was not sure if he should welcome or curse the fact that this flesh of his had a mysterious will of its own. The urge did not dissipate though.

Reluctantly he gave in to it and slowly ran one hand over the taut flesh of his belly. It closed around the half erect organ in a firm grip. Lurtz could feel the blood pulsating in the heated flesh, echoed by the a similar throbbing sound in his ears. Groaning, he tightened his fist further and ran it up and down the thick, heated shaft, harder, faster; panting and smelling his own arousal. This time it felt good, so incredibly good!

Powerful. Exciting.

He desperately tried to hang on to this feeling, while at the same time craving an endless fall into oblivion more than anything else, but his body betrayed him once more. And so did his memories.

Animal! Slave! Supplicant!

Lurtz came with an angry roar, seed spattering his belly, the blanket and the earth beneath him. In a single movement he flipped onto his belly, burying his head in massive, muscle-packed arms, frustrated at being pushed back into the void by the one he loathed so much. Reduced to nothing. His breath came raggedly, and his body convulsed, remembering every agonizing detail of the humiliation he had suffered at Orthanc. Then the burning hatred began to seep into the void, filling it quickly – the strong poison of the White One infallibly at work.

Lurtz's mouth was full of blood, and he realized he had bitten down on his own tongue. Minutes later, when at least his body had regained its composure, he rolled on his back. Resigned.

You will never be free, and you know it.