Wolves And Shattered Shields by Hoglorfen

Graznikh woke up too early. He grumbled at the thin rays of late afternoon sunlight that filtered in through the holes in the crude wooden boards that covered the cave entrance. A movement to his side made him glance at the mass of curly, matted, brown hair on the furs beside him. He had already forgotten her name. Graznikh tried to go back to sleep, but after some restless tossing and turning he got up. A pair of sleepy, yellow eyes peered at him from the furs. ”You gon' go out? Now?”
Graznikh shrugged and reached for his boots.
”Leave 'im,” another voice said. ”E's restless, that one.”
The boards creaked as he moved them aside, followed a few curses from inside the cave as he slipped out. He hissed as the sun hit his face and hurried into the shadows. There was a meltwater stream from the mountains not far from the cave, and soon he knelt on a rock while splashing some of the icy water in his face. It did not help much to improve his mood.
Nothing works, he thought as he stared at his distorted reflection in the slow stream. I've tried running, hunting, fucking, drinking, killing, and nothing works. Fucking bloody Elves!
Years had passed. He had managed to run far enough for the bond to fade into almost nothing after that fateful raid. But the feeling, or rather the lack of feeling, that had replaced the Elf's presence was worse. There was a gaping, yawning void inside his chest that could not be filled no matter how he tried. For years and years he had tried, only to fail over and over. Everything that used to make him happy and content now turned to dust the moment he reached for it. Maybe if I kill her, it'll go away. The thought alone made him turn away from the water and throw up noisily. Nope, no killing. He rinsed his mouth to get rid of the foul taste and turned his back to the cave. The thought of going back there was suddenly appalling. So I can't run from her. What if I run towards her?
He glanced at the evening sky, wondering what his little secret was doing right now. Was she happy? Sad? Angry? The bond was so faint that he could not tell, but for some reason he desperately wanted to know. He had to know. Briefly returning to the cave, he put his armour, belt and weapons on, ignoring what's-her-name's pleading for him to stay another night. Now that his mind was set, it was impossible to turn away.

"I do not understand," Elveanië said. "I have done all that I can to ease her suffering, but the taint on her fëa remains. It is as if it has become a part of her, impossible to remove without permanent harm."
Terenwen sighed. She thought back upon the morning when her daughter had miraculously returned to her, the sole survivor of an Orc raid that had killed thirty seasoned warriors and many more unarmed innocents. Even the horses had been found wantonly slaughtered. She recalled the instinctive terror she had felt as she looked into her child's eyes and saw the bond and the darkness that wreathed it. Elveanië worried about the taint, the touch of evil that they had all felt upon the girl when she returned, but the healer did not sense what Terenwen feared. Someone had claimed her daughter's heart and that had brought the darkness. And Whindaër refused to speak of it.
The object of their worry sat on the bannister of a balcony below, absently stariing out over the Sea. She would rather have walked in the forest, but her parents would not let her go without a guardian. That defeated the purpose of the longed-for walk, so Whindaër tried to find secluded places within the haven instead. But even here, there is no solitude, she thought as she heard footsteps approach. Terenwen sat down on the bench.
"Whindaër, what have I told you?"
"That the bannister is no place to sit for a young lady."
"Come down. It is unbecoming of you." Slowly she slid down, arranging her robe carefully before sitting down on the bench next to her mother. Terenwen smiled.
"Is there anythi-"
"No," Whindaër interrupted.
"Daughter... Will you not let us help you?"
"You cannot bring back the dead."
Terenwen sighed. "I know, dearest. Is there anything you would like to do, to take your mind of this pain that haunts you so?"
Whindaër thought about it for a while. "There is something."
"What is your wish?"
"I wish to learn how to use weapons."
Terenwen looked up sharply. "Weapons? Whatever for?"
Whindaër looked at her mother for the first time since she had approached. "Because... I cannot stop thinking about all those poor people. Our marchwardens were no match for the monsters, despite all their speed and strength... If I had known how to wield a blade properly, then perhaps I could have defended them. I cannot bring them back, but if I learn now, then I can defend myself should I ever cross paths with úvanimor again. Please mother," she begged as Terenwen hesitated.
"Very well. I shall ask Sairion to tutor you alongside your brother."
"Thank you," Whindaër smiled. "Will you allow me a walk in the woods on the morrow?"
"That you may do. But your brother will accompany you. Do not stray far and do not go near the border."

The soft moss tickled her bare feet as she walked, and the soft late afternoon breeze played with her hair. Falastur followed a few paces behind, bow in hand and a quiver at his belt.
"I cannot see why mother worries so," he said as Whindaër knelt to study a flower. "Orcor have never strayed into the woods before. The attack was three days' journey hence and happened five years ago."
"I could not agree more," Whindaër said. "I cannot help but feel that she worries too much."
"She did mention something about you wishing to become a warrior," he said with an amused smile.
"Not a warrior, perhaps, but... I want to learn how to defend myself. I have been already at the mercy of others, capable only of watching as doom approached while others fought and died."
Falastur nodded gravely. "You need not explain yourself to me. I have never been so frightened as when I learned of the attack, and that you were among those missing. If you wish for my aid, I will gladly teach you what I know. The bow is a good weapon to begin with."
Soon they were engaged in Whindaër's first archery lesson.
"Lift your elbow," Falastur instructed. "Higher. Higher. Good!" He placed his hands on her shoulders, correcting her posture. "Always keep your elbow at least in level with your shoulder, preferably with your eye when drawing a bow. Keeping it lower will not only compromise your strength and draw reach, it will also prevent you from fully engaging your back muscles and you will be doing so in the wrong angle, which may cause injuries later when drawing more powerful bows." He demonstrated the proper stance and nodded as Whindaër corrected her own. He leaned against a tree, eating a handful of berries he had picked while watching Whindaër practice. "It is so peaceful here," he whispered.
Whindaër twitched as the bond she had tried to forget all these years suddenly flared to life, moments before the attack came. She turned to stare, eyes wide.
Falastur frowned. "What..?" Then he dropped the berries, took the bow from her and nocked an arrow to the string. Whindaër screamed and the distraction was enough to make the arrow go too far to the left, only grazing the target it was meant to pierce. Falastur barely managed to draw his dagger before the Orc crashed into him, knocking the air out of his lungs. A few curses, growls and some wrestling later, he was securely bound to a tree.
"This was actually meant for her," Graznikh said as he thumbed the rope, "But I guess this works too."
"Lyé... Anfaicalye úvanimoriva!" Falastur spat.
"Aye, whatever. Skai, you Elves are easy! Where are all the great warriors I keep hearing about?"
Suddenly the Elf looked very frightened. "Run Whindaër," he pleaded. "Please run!"

Whindaër took a step back as Graznikh turned towards her. He wore that oh so familiar grin and had that hungry look in his eyes that seemed to draw her in. If Graznikh had not held a firm grip on the bond he would have thought she was terrified, but the feelings that reached him through it told a different story.
"Hello âmbal," he murmured as he came close. "Did ya miss me?" He could hear the other Elf struggle to get free.
"Do not dare touch her, úvanimo!"
Graznikh laughed. "Your new boyfriend?"
"My brother," Whindaër whispered. ”Please, do not harm him.” She took another step back. He leered at her as she backed away from him and licked his fangs as she turned and ran.
"Looks like it's time for another hunt. Don't miss us too much, will ya?"
"No!" the Elf cried.
"Good!" With that, Graznikh took off.

He couldn't track her on the soft forest floor, but the bond pointed him in the right direction. She did not slow down as he closed in and Graznikh chuckled. So you like it when I hunt ya down, eh? I hope you feel how horny this makes me. I'll make ya feel it! He heard her gasp and saw her stumble as he lashed out through the bond, but she did not lose her footing. There was a tinge of fear through the bond now which only served to increase his lust.
He caught up with her in the western foothills, where the tall trees of the deep forest gave way to thorny shrubs and stands of dryland sedge that were thick and tall enough to hide a mounted warg rider with ease. Graznikh made sure to cover their tracks, turning this way and that and deliberately picking difficult terrain. After a few hours, he stopped and pulled Whindaër close without a sound. He parted the sedges and dragged her down a narrow pass that led to a small clearing next to a spring, completely hidden among the boulders and thick thorny vegetation. The spring was so clear that one could see the sparkling white sand on the bottom almost four feet down, as well as the water bubbling up through it from the deep earth. The evening sun did not reach into the deep clearing so Graznikh could finally remove his hood. Whindaër knelt beside the spring, still panting from the long run.
"You've grown fast! I like that..." Graznikh grinned as he removed his armour and clothing and knelt close behind her. She made an attempt to strike up conversation as he unbuckled her belt and began removing her tunic, but the raw desire pounding through the bond made her voice falter. ”Please, I-”
”You've swelled too,” Graznikh purred as his hands slid underneath the tunic to fondle her breasts. Whindaër stifled a moan. He turned her around and pushed her down, covering her mouth with his and effectively muffling any further protests she might have had.

Graznikh did not fully understand the tarks' and Elves' fascination with kissing. Orcs did not kiss, the fangs were in the way. A Dunlending whore had taught him how to do it and explained that it was a physical demonstration of lust and affection, but he had never really gotten the point. As he felt Whindaër melt underneath him, he began to understand. Totally worth it!
He broke contact to pull her tunic off and then paused to look at her. She had swelled, her curves were more defined than they had been the first time he saw her naked. She was not wearing trousers as he had first thought but chaps, similar to his own, made from a soft, pale grey suede. But unlike him, she wore no loincloth.
”Oh, that's nice,” he purred. ”Does mummy know that you're runnin' around dressed like this?” She blushed and looked away. ”Don'tcha know it's dangerous?” he murmured as he parted her legs. ”What if you get ambushed by an Orc or something?” She began to tremble as he slowly crawled on top of her, but he did not assault her as she expected. Instead he gave her a few gentle playbites on her neck and chin before moving downwards, licking and nibbling along the way. Both her nipples received a thorough probing by a wet tongue. Whindaër looked at him as he stopped, not knowing what he planned next. He grinned and winked at her.
”What are you-” her question was cut short by a gasp as he began lapping at her sensitive spot. ”No... no!”
He stopped. ”No what?”
”Do not, it... It is not-”
”Not what?” He gave her a slow, tentative lick that made her moan and roll her head from side to side. Graznikh grinned. ”It's not what? Not good enough?”
”No, it is... wrong!” Whindaër exclaimed after finding her voice.
Graznikh rolled his eyes. ”Oh, come on!” He firmly pinned her hips down, ignoring further pleas and proceeded to lick her with determined moves. He wetted two fingers and eased them into her, caressing her insides and savouring every sound of pleasure that he forced from her lips. Soon the hands that had tried to push him away were entangled in his shaggy hair as she cried her climax to the stars above.

That sound..! Graznikh grabbed her hips and felt her exhale against his neck as he mounted her. Whindaër clawed the ground as Graznikh suddenly seemed to be everywhere at once. The bond that was meant to be a gentle connection of mutual love and understanding was used as a leash, yanking and dragging her mercilessly in whatever lecherous direction he wanted, forcing himself into her deeper than skin-level and shredding every defense she had until there was nothing left. Nothing except his grunting in her ear and his big hands holding her hips in place as he fucked her with reckless abandon.
Graznikh groaned as he came. It was over far too soon. He leaned his head against Whindaër's shoulder, feeling disappointed and unsatisfied. Suddenly there was a spark of pleasure as she began fingering the tips of his crooked ears, and Graznikh gasped. The soft fingers slid down his neck, nails clawing the back of his shoulders. He felt his dick grow hard again and grinned at her.
”You ready for another round?” He slipped back in the moment she nodded.
There were certain limitations to fucking. This Graznikh had learned the hard way. Tark whores were weak, they were rarely willing for more than two or three rounds and all their talk of being able to take it without him holding back had proved to be lies in the end. Orc women were only willing as long as everything happened on their terms. They would merrily punch you in the face and kick your balls to pulp if you were too selfish or tried to mark them against their will. Whindaër was still too frightened of him to dare a proper refusal, so Graznikh decided to try to push her limits.
A few hours later, they collapsed on the ground in an exhausted heap, giggling from sex-induced euphoria. Graznikh had not even had any seed left the last three times, but he had kept going anyway, just because he could.
”This isn't real,” he mumbled. ”I'm just trippin' on mushrooms, it can't be real.” His arm shook as he tried to lift it. Whindaër clinged to the other one, trembling slightly. I should be dead, she thought. Why am I not dead? This cannot be love, this raw, carnal desire! It is not supposed to be like this...
Graznikh cradled her in his arms while basking in the afterglow, gripping her shoulder with his fangs and pressing down gently.
”Skai, I wanna mark ya,” he growled after letting her go. ”I wanna make sure anyone who sees ya knows you're mine!” He chuckled as she froze. ”Don't worry, I won't. Not 'til ya let me anyway.” He studied her body, only now realising how many scratches, bruises and bite marks he had already left on her. Shit, I thought I was being careful! Then he noticed how much his back stung. Feels like she left a few marks of her own. He dearly hoped that they would leave scars. He would carry them with pride.
Whindaër looked at him, still breathing heavily. "Why did you return?"
He grinned. ”All this fucking and you don't know?”
”Is that the only reason?”
”Is it a bad one?”
”I... suppose not.”
He nuzzled her cheek. "I missed ya. And I felt you were close and couldn't resist checking up on ya. Been thinking about some of the stuff you told me last time, and I worried the golug might be giving ya trouble.”
Whindaër sighed. ”No, they have not, not yet at any rate. They know I have... met someone, and some of them will not stop asking about it.”
”What, you told them?”
”I need not. Anyone can see it in my eyes and hear it in my voice.”
Graznikh gave her a disbelieving glance. ”They can see that you've fucked someone?”
Whindaër shook her head, smiling. ”No, the bond. They cannot tell who holds the other end, but they can sense its existence. I think most of them believes that it is a Silvan from a settlement further east.”
”Think they could tell if they saw us together?”
Whindaër nodded and fear briefly flooded the bond.
”Don't worry, if anyone tries to break a hair off ya they'll have to pass me first. I'll gouge their eyes out and make a pretty necklace for you to wear.”
Whindaër gasped. ”You are horrible!”
Graznikh laughed. ”Aye, I'm your horrible Orc.” He wrapped himself around her smaller body and let out a contented purr.

They lay in silence for a while, listening to the night. Whindaër felt confused. His last words as they parted years ago had been genuine. But the bond proved his words now to be genuine as well. He had meant to leave her for good, but then he came back. Something had made him change his mind, but what?
”My band'll be leaving soon," Graznikh said and broke her reverie.
"Where to?"
"Stronghold up north. The caravans have stopped using this road, there's better loot and easier targets up there." He felt disapproval through the bond, but Whindaër only nodded.
"The marchwardens may find us soon."
"Nar, don't worry," Graznikh said. "Wash up and I'll let ya go."
As Whindaër washed and dressed, Graznikh dug up the comb he had given her. She started as he placed it in her lap. "You forgot that last time. Thought ya might want it back."
She held it up with a sad smile. "I cannot keep it. If someone finds it, it may raise more questions that I cannot answer."
Graznikh sighed. "Alright, I'll hold onto it for ya. But first I wanna see you use it." He watched as she undid the tangled braids and combed her long hair. He held up a wisp of it. It was so soft, like spider webs, and the colour was the same as the bark on the spruce trees that grew around the stronghold where he grew up in the Dunland foothills.

Whindaër slowly reached for the knife in Graznikh's belt. The moment he felt what she was doing he caught her hand and gave her a strange, wary look. "What're you trying at?"
"I would not hurt you," she said. "I only... wanted to give you a lock of my hair, as a keepsake, and I need something to cut it with. I carry no knife of my own."
"Oh no, you don't," he growled. "You start snippin' locks off and I'll get seriously pissed at ya. It looks best right where it is." She gave him an apprehensive look, and he held up the comb. "I'll keep this instead. In memory of our first kiss." He grinned as she blushed and stole another kiss before rising to leave.
"See ya around, âmbal," Graznikh murmured in her ear before disappearing among the sedges.

When Whindaër returned to the haven, Terenwen came running and caught her in her arms, closely followed by the rueful Falastur.
"My baby," Terenwen whispered with tears in her eyes, wrinkling her nose at the stench of Orc. "My dear sweet child!"
Shortly after, Elveanië came running. "Thank the Valar you are back! Oh, how I feared the worst when Falastur returned alone! Do you need healing?"
Whindaër gave her a hug. "I am fine. There is no need."
"Fine?" Terenwen interrupted. "The moment you stepped outside the haven, the Orcs were waiting for you as if they knew you were coming!"
"It was one single Orc," Whindaër protested.
"Even a single Orc is a dangerous adversary," one of the guards said. "How did you escape?"
"I... managed to tear myself free. It would have caught me with ease on flat ground, so I ran towards Andrast, to the place with the tall sedges and shrubs. There is a dry ravine there with large rocks where I left no trace. I managed to lose the Orc in there. But then I lost my own trail. That is why it took me so long to return."
"That was a clever move. It may have saved your life."
"Come now," Terenwen said. "You must be exhausted and hungry."

The next morning, Whindaër and Falastur met on the training grounds for an introductory sparring session.
"There was something odd about that one," Falastur said. Whindaër frowned.
"Odd?"
"Yes, about the Orc. 'Did you miss me', why would it say that?"
Whindaër swallowed. "Perhaps it was in the raid upon the caravan? Perhaps it recognised me? I cannot say."
"And 'new boyfriend'? It almost sounded jealous."
"Who can claim to know the mind of an Orc? It was trying to intimidate us. Come, let us focus on brighter things!"
Falastur nodded slowly, unconvinced. It came straight at us, as if it knew exactly where we were, he thought. And the rope was meant for her...

Chapter End Notes

Âmbal - cute
Orcor - orcs
Úvanimo - monster
Lyé... Anfaicalye úvanimoriva! - You... You are the worst of monsters! (Seriously, Quenya is not a proper language for cursing.)

Graznikh kept a wary eye on the road. It appeared empty, which could be a good sign. He had not seen any tarks either, which could be another. It would not do to run into one of their patrols, laden as he was with stuff he had stolen from them. His goal, the Dunlending village up ahead, seemed not to be under the dominion of the tarks yet. After making sure he had everything where it was supposed to be, Graznikh stepped out on the road and headed towards the village, making sure to put on his most confident swagger. I'm supposed to be here, and I go wherever I damn well please, it said. Some of the villagers stopped to stare as he approached, others ran into their homes or shouted at their children to go back inside. Normally he would not go this far out on the plains; the villages closer to the mountains were more used to the sight of armed Orcs, but he was looking for a certain someone who had stopped taking that more dangerous route. The villages here were richer, so if you had good loot to sell you got better paid, especially on market days like this one. But they were also better guarded.

This particular village was average. The houses were spread out, some of them built by people who obviously had no idea what they had been doing. Those closer to the center were in better shape, the adobe walls smooth and peat roofs green and without visible holes. Pigs, chickens and sheep roamed free between them. There were even goats on some of the roofs, Graznikh noted. The thought of fresh meat made his mouth water.
As he closed in on the village square, a group of men armed with clubs, axes or chipped short swords barred his way. They were carrying wooden shields with a bull's head form in reddish leather nailed to them. A man who he assumed was the leader stepped forward.
”We're not fond of your kind here.”
”Us Orcs aren't all that fond of you either,” Graznikh replied, rolling his shoulders. ”But I'm not here to fight or steal. I won't bother the townsfolk and I'll leave once I have what I came for.” The village could hardly be called a town, but using that word seemed to make some of the guards stand taller. Easy to please, easy to grease, he thought. The leader kept eyeing him suspiciously for a while, then nodded and stepped aside. ”We'll keep our eyes on you,” he said as Graznikh passed. Sure ya will. And it'll all be a waste of your time and leave the field open for the real thieves. He turned towards the guard leader. ”Is Bardoc here?” The leader nodded and gestured toward the village square.

Bardoc was a man with grey streaks in his dark hair, wrinkles around his eyes and broad shoulders. His nose and left eyebrow had been broken in a fight somewhere long ago and he walked with a bit of a limp. His eyes twinkled with good humour as he saw Graznikh, but Graznikh did not let that pleasant smile and easy laughter fool him for a second. This man was one of the hardest bastards he knew, just as much a thief in trade as he had been during his days as a raider.
”Graz, you young rascal! I haven't seen you since... well, since the last time I saw you.”
Graznikh grinned at hearing the man's familiar tone. ”I hear you still haven't learned to use my name.”
”Watch it,” the man said. ”So what'll it be?”
Graznikh dumped the bag he had been carrying on the ground and the bartering began. He had a pretty good idea about the value of things but knowing Bardoc, he was sure the man got the stuff more or less for free.
”I'm going easy on you, you know,” Bardoc said when they were done.
”What, you're getting soft?”
The man smiled. ”At some point you have to. I wouldn't admit it to anyone else though, and if you spread it I'll claim you lie. But without some softness and flexibility, a blade will break the moment you hit something with it.”
Graznikh chuckled, eyeing the blades Bardoc had for sale.
”Are we done here? It's getting late, and I was planning to pack this up.”
”Sure. I'll help ya,” Graznikh said.
Bardoc shook his head. ”Oh no! I'm not letting you near my trade. It's not that I don't trust you, I just don't trust you a single bit.”
”Right. Can we talk after?”
The man looked surprised. ”The ale-house. When I'm done here.”

Graznikh nodded and went to take a look at the other stalls while he waited. He kept his distance, as he knew from experience that it did not take much to be accused of stealing and get a mob on his tail. And that no one would lift a finger to defend an Orc. Not even Bardoc.
He felt a soft bump as one of the village kids ran past him. In one smooth move he grabbed the boy's tunic and held him up close, baring his fangs.
”Little puppies shouldn't try to steal from the wolves,” he whispered. ”Try that again and I'll cut your little tail off. Got it?” The kid nodded. ”Good. Now drop it.” He gave the boy a nod as he threw the cut coinpouch at Graznikh's feet, then he let him go before the grown Men got too upset. The pouch was not his; it was noticeably heavier than the one he had carried. Graznikh grinned to himself as he put it in his beltpouch and went to meet Bardoc at the door to the ale-house.
”Harassing children now, are we?” Bardoc said with an amused tone.
Graznikh shrugged. ”Just retrieving something of mine. Bloody cutpurses... Are all kids like this?”
”Oh no. The Orc cubs'll only mug you after they've put a knife in your back.”

They laughed as they entered. The ale-house was quite full at this hour, but they managed to secure places at a table. Graznikh decided after a mouthful that the drink here was not the worst he had ever tasted, but Bardoc grimaced. ”Bloody swill. Anyway, you wanted to talk?”
”Aye, um...” Graznikh hesitated, trying to figure out how to put it. ”I spoke with this one person a while ago, and they said something that got me thinking... What, well, what do you know of love?” he blurted out.
Bardoc's bushy eyebrows would've hit the roof if they hadn't been stuck to his forehead. ”Love? An Orc asks me, of all people, for advice about love?”
Graznikh rolled his eyes. ”Aye, go on and laugh. I'm a big boy, I can take it.”
”Obviously.” Bardoc proceeded to laugh until Graznikh felt his ear tips burn.
”You done?” he asked sourly.
”Yes, yes,” Bardoc said while wiping his eyes. ”So, love... What did this one person say that made you so puzzled you had to come all this way to get an answer?”
”Well, she-”
”Oh, she is it?” Bardoc was smiling almost from ear to ear. ”I begin to grasp the underlying mystery here.”
Graznikh rolled his eyes again, now trying not to smile himself. ”If you start laughing again you're gonna miss that other eyebrow too.”
”Now now, no need for that. So what did she say?”
”Well, I asked her the same question as I did you. And she started babbling about people staring into each others' eyes while trees grew; throwing themselves off cliffs and such. I didn't understand one bit.”
Bardoc chuckled. ”It sounds like your lady friend has listened a little too much to the old Elven love stories.”
”Elven?”
”Yes. They seem to have different ideas about love than regular Men, to put it lightly. They have this idea of 'pure love', unmarred by the base needs of the flesh – horniness and such, that is.”
”Ah.”
”It's different for us ordinary folks. Men fall in love, but it usually doesn't last long. A few months, a couple of years, then it fades. A few blessed souls get that lifelong happy love, but it's rare. Most settle for a marriage of conveniency. And Orcs... Well, you're probably better suited to explain the intricacies of Orcish intimacy than I am.”
”I don't even get what this weird feeling is that supposedly makes people kill themselves for someone they just met.”
”Of course, I forgot. Ask ten different people and you'll get ten different answers, I'm afraid.”
”And what's your answer?”

Bardoc looked down into the rough tabletop, trying to recall. ”It is a warm feeling, like your heart is swelling in your chest. How you react to being struck by love is individual. Some do become altruistic towards the focus of their love, while others become possessive. Love makes you want your beloved's happiness, you want to make them happy. You want to be near them, the closer the better. When they leave, you feel pain in your heart, physical pain. Flaws or traits that they have that would normally annoy you, you ignore or overlook. And it makes the fucking better, since it's the closest you can get to a person. Without eating them of course,” he added with a glance towards Graznikh.
”I think I get it... you said Elves do things differently?”
”Yes, but I'm not the best person to ask about them. Which reminds me...” Bardoc looked around the room until he spotted a man sitting by himself at the end of another table. ”Lómeyello!”

The man turned as he heard his name, eyes widening at the sight of an Orc at Bardoc's table. He reluctantly came over as Bardoc beckoned to him, never taking his eyes off Graznikh.
”This is Lómeyello of the Star Island.”
Graznikh nodded a greeting, which the man returned. ”Formerly of that place, yes.” He spoke with a strange, flowing accent, and Graznikh's eyes narrowed. Tark.
”Tell me,” Bardoc said. ”You've had dealings with Elves before, haven't you?”
The man frowned. ”I have. It is not a fond memory, though. What do you wish to know?”
As Bardoc explained, Graznikh suddenly recognised the man's odd accent. Whindaër pronounced words in almost the exact same way!
The man turned to look at Graznikh. ”You wish to know of the Elves and their views of love? How come?”
Graznikh shrugged. ”Curious.”
”He has a special lady-friend who is seemingly fascinated by Elven love-stories,” Bardoc added with a smile. Lómeyello seemed utterly bewildered by this, but he cleared his throat. ”Very well, then. What do you wish to know?”

”So Elves don't do it for fun?”
”No,” Lómeyello said. ”When Elves bond or join in the flesh, they do so for life. They literally cannot be unfaithful without it becoming common knowledge, for they can see in each others' eyes and hear in each others' voices whether they be wed or unwed. And even should one partner fall in battle or otherwise, they rarely take a new spouse but prefer to remain alone with their memories.”
”Sounds bloody boring,” Graznikh said. Lómeyello nodded. ”In many ways, yes.”
”Sounds like you've had a lot of dealings with Elves.”
”I had. I worked the harbour where the ships of the High Elves moored, and thus had many an occasion to converse with them. When the opportunity to leave the Island came, I took it gladly.”
”What're they like? I've never really had the opportunity to meet one other than with a blade.”
Lómeyello gave him a wry smile. ”They are bloody boring, as you so eloquently put it. They are arrogant and haughty, they believe our minds to be unable to grasp their wisdom or that we would use it with evil intent, and so they ransom it in portions small enough to make any man starve! Believe me, most of them are no more fond of Men than of Orcs. I am glad to have reached these eastern shores and left the Island behind.” He turned to Bardoc. ”Speaking of eastern shores... What news from the road?”

Graznikh drifted away as Bardoc and Lómeyello began discussing the news, with other men joining them from surrounding tables. He heard something about a shadow in the east, something being built in Burzdur, but did not pay attention. He thought of Whindaër and pondered Bardoc's words. Did he miss her? He reached through the bond and recieved only calm. She was probably resting. He smiled a little at the memory of her sleeping next to him. Yes, he missed her. How long had it been now since they parted last, months? Years? He had lost count. Did he want her to be happy and felt good when she was? Aye, he thought as he remembered her smile when he had shown her the crystal cave and the little spring. And the pain he had felt when he left her at the forest's edge had been real. It was still there, dull after so many years but still tangible. Then he thought of what Lómeyello had said, that Elves could see if another Elf had bonded or not. She said the same thing. He had stayed away from the area after their last meeting so that she would not get into trouble, or have to choose between her people and him. Wait. Did that count as sacrifice? Giving up his wish that they be together so that she would be happy? Am I in love?

He looked up as he realised the room had gone quiet. Lómeyello was gone, as were most others. Bardoc sat in silence, watching him.
”Much to think about?” he asked gently as Graznikh met his eyes. Graznikh nodded.
”Aye... By the way, that guy Lómeyello? Does his name mean anything, or is it just there to be fancy?”
Bardoc made an odd face before he answered. ”I believe it means ”a cry of triumph in the night” or something like that. Apparently his father whooped quite a bit the night he was concieved.”

They were still laughing as they entered the cool night air outside. Bardoc turned to face him after wiping his eyes.
”Good luck to you now, and take care. Not in all my travels have I ever heard of an Orc falling in love with one of the fair folk, and to have such feelings returned at that... I fear it will end in tragedy for you both. But whatever little happiness you can get before it all comes tumbling down, you deserve.” He patted the stunned young Orc in the back and left for his wagon. Graznikh stared at his back for a while. Funny old man. Then he walked out of the village, turned south and began running. He had to get back to the band before they moved on.

Snowflakes swirled in the howling wind, covering the tracks of the small caravan making its way up the mountain path. Tarnakh, the leader of Graznikh's band, stopped briefly next to a shaggy pack pony, his gnarled face grim, squinting against the wind to make sure the narrow bridge ahead was not blocked or broken by an unexpected rock slide. Graznikh pulled his warg fur cloak tighter. Who the fuck decides to travel in this weather anyway? he thought.

The sharpened poles and rough-hewn walls of the Orc stronghold towered before them, barely visible in the drifting snow. They were forced to wait outside, seeking what cover they could find while Tarnakh went up to speak to one of the guards. He returned after a wait that seemed too long in the cold, motioning that they were welcome. Finally. He shook the snow off his cloak at the entrance. A short walk later, warmth radiated from the large fires in the main hall. This was a proper stronghold; warriors of all shapes and sizes sat in groups on the floor or leaned against the walls, talking or gambling. Cubs played or fought on the floor with the brood-females barking at them whenever they became too rowdy. Graznikh grinned.

The chief and his closest were the only ones with a proper table and benches to sit on. Tarnakh signalled for Graznikh to follow him as the chief beckoned to them. This is it, he thought as Tarnakh introduced him. He put on an air of 'full-of-himself' but without being challenging as the chief studied him from the soles of his boots all the way to the top of his shaggy hair.
"So you're Tarnakh's spawn, huh? Heard stuff 'bout you. Most of it good," the chief grunted.
"The rest never met me," he replied with a shrug. "If they did, they'd be dead and their wagging tongues decorating my belt." The laughter that rang through the hall from the nearest audience was mostly good-natured. The chief gave him a dangerous grin. "Cocky, huh?" He leaned forward. "Learn to use that and you might get somewhere."
Graznikh nodded, then dared to meet Tarnakh's eyes. His father gave him the smallest of nods, barely visible. Tarnakh would never praise him openly, as doing so would soon bring accusations of favoritising his spawn over other, sometimes better warriors, which in turn would quickly lead to Graznikh's bloody demise at the hands of some rival. But that tiny nod and the fact that he had introduced him alone to the chief was enough. Graznikh felt his heart swell with pride as he left the chief's table and sauntered back to the band. Some of the women, brood-females and warriors alike, grinned invitingly at him as he passed, but he paid them no heed. Sorry grú, he thought as he stepped over a pair of quarreling cubs. You'll never beat or replace my ambâl.

"Hey!" a hoarse voice called out. Graznikh turned to face the pregnant matron walking up to him. "Ya gonna insult yer old nanny by jus' walkin' past 'er? Not even a 'hello'?" The woman placed a fist on her wide hip. Graznikh squinted. "Who..?" Then he recognised her and grinned. "Hoshash?"
The matron laughed. "So ya do recognise me!"
"I'm suprised ya recognised me! I haven't seen ya in years!"
"Well, last I saw ya, ye barely reached my cunt," she said, giving him a hug so strong he lost his breath for a moment. "But that nose, skin'n eyes're hard to come by."
"Glad to see you're doing so well," he said with a nod downwards. Hoshash grinned and patted her swollen belly. "I'm carryin' the chief's litter," she confided. "Have ya spawned any yet? And don'tcha dare tell me the ladies aren't interested, handsome fella like you!"
Graznikh chuckled, trying to shrug her off. "None that I've recognised."
"Don'tcha worry," Hoshash said. "The moment a litter with black hair, red eyes and white skin tumbles outta someone in here, I'll know. And I'll make sure they're well cared for."
Graznikh managed to squirm out of the matron's iron grip on his shoulders with a few words of thanks and escaped back to his band. He knew from experience that Orc females could be quite straightforward, to put it mildly, and he did not want to have to face questions later by turning them down in front of everyone. Soon he sat against the wall near the entrance to the hall, drinking and watching the scene before him.

Graznikh felt at home. Like so many other Orc cubs, he had grown up in a stronghold after Tarnakh brought Hoshash and him to Dunland. He did not remember the place of his birth, only what old Kurrush had told him before he died from some coughing sickness. Some cubs were staring at the newcomers with big eyes. Orcs made no difference between males and females, they all had the same rough upbringing and anyone with talent could be a warrior. But Orcs were extremely fertile, so many females settled down early by necessity. Unless they deliberately took a knife to the gut in hopes of becoming infertile, of course. After all, Orcs could survive wounds that killed tarks, despite the sometimes horrific scars those wounds left. Graznikh studied the cubs. The vision came to him unbidden, of himself sitting at the chief's seat, his and Whindaër's cubs rolling on the floor before him and her in his lap. It was a stupid dream, of course. Whin would never live in a stronghold. He did not even know if Elves gave birth the regular way. Maybe they're magicked out of seafoam and leaves or something.

With so many Orcs huddled up for winter, the stronghold soon became cramped. Feeding so many was a neverending task and the hunting trips gave Graznikh an excuse for wandering alone. It was also a good time to practise his archery skills. There were goats and grouses in the mountains surrounding the fortress, as well as various predators. Once he came upon a mother mountain leopard and her two cubs. The cubs were almost grown, soon ready to leave their mother and begin hunting in earnest on their own. Something about them reminded him of Whin. Like her, they were a bit clumsy, but with the promise of the unearthly grace of natural born killers. He made a habit of watching the leopards hunt and tried to imitate their movements as best he could.

"...And they scattered like bloody birds!"
Graznikh sat in the main hall, fletching arrows with raven feathers and listening with one ear to Shâtaz, one of his band mates, bragging about the raid on the Elven caravan.
"I cut down three before the leaf ears even realised what was going on. T'was a bloody slaughter!" Shâtaz had a lopsided grin. "And poor Graznikh missed half the fun."
The listeners looked at Graznikh, who snorted at the unspoken question. "'Poor Graznikh' had more important business to attend to. And you were doing such a good job of killing unarmed Elves, you didn't need me to hold your hand for it."
"That's right," one of the others said. "I remember seeing your arse disappearing 'mong the rocks after some Elven skirt. I hope ya treated the little lady well!"
One of the onlookers cocked his head, leering. "I've never had an Elf before. What're they like?"
Trying as he might, Graznikh couldn't keep the wolfish grin off his face at the memory.
"Oh, that good huh?"
"Well, he was gone for two weeks. Then he comes back and refuses to even treat us to a description of the event, selfish bloody bastard," Shâtaz complained.
"Two weeks? Were you playing with the corpse after, or what?"
"She did die," Graznikh lied. Even the lie felt like a knife twisted in his guts. "It just took a while."
The others laughed and began to exchange stories of other, similar activities. Graznikh sat in silence, pretending to study an arrow tip. He tried to shut it out, but the talk of rape and blood set his vivid imagination spinning. He imagined fucking Whin like that, no holding back. Clawing and biting, hearing her ragged cries and the smell of blood and fear and sex filling his nostrils. He did not even notice his quickened breath.

"'Ey." He looked up as another Orc sat down beside him. Graznikh recognised him as one of the chief's confidants. "You wanna see something? Since you're into Elves and such," the Orc grinned. His curiosity piqued, Graznikh put the arrows away and followed him. They went deep into the fortress, down to the dungeons that had been carved out in the bedrock below. The air was dank and smelled of fear and rotting flesh but the cells were empty. All except one.
"In 'ere," his guide said.
The Elf man hung from spiked shackles. Only the barely noticeable moving of his chest told Graznikh that he was still alive despite the torture he had been subjected to. The wall behind him was covered with dried blood as was his body, the latter also covered in old and fresh wounds from whips, knives, hot irons, claws and teeth. Even his hair and nails had been torn out and his feet were nailed to the wall behind.
"Why'd you blindfold him?" Graznikh asked.
"Those eyes bloody sting," came the reply.
"Why not just take 'em out?"
"Chief wants to see when the light goes out of 'em."
"Hnh."
Graznikh took a closer look. Underneath the dried blood and wounds, he could tell the man had starved for quite some time, but he had not been rutted with as far as he could tell. "How long has he been down here?"
"No idea. Years, at least. Chief lost interest in 'im some time ago, but we're not allowed to kill 'im yet. No idea why, 'e's gonna die soon anyway. You like 'im?"
"Pretty," Graznikh said with an impassive voice. "Let's go back up. This place is fucking depressive."

A few weeks later, the chief sent for Graznikh who had just returned from a trading trip.
"I hear you're into Elves," he said with a grin as Graznikh approached. Tarnakh, who had been engaged in a game of dice at a nearby table turned to stare at his spawn with wide eyes and fangs bared. Graznikh rolled his eyes.
"If this is Shâtaz' doing, I'm gonna fistfuck him with his own bloody windpipe. And yeah, I like the taste of Elf blood." From the corner of his eye he saw Tarnakh relax a little. Why'd he tense up like that? The chief nodded approvingly.
"You can have some if you like. You've done some good by this stronghold, we've had fresh meat every day for months thanks to you. There's a cell down in the dungeons, holding a present for you. Do whatever you want with it."
Graznikh gave the chief the nastiest leer he could muster and made a mocking half bow. Then he turned and left.

Later, when dawn had come and the stronghold was asleep, Graznikh headed for the dungeons. Before going there, he had dug out a small flat bottle that he had kept hidden in his backpack for years. The little metal flask had once been the colour of polished bronze but had long since faded, and had an intricate etched pattern on its side. He opened it and took a tiny sip, barely more than a drop, and swallowed hard. The nausea and the crawling sensation in his guts hit him almost immediately and he leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to his mouth to keep from vomiting. After a moment, the crawling died down and there was a sensation like a cool breeze swept through his veins. The moment it reached his head, everything seemed to be clearer, sharper, and his weariness all but blew away. This stuff gets more and more potent with time, he thought. Just like Elves.

Amazingly, the Elf was still alive. Graznikh lifted his chin and pressed the flask to his lips, giving him a slightly larger sip than he had taken himself. The Elf gasped as if he had been holding his breath, lifted his head and whispered something in a strange tongue. Probably Elvish, Graznikh thought as he removed the blindfold.
Unlike Whindaër's, this Elf's eyes did burn and freeze like starlight. The hate filling them was almost unbearable, but he strengthened his resolve and forced himself to meet the Elf's gaze.
"You speak Common?" he asked.
The Elf frowned. "Why would I speak to you, úvanimo?"
"You don't have to," Graznikh whispered. "Just understand. I'm gonna pull those spikes outta your feet, and it might hurt a little but I need ya to keep quiet." As the Elf frowned in suspicion, he rolled thick cloth around a twig he had picked up during an earlier hunting trip and presented it to the Elf. He seemed to understand, because he gingerly took it between his teeth, grimacing at the taste. As Graznikh jerked the spikes out, the Elf hissed but was otherwise impressively quiet. He proceeded to unlock the shackles and caught the Elf as he fell, placing him upon the warg-fur cloak.
"Why are you doing this?" the Elf asked after spitting the stick out.
"I owe someone." Graznikh looked up from bandaging the broken feet. "You're the uncle, right? Thought I recognised ya."
"Uncle? Whose uncle?"
"Win-daar's." The Elf's eyes suddenly widened, and he caught Graznikh's arm in a surprisingly strong grip. "Where did you hear that name?! Who mentioned it to you?"
"She did it herself. Young she-elf, long hair the colour of spruce bark, dark blue eyes like a stormy sea, wore a plum coloured robe and a dark yellow sash with metal threads in it when last I saw her."
The hate was gone from the man's wide grey eyes, replaced by hope beyond hope. "She is alive?"
Graznikh nodded. "Alive and well, back home in that Elven stronghold in the forest by the Sea. She mentioned her uncle afore she left... Theo."
The Elf looked at him as though he had not really seen him before. "Theolas. My name is Theolas, and yes, I am Whindaër's uncle." Then his eyes narrowed. "And I remember you... You are the Orc who attacked us during the raid."
Graznikh nodded, unable to meet Theolas' eyes.
"And you... kept her alive? You did not... hurt her?" Graznikh knew what the Elf tried to ask. He shook his head. "Nar, she's fine. Or was when I left her by the forest's edge." She feels just fine, he wanted to add, but that would raise too many uncomfortable questions. "I'm gonna get ya outta here. But I'll need ya to cooperate and it might be unpleasant."
Theolas gave him a measuring look. Then he nodded. "Very well. You seem to have your mind set on this, and I have no choice but to trust you."
Graznikh gave him a grateful nod. "I'm gonna mask your scent. It's something we use to lure rats and other scavengers for pest control. You'll stink like rotting flesh, and I'll just be taking out the trash. I do that here on a regular basis so no one'll be the wiser. If they check the dungeons, I'll say I didn't want to waste the meat." He grinned at Theolas' disgusted face.
"And how will you hide my looks?"
Graznikh responded by holding up a mouldy leather bag with old, dried blood stains on it, large enough to hide the starved Elf. "Trash bag."
Theolas seemed to gather his strength at the sight, then he looked at Graznikh. "Very well. Let us hurry."

Getting the Elf out was surprisingly easy. The guards nodded a greeting as he passed the gate, bow and quiver in one hand and the bag slung over his shoulder. Once near the trash pile he continued along a narrow path leading south into the mountains after making sure he was not being followed. When he was well out of sight from the fortress, he opened the bag. Theolas was not shivering despite the freezing wind, but he still accepted the fur cloak with a grateful nod. After wrapping himself securely in it, he agreed to return to the bag and Graznikh carried him for several hours until they reached a cave where they could rest.

This is surreal, Theolas thought as he listened to the Orc's footsteps and heavy breathing. He had long since given up hope that he would be found and had prepared to die in the dungeon. Then his very last prayer to the Valar had suddenly been heard and they had sent an Orc of all things to save him. An Orc that had spared his beloved niece, who had spoken to her long and familiarly enough to know his name, even though it got it wrong. He studied the Orc in question as it made a fire with the efficiency of long experience. The Orc met his eyes every now and then. Theolas decided to break the silence that seemed to make the Orc so uncomfortable.
"May I ask you something?"
It shrugged in response. "Ask."
"My niece... Whindaër. You know her? You are... familiar with her?"
The Orc hesitated for a while before nodding. "Aye."
"But you do not like to speak of it."
It looked up. "It's not that. I promised her to shut up about it. I don't like breaking promises... Not to her."
This made Theolas pause. This Orc made a promise to Whindaër? And it has honour enough to... What is this? Then he noticed the Orc watching him with a strange expression. "What is it?"
"Ya know her, then? You're... I dunno what an 'uncle' is."
"An uncle is the brother of someone's father or mother. I am Whindaër's father's brother, her uncle."
"Brother? Like a littermate?"
Theolas frowned. "In a manner of speaking. Elves do not beget litters, we are conceived one at a time, sometimes with many decades or even centuries inbetween each."
"So that's it? You're just her sire's littermate?"
"I am also her mentor, her teacher. Her father is a fine smith and lives in Ost-in-Edhil, far to the north. He rarely visits his home these days, and so I have the honour of teaching her about the world."
"Like reading and writing?"
"Among other things, yes."
The Orc seemed amused for some reason. "So what's she like?" it asked. "When... well, when she's with you, or around other Elves?"

Theolas thought back, remembering the days in the haven. "She was a happy child," he said, "although often serious and a bit on the wild side. More content with running and playing in the forest than studying." He smiled at the memory. "But she was steadfast and strong of will. When she made up her mind about something it was rarely possible to sway her from her set course. Her brother is calmer, but just as strong of will."
"She has a brother too?"
Theolas nodded. "They are littermates in truth, although we call it ónoni. They shared their mother's womb, a rare thing among Elves, and entered the world on the same day."
The Orc smiled a little. Theolas thought it was a strange look in that disfigured face. Then he realised that he was discussing memories of his niece with an Orc as if with an old friend, the very Orc who had indirectly sent him to the dungeons by knocking him unconscious and eloping with his niece, even though he had ultimately spared her from the worst fate. He frowned.
"Why do you ask me this? What is your interest in my niece?"
The Orc suddenly looked guarded, and Theolas decided to play dirty. "I could ask her, you know, once I return. She would know that you had broken your promise of silence."
"And I could cut out your tongue and fingers so you wouldn't be able to talk or write," came the expected answer. "But I've said this much. I guess I owe you some answers. Only..." the Orc suddenly seemed frightened. "Could you not tell anyone else but her? It'd bloody break my heart if she got in trouble because of me. For all I know they'd kill her for it."
Theolas frowned, eyes wide at the sudden raw emotion in the Orc's eyes and voice. What in Arda is this?

Graznikh took a deep breath. "I did hunt her after that raid, and I caught her. I didn't think anything of it, it was supposed to be just another rape. Well not just 'any other'... I'd seen her in the forest at times and I liked what I saw. When I spotted her during the raid, I couldn't resist the thought of having my... hands... on her. Once I had her tied up, I changed my mind. Thought I'd see if I could make her willing."
Theolas' face went dark with rage at the Orc's words, but he restrained himself, motioning for it to continue.
"So... I told her some shit about 'Elves can survive any torture, as long as they want to live bad enough'. And that if she convinced herself to want me and what I was going to do to her, she'd live. And I'd let her go after. I really meant that last part, about letting her go. Only... something went seriously, bloody wrong."
"Because you... violated her?" Theolas spat.
"Nar!" Graznikh let out an exasperated sigh. "That's what I didn't do! I... Skai, how to explain this... For some reason I can't figure out myself, I really didn't wanna hurt her. Something changed, I couldn't hurt her. And when I did take her, believe it or not but we both wanted it. And after..." He put another branch to avoid squirming under the Elf's baleful gaze.
"Afterwards, something happened, I can't explain it! It was like a thousand ice needles pierced my brain, and she was everywhere, and then... she was inside me. I guess she experienced something similar. It's like an invisible cord tying us together. Whatever she feels, I feel and the other way around. The closer we are to each other, the stronger it gets. I've tried to ignore it, forget it, run from it, nothing helps. It's bloody terrifying."

Terrifying indeed. Theolas's anger melted away and was replaced by the horror of cognisance as he realised what the Orc was speaking of. It cannot be, his sensibility told him, it is impossible! A bond like this between opposites, surely it would kill them both!
But there was no lie in the Orc's voice, and why would an Orc claim the existence of such a bond or even have knowledge of it if it is not true? Then he thought of the emotions and affections necessary for the bond of marriage to form. And he lifted his eyes from the fire to stare at the hideous creature before him. Oh Whindaër, dear little one, if this is true...

The open revulsion in the Elf's eyes told Graznikh he had really fucked up this time. Would he be forced to kill the Elf for this?
"If you use this knowledge to hurt her," he growled, "I'll kill you. I'll make you wish you never left that cozy dungeon!"
Theolas' eyes turned to ice. "There is no need for threats, Orc. You have taken, perhaps even stolen, something very precious to me and many others. And I am not sure that you are even capable of understanding the grave situation you have placed the both of you in. I will not harm Whindaër, you need not my word on it for it will never happen! You, however, may harm her most grievously whether you are aware of it or not."
"Oh, I'm aware," Graznikh growled. "I feel it right here, remember? If I ever found out something threatened her, so help me fires of Utumno I'd run off the edge of the world to stand in its way!"
Theolas twitched as his ears stung from the dark oath. Graznikh noticed it and continued in a softer voice.
"I love her. I'm not even sure what that means and what I do know scares the shit outta me, but I do. I can't be with her, she belongs with her folk and I belong with mine, but nothing can ever take that away from me."

They watched the fire for some time, both lost in thought. Theolas had trouble clearing his mind. He was old and had walked through many horrors, this last torture being one of the minor ones despite its severity, but this... This was utterly unheard of. There was no precedent, nothing to relate to. Elves and Men could join, it was rare but heard of. But an Elf and an Orc..? This can only end in ruin and grief. He leaned back again the rock with a sigh.
Graznikh rummaged through a bag which he had brought to the cave earlier. "Hungry?"
The Elf looked up from his reverie as he placed some strips of dried meat and a yellow root on the ground next to him. "It's just goat. And a parsnip, wasn't sure if you'd eat the meat, seeing as you got it from an Orc."
Theolas picked up the root and sniffed. It was a parsnip. He had never eaten them raw before, but it did not taste that bad. After he was done, he eyed the meat strips. His hunger had awoken, so after some hesitation he picked them up as well.
He studied the Orc as he ate. There was intelligence in its eyes, despite their infernal glow. It was painfully clear that this was no mindless monster, very unlike most others of its kind that he had come across before. He had not forgotten the raid or how it had hit him, but neither could he forget that so far, it seemed intent on saving his life. He wondered if it did so to make Whindaër happy. How intelligent was this creature?
"Do you have a name?" he asked.
"Graznikh. You can call me Graz if you can't speak the whole name."
Theolas nodded. So it can understand that not everyone thinks or speaks as it does, and can adapt accordingly. The pain from his many wounds began to intensify. The Orc - Graznikh, Theolas reminded himself – noticed his wincing and handed him the small flask he had made him drink from earlier. Theolas took a sip and felt the familiar breeze as the miruvor seeped through his body. Then he took a closer look at the flask. "This is mine!"
Graznikh nodded. "I, er, held onto it. During the raid. You can have it back if you want, I've little use for it. That shit's some potent stuff though."
Theolas looked at him. "You have tasted it?"
"Aye, nearly turned me inside out the first time. Second time was easier, but not by much. I prefer ghâshpau."
"Which is?"
"Similar to that, but burns instead of freezes. And it's not as strong."
"I see."

The rest of the night was spent in silence, Theolas conserved his strength but offered to take the first watch, and Graznikh regained his by sleeping. The next morning, Graznikh turned to look outside. "It's getting bright out. Better get going, I wanna be outta the mountains by nightfall." Theolas wriggled into the bag, now with his head above the edge. Graznikh took his bow and began walking. The weather had improved and the wind was weaker, but Graznikh growled at the sun and made sure to keep his hood up. Theolas, on the other hand, marveled at the view and the clear air. As they reached the narrow pass that led to the southern forest, Graznikh noticed an Orc patrol approaching.
"Shit! Keep your head down and stay quiet. I'll try talking my way past them," he hissed. Theolas disappeared into the bag.

"Trading?"
The patrol was three head strong, and the leader was one of those priggish bastards that Graznikh had wanted to wring the neck on back in the stronghold. "We're always going north for trading. Yet here you are, saunterin' south. What're ye gonna do, trade with the Elves?"
Graznikh felt a headache coming on. "I'm not the one to tell the chief there's no one to trade with in this direction," he said. "I'm just doing what I'm told."
"I think the paleskin's fallen out o' favor," one of the prig's lackeys said.
"So what're ye tradin'? Got any booze?" The other lackey began fondling the bag where Theolas lay.
"Hey, get your hands off! It's not for you anyway!"
"Is that so?" The prig suddenly gave him a hard punch in the chest and he almost lost his footing. There was a sound from the bag as the fondler tried to snatch it. All four Orcs went very quiet.
"...Skai."
"WHAT THE FU-" Graznikh kicked the fondler in the crotch and cut the prig's sword hand off in one move. Theolas cried out as his broken feet hit the ground. Lucky for Graznikh, the patrol members were better talkers than fighters, so it was soon over with black blood splashed all over the path. Theolas eyed the grim scene.
"You are a capable warrior," he said.
Graznikh grinned. "Passable. Lucky I'm on your side." He prepared to hoist the bag up on his back again. "You okay? You look a little pale."
"It is probably just... the light..." Theolas said and fainted. Graznikh sighed.
"This is getting familiar," he said to the dead prig before continuing the walk towards the forest below.
Theolas came to as they entered the forest, just as the sun set. Graznikh signalled for him to keep quiet, then sat him down on the moss.
"Well, here we are," he mouthed. "There's a watchpost just up ahead, so I won't go further. They'll find you easily enough if ya start crawling towards them and call, but wait for a while so I can get away, alright?"
Theolas nodded. Whatever this Orc may be, he had saved his life, and turned on his own kind while doing so. Letting him leave in peace was an easy decision.
"Oh, and..." Graznikh hesitated. He gave Theolas a pleading look. "Tell Whin that... I still have it. She'll know what it means."
Theolas gave him a small smile and Graznikh could suddenly see the family resemblance. "I will give her your message. Now go."

He waited until he was certain that Graznikh had gotten away. The Orc was extraordinarily quiet for his kind. Then he called out to the watchpost, and tears of relief clouded his vision as he heard the familiar reply. Home, at last.

Chapter End Notes

Grú - appreciative term for orc woman
Ónoni - twins (quenya)
Ghäshpau - orcish Gatorade :P

The sky was dark and cloudy, the air damp from the freezing rain that had fallen for hours before nightfall. The soft wet ground dampened the footsteps of the two dark creatures that crouched in the forest outside the solitary farmstead. Graznikh took a good look around to make sure there was no one in the barn before joining Shâtaz, who was sneaking up to the front door of the house. All the windows were dark save one at the back, meaning that at least one of the tarks was awake. Whoever else inhabited the place would hopefully be sleeping.
Graznikh stopped short just inside the door. A Man cub stood on the floor, clutching an odd assortment of rags with a lopsided face sewn onto them with rough yarn. It kept staring up at him with large brown eyes. He scowled a little; Graznikh wasn't too keen on killing cubs, no matter the race. Shâtaz squatted beside him and beckoned to the cub with a friendly grin. The cub hesitated and glanced up at Graznikh, who grinned and gave it an encouraging nod. As it stepped closer, the wiry scout cocked his head curiously and pointed at the rag. The Man cub smiled back and held it out towards him. A second smile bloomed on the cub's neck as Shâtaz swiftly drew his knife across it. He caught it to keep it from making any sound as it fell and slurped quietly as he sucked the blood from its neck.
They checked the nearby rooms but found no more tarks, cubs or grown. Graznikh sneaked over to the door to the back room and pressed his ear to it. Muffled sounds of grunting and moaning were heard from inside and he had to press a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing. Shâtaz gave him a confused grin and made a gesture as if wanking. Graznikh shook his head and mouthed ”they're fucking”. Shâtaz leered and mouthed back ”kill the man first”. Graznikh gave him a look that said ”d'ya think I'm daft?” before drawing his knives. Then he opened the door and sauntered right in.

His guess was right; a Man was standing in front of a table, shirt untied and with his breeches down by his knees, with a Woman bent over it in front of him with the back of her skirt lifted. Both turned to stare as Graznikh and Shâtaz entered.
”What, still with your clothes on? An' on the table when ya have a bed like that right next to ya? Fuckin' amateurs!” Shâtaz jeered. The woman began to scream and the man roared and leapt for the sword that hung on a chair near the bed. Graznikh stopped him before he got halfway.
”Too slow,” he breathed and punched him in the face. He grabbed the man's shirt to keep him from falling as Shâtaz stabbed him multiple times in the back. Then both Orcs turned on the woman. Shâtaz caught her as she tried to flee and pushed her back onto the table.
”Since we were so cruel an' interrupted ya, allow us to finish the job,” he purred and licked her cheek. She fought him hard and tried to kick but it was futile.
”Hold her steady,” Graznikh growled. Shâtaz quickly jumped up onto the table and pressed her upper body down with his own as Graznikh tore the crying woman's skirt off. She was kind of pretty; all dark hair and blue eyes, just the way Graznikh liked them. No one could ever top his âmbal of course, but he could work with this. Since she was already wet from fucking, he did not have to use any spit. He chuckled as she wiggled her bottom in a futile attempt to get away.
”Trying to encourage me, hmm? Well, it's your lucky day then!” A few thrusts brought him inside with a low groan and the woman squeaked.
”How the fuck can she be so tight?” Graznikh groaned as he began thrusting. ”Did I miss and plow her arse or something?”
”Well, ya saw dead guy's dick back there, it was fuckin' tiny!” Shâtaz said with a grin. He sat on the edge of the table, fondling himself. ”Kiddo probably had a bigger cock than him.”
”Shut up or I'll shove my fist down your throat,” Graznikh grunted. He didn't care about being careful but humped hard and leaned down onto her, slavering and inhaling the mingled scents of fear and rut. At some point her moans changed character and he growled deep in his throat as he felt her clench repeatedly around his cock.
”What?” Shâtaz asked as Graznikh began chuckling. ”What?”
”I think she came,” Graznikh exclaimed with an astonished laugh. ”Looks like we got ourselves an Orc-fancier here!”
”Oh, that's just sweet,” Shâtaz purred and slapped the woman's rump, tearing a pained sob from her. She was squeezing her eyes shut and her face twisted with grief, fear and humiliation. Graznikh soon spent himself with a growling roar and backed away while Shâtaz took his place.
”Mean ol' bastard,” he purred in the woman's ear as he picked her up in his arms. ”Don'tcha worry, I'm far gentler than him. First, I wanna try out that fancy bed o' yours!”

Graznikh wiped his cock on the dead man's shirt and began to search the room for valuables while Shâtaz did his thing with cock and claws.
”Want another round after?” Shâtaz gasped.
”Nar, I'm done. Do whatever ya want.”
”Can ya believe that?” Shâtaz murmured into the woman's ear. ”Done after just once, bloody fool. We could be here all night, oh yesss...”
Graznikh just chuckled at that. Horny bastard. He emptied chests and bags and tore down stuff from the walls, but found little of value apart from the clumsy sword and a tankard that turned out to be made not from tarnished silver, but tin.
”Yer man's dead,” Shâtaz growled from the bed. ”Yer cub's dead. An' here you are, in his bed spreadin' yer legs for the Orcs what killed 'em! Ya sick fuckin' slut! Sick, sick, sick...” There was a loud slap and Graznikh burst out laughing as Shâtaz roared in anger.
”Ya fuckin' makatok!” A shrill wail followed, along with the sounds of a very rough fuck. He left the room to give the lovebirds some privacy and began searching the other rooms.
As he walked across the floor of what must be the Man-cub's little room, he suddenly stopped with a frown. Something had been different, just now. He retraced his steps, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He shrugged and walked forward again, only to stop at the same spot. Something was different. He began testing each of the floorboards, stepping and knocking on them until he found what he was looking for. One of them was distinctly different; it looked just like the others but it felt different, slightly more flexible and it sounded a little hollow when he knocked on it. Graznikh used one of his knives for leverage and managed to bend it up. Underneath the cub's bed, right next to the wall, was a little hollow with a lockbox in it. Score!
The box was made of steel and was adorned with a strange scrollwork pattern. It was unusually heavy, which meant that it must contain something of value, especially considering how well it was hidden. But no matter how he tried, Graznikh could not open it. Now he cursed his trashing of the place earlier; finding a key small enough to fit into the minuscule lock would be a nightmare and probably take the whole night. Instead he grabbed a bag and some discarded clothes from the main room and wrapped the box in them. Then he filled the bag with an assortment of food, tools and random trinkets. Shâtaz came out of the bedroom just as he finished.
”She's still alive, in case ya want another go,” he said.
”Nar, I'm fine,” Graznikh said. ”Had a fun ride?”
Shâtaz chuckled. ”Oh, she begged me for it in the end.”
”Begged for mercy, more like. Gonna kill her?”
”What, ya don't want a litter o' half-tarks? Think of how pretty they'll be with you for a sire!”
”Skai, that's disgusting!” Graznikh cursed and punched him hard. ”Get outta here, if you won't do it then I will.”
Shâtaz laughed and rubbed his aching shoulder while Graznikh returned to the bedroom. The woman had curled into a ball on the bed and was sobbing quietly.
”Hello again, pretty one,” Graznikh said as he climbed onto it. She struggled weakly as he straddled her, no doubt thinking that he had another rape in store.
”Bâ...” she whispered. Her voice rose to a shrill scream as he drew one of his blades. ”Bâ kitabdahê! Avalôi!!”
Graznikh preferred to stay level-headed when killing, so he fought against the sweet black urge that begged him to draw it out, to prolong the delicious screaming just a bit longer, just a little more... But as he stabbed, he just couldn't resist shoving the knife deep into her side and twist it to feel the ribs bend and separate around it. The woman's scream ended abruptly, leaving behind a satisfying silence. Graznikh sat back on his heels and admired his handiwork a little before getting back on his feet. He picked through the blood-drenched blankets until he found one without a spot. He folded it and put it under his arm.
”You're losin' yer touch, Graz,” Shâtaz said with a sneer as Graznikh returned, wiping the blood off his knife. He was out in the barn, busy stuffing various animal parts into a bag. ”Just once? What the fuck?”
”Oh, come on! Thachnar rode me hard just before we headed out, and she'll probably want another once we get back! I'm not made of rut.”
”That gal's on a roll,” Shâtaz said fondly. ”Think she's goin' into heat?”
”Probably,” Graznikh groaned as he lifted the bag after stuffing the blanket into it. ”If this keeps up, I'mma wear my dick out.”
”Who knows, maybe you'll have another litter tumblin' on the ground by summer?” Shâtaz shot him a grin as he lifted his own bag full of loot.
”Nar, she's probably just warming up for Kûtoz. I'm still just a grunt, not worthy of siring her spawn. Not sure if I wanna either.”
Shâtaz frowned. ”Why not?”
”Are you fucking kidding me? Imagine a litter with her nose and my ears, they'd be the laughing stock of the entire bloody mountain range!”
Shâtaz stared at him for a moment, then he snorted and exploded with laughter. They were both still laughing when they torched the farm and turned back towards the mountains.

Back in the stronghold, Graznikh took some tongs, a fistful of crude needles, a crowbar and a hammer from the smithies and brought them and the little lockbox to a secluded place down in the dungeons. The lockbox turned out to be a tricky thing, and far stronger than it looked. Must be of Elven make, he thought. Picking the lock proved an exercise in futility, as did finding a way to open it with the crowbar. The scrollwork on the lid reminded him of the runes that the Dwarves used for some reason. Could it be Elvish? I wonder if Whin could read it. He paused for a moment to smile. 'Whin' rolled off the tongue much easier than 'Win-daar' and Graznikh had always liked the tall evergreen shrubs with little yellow flowers that were so common in Dunland. Especially their quirk of being extremely flammable; it was one of the main reasons why there were so few tark settlements there. They tended to simply burn down in the bushfires that kept most of the land treeless. Graznikh chuckled to himself. Whin... You're kinda flammable too whever I lay my hands on ya. Skai, I miss ya!
A rat that scurried past broke him out of his reverie and made him start. The involuntary clenching of his hands pressed into two previously invisible holes on each side of the 'keyhole' and made a little peg pop out of it and the lid click open. Graznikh almost dropped it in surprise. Then he laughed. Bloody golug and their secrets. Thanks, Whin! He reached for the bond and sent some fondness into it and felt fuzzy inside as she returned his feelings. Then he made sure that no one was near before opening the box.
The contents almost made him whoop with glee. There were five little bars inside, as long as the palm of his hand and as thick and wide as the length of his thumb. Three of them were solid silver and two were solid gold, so pure and soft that he could carve patterns in the surface with his claws. In one single stroke of impossible luck, Graznikh had become the richest Orc in the White Mountains. But there was something else in there, too. He covered the little bars with a piece of cloth and lifted out the last treasure.

It was a necklace, but it was unlike any necklace he had ever seen before. There was a chain woven from silver strands so thin that they could have been spun by spiders. On it hung a little pendant, also silver, with a tiny, white, transparent gem in the middle. Graznikh stared at the gem. It looked like someone had taken a star from the sky and placed it in the pendant he now held. Several other gems, so impossibly small that they were little more than grains of starlit sand, dotted the sides of the pendant. It reminded him of the Light he had seen when his bond with Whin formed and for some reason, looking at it made him sad. He quickly stuffed it into one of his belt pockets and put the little bars back into the lockbox. It closed and locked itself immediately as he put the peg back. Gonna put this someplace safe. Then it's time to give a certain someone a visit!

Chapter End Notes

Makatok – slut (gender neutral)
Adûnaic – the native tongue of Numenor
Bâ – no/don't (Adûnaic)
Bâ kitabdahê – don't you touch me (Adûnaic)
Avalôi – Valar (Adûnaic)

The spring night was dark and the stars were veiled. The swan ships in the harbour pranced and struggled against their mooring as the wind from the mountains stirred the Sea. Whindaër turned her back to them and pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders. She could not find rest and missed the forest, but ever since the last Orc encounter she had been banned from leaving the haven altogether.
I wish that I could simply tell them the truth, she thought bitterly as she walked along the wall that surrounded the haven and separated it from the chaotic world beyond. I wish that there was someone, anyone, who would understand. But that wish would never come true, and she knew it. Orcs were little more than rabid beasts to her kin, beasts that were best put down for the good and safety of all. They had no true place in the world and caused nothing but suffering. The only good Orc was a dead one.
And it was true; uncle Theolas' wounds were a clear message for all to see. His return was nothing short of a miracle. No one knew how he had been able to crawl so far with the injuries he had sustained, and he himself would not tell. He had barely spoken to anyone since his return, choosing instead to isolate himself in his study. Whindaër did not know why and she had not asked. It seemed disrespectful to pester him with questions of things that he did not wish to speak of. Valar alone knew how she wished that she could do the same.

The watchpost greeted her with a nod as he passed. The moment he was out of sight, something stirred in the bushes below the wall. Whindaër started as she saw Graznikh's familiar red eyes peering up at her. He gave her a mischievous leer and a wink. A black-clawed finger beckoned for her to come down.
Whindaër shook her head, torn between obedience and the strong pull of the bond that suddenly blazed deep within. Graznikh's grin widened and he nodded at her. He beckoned for her again before making sure that no one would see him. Then he threw one last glance at her before scampering into the undergrowth. But he was still near; every now and then she could see his eyes watching her from the shadows. She felt determination, urgency and desire through the bond, and it told her that he would wait for her until she either went out of sight or came down to him.
Whindaër hesitated. She did not wish to anger or worry her mother, but at the same time she was upset about being caged. Whatever she may think, I am in no danger, she told herself. Not from this Orc.
The watchpost passed her again. ”Have you seen anything amiss?” he asked.
”No, but there was a badger in the bushes earlier,” Whindaër replied with a smile. The watchpost laughed quietly and Whindaër waited until he was gone before climbing down the wall. Graznikh kept calling and coaxing her to him through the bond, and she had to steady herself not to lose her footing.

Graznikh caught her the moment she entered the shadows, covering her mouth with a calloused hand and nibbling her ear briefly before letting go. Then he nodded for her to follow. As they slowly crept through the dark forest, Graznikh made sure to pick paths that even Whindaër could tread without a sound despite her inability to see in the dark and used his glowing eyes to signal for her when to stop. He seemed to know exactly when and where the border patrols would appear and covered their tracks as best he could. A few hours later, the trees grew sparse and Whindaër soon found herself standing on the edge of a tall cliff, looking out upon the Sea. The clouds had parted and the Moon was mirrored in the restless waters far below.
”Is it truly safe out here? Will we not be seen?” Whindaër asked.
”Not if we're down there,” Graznikh said and nodded towards the crashing waves below.
Whindaër stared at him. ”You cannot mean..?”
”I've got something to show ya. C'mon!” He began walking along the cliff's edge until he found what he was looking for. A little mountain stream had carved a ravine into the cliff before falling into the Sea far below. The waterfall seemed to grow wider further down, but Whindaër could not see why. Here, the cliff was rougher and for a skilled climber it was possible to climb down. As Whindaër peered over the edge, she could see a tree growing out of the rock some fifty feet below.
”Think ya can make it?” Graznikh asked as he swung over the edge. ”Only down to the tree.”
”I think so,” Whindaër replied. Now she was grateful that she had chosen to wear her tunic and leggings instead of the usual robes. She tied the shawl around her waist, then she began climbing down. Graznikh was already far below. The climb was uneventful and as she reached the tree, she noticed a large cave in the cliff side. Graznikh was already inside, leering at her.
”Ya really hafta get yourself a loincloth,” he purred as she stepped inside.
”Why is that?”
”'Cause I nearly lost my footing twice on the way here. Too busy looking at that sweet rump o' yours.” He pulled her close and slid both hands up along her thighs underneath the tunic, giving her buttocks a fond squeeze. Whindaër squeaked as she felt his claws brush her skin, but he was careful and left no lasting marks.

Graznikh took her hand and led her into the cave. It was wider further in, with hard rock making up the floor near the entrance and white sand inside. Another little stream fell down through a hole in the ceiling and formed a small pond before joining the waterfall outside. Whindaër tasted the water; it was cool and clear. The Moon shone down through the hole as well, lighting the falling water and leaving white, almost glowing patches where the rays hit the sand.
”This place is beautiful,” Whindaër whispered.
”Glad ya like it,” came a murmur from behind. She searched for Graznikh and found the young Orc sitting crosslegged on a pile of furs that he had placed in a natural corner of the cave. There was no light save for the Moon's rays, and in the alcove where he sat the shadows were even deeper. His red eyes glowed like hot coals in the night and his fangs gleamed as he grinned at her. Whindaër felt her heart-rate speed up a little as he patted the furs, remembering the way he had treated her the last time they joined and fearing a repeat. But he seemed calmer this time. Still lusting for her, still an Orc, but... calmer. As she sat down beside him, he flung an arm around her shoulders and rubbed his flat nose against her cheek, sniffing and purring softly.
”Where did you get these?” Whindaër asked, fingering the deer hide they were sitting on.
”Picked 'em up here an' there. Hunted, mostly. Why d'ya ask?”
”I was only curious.” She inhaled a little as he brushed her eartip with a claw. Graznikh shifted a little and moved closer. Whindaër closed her eyes as he began exploring her ear with tongue and teeth, grazing and soothing. After a while he could no longer resist cupping a breast in his hand and thumbed the nipple through the fabric of her tunic with circular movements. Whindaër moaned softly and he continued for a while before he withdrew with a chuckle.
”Like that, don'tcha?” He grinned as she blushed. ”But you're still afraid o' me.”
She nodded.
”Why?”
”You seem... different than last time.”
Graznikh nodded a little. ”Aye... Figured I went a little too far. I wanna do it your way this time, or more so. I'm sure you can show me how.”
”Um...” Whindaër began, then she looked away and blushed crimson.
Graznikh arched a hairless eyebrow. ”What?”
”I-I do not know the Elven way to...”
The grin froze on Graznikh's face as he processed her words. ”So...” He began laughing quietly. ”Never fucked an Elf, have ya?”
”No,” Whindaër whispered. ”The bond would not have formed had I been wed before...” The bond felt like a roiling thunderstorm on the horizon, a whirlwind or avalanche that threatened to crash into her and sweep her away at the slightest disturbance. When Graznikh lifted his head to look at her, the insane hunger in his eyes made her back away. Graznikh followed her on all fours and she whimpered as she found herself cornered against the rock wall.
”Please,” she whispered, but Graznikh did not seem to hear her. He cupped her face with his hands and forced her to look at him.
”So my little Elf was a virgin back there, was she? An Orc fucked ya right into womanhood...” He knelt before her and pulled her up into his lap. ”Had that figured out already, but hearin' it from ya like this just makes it all the sweeter,” he murmured against her neck.

He held her close for a while, nose pressed against her neck and sniffing audibly.
”Still scared, are ya?”
”Yes.”
”Wanna fuck?”
”...What?”
He grinned at her. ”I smell fear on ya, but rut as well. It's like ya want me to fuck ya proper, but're scared of it at the same time. Funny mix.” Whindaër gasped as he suddenly let go of her and began unbuckling his vambraces. The greaves, armour, sandals and his shirt followed suit before he pulled her down onto the furs and stretched out on top of her.
”Skai, you smell good,” he murmured. ”An' you never answered my question. D'ya wanna fuck?”
”I... I don't know.”
”How can ya not know? It's real simple; either you're horny, or you're not. If ya don't wanna, then tell me so; I ain't gonna force ya.” He scowled. ”Might need a good, hard wank though. 'S it okay if I look at ya while I do it?” Whindaër gave him a reluctant nod and Graznikh grinned.
”But ya still haven't answered. Fuck or not fuck?” He chuckled when she only blushed deeper. ”Little prude. Fine, I'll help ya out.” He laid down beside her and brought two fingers up between her legs.
”Feels good?” he purred. ”Want more o' this?”
Whindaër gasped and nodded.
”I wanna hear ya say it. Yes or no?”
”Yes...” she whispered and moaned as he fingered her faster. With the other hand he pulled her tunic off with a little help from her. Then he licked her neck and chest.
”Want me to lick ya?” he breathed into her ear. ”Wanna feel my tongue on your cunt, yes or no?”
Though his words were lewd and vile, the look in his red eyes was not. As Whindaër met his gaze, he gave her a hungry and almost loving smile.
”Yes,” she said, a little louder this time. Graznikh quickly slid down between her legs before she could change her mind. After some passionate licking where he drank in the scent and sounds of her arousal and savoured her taste until he was humping the furs and whimpering with need, he decided to change position. He turned until he was lying beside her with his feet above her head, leaning over her hips to reach her wetness with his mouth and rubbing his erection against her shoulder. Whindaër tried to move away at first and he could sense her unease at having that particular part of him so close to her face, but the new position meant that he could reach that particular spot where she was most sensitive better, and soon she was moaning along with every slow flick of his tongue.

After a while, he stopped and looked at her with a happy grin.
”W-why did you stop?”
”Want more?”
”Yes!”
He chuckled at the eagerness in her voice. ”Then ya gotta do something for me first.”
Whindaër blinked. ”Do what?”
”It's getting a little tight in there,” Graznikh said and nodded at his straining loincloth. Whindaër gave him a wide-eyed stare.
”Please,” she whispered. ”Please, I cannot...”
Graznikh propped himself up on an elbow. ”Why not? 'Cause I'm an ugly filthy Orc?”
”No!”
”Then why not?”
Whindaër swallowed and looked away, but he sat up and forced her head back with a steady hand. ”D'ya like me? Yes or no?”
”Yes,” she whispered. Graznikh bent down and rewarded her with a brief swirl of his tongue that made her gasp.
”Well, I like ya too. So why won'tcha help me out?”
”What... what do you want me to help you with?”
”Getting that off me's a start,” he said and nodded towards his loincloth. ”That shit hurts, ya know. Don'tcha wanna soothe it a little?”
Whindaër closed her eyes and turned her head away as he rolled his hips against her shoulder. He bit his lower lip and whined as if in pain. Then a sly leer spread on his face as Whindaër's slender fingers slowly moved closer to his belt. It was tightly tied so she had to use quite a bit of force to unbuckle it. The moment the loincloth fell off, his hard cock sprung out and smacked her in the face. Graznikh laughed out loud, hammering the furs with his fists.
”Please stop,” Whindaër begged while trying to open her mouth as little as possible. Her face had been spattered with grey precum and some of it was slowly trickling down into the corner of her mouth. ”This is not fun!”
Graznikh was still chuckling when he sat up. ”Oh come on, it's just spunk! It won't hurt ya.” He wiped some off her cheek with his thumb and licked it off, snickering at her disgusted expression. ”Stop it, it's not like yer cunt is the dryest place in the world right now either.” He helped the dispirited Elf wipe the rest off as well before leaning down to kiss her. Whindaër squeaked and turned her head away.
”Now what?”
”Not... Not when you have just...”
He chuckled. ”Ya can't say ya don't like it if you've never tasted it!”
”I like candles,” Whindaër replied, ”but I do not want to eat them!”
That made Graznikh laugh out loud. ”Fine, point taken.” He kept looking at her for a while, then he smiled and brushed her chin with the back of a finger before sitting up. Whindaër followed suit and they sat in silence for a while.
”So... You still in the mood for a fuck, or did my dick ruin everything?” he asked.
Whindaër blushed a little. ”It did not ruin everything.”
Graznikh grinned, taking it as encouragement. ”Speaking of dicks, have ya ever seen one? I mean, really looked at one?”
”A few times,” she admitted with a bashful glance.
”Oho. When?”
”When my friends and I went to bathe in the Sea.”
”Right... And did ya see it hard? Not even a twitch?” His grin widened as she shook her head.
”I did not... look at him that closely!”
”But you wanted to,” he purred. ”Admit it. I'm not judging.”
”No! I do not... I mean... I've never wanted to... Before...” She trailed off and looked away.
”Before..?” Graznikh pushed. ”Before what?” She only shook her head and it took him a while to figure out what her shy glances meant.
”Oh... Ya wanna look at my cock?” He wondered if his grin would ever come off again when she nodded. ”Oh, ya little... Oh, you! That's just cute! No, really, I'm fucking flattered here!” He chuckled as he shimmied out of his chaps and began fondling himself. ”Hey, don't be shy now. Lemme see that sweet smile o' yours!”

When Whindaër gave him one of those rare, unguarded smiles, still a little shy and embarrassed, Graznikh thought his head and heart would pop. Skai, I don't need to wank for this! Keep looking at me like that and I'll spunk without even touching it. He knelt in front of her and sat back on his heels, spreading his thighs wide to give her a good view. ”There ya go,” he purred. ”It's all yours. Look all ya want!”
Despite the indecency of the situation, Whindaër's curiosity got the better of her. Graznikh's purr filled her ears as she slowly, slowly lowered her eyes.
”So whaddya think?” he whispered after a while. ”Much different from a golug, hmm?” Whindaër did not trust her voice, so she only nodded in reply.
”How's it different? Tell me, I wanna know.”
”It is... bigger,” she whispered faintly. ”And... darker.”
Graznikh chuckled. Now that she was looking, she seemed unable to take her eyes off his cock. He took it in his hand and stroked it a little to give her a good show.
Whindaër truly could not take her eyes off it. Before this moment, she had always taken great care to keep her eyes closed or fixed on anything but him as they joined, in a vain and feeble attempt to forget his nature and the deep internal conflict his touch and the pleasure it brought caused her. But seeing the part of him that he used for such intimacies somehow made it all the more real and she knew that there would be no more escape. When she saw it the first time, she had been terrified. Not so now.
And it was different. The shaft was the same pale, grey colour as the rest of his body but the head was completely black with thick, black veins running down along the shaft giving it a gnarly appearance. The foreskin was thick and fleshy, far more so than what little she had seen of those of her own kind. As he slowly pulled it back and forth she could see it bunch and form little ridges behind the head. Copious amounts of dark grey precum leaked out with every stroke, little slimy droplets of it falling onto the furs. It was a tool built to withstand rough treatment and provide pleasure for its owner even when violently thrust into unwilling and resisting vessels. I should be finding this grotesque and repulsive, she thought. How come I do not?
Whindaër was too busy looking at Graznikh's Orcish member that she did not notice him leaning closer. She jumped a little as his hands landed on her ankles. Then he slowly, inevitably spread her legs wide and pulled her closer. She gave him an apprehensive look as he lifted her up into his lap.
”I won't force ya,” he whispered hoarsely. ”Just helping ya out a little.”
Whindaër squeaked as she felt the tip of his cock press up against her and placed her hands on his shoulders to keep from getting impaled. Graznikh chuckled and grabbed her hips but did not push her down. Instead he helped her remain like that, hovering above his crotch.
”It's all yours,” he purred as he met her anxious gaze. ”Any way ya want it. All ya gotta do is move. I can stay like this all night, so take your time, make up your mind.”

Whindaër had not anticipated this situation when she had followed Graznikh into the cave. He had always been in charge before, doing whatever he liked with her while she remained more or less passive. It had made their joinings easier to live with; a part of her still wanted to believe that he was forcing her, that she had no say in it, that enjoying it was some kind of defense mechanism that she had no control over. But this would destroy all that. Now he wanted her to take control, to do to him, with him, what he had previously done to her. This was a wholly unexpected kind of torture.
She whimpered as she felt his member pulse and move against her entrance, as if it was some sleeping beast waiting to ravish her the moment she let go. Graznikh kept studying her face with a calm, confident smile. Every time he exhaled, he did so with a nearly inaudible purr. The dark hunger still filled his eyes, but he seemed determined to have her move first. She could feel him through the bond, eager but hovering just out of reach, coaxing her closer the way he had done by the haven's wall.
”What're ya afraid of?” he whispered. ”I'm not gon' hurt ya.”
”Myself,” Whindaër whispered back and he chuckled a little.
”Well, I just hafta convince ya to trust yourself, then.” He leaned in close to her neck, not to bite but to kiss. Whindaër gasped in surprise and almost lost her hold. Graznikh's grip on her hips grew stronger and held her up while she steadied herself.
”Easy, there,” he purred against her neck. ”It's a long way to fall.”
He kissed his way first down over her breasts, probing each nipple with his tongue until Whindaër was squirming and moaning, then up along her neck and jawline. Every now and then his fangs would graze her skin and send shivers down her spine. When he reached her chin, his tongue trailed upwards until it found her lips. She caught his lips almost instinctively and returned his kiss with equal passion.
Perhaps it was his unexpected tenderness; that he treated her like a lover might do. Perhaps it was that he did not invade and overwhelm her like he had done the previous times, but waited for her instead. Whatever the reason was, Whindaër could feel her resolve slip. Her strength seemed to seep out of her with every brush of his lips against hers and the grip on his shoulders became harder and harder to maintain, his coaxing through the bond a calling too powerful to resist.
Meanwhile, Graznikh was swiftly losing what little self-control he had. This close to her he could not keep from feeling every trembling sigh and smelling her growing arousal. I can't fucking believe this! She's horny as all fuck and her cunt keeps trying to suck my dick in; what the fuck's she waiting for, the next bloody Age?!
When he finally felt her relax and sink down on him, he broke the kiss and let out a strangled cry. Whindaër gasped in surprise and tried to pull away, but he held her down.
”Did I hurt you?”
”Nar,” he gasped and let out a throaty chuckle. ”Just took me by surprise, 's all. Well, go on,” he purred. ”Don't mind me. I'm all yours!”
Whindaër did not understand what he meant at first, but then he moved his hips a little and gave her an encouraging nod. She moved her own hips a little, and after a bit of experimenting she found a position that let her move with ease, leaning back with her hands placed upon his knees. The feeling of him inside her was not as intense and overwhelming as when he was in control; it was calmer, giving her time to feel and follow. The silence was only punctuated by her sighs, the murmur of the waves and the needy growls reverberating through her Orc's chest as he let her take control.

Graznikh was not overly fond of playing the submissive part like this. It was a snaga's position and one he usually reserved for when one of the stronger Orc women bowled him over and he could not get away until she had gotten what she wanted. Bending over backwards for someone weaker, for an 'enemy' and an Elf at that... If my bandmates saw me now, I'd be back in the mines in no time. Or used for sport, more likely. But this was Whin, his band was not here and if this was what it took to make his âmbal a little more receptive of him, then he would roll with it.
And he had to admit that it was a pretty sweet sight. The pace was nowhere near hard enough to get him off, but he learned a bit from watching the subtle shifts in her eyes, face and breath as she rode him. Soon he was purring with every downward thrust of her hips and his pelvis rhythmically rose to meet her.

Suddenly Whindaër stopped moving with a gasp and steadied herself with her hands against Graznikh's chest.
”What? Why d'ya stop?”
”My legs are tired... Oh!!” She cried out in surprise as he grabbed her knees to keep their loins from dislodging and sat up abruptly, making her fall flat on her back onto the furs. His strong hands and heavy body pinned her down and filled her up; he chuckled darkly as a moan escaped her lips.
”So what'll it be, hmm?” came the gravelly purr in her ear. Whindaër tried to rock her hips to increase the pleasure but he would not let her. He simply pressed into her and held her hips in a vicelike grip even though he was trembling from restraint and his claws kept pricking her skin where he held her down. Somehow it both hurt and felt good, frightened and excited her all at once.
”Please,” she whimpered. ”Please...”
”Nar, no begging me like a snaga,” he purred. ”You're in charge now, you tell me what to do.”
”Please, let me... Give me...”
”Fuck off with that! I'm your snaga for tonight; nothing's gonna happen unless ya say so.” He ground his cock into her for encouragement, tearing another, louder moan from her before holding still again. ”Now you tell me what ya want me to do. You want me to fuck ya, I'll do that. You want me to roll over and go to sleep, I'll go bloody berserk but not at you.”
Whindaër hesitated. She wanted this, wanted him so badly... But could she do it? Words had power; could she take the words he wanted her to say in her mind and mouth without falling to corruption beyond all hope of redemption? Then all of a sudden he was so close, his face a mere finger's breadth from hers, his musky scent filling her nostrils, his smouldering eyes in the dark filling her vision and rendering her blind to all else. I am there already.
”F... f...” Whindaër stuttered and Graznikh gave her an insanely eager grin as he slowly pulled out. Oh Valar, I hope we are far enough away from the border! What if someone hears us? ”Fuck me.”
It was little more than a worded breath but close as he was, Graznikh heard it just fine. It was all the command he needed. He could feel her excitement and anticipation through the bond, pulling at every fiber of his being and threatening to dissolve him in those blue eyes that mirrored his own need so well.

Whindaër clung to her Orc as he began to move and pressed her lips to his shoulder to muffle her moans as all rational thought faded from her mind. It felt so repulsive but so good, so wrong but so right; if his grotesque member went just a little further in it would surely rend her insides beyond all healing, but somehow it never reached that point. She cried out in horror and ecstasy as his vigorous thrusting began to overwhelm her; she reached out through the bond to feel something other than the carnal invasion she was subjected to. The moment they connected, Graznikh's growl changed into a sound halfway between a bellow and a howl and his movements briefly grew even more frantic before he spent himself. He pulled out and the last few jets of black semen spattered onto Whindaër's abdomen.
”Are you finished?” she whispered as he caught his breath with his head against her chest. He peered up at her with a lecherous grin.
”Are you?” He chuckled as she shook her head. ”Well, that won't do, will it? Besides, I woulda thought you knew by now that once doesn't cut it for me.” Spittle dribbled down his chin as his cock sought and found the way back in. ”Âmbal...” His hands found her breasts and he teased her nipples as he began to thrust again, slower than before.
”Stay with me now, âmbal,” he purred. ”Don'tcha get lost in yer head again.” His voice grew increasingly hoarse as her breathing grew more laboured. ”Look at me. Shut down the rest; just feel.” One hand sneaked down to tease the sensitive spot below and his mouth found the now abandoned breast.
”C'mon âmbal,” he coaxed, ”don't stray. Come to me. Come for me.” The last sentence he growled and relished her shuddering gasp. ”Gurb âmbalai, gurb opâshug...”
”Hold still!”
Graznikh froze. ”Huh? What's wrong?”
”Don't stop!” Whindaër gasped. ”Keep touching, only... hold still inside.”
He happily obliged and Whindaër moaned as the sensation of being filled to near bursting while fingers and tongue flicked and tickled became too much to bear. The climax rolled over her like slow but strong waves, intensified by the pulsing of his cock.
”Sha kalkam!” Graznikh groaned in delight as her little nails dug into his bicep. He let her catch her breath a little before leaning in close. ”Ya finished?”
Whindaër gave him a mischievous little smile as she shook her head. ”Are you?”
”Like fuck I am,” he growled and lifted her hips up into his lap. ”You told me to fuck ya an' I will. I'll be good to ya, you'll see...”
Then he took up the same rapid, insane pace as before and pounded her well and truly into oblivion.

Later, when their heart rate and breathing had almost returned to normal, Whindaër suddenly felt the need to relieve herself. After convincing Graznikh to turn his back and making sure that he did so, she hurried over to the cave entrance where the little stream joined the larger waterfall outside and squatted in the shallow stream. When she turned back after splashing some water on her privates to clean herself she found Graznikh watching her with a lazy smile.
”You promised not to look!” she said with a furious blush.
”I don't get it,” Graznikh replied matter-of-factly. ”It's just piss. It's not like you were busy shoving a fish up there or something. Speaking of piss...” He chuckled at the perplex Elf before following her example over the cliff's edge. ”Oh, come on!” he exclaimed when he noticed her having her back turned. ”You've been all over this all night!”
”This is different!” Whindaër protested.
Graznikh rolled his eyes. Elves... He shook the last droplets off before pulling the foreskin down and returning to the furs. Whindaër was still blushing and refused to look at him, so he decided to change the subject. With a wince he realised that he had clawed her hips up pretty badly; little lines of crimson crisscrossed them where he had grabbed her in the heat of passion.
”I keep forgetting how thin-skinned you are,” he murmured as he knelt beside her. ”Gotta start minding my claws a little, or I might hurt ya bad.”
”They will heal,” Whindaër replied softly. Then she spotted the marks she had left on his arm. ”Did I do this? I am so, so sorry!”
”Nar, fair's fair,” Graznikh grinned and brushed her chin with a finger. ”I clawed ya, 's only right that you gimme a little something back.” As he sat back on his heels, he paused a moment to look at her. ”So where are they?”
”Where are what?” Whindaër asked.
”All the scratches and stuff I gave ya last time.”
”They have healed.”
”Hnh...” He looked disappointed.
”What is wrong?”
Graznikh shrugged with a disappointed little scowl. ”Nothin, I'd just hoped... Well, that I'd left something. A little mark on ya somewhere, anywhere.”
”But you have.”
”Oho. Where?”
Whindaër placed a hand over her heart with a smile. As Graznikh shook his head and began to laugh, she looked down with an embarrassed look. It was not the reaction she had hoped for. Graznikh felt her disappointment through the bond and lifted her chin with a claw, still chuckling.
”That's just cute,” he purred. ”Buried my fangs right into your heart, did I?” He stretched out beside her. ”It's good, but not very visible.”
Whindaër shivered a little as a claw scraped the skin at the nape of her neck.
”Right here,” Graznikh murmured and pinched the muscle gently. ”Right here's where I wanna place it. Then it won't be seen when you wear those clothes with high collars ya fancy, but it'll be right in sight if you strip or get stripped.”
”Place what?” Whindaër whispered.
”My mark. Y'know, mating scar. Basically, I bite ya somewhere easily spotted and you do the same on me. If you were an Orc or a Dunlending... Or a tark I guess, it'd leave a really pretty scar that'd tell others that we've fucked and that it was good. What?” he asked when he saw Whindaër's pale face and horrified expression.
”But... why?”
”To brag, of course! To show others that I'm a good enough fuck that even an Elf bit down hard enough to mark me. As for you, well I just like the thought of you having it. Knowing that even if I die tomorrow, there'll be something of mine left on ya, something that can't be washed off or thrown away or forgotten so bloody easy. By others, I mean.” He leered. ”Guess I want others of your kind to know the truth; I was there, I was first, no matter if ya find a pretty little Elf cock or ten to fill the gap when I'm gone. Skai, if I could I'd saunter right into that stronghold o' yours and tell every last golug bastard in there the truth! That you're my fuck, my mate, my âmbal, my Elf! Mine!” The last possessive words were growled into his Elf's ear. Whindaër gasped in horror and Graznikh's eyes softened as he licked her cheek.
”Don't worry, I won't do it. Or mark ya. No point if it's gonna fade the moment ya heal. But if I did, I'd make sure it didn't hurt all that bad. Perhaps I'd do it while I fuck ya, right when you hit the peak. You'd be so busy coming hard on my cock that you wouldn't even notice it. And if you wanna mark me in that way, feel free to. Do it here,” he said and pointed at the skin just below his jawline with a big grin. ”My hide's thinner there, so ya might just be able to break it. And I wanna carry it where it's spotted right away!”

But Whindaër was not worried about the pain, nor the fact that he wanted to bite her. Not at the moment. She was staring at Graznikh's chest, neck and shoulders. Never before had she wondered where all the large pinprick scars and strange bitemarks that dotted his upper body came from, but now the answer stared her right in the face. Never before had it crossed her mind that there might be others, that there were others, and many of them. Some of those scars were fresh, one not yet fully healed. Too fresh.
Graznikh yelped in surprise as she pushed him away and leapt to her feet. She ran over to the cave entrance where she fell to her knees and began to cry. Graznikh stared after her in complete befuddlement, dumbfounded by the intense grief that radiated from her.
”...Was it something I said?”
When Whindaër did not answer, he got to his feet and squatted beside her.
”Hey.” He patted her shoulder. ”Is this 'cause I wanna mark ya? I told ya I won't do it. I wanna, but I won't. Can't bloody well stop wanting it, now can I? Âmbal, look at me.”
She shook her head. Her mind babbled incoherently as she tried to comprehend what was going on within her. This was something he had never encountered, never heard of, never even imagined could happen and least of all to her, and she had no idea how to deal with it. The notion of having more than one lover was as inconceivable to her as him not understanding the concept of love.
Graznikh began to feel frustrated when she refused to acknowledge him.
”Can't bloody well fix things if ya won't gimme something to work with,” he growled. ”Don't even know what it is I'm supposed to fix.”
”You could have said that there were... others...” Whindaër whispered. Graznikh looked at her with a bewildered frown. Then he began to laugh.
”Hold on; you're upset 'cause I fuck others? Izzat it? Oh, for fuck's sake!” He laughed even harder when Whindaër nodded with a dismal scowl. He rose and tried to pull her to her feet.
”This is no laughing matter, let me go!”
”Hey now, don't struggle. It's kinda far to fall from up here.”

Once they were a secure distance from the ledge, Graznikh let Whindaër go. She turned her back to him and he hugged her from behind. She tried to shrug him off, but he ignored it.
”It's just fucking,” Graznikh murmured in her ear. ”It's no big deal! I don't like ya less just 'cause I stick my dick in others!” He desperately tried to remember what that tark Bardoc had introduced him to had said about Elves and fucking.
”So, um...” he began, but Whindaër interrupted him.
”I do not know what to do,” she said with a bitter voice. ”At times when we speak together it feels as though we are so close, almost touching, and then...” She swallowed. ”Then the ground falls away before my feet and a chasm opens, so dark and so vast that I cannot even see the other side. And I want so badly to bridge it, but when I look upon it, I know...” Her voice broke and she turned suddenly and fell into his arms with a sob. ”I look upon it and I know that I can never, ever do it. It frightens me and I fear that I will lose you forever!”
Graznikh stared at nothing in particular as his shoulder grew wet from her tears, perplexed and unsure of what to do with this. In the end, he simply hugged her and held her close, nuzzling her neck and stroking her back. Eventually the sobs died down, but she did not speak or move so Graznikh spoke instead.
”Does it make any difference that outta all those I've fucked; you were the only one I thought worth going through all the hassle to catch? T'was no bloody accident, back during the raid. I wasn't all that keen on fighting Elves, but I tagged along 'cause Tarnakh told me to. And when I saw ya standing there...” He smiled at the memory. ”Everything just faded away; the battle, the spoils... Everything. All I could think of was; there she is. There's the one I've been looking for, the one I've been waiting for. My âmbal.” He brushed the tip of a leaflike ear with a clawed finger.
”Does it help at all to know that outta all those folks, you're the only one I keep running my soles off across half the bloody mountain range for, over and over? I risk my life breaking into an Elven stronghold, even tangling with a few of 'em, just to get to you. No matter how many others there are, I'll always come running back to ya.”
He shrugged. ”And fucking others... Well, it's like wanking, only I use another body for it.” He played with a tress of her dark hair and marvelled at how soft it was. ”My heart's not in it. Half the time I think o' you when I do it. The other half I don't think at all. It's never like that when I'm with you. When I'm with you, I'm there with all o' me, all the time, from the start right 'til the end. And it's good. Skai, it's good!” He chuckled. ”Nothing like them others. Every time I stick my cock in ya, I almost feel like I'm gon' die from how good it feels. And it's not just the fucking. It's... talking, sleeping, walking, eating... All of it. All good.”
Whindaër looked at him from the corner of her eye, and suddenly Graznikh had no idea where all the words had come from. He gave her a sheepish little grin.
”Are all Orcs like that?” she asked quietly.
”Like what?”
”Doing... such things... with others? All the time?”
Graznikh chuckled. ”Nar, not all the time. And not... Well, some folks do it with several at the same time, but I've never been one for group sports.” Whindaër's disgusted scowl made him snicker. She flinched a little as he pawed her hair, but did not move away.
”So... Elves're... with just the one? Forever and always?”
”Yes... And no.”
”Huh?” Graznikh frowned in confusion. ”That's no answer.”
Whindaër smiled a little. ”We wed only the one; the bond between fëas can only form once and for all. But the... bodily union...” She blushed. ”The longing for physical touch... Only lasts for a certain while. It fades with time and is replaced by other kinds of longing, or so my mother says.”
Graznikh's face fell. ”Wait, what? You just stop fucking one day and that's it?”
”I... Suppose...”
”Well, fuck that!” he snarled. Whindaër squeaked as he made her meet his gaze. ”And I mean it! I like fucking, I like doing it long, hard and often!” He brushed her chin with a finger and gave her a cocksure grin. ”You stick with me âmbal; I'mma show ya what fucking an Orc's all about.”
Despite herself, Whindaër felt her breath quicken as he purred softly and rubbed his nose against hers. For a brief moment there was nothing but then and there, and oh how she wanted that moment to last! But...

”I cannot stay,” she whispered.
”Skai, I know,” Graznikh hissed back. ”Can we just drop that for a little while? We're here together right now, screw the rest!”
”Will there ever be a time when we must not hide?”
He shrugged. ”Dunno. Maybe some other place and time. But not here, not now. Too much old, bad blood.” He grinned. ”Maybe when I've got my own stronghold and a band o' trusty lads 'neath me. Then I'd bring ya there and we'd be together, and if anyone says shite about it I'll kill 'em. Your folks'd be welcome too, I guess, so long as they don't try to fucking kill anyone. That'd be something, eh? Orcs'n Elves working together. We'd throw the tarks right back into the Sea and then the forests and the mountains'd all belong to us!”
Whindaër stared at him for a while; then she gave him a brief smile. Graznikh returned it and hugged her a little harder.
”But 'til then, we just gotta lay low.”
”I only wish it was not so,” Whindaër whispered.
”Well, ol' Kurrush used to say that if wishes were candles, the whole world would burn.”
Whindaër surprised him by laughing a little. ”You are content then? With everything?”
”Didn't say that,” he replied and brushed a few wayward strands of hair away from her face. ”But this, right here, right now... It's worth all the wait.”

Whindaër quickly washed the blood and semen off in the clear, cool water of the pond and began to dress.
”Where d'you think you're going?” Graznikh asked as he sat down on the furs.
”Back home,” she replied.
”Like fuck you are.”
She looked up. ”But... my family no doubt worries for me. They will begin to search and-”
”Get. Back. Here.” The command was growled with bared fangs and a glare that dared her to do anything but obey. Trembling a little, she returned to the furs. Graznikh gave her a sly grin and bumped his nose against her cheek once she was back in his arms.
”There ya go. You're not going anywhere tonight. I even got us a new blanket. We've got time now; let's use it.”
Even as he wrapped the patchwork quilt around them both and settled down to rest, Whindaër remained tense. The look he had worn as he commanded her back to bed haunted her in the dark; it had brought her near instinctual fear of Orcs to the surface. Now she could not forget nor ignore his nature; it was there in his musky scent that invaded her nostrils, in the unfamiliar heat emanating from his body, in the clawed hand that rested on her hip and in every purring breath. His temper was so unpredictable and his mood swings so sudden that she had no way of knowing how he would react to even the slightest thing she said or did. She knew that he was capable of tearing her apart, and even though he had not deliberately hurt her physically she feared the moment when that would change.
”Scared again?” Graznikh asked.
”Yes.”
”But I'm just lying here.”
”I know,” she whispered. He grinned and she could see the red gleam of his eyes as he opened them a little.
”You get scared o' the weirdest stuff.”
She looked away. ”Why do you want me to stay?”
Graznikh frowned in confusion. ”What kinda question's that?”
”An honest one.”
He snorted. ”Ya don't like being with me?”
”That is not what I meant!” She gasped as he rolled over and quickly turned her back to him. He pulled her close and whispered in her ear.
”D'ya like me? Yes or no?”
”I... like parts of you. Some parts scare me.”
He grinned. ”Y'know what I think?” Whindaër shook her head. ”I think ya like those other parts too. I think this is another case of 'Elves don't do that'.” He spooned her and placed a black-clawed hand on the furs, in front of her face where she could not avoid seeing it whenever she opened her eyes.
”I think you like being scared,” he murmured in her ear. ”I think you were always a bit on the wild side. Other little Elves liked useless dresses and green stuff and pretty songs, but you ran in the forest, seeking borders and limits, hmm? Little whirlwind with long, dark hair. And then you ended up in that ambush and crossed a border ya couldn't get back from...” He nuzzled her hair as she let out a quiet sob.
”But I wanna know one thing,” he continued. ”When you saw me during that raid... Why didn'tcha run? You just stood there until that other guy bowled me over. If you'd bolted earlier, ya might've gotten away, or gotten yourself killed. None o' this woulda happened. So why didn'tcha?”
”I had a vision...” Whindaër whispered.
”Vision?” Graznikh frowned. ”What, you're a... A dushatar?”
She frowned, not knowing what that meant. ”I have the gift of Foresight, but it is nigh useless. It is too weak, too unpredictable. The visions come so close to what may happen that I rarely have time to warn others if things are to go wrong. And most of the time they are only minor, pointless visions. Before the raid, I... I knew that something was about to happen that would change everything, and that it would happen to me.”

Graznikh sniffed behind her ear as she spoke, and when she fell silent he looked at her for a while with a sly leer before he spoke. ”You're hiding something. You're scared and you're lying. Funny how the bond and your scent always say the same thing. What is it you don't wanna tell me, hmm?” Whindaër gave him a tortured glance and buried her face in the furs, unable to shut out his hoarse rumbling laugh as he continued. ”Perhaps you recognised my face the moment ya saw me..? Perhaps ya knew what was gonna happen after? What'd ya see in that vision o' yours?”
”I saw... you. Your face, above me. And I felt you, inside me.”
”What, you saw us fucking?” He chuckled a little as Whindaër nodded. Her distress was delicious, now that he knew the cause for it.
”I did not know what it meant at the time,” she whispered. ”I knew that you were not going to kill me, but other than that I had no clue what was about to happen.”
”And when ya screamed, when we woke up afterwards..?”
”I became aware of the bond forming and I understood the full meaning of the vision I had had. It frightened me, oh it still does!” She struggled as he turned her over on her back. ”Let me go!”
”Funny little Elf. You're scared o' the one who can't hurt ya, but you don't have the wits to be scared of those who might.” He leered at her. ”And if you try to run from me, I'll track ya down. I'll find ya and I'll do this to ya over and over 'til you give in. So you better get used to being an Orc-fancier, golug âmbal, 'cause this Orc sure as fuck won't let ya go.”
Whindaër stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. Graznikh grinned and pulled the quilt tighter around them both. Then he held her close as she burst into tears and cried herself to sleep against his chest.

Chapter End Notes

Gurb âmbalai – my sweetest
Gurb opâshub – lit. 'my desire-source', the source of my desire
Sha – interjection similar to English 'wow' or 'gosh'
Kalkam – leather armour, foreskin (I honestly can't remember why using that particular word seemed like a good idea)

A fire crackled merrily on the white sand when Whindaër woke up. The quilt was snugly tucked in around her and a heavy arm rested upon her hip. Another lay beneath her head. Graznikh purred as she stirred and she turned to look him in the eye. ”You gonna scream again?”
”Again?”
He grinned. ”Last time we woke up together ya tried to scream my ears off.”
”...I am sorry.”
”Quit saying that,” he murmured. ”Own it. You wanna do something, then do it. Don't bend over backwards trying to please others, they'll never be happy 'bout it 'til your back's broken anyway.” He nodded towards the fire. ”Ya hungry? I caught a chicken earlier. Bit scrawny, but I'd wager there's enough for both of us.”
He got up the moment Whindaër nodded, his hand trailing the length of her leg as he did so. After digging around in his belt pockets for the comb, he tossed it in her lap and Whindaër took the time to comb her hair while he turned the spit with the roasting bird.
”This thing's gonna be as dry as a sharkû's shank,” Graznikh grumbled as he poked it.
”Did you not find any clay?”
”Clay?” He frowned. ”Why'd I need clay?”
”It helps retain the juices when cooking over open fire,” Whindaër explained. ”You cover the meat with a layer of clean clay and place it in the hot coals. The clay will dry and prevent the moisture from evaporating.”
”Hold on,” Graznikh said with a disbelieving grin. ”You Elves put bloody mud in your food? Are you for real?”
”Not in the food!” Whindaër protested as he began to laugh. ”Only on the outside. It makes the meat more tender and-”
”That's bloody ridiculous,” Graznikh snickered. He laughed even harder when he spotted the scowl on Whindaër's face.
”Perhaps you should try it before dismissing it so readily!”
”Why'd I ruin my meat with stinking dirt? Who the fuck told ya shit like that?”
Whindaër looked down. ”Hiswion, one of the marchwardens. He... died in the raid...” She got to her feet and began to walk towards the cave entrance.
”Whin..?” The laughter died in Graznikh's throat when he touched the bond. He quickly got up and hurried after her. ”Hey, where're you going?”
”Perhaps it is better that I return home,” she said with a quiet but steady voice.
”Oh c'mon, ya can't leave already! You haven't even tasted the chicken!”
”It is no chicken, it is a capercaillie. And you said yourself that it may be too dry.”
”Well, we don't know that, do we? Why don'tcha try some before... you... oh, you little minx,” he grinned when he realised that she had expertly turned his own joke back on him.
Whindaër did not look amused or smug in the slightest. ”Are you going to keep me from leaving?”
”Nar,” Graznikh muttered. ”Kinda hoped you'd stay a bit longer, but... I'm not gonna hold ya captive.”
”Why would you even want me to stay? So that you can continue ridiculing me?”
”I didn't mean to... Skai...”
Whindaër winced at the sound and turned her back to him. ”For all I know, Hiswion would still be alive if not for your raid. My uncle would still be well, and-”
”Yer uncle?” Graznikh perked up. ”He's alive then?”
”He is,” Whindaër whispered. ”Barely.”
Graznikh grinned a little. ”Don't tell me he blamed me for everything.”
Whindaër frowned. ”This is no laughing matter! Once he had healed enough to walk without help, he locked himself within his study. He has barely spoken to anyone since! I overheard Elveanië speaking with my mother, and... From what she said, I am glad I never saw the wounds myself.”

So he didn't pass my message on... So much for trusting Elves. Graznikh focused on the bond as Whindaër spoke. What he picked up made his insides squirm. How can anyone feel that many different things at once and not go crazy from it?! Trying to focus on a single emotion in the torrent was like trying to keep one's eyes on a single grain of sand in a whirlwind; impossible and futile.
”Whaddya want me to say? That I wish none o' this had ever happened? Can't do that, âmbal. For all the shitty things that happened, I still got you. Now I might've wanted some things to be different. If I'd known what I know now, I woulda...” He scowled a little and fell silent. If he had known what he knew now, would he have done things differently? And would that 'differently' have been better or worse for her? Then he grinned a little and met her gaze again.
”If I'd known what I do now, I woulda gone straight for you instead of cutting those other guys down first. It mighta happened anyway though, if they tried to keep me from ya. Some things woulda been different, but this,” he motioned in the air between them, ”woulda been the same. No change there; don't want none.”
Whindaër's face was so impassive that he had to touch the bond again to figure out how she felt about his words.
”You are cheating,” she scolded.
”'Course I'm cheating; I'm an Orc,” Graznikh grunted. Then his eyes widened as she turned her back to him again with an exasperated little sigh. She squeaked as he yanked her arm and spun her around to face him.
”Don't,” he growled with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. ”Don't you dare.”
”Wh-whatever do you mean?”
”Be pissed at me if ya like,” he growled. ”Feel free to blame me for the deaths o' your bandmates or whatever ya call 'em. But don't you fucking dare gimme the 'eww, Orc' look! I could dredge up a bloody wasp's nest of times when golug fucked with my folk, but I don't 'cause you're here'n that changes some things for me! So don't you bloody fucking dare pull that shit on me in turn! You wanna go Elf versus Orc'n trade insults then be my guest, go right ahead! But I'm warnin' ya; I could come up with a few what'd give ya nightmares for moons to come.”
Whindaër stared at him as if he had grown a second head. Her mouth opened and closed repeatedly as if she wanted to reply in kind but could not find the words. Graznikh could not help but grin a little; he needed no bond to figure out her state of mind now. Confusion and outrage were written over her face as clearly as it would have on that of any Orc in the same situation, and Graznikh could not keep from rejoicing a little over having broken that damned Elven poise once more.
”C'mon,” he said softly and nodded towards the fire. ”That capiche'll be burned to a crisp if we don't check on it.” The sudden change of subject along with the incomprehensible mispronounciation made Whindaër laugh out loud. Once she regained control, she looked every bit as surprised over her own outburst as Graznikh felt.
”Good,” he purred. ”Now you're starting to get it.”

The bird turned out not to be even half-cooked. Graznikh kept muttering over it as he scraped the coals closer together and put more wood on the fire. Whindaër took the opportunity to try to calm the storm inside. No matter his skill, she did not trust Graznikh to be capable of outdoing the marchwardens, many of whom had centuries of experience in the art of tracking. Her ears wanted to distort every little sound from the outside into the sound of approaching danger and she could not keep from glancing nervously at the hole where the little stream entered and the smoke left. Graznikh eventually noticed her squirming and called her out on it in his usual flippant way.
”Expecting a dragon attack?”
”I cannot help but fear discovery,” she replied. ”I have no wish to see you dead should the marchwardens find us.”
”They won't,” Graznikh said. ”How long d'ya think I spent tracking their movements? It's bloody obvious your stronghold's never been attacked; your guards're too punctual.”
”My mother will not simply have them search the forest and the borders. If I am not there they will roam further, and they will know to search for Orcs.”
”I know what I'm doing. We didn't leave enough tracks for 'em to follow.”
”And what of my fate? How upset will she not be when I disappear without so much as a note of warning and then return several days later without being able to tell where I have been or why?”
He looked up from the fire. ”Then lie. Make up a story 'bout how you wanted a flower that only grows behind an Olog's shithouse on the other side o' the mountains or something.”
”I cannot lie to my own mother!”
”Why not? I lie to my sire all the time; how d'ya think I manage to get to you?”
”But...”
Graznikh silenced her by placing a clawed finger on her lips. ”Y'know what? Fuck what your family thinks. You wanted to get outta there, didn'tcha? You said so yourself. So I'm of a mind to stay a little longer than I planned at first. I covered our tracks well'n good; they won't find us here. Nothing to worry 'bout, âmbal. We've got all the time we want.”
”But I must go,” Whindaër protested. ”I was not to go beyond the walls, the longer I stay the more trouble I will be in!”
”Will you get a beating? Think they'll whip ya?”
”What? No!”
”Then what'll they do? And why can't you go out all of a sudden?”
”Because of what happened last time,” she tried to explain.
Graznikh frowned. ”Last time what?”
”The last time we... met. My brother spoke freely of the Orc that assaulted him and hunted me down. I was already made not to go outside the haven without company, and when that proved not to be enough I was not let out at all!”
”What, they grounded ya for being attacked? That doesn't make sense.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. ”Did they see the scratches?”
”No, I did not let anyone see me undressed until they had healed.”
”What's the big deal then?”
Whindaër sighed as she stretched out on the furs. ”My mother only wishes for me to be safe. Knowing that Orcs have attacked me not once but twice, she fears for my life and safety. I can understand her fear, but I wish that she would see that keeping me locked up will not make things better.”
”Not a bit,” Graznikh murmured and placed a hand on her thigh. ”You're here now, aren'tcha? Right within an Orc's reach.” Whindaër's only answer was to blush a little.
Once he judged the bird done, he broke a wing off and handed it to his Elf. ”Here. Eat.”
Whindaër was not particularly hungry, concerned as she was over what might happen should they be discovered, but she dared not say no. They ate in silence.
 

Graznikh sniffed the air. The hand that held the meat fell down into his lap and he gave her a sullen, disgruntled look. ”Y'know, for all your pretty words you're one selfish little bitch.”
Whindaer stopped eating and gave him a wide-eyed stare. ”What?!”
”You were trapped in there. You, not me. Everytime I touched the bond I felt ya being miserable and sad. You, not me. So I go risking my life trying to get you outta there and cheer ya up a little; fix a nice place to stay, get food'n drink, make it so we don't hafta rush things'n can get to know each other a little. Make things good. But you keep treating me like I'm your fucking opa-snaga; you just want a ride off my cock and then scurry back to your comfy haven and pretend nothing ever happened! 'S that all I am to you?!”
”Of course not,” Whindaër replied once she found her voice again. ”I am sorry for... For being so selfish. I did not think...”
”Now, see; that's the problem,” he interrupted, gesturing with the half-eaten bone as he spoke. ”You think too much. Whenever we're not fucking, you're everywhere but here. We could be having a sweet little moment to ourselves here, but you're too busy worrying about what your jailors think! And you won't even give a little something back to me 'cause 'eww Orc'. Did ya ever notice that I actually wash every time before I come get ya? Probably not. And those furs'n quilts weren't easy to come by and smuggle all the way out here without some nosey bastard following me. But that doesn't matter, 'cause 'eww Orc'.” He threw the bone into the fire and looked away with a sulking expression. ”Elves... Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.”
He threw a quick glance at said Elf as he suppressed a grin. She had covered her face with her hands and was sobbing quietly.
”I am sorry,” she whimpered. ”I truly am! You are right; I have been selfish and cruel! I did not consider that I might be as incomprehensible to you as you are to me.”
Now he could not keep the grin away any more and turned back towards her. Nincompwhat..? ”You're not selfish, âmbal. That's another problem; you keep worrying so much 'bout what others think that you forget yourself.”
Whindaër surprised him by crawling over and wrapping her arms around his neck. Graznikh placed an arm around her shoulders and combed her hair a little with greasy claws.
”Ya really need to learn to live in the now, little windelf. Gimme a little o' you for a change. Forget the outside, be selfish. Right now it's just you, me an' this here chicken.” He gave the carcass a sceptical glance. ”Or whatever it is.”

Whindaër returned his smile and caressed his arm. He took her hand and placed it upon his bara chest with a hopeful grin. After a moment's hesitation Whindaer complied and began to caress his chest and abdomen with both hands. Graznikh leaned back and closed his eyes with a contented sigh and she could feel his ribcage vibrate from a near inaudible purr. After a while he rolled over and presented his scarred back to her.
”Not like that,” he said as she began to caress him again. ”Use your claws.”
”But... I do not have any claws.”
”Doesn't matter. Do like this,” he showed her by clawing the furs. ”Scratch me, as hard as ya can.” He squirmed a little as she complied. ”Harder!”
Whindaër's nails were not as hard and sharp as Orc claws and she could not break his tough hide, but the blunt scratching sensation was uniquely pleasant and Graznikh let out a loud groan as she dug them into his back. ”Sha âmbal, that's good!”
”Does it not hurt?” Whindaër asked with a giggle at his purrs and winces of obvious pleasure.
”What, those blunt little things? Nar, I don't think you could hurt me even if ya wanted to.” He savoured the moment a little longer before turning over to face her. ”That's something you should work on, âmbal. Sometimes it's good to hurt others.”
Whindaër frowned. ”I have no wish to do that.”
”Doesn't matter. Ya never know when someone might turn on ya.”
”There is no reason for-”
”Oh, there's plenty o' reason. The biggest one is us. And there're plenty o' folks out there who don't need a reason, they'd hurt ya just because they can. The next guy who wants to fuck ya might not be me, you might not wanna and he might not give a shit about it. 'S not something you can talk your way outta, no more'n you could with me. Then you might wanna be able to give him a good reason not to. A kick to the balls might or might not work; a knife to the balls is better.” He grinned mirthlessly at her pale face. ”Don't tell me it never crossed your mind after that raid.”
”Of course it did! When last we met, my brother was giving me a lesson in archery.”
”Bows, huh? That's fine, if ya see them coming. Whaddya do when they're already up close'n personal?”

Graznikh chuckled at her concerned expression. Self-defense was something every Orc cub learned from a young age with their mother being the one to give them their first lessons before they had even learned to walk. Although cubs were rarely killed by adults, it was not uncommon for them to die during violent play or from pranks or bullying. Orcish life was all about survival of the fittest and Whindaër's painfully obvious lack of experience in that field made Graznikh a little uneasy.
He decided to put her to the test. He sprung up from the furs and caught Whindaër in a rough embrace, making sure that her arms were free. This was something his nanny Hoshash had done to him a lot as a cub; a simple lesson in grappling.
”Looks like you're caught,” he purred. ”Try to get outta this one now.”
Whindaër gave him a confused smile. She placed her hands upon his shoulders and tried to push him away, but he held her fast. Next she tried to pry his fingers loose, but that did not work either. Wriggling out of his grip proved equally futile.
”You are holding me too tight. I cannot break free.”
”Don't tell me you're giving up already,” he teased.
”Tell me then what to do.”
”Can't figure that out yourself?”
”No, I cannot think of any way I would succeed without hurting you.”
”That's it! Oops,” he added when she twitched and covered her ears. ”Didn't mean to shout. But that's the whole point; if someone grabs ya like this, you should hurt 'em. Remember what I told ya earlier?”
After a moment's thought, Whindaër blushed and gently lifted a knee to Graznikh's groin.
”Oh, thats just cute,” Graznikh purred. ”Trying to flirt with me, are ya?” He nibbled her neck and tickled her with his claws until she was squealing and truggling to break free for real. Eventually he let her go and Whindaër fell down onto the furs, gasping and giggling.
”You are cruel!”
”Sure am,” Graznikh chuckled as he squatted over her. ”That's the spirit I like! Next time I wanna see ya put some effort into it, or you'll get another taste o' these.” He wiggled his claws at her. ”And if ya do it good, ya might get some o' these...” He tilted his fingers a little and wiggled them in a different way, one that made his Elf blush.
”What need have I for the causing of pain,” Whindaër asked softly and placed a hand on Graznikh's knee, ”when I have a seasoned warrior protecting me already?”
”Well, I won't be able to be there all the time...” For some inexplicable reason, Graznikh's heart felt like it was swelling in his chest at the words she had said and his face grew slightly hot. He scratched his chest and looked away while fighting down the violent emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
Whindaër felt as though she would go mad from joy when Graznikh glanced at her and gave her that wonderful, warm grin of his. How did she ever think him ugly? She held her arms up towards him and he stretched out on top of her with a happy purr. They remained like that for a long while, resting in each others' arms and quietly delighting in each others' presence.
”You're scaring the shit outta me at times, âmbal,” Graznikh murmured. ”Nar, don't pout; I don't mind.”
”How so?”
”'S just... Sometimes ya look at me and all of a sudden I've no bloody idea what's going on.” He rubbed his nose against her cheek. ”Feels like you suck the bones right outta my legs. I'm kinda glad it doesn't happen more often or I'd be bloody useless in a fight.” Whindaër laughed at that and he growled jokingly. ”Watch it; you're doing it again!”
She gasped as he pretended to collapse on top of her. ”Have a care; I cannot carry your full weight! No!!” she squeaked and grabbed his hands as he purred and tried to tickle her. He looked up and before he could say anything she kissed him. Graznikh returned the kiss, though he was more interested in sniffing her out than rubbing lips and tongues together. But the way her scent changed during the kiss made him decide that he could happily live out the rest of his life just like this.
Whindaër broke the kiss with a giggle and lifted a hand to her mouth.
”What? Didn't bite ya, did I?”
”No, but my lips tickle when you purr.”
”I know another place what might tickle if I purr there...”

Whindaër blushed as he pulled her close and inhaled her scent with deep breaths.
”Know what?” Graznikh asked. ”We really should try that play again some time.”
”Try what?”
”That raid-play we came up with the first time. You get some unsuspecting idiots together and go for a stroll in the mountains, while I get some trusty lads for my part. Then we set up an ambush, slaughter the idiots, then I 'catch' ya and we fuck on the bloodsoaked ground 'til we faint. Whaddya say?”
Whindaër gave him an appalled stare and Graznikh did not need to touch the bond to tell that he had said something stupid. Eventually she found her voice and he almost wished she hadn't. ”YOU WOULD SACRIFICE INNOCENT LIVES FOR YOUR PERVERTED PLEASURES?!”
”I was joking! Skai, pushdug plashnak ologûb,” he growled and rubbed his stinging ears.
”A joke..?” Whindaër gasped. ”How insensitive could you possibly be?! I lost family and friends in that raid yet you wish for a repeat?”
”Hey, I lost some pals there too but you don't see me go crazy every time it's mentioned.”
”They cannot have been very close to you if this is how you honour their deaths!”
”Honour their..? Oh, for the everloving fuck, they're dead! They don't give a shit if I 'honour' them or not!” The strange, eager look in his eyes as he paused suddenly made Whindaër afraid. ”Doesn't keep me from wanting to avenge their deaths though.” She took a step back but Graznikh caught her with a low growl. ”Wouldn't mind killing a few more golug just to prove the point.”
That made Whindaër terrified and she grasped at straws in a desperate attempt to skirt the fact that her Orc had just expressed a wish to murder even more of her people. ”So... you kill for vengeance? Because our marchwardens had slighted you or killed others of your kind for no reason? Not because you... like it?”
Graznikh leered and Whindaër could not help but stiffen a little as he pawed her: she could feel his claws prick the skin on her back and the bond was like white-hot steel in her mind.
”Oh, I enjoy killing,” he purred. ”I like the way their eyes look when they know there's no way out, the way the hope dies in 'em just before the light goes out... The way their faces twist when the pain makes 'em stop thinking, stop working, and then it stops and they think it's over for now. Only it isn't... The only good Enemy's a dead one and the slower the death, the sweeter it feels... The way you looked when you thought I was gonna kill ya.” His chuckle turned Whindaër's blood to ice and she could feel the heavy beating of his heart as he pulled her close and nuzzled her ear. ”Ye're scared again.”
”How could I not be?” came the terrified whisper.
”Think I'm gonna hurt ya?”
”Will you not?”
”Nar. You're no Enemy o' mine. Your folks might be though, if they keep standing between me and what I want.” He withdrew from her ear and gave her trembling lower lip an annoyed look. ”Don'tcha start crying again! Toughen up a little, for fuck's sake!” Graznikh did not expect her to do so and became brightly surprised when Whindaër swallowed hard and forced the tears back. ”Will ya look at that; she's learning!” He chuckled when he noticed the little gleam of insulted defiance that appeared in her eyes.
”And if someone were to hurt or kill me? What then would you do?”

Graznikh slowly lifted his head to stare at her as if she had hit him. Then his face twisted in an insane, murderous grimace and he shoved her down on the furs with a furious roar. Whindaër screamed in fear and surprise, but all he did was pounce her with a snarl and embrace her so hard that she had to struggle to breathe.
”If that ever happens,” he growled near her ear once he found his voice, ”I'll shove my knives up their arse so hard it'll get fucking stuck in their nose, then I'll string 'em up in their own bloody guts! I'll... I'll thrakat za-hosh za-prapharnabul izu!”
”Please,” Whindaër whimpered. ”Graznikh, please... You are hurting me!”
He did not seem to hear her at first, but kept clutching her tight and snarled at the cave entrance as if someone would come through it at any moment and steal her away from him. Then he snapped out of his rage and pushed her away as if she had burned him. Whindaër rolled away with a gasp. When he looked at her, he seemed afraid. He was afraid; the bond could not lie. Whindaër felt bad for pushing him into this outburst as he turned away and curled up against the wall, confusion and fear thundering through the bond.
”I am sorry,” she whispered.
There was a brief flash of red in the dark as he glanced at her. ”Why?”
”For upsetting you.”
”Always with the courtesies,” he muttered with a weak snort. ”Nar, 's just...” He looked apprehensive. ”Didn't think it'd be this strong. When you said that, I saw it happen, right now. And...” He shook his head and detached himself from the wall. Then he rolled the tension out of his shoulders until they cracked. When he met her eyes again, he felt much calmer, and determined. ”If anyone tries to hurt ya, I'll kill 'em. Doesn't matter who or what it is; I'd go toe-to-toe with a dragon if I had to. You're my âmbal, I can't let anyone hurt ya. And if it happened... I think I'd kill myself. Not sure I could go on living after that.” He scowled a little at his own words. ”Skai, you're messing with my head! I'm not used to being like this. Never happened before.” Then he frowned. ”You never said if you wanted to do that raid-play or not.” He gave her a mischievous grin and winked as she stared at him.
Whindaër simply could not be upset anymore; she was too exhausted, so she began to laugh instead. Graznikh's surprised look only fed her desperate amusement until she buried her face in the furs, weeping from hysterical laughter. Graznikh soon collapsed as well, roaring with laughter and gasping for air.
”Skai, we're so fucked-up, the both o' us!”
”I cannot say that I know what that means,” Whindaër giggled.
”What, fucked-up? Seriously?” He grinned as she shook her head. ”It's... I guess it's when you're wrong in the head. Do stupid stuff for no reason and get in trouble all the time.”
”If someone else had asked me, I would have guessed that that is what Orcs always do.”
”Nar, not all the time!”
”Are we, then?”
”Well, if someone were to find out, we'd be in a heap o' trouble, wouldn'tcha say?” The bond told him that her mood was clouding over again and he quickly came with some way to take her mind off the topic of discovery. ”So do Elves curse?”
Whindaër gave him a confused look. ”Curse?”
”Yeah! Y'know, like 'skai' or 'sha' or... Golugob karkû!” Whindaër shuddered despite not knowing the meaning of the words and he snickered. ”So gimme something back! Do yer worst!”
”I-I don't know what...”
”Oh, come on! Just tell me I'm stupid, or ugly, or that I stink like I just took a dip in the jakes! Anything!”
She frowned a little. ”In Quenya?”
”Yeah, Elf-speech!"

Whindaër studied the furs as she thought, picking at the soft hairs. Then she blushed and mumbled something that Graznikh couldn't quite catch.
”Huh?”
”Faicalyë...”
Graznikh gave her a thoroughly disappointed scowl. ”What, that's it? What's it mean?”
”That... you are... bad.”
”You've got to be joking! Tell me I'm ugly.”
”Úvanimalyë.” She laughed a little as Graznikh buried his face in the furs with an exasperated groan. ”I fear the tongue of my people is not made to utter such things.”
”For the everloving fuck, is there anything you Elves can do right?!” The odd feeling through the bond made him lift his head to look at her, and suddenly he grinned as he remembered a similar conversation, long ago. ”So what's the Elvish word for 'fuck'?”
Whindaër blushed. ”Puhta.”
Graznikh sighed. ”Shoulda guessed. Sounds bloody boring, like... hump-hump-spunk, like it'd be over in a heartbeat.” He inched closer until they were almost close enough to touch and looked deep into Whindaër's wide, blue eyes.
”Opakarkat,” he said with a leer, making sure to pronounce the 'k's and 'r's deep in his throat in that growling manner in which Orcs spoke. ”That's 'fuck' in Orcish. Now there's a proper word for it; you can almost feel what it means, hot'n sweaty, all clinging'n writhing'n humping 'til you're so spent you can't move.”
Whindaër could feel herself blush again, but not because she was embarrassed. She wanted him, the more she looked into those red eyes the more she wanted him. He simply lay there with that sly smile that told her that he knew exactly what was going through her head, nostrils flaring a little with every breath. Eventually she could no longer keep quiet.
”Meranyë cuivalyelmë puhtanyenen.”
”Now that sounds kinda interesting,” Graznikh replied with a teasing purr. ”Care to tell me more?”
”I want you to... wake me up... by...”
Graznikh cocked his head and gave her a thoughtful look. Whindaër thought that perhaps he did not understand her and dearly wished that she could be as outspoken and careless with words as he. She realised how lewd and wrong her suggestion was and immediately regretted having uttered it out loud at all. Surely he would not comply!
Graznikh bared his fangs in a lazy grin. ”Oh.”
Whindaër looked away. ”Please... forget that I said anything,” she whispered. ”It was unseemly and-” She fell quiet as Graznikh chuckled.
”Un-what..? Nar, that does sound interesting. Like fuck I'm gonna let this go! Wicked little Elf... I might be willing to entertain that kinda thought... But not tonight. Better to save some, 's better with a little pent-up horniness to spice things up with. What?” he asked as Whindaër sat up.
”I want to ask you something.”
”Go ahead.”
”You keep saying that Elves cannot do anything 'right' and that I should change, presumably to be more like you. I will not omit that I sometimes wish that I was more outspoken, but... Do you truly want for me to change so much that nothing of the one you say you saw in the forest years ago remains? Is there nothing about her that you would prefer was left intact?”
It took a little while for Graznikh to piece together what his Elf had just said. ”Err... Didn't say that. You heard me yesternight, right? I like ya, wouldn't stick around if I didn't.”
”Yet you keep badmouthing me whenever I appear too 'Elven' for your liking.”
”That's not-... It's just that sometimes you act bloody weird and I just wanna put some sense into it! C'mon, don't tell me there's nothing about me you wouldn't wanna change? Am I the perfect guy?”
”You are... the perfect 'you', I suppose. There are things about you that I am not comfortable with, traits that frighten me, but... I do not wish to change those if you do not want to yourself.”
Graznikh frowned. ”Why not?”
”What do you mean?”
”If there's stuff 'bout me that you don't like, why not tell me to change?”
”Because such a change must come from inside, from a true wish to change! It cannot be forced.”
”Why not?”
”Because then it would be a falsehood, a mask worn only when I was around. There would be no meaning behind it.”
”So? I make the snagas at home change all the time. They do some stupid shit that pisses me off, I make 'em change.”
”And do they continue to act in this 'improved' manner when you are absent?”
”The fuck do I care what they do when I'm not there to get annoyed by them? So long as they don't muck shit up for me, I don't give a shit.”
Whindaër frowned. ”And you would have me act in the same manner? To... pretend that I am someone else, only when you are around?”
”Nar, didn't say that. I wouldn't make ya change, t'was just a suggestion.” He grinned. ”'Sides, I told ya I've changed a bit for your sake. I wash, remember?”
”And that is a change I never asked for,” Whindaër replied with a warm smile, ”but which is all the more appreciated for that very reason.” Graznikh squirmed and purred happily as her gratitude and love washed over him.
”So Elves never change?” he asked once he had regained control of himself. ”If everyone stubs their toe on the same bump in the road every morning, no one'll ever go for a chisel but leave it like that and keep stubbing?”
”Of course not!” she giggled. ”But a stone in the pavement will not complain about its change. Changing a living thing, however... the wise regard it as a great evil.”
”Ya don't know that,” Graznikh said with a mischievous grin. ”Maybe every pebble in your fancy walls're screaming in agony an' call ya out as cruel torturers every time you pass, only you can't hear it.” He snickered at Whindaër's horrified look. ”Nar, I'm just playing! C'mon âmbal, don't gimme that look.”

The Sun had long since set, and now the Moon rose low over the Sea and bathed the little cave in its pale light. The alcove where Graznikh lay remained dark, but Whindaër was far enough out on the edge of the furs to be caught by the light. Graznikh's eyes widened as her skin caught the moonlight and began to glow, as if she was a statue carved from marble. The only parts that remained dark were her eyes and her hair, the latter glistening as the rays hit it where it spilled over her shoulders. He had to reach out and touch her to make sure that she was still there and solid. His hand looked dull and dead in comparison.
”Now this is just bloody creepy! Why the fuck d'you glow?!”
”I do not know,” Whindaër replied. ”Why do your eyes glow in the dark?”
”Err... 'Cause I'm an Orc?”
”Then I glow in the moonlight because I am an Elf.”
”As good an answer as any, I suppose,” he grunted faintly. Then he shrugged and sat up with crossed legs. ”Wanna hear a song my band sings at times?”
Whindaër looked away from the Moon. ”Orcs sing?”
”Sure do. Wanna hear?”
”I would love to,” Whindaër replied. Graznikh returned her smile and waited until she had moved out of the light and wrapped herself in the quilt before he cleared his throat. Then he began to clap his hands and slap his thighs in a strange, almost hypnotic rhythm that was difficult for her ears to follow. After a while he began to chant along with the claps, growling and purring as if exaggerating the already guttural Orcish tongue.

”Huish, kasbat! Fashkaumi flakat!
Fâshur agh vrât! Khmugat, karkat!
Gorat, gorat, lomutikh taikat!
Kusn luzh pauat agh luzh khmugat,
thluk, thluk, gâ matatulûk!
thluk, thluk, gâ matatulûk!

Golug dhaubat, tarki zêmarpak!
Gâ sadaukat, gâ zâdûkatûk!
Agh luzh rezhdat, luzh lômuratag!
Zaghishi-ûk gâ ti za-shatarg!
Dû gâ ti ushatâri!
Dû gâ ti ushatâri!”

He scowled when he was done. ”Sounds a bit meek when I do this alone. Usually we're ten or fifteen, all bashin' their shields or armour and roaring it at the sky. It's bloody amazing when it's sung like that!” He turned towards the Sea with a grin and bellowed.
”DÛ GÂ TI USHATÂÂÂRI!!!”
Whindaër twitched at the sound. ”Have a care, someone might hear!”
”Right... Forgot 'bout that.”
”What does it mean? The... song you sang?” She paled a little when Graznikh translated the lyrics. ”Do you truly think so little of the... Free Peoples?” Whindaër bit her tongue. She had almost said 'other Free Peoples'. But Orcs were no People... or were they?
Graznikh shrugged. ”Not sure 'bout Elves. I like you well enough,” he flashed her a teasing leer, ”and Dwarves're just annoying. But tarks? Fuck 'em. They keep killing us like flies.” His grin changed, and the expression he now wore sent chills down Whindaër's spine. ”And we keep breeding like flies and kill 'em back.”
”You do raid their villages and traders,” Whindaër pointed out.
”So?” Graznikh growled.
”Well, perhaps... If you stopped doing that... Then perhaps... They would leave you be.”
Graznikh sighed and shook his head. ”Y'know what? Some folks tried. Y'know what happened to them?”
Whindaër thought that she already knew the answer, but shook her head.
”They died. Every last one of 'em. Some of 'em were stupid enough to go down to one of the tark settlements. Pagog thought they could treat with the tarks, ask them to leave 'em alone if they did the same. Know what the tarks did?”
Whindaër swallowed hard and shook her head again.
”They peppered 'em with arrows and put their heads on pikes outside the walls. So nar, gurb âmbalai, there won't be 'peace'. Ever.”
They sat in silence for a while. Whindaër did not know what to say and Graznikh seemed to be deep in thought, watching the Sea.
”Would... Would you like for me to sing something for you?”
Graznikh looked up and gave her a lopsided smile. ”Sure.”
Whindaër cleared her throat and calmed her breathing. Then she began singing the oldest and most beautiful song that she knew.

”A Fana-lossë! Heri silma!
Tári Ëari pella Númenyë!
Calina men i ranyar
sina mi aldarembëa ambar!

A Elentári! A Tintallë!
Sinomë nu i aldali háya
men enyalië marë
silmelyo or i Ëari Númenyë...”

When she fell silent, Graznikh made an uneasy grimace and wiggled his nose. Then he scratched his ear and shuddered slightly. ”Can'tcha sing something that doesn't... creepy-crawl as much? I mean it's pretty an' all, but... Skai! Feels like I've got fire ants 'neath my skin again!” He smiled and lifted Whindaër's chin when she bowed her head with a sad frown. ”Hey, don't be like that! You've a pretty voice. Don'tcha know any songs in whatever we're speakin' now?”
”The Westron tongue?”
”Yeah, whatever.”
”My people rarely make songs in this tongue.”
”Hnh... Can't ya make one up?”
”Um... I am afraid that I am not very good at that.” Whindaër blushed and Graznikh chuckled.
”Tell ya what; you make a song in Weshwhatever and I do the same. Then we sing 'em to each other tomorrow night!”
Whindaër smiled and nodded. This was like the poetry nights in the haven, when a couple would sometimes write poems to each other and recite them. This was always greatly appreciated, for most Elves rejoiced in witnessing such declamations of love. Songs were a little harder, but it could be done. Then she realised that she had just compared the two of them to a pair of Elven lovers and recoiled a little from the thought. But not as much as she should have done...
Graznikh stretched and yawned. ”Skai, I'm tired! Thinking o' turning in for the night. Whaddya say?”
Whindaër was not very tired, but nodded nonetheless. But after crawling down underneath the quilt, Graznikh kept tossing and turning restlessly.
”Are you well?” she asked.
”Mrf,” Graznikh grumbled in reply. ”Can't find a good spot. Whole place is lumpy.”
Whindaër smiled and sat up. ”I could sing you a lullaby if you wish.”
”Whazzat?”
”It is a song made to help you sleep. My mother used to sing it to me, when I was little. It is about an Enting.”
Graznikh gave her a sceptical glance; he had no clue what an 'Enting' was. ”More Elvish?”
”Well... Yes, but I could try to translate it, if you wish.”
He nodded and placed his head in her lap. Whindaër scratched him behind the ear and began to sing softly.

”Of pine tree-root is your little foot
of pine tree-branch are your little arms
of wood are your legs and body.
Your hair is brambly but oh so soft
and within your eyes as you're tucked in the moss
there glistens a small tear of resin.

Now sleep, my friend, under moss and fen
As Sun-ship travels beyond our ken
Beyond the trees in the forest.
Where'er you wander the roads of life
remember this shelter beyond war and strife
Among the trees in the forest."

"I am afraid that it is not a very good transla-...” she began, but fell silent. ”Oh.” Graznikh was fast asleep with a little smile playing upon his lips, purring a little with each breath. Whindaër smiled and watched him sleep for a long while before returning to the warm safety of the quilt. He looked so peaceful, now that the tension had left his face. He reminded her of an overly exuberant puppy that had been hurt one too many times for its rambuctious behavior and that had begun to resent the world for it. Despite her previous thoughts and feelings she wanted to shelter him and show him that there was more to life than constant strife and struggle for survival. How I wish that I could be as careless as you, my Orc. If only there was a place for us; somewhere we could live the way we want to without fear of judgement. But I fear that it may be as you say; in another place and time.

Chapter End Notes

Pushdug plashnak ologûb – stinking troll cunt
Pagog – idiot
Thrakat za-hosh za-prapharnabul izu – Bring/take the intestines out through their back
Gurb âmbalai – my sweetest
Meranyë cuivalyelmë puhtanyenen – I want you to wake me up by having sex with me

Whindaër's song is my own Quenya translation of the first and last stanzas of the ”Elven Hymn to Elbereth” written by J.R.R. Tolkien.
Melody: ”A Elbereth Gilthoniel” by Helen Trevillion.

Graznikh's song is inspired by the Goblin-town song from ”The Hobbit”. Translation:
Swish, listen! The whips crack!
Thrash and urge on! Laugh and fuck!
Work, work, don't dare to sneak
While they drink and they laugh
Enough, enough, we kill them all
Enough, enough, we kill them all

Elves suffer, Men are cowards!
We attack, we destroy all!
And they flee, they fear us!
In all the mountain passes, we are the storm!
Now we are warriors!
Now we are warriors!
Melody: the drum sequence in the beginning of ”Sarah” by Cultus Ferox.

The lullaby is my own rewrite of a song called ”En Tallerot” from an old Swedish children's TV series called ”Barna Hedenhös” (”The Hedenhös Children”). All of the songs can be found on YouTube.

Whindaër would have loved to stay in the wonderful dream a little longer, but something slowly drew her out of it. There was a strange sense of urgency that called to her and she seemed unable to draw enough breath no matter how she tried. As she resurfaced from sleep, she was awash with pleasure and desire from both bond and body. She opened her eyes as the spasms of her orgasm faded and looked into Graznikh's red ones. He gave her a mad, horny leer as he licked his fingers.
”Good morning, âmbal,” he purred as he pushed her over and crawled on top of her.
”What..?” Whindaër asked but her voice faltered as he licked her ear and entered her from behind with one slow, deep thrust. His higher body temperature meant that his flesh felt like a hot, slick iron rod wrenching its way inside, but without the pain that would normally accompany such an intrusion. Then there were no more words, no more thoughts. She could feel her fëa shudder even as she lifted her hips to meet him.
Graznikh groaned as he felt her grow tighter with the approaching climax. The bond always felt funny when he fucked her, as if some part of her still resisted him even as he made her beg for more. He decided that he liked it; he could imagine that he was taking her by force but without actually harming her. It was decidedly better than the real deal. But he could not resist giving her neck a few nips as she shouted her climax into the furs, shortly followed by his own.
”Now how's that for a wakeup call?” Graznikh purred once he had caught his breath.
”Not very good,” Whindaër replied and smiled mischievously as his face fell. ”What is the point of resting when you exhaust me anew the moment I wake up?”
”Isn't that the whole point o' resting?” Graznikh replied with a grin and patted her butt as he got up. ”Besides, you begged for it!”
Whindaër blushed as she watched him get up, still licking their fluids from his fingers. Tentatively she touched herself and studied the black slime coating her fingers as she withdrew them. There his scent was the strongest, musky and overpoweringly strong, but to her surprise she did not find it as repulsive as she had in the beginning. After a while she rose as well and went to wash herself in the stream.

Graznikh squatted by the fireplace and after lighting the fire, he watched her with a contented smile. It was difficult to admit, even to himself, but he had been a bit nervous about spiriting her away like this. Not about them being discovered; he trusted his own skills. But he had worried that perhaps she would prove to be too Elvish, that once he got to know her better he would not like what he found. Or the other way around; that she would not like him. That woulda been a serious problem, if this bond-thing is a permanent as she says.
Graznikh did not consider himself a coward. He preferred to walk face first into problems and work with what he had rather than try to run from them. The situation that had arisen with Whin was a rare exception, but Graznikh was not sure that there had even been a problem in the first place. Everything had gone so bloody well! No fighting at all, she had not even tried to punch him when he upset her. In Graznikh's opinion, that was as close to perfect as things could get. I wonder if she holds back 'cause she thinks I can't handle it, or 'cause she doesn't know how to? The events of yesternight returned to him and he turned her words over in his head. It was difficult to believe that she could just accept annoying things like that. That there were things he did or said that pissed her off, but which she would never call him out on. It was unsettling and he decided that she had to be exaggerating. Everyone wanted to be in control, that was just a part of life. Either you were in charge or someone else was. Either you gave orders or had to obey, and the less there was of the latter the better. Too much of it and you were snaga, and Graznikh did not want to associate his Elf with that word.
But at the same time she seemed so very sincere, or acted the part at least. There was not the slightest hint of deception in her scent or voice and now that he thought about it, she had never been smug or ridiculing either. She had never even called him a weird idiot, and that happened on a near-weekly basis in the band. But then there was that other thing she had said...

Why would she learn to fight when she has me to do it for her? That had been a real slap in the face, claws and all. His first impulse when it happened had been to slap her back, but that had made him feel sick so he had reined himself in before he could act on it. Had any one of his bandmates said the same, that phrase alone would have been excuse enough for planting a knife in the throat of the bastard who said it. You didn't say that kind of shit to someone you wanted to stay on good terms with.
The thing that had stayed Graznikh's hand was the way she had said it. Whindaër had not said it the way someone who wanted to shove him into the dirt would. Instead, she had used the same tone of voice that she had used when implying that Graznikh had marked her heart, and that had been a real sweet thing to say. It made him suspect that she had meant something similar with the insult and that it had only come out of her mouth horribly wrong. But then his Elf was so good with words that she made him feel like a half-wit most of the time; it did not make sense. The more he tried to figure it out, the more confused he got.
”Graznikh?”
Graznikh jumped and let out a surprised squeak when Whindaër spoke his name.
”I am sorry,” she said as she sat down beside him. ”I did not mean to frighten you.”
”Nar, didn't scare me,” he muttered and shot her a lopsided grin. ”Just startled me, 's all.”
Whindaër smiled back. ”Then I apologise for interrupting your thoughts.”
Graznikh worried his lip and stared into the fire with a frown. ”Say... When you said that thing 'bout not having to fight 'cause I'd do it for ya... What'd ya mean by that?”
Whindaër thought for a moment before answering. ”I meant that... Even if I were to begin practising this very moment, I do not know I would ever become as good in combat as you no doubt are. You have experience of a kind that I doubt that I would ever get, and would be my superior for many years yet. And having such an experienced warrior by my side makes me feel safe.”
Graznikh arched a hairless eyebrow. ”Safe? The other night you were scared near bloody witless.”
Whindaër looked away. ”You do frighten me at times... But you also make me feel safe. It is... complicated.”
”Understatement of the age,” he muttered. ”Sounds more like you're fine with being a useless weakling, just 'cause I'm here to do the dirty knifework for ya.”
”Is that how you see me?” Whindaër asked stiffly.
Graznikh laughed a little. ”Well, ya gotta admit you're not much use in a fight.”
”There is more to life than combat.”
”Oh yeah? Prove it.”
”Are we not proof enough?” Whindaër whispered.
Graznikh had no idea what to answer to that and looked away with an uneasy scowl. Then he heard her whisper, almost too quiet to hear: ”If you think me so worthless, you could teach me some of what you know.”
”Offering to teach me how to read, are ya?” He looked up with a mischievous leer as he heard her gasp. ”I won't give it away for free, y'know.”
Whindaër looked away with a frown and at first, Graznikh thought she would refuse again. But then she smiled unexpectedly and gave him an almost wily look.
”Very well,” she said, ”let us barter. I teach you how to write your name, and you teach me some of what you know about fighting. That is my offer.”
”Just my name, huh? Ya greedy little... Fine! Deal.”

Whindaër sat up and moved over to the edge of the furs. There she smoothed out the fine sand and drew a horisontal line with a finger. ”Let me think... How is your name pronounced?”
”No idea,” Graznikh replied as he squatted down beside her. ”I don't even know what a 'prune-ounce' is.”
”Pronounced',” Whindaër corrected him with a giggle. ”It is how you speak a word or a name, what sounds and syllables it is composed of. My name is pronounced 'whin-DA-er', three syllables and seven letters; two tengwar, one carrier and three ómatehtar.” She wrote her name on the sand as she spoke. Graznikh stare at the 'letters'; to him, they looked like a wriggling mass of curves and lines and dots that made no sense whatsoever.
”Can'tcha, err... just write my name? D'ya have to get all technical about it?”
Whindaër gave him a confused look. ”But... If you do not know the basics of the writing system, how will you know what it is you write or read?”
”I'll... just take your word for it?”
”But then I could write that you think with your rear and claim that it is your name,” Whindaër giggled, a little scandalized over her own audacity.
”Watch it,” Graznikh growled. ”Keep sweet-talking me and that lesson later'll turn into wrestling of a different sort!”
”'Sweet-talking'? Is this how Orcs woo each other?”
”Dunno, what's 'wooing'?”
”When you show another by speech or actions that you enjoy being in their company in a romantic way.”
”Huh...” Whindaër kept looking at him in that odd way that made his insides grow warm, and Graznikh looked away feeling embarrassed and strangely happy. Skai, what a woman!
”Very well,” Whindaër said after a moment. ”I shall teach you how to write your name. But I still need to know exactly how you pro-... I mean, how you say it, so that I can choose the right letters.”
Graznikh scratched his head as the thought. ”Well... first there's 'graz', meaning 'cold'. Then there's '-znikh' which means 'bastard' or 'devil' or 'annoying bloody pest'. What?” he asked when he spotted Whindaër's horrified look.
”Why would anyone name their child that?!”
”...'Cause I am a cold bastard?” He grinned when her expression changed from horror to pity. ”Oh come on! It's just a name! Besides, I like it.”
”I-I am sorry,” she said and looked down. ”It was thoughtless of me.” Of course an Orc's name would mean something awful. At times it is too easy to forget what he truly is.
”Why, what's your name mean?” Graznikh asked, interrupting her thoughts.
”It is composed of 'hwindë', which means either 'birch' or 'whirlpool', and 'aër' which means 'days'.”
”So... 'Days o' the birch'?” He shot her an incredulous glance as she nodded.
”Or 'Days of the whirlpool', but the underlying meaning is the same; I was conceived in northern Enedwaith on a morning in early spring, when the ice was melting in the mountains and the leaves of the birches had just sprouted.”
”...Right.” Graznikh snickered. ”Still better than 'Lómeyello'.”
”Better than what?”
”T'was a rogue tark I met in Dunland. His sire wanted to use Elven naming ways for him, and picked the only thing he could come up with from the moment he was, uh, 'made'.” He grinned as Whindaër let out a very un-Elvish snort and began to laugh out loud. ”I know, right? I can bloody imagine the whole thing!” He stood up on his knees and thrust his hips obscenely while making a sound more akin to a braying donkey than any Man, making Whindaër laugh even harder in the process. ”Oh, come on, it wasn't that fun.”
Eventually she stopped laughing. ”That is not how the naming is supposed to be done!” she giggled.
Graznikh's grin faded. ”That's what you were laughing at?” He snorted when Whindaër nodded. Bloody weird Elf... Ah well, at least she's laughing.

”So,” she said, still giggling as she sat up. ”Where were we?”
”My name,” Graznikh said with a grin.
”Ah, yes. So... 'Graznikh'. 'Graz-znik'.”
”'-zniKH',” Graznikh corrected. ”Not just 'k', but 'kh'.”
Whindaër frowned. ”Like... A drawn out 'k'?”
”Yeah, that sounds 'bout right.”
”Hm...” She sat deep in thought for a moment, then she began to write but hesitated at the last letter. ”'Kh', 'kh'... I do not know if that sound even has a tengwa! The closest is 'sh', but that is not correct.”
”What, ya can't write my name 'cause there're not enough signs? That's kind of a dealbreaker, isn't it?”
”I suppose,” Whindaër murmured sadly. She started a little as Graznikh knelt behind her and placed his hands on her waist.
”So let's rework the deal; I teach ya some fighting techniques and you come up with a new name for me.” Whindaër slowly looked up at him as if he had just confessed his undying love for her, and Graznikh began to wonder if he had gotten himself into another trap.
”You would let me do that? Truly?”
”Sure,” he replied with an unsure grin. ”Âmbal.” The light in her eyes as she smiled could have rivalled the Moon. ”But first I'mma give ya that lesson. Getting bloody restless, just sitting here.”

”Right, he said once they were facing each other on the wide strip of sand on the other side of the pond. ”I figure grappling's a bit advanced; you'd be better off simply avoiding getting caught in the first place. Ya know how to roll?”
”I can roll,” Whindaër replied with a smile, ”but I am unsure if we mean the same thing with the word. Perhaps it is better that you show me? That would be easier.”
Graznikh fell forward, and at first it looked as though he would smash his face in the sand. But then he tilted his head and twisted his body slightly so that he landed on his shoulder instead. His natural crouching stature aided him and the fall became a flawless roll that brought him back on his feet with little effort.
”That was beautiful,” Whindaër exclaimed, but Graznikh was not done. He broke into a run and leapt through the air, landed, rolled, then jumped again and flipped in the air so that he ended up hanging from the cave ceiling, gripping the stone with clawed hands and feet. He winked at his amazed Elf before dropping down, landing with another roll and coming to stand right in front of her with a smug grin. ”See? That's how ya roll!”
”You... do not expect me to jump like that, do you?” Whindaër asked with a wide-eyed look at the ceiling.
”Nar,” Graznikh chuckled. ”That's for next time.” He winked again as Whindaër began to protest. ”Now get down'n lemme show ya. Just look at me an' do the same. On one knee, like this, with yer hand grabbing yer front foot. Nar, arm on the inside. Pokin' it out's only gonna hurt it when ya roll. Then ya move your head like this, away from the foot you're grabbing. Great. Now go!”

On the first attempt, Whindaër lost her grip on her foot in the middle and failed.
”Keep the grip all the way through,” Graznikh instructed. ”On it again!” He began to feel a little frustrated when she failed the second, third and fourth attempts as well.
”Nar, hold onto the foot!”
”I am trying!” Whindaër exclaimed. ”But it is so hard, my hands wants to do something else every time!”
”Eh? Like what?”
”Like... Like what you did during the first roll you showed me. You did not hold onto your foot.”
Graznikh frowned as he thought it over. ”Alright, just do what your hands wanna do and skip the foothold, see how that goes.”
Now that her hands were free to brace and aid the momentum, Whindaër completed the roll but the momentum threw her off balance when she tried to stop.
”If ya feel yourself falling, just do another roll,” Graznikh snickered as she shook sand out of her clothes.
”That is easy for you to say, oh great teacher,” Whindaër replied with a teasing smile.
”Izzat so?! I'm no bloody teacher, I'm a taskmaster! Now get back there and try again, and don't trip this time or I'll see that first roll as beginner's luck! Hop to it!”
Whindaër did as told with a giggle and skipped back to the starting point. Graznikh shot her an astounded look; another Orc would have punched him for bossing them around or at least snarled an insult back, but Whindaër did not seem to even notice it. She continued with the roll practice and after a while she seemed to have gotten the hang of it. She finished her last series of rolls so that she ended up right in front of him in an imitation of what he had done earlier. Graznikh grinned. Then Whindaër squeaked as he caught her by the waist and pulled her close.
”Caught ya,” he purred against her neck, relishing her desperate giggling. ”Now ya know how to roll, but not when to use it!” He let her go, spun her around and shoved her hard. Whindaër did drop and roll, but had not registered that Graznikh had aimed her at the pond. There was a splash and a loud squeal as she fell into the cold water.
”You!” Whindaër hissed hotly as she got back on her feet.
”You sure get wet a lot 'round me,” Graznikh snickered. ”D'ya really like me that much?”
”You,” Whindaër repeated as she threw herself at him and tried to push him into the pond in turn, ”stink like an Orc and need a bath!”
”That's the worst insult ya can come up with?” He laughed and pushed back. But then he noticed that his claws got no grip in the soft sand, while Whindaër seemed to be standing on hard stone judging by how hard she pushed. Slowly but surely, he slid towards the pond.
”What the fuck..? Nar... Nar!” He tried to back away from the pond, but the more he struggled the less secure his footing became. ”Oh, fuck you! Fuuuck!” The moment his feet reached wet sand, he lost his footing altogether and fell backwards into the shallows.
”It would seem that you know how to roll, but not when to use it,” Whindaër giggled. Then she fell quiet with a bewildered frown as Graznikh's furious growl filled the cave. He slowly rose from the water with bared fangs and eyes like burning coals. The bond told her that he was laughing out loud, but his face and voice told a completely different story.
”You... better start running, little golug, or this Orc'll catch ya and eat ya for dinner!!”

Whindaër wasted no time; she bolted with Graznikh hot on her heels. She leapt through the waterfall, landed with a perfect roll and kept running. They dashed back and forth through the cave, jumping and rolling through both sand and water. Graznikh finally managed to corner her near the entrance where the sheer drop down to the Sea barred her way. He closed in, savouring the scent of her anticipation, excitement and the tiny tinge of fear as he wiggled his claws and snapped his fangs at her.
”Mmm-mm,” he purred quietly. ”I'm gonna eat well tonight! Fresh Elf, all mine for the taking...”
Whindaër giggled nervously and looked for an escape, but there was none to be had. She tried to dodge as he reached for her but he outmaneuvered her. Graznikh growled playfully as he caught his Elf from behind and nibbled her neck until she squealed. Then he spun her around. Clawed fingers tangled in wet, silky hair as they kissed. The more I do this, the better it gets, he thought. Or maybe it's 'cause it's her.

Both froze as a clear voice called out in a tongue that only one of them understood. ”Queta! Istan nal tanomë.”
Graznikh mouthed a vile curse and eyed the hole where the waterfall fell through the ceiling, silently debating whether or not to brave the potential shower of Elven arrows to reach his knives which he had so carelessly left on the furs.
Whindaër recognised the voice. She quickly took her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders to veil the transparency of her soaked clothes while gesturing for Graznikh to hide. He shook his head vigorously.
”Trust me,” she mouthed and gave him a reassuring smile. Before Graznikh had a chance to protest, she turned and went over to the mouth of the cave. He cursed again and dove for the alcove.
”Wilwarin?” Whindaër called. ”<Is that you?>”
”Whindaër?” The surprised marchwarden soon looked down from the edge of the cliff above. ”<Have you been here all the time? We all feared that something evil had befallen you.>”
”<I know,>” Whindaër replied sadly. ”<I am sorry to have brought this upon you.>”
”<You can apologise to your mother when we return home.>”
”<No!>”
Wilwarin frowned as he knelt on the cliff's edge. ”<You will not go? Why? There is nothing for you to fear there.>”
”<But there is! I cannot go back to that cage,>” Whindaër said, tears of desperation and grief welling up in her eyes. ”<Golden though it is, the bars are no less confining. I cannot live, unable to walk freely where my feet needs take me! Can you not understand, you who earned your epessë through your inability to remain in one place for too long?>”
Wilwarin smiled. ”<I do, Hwindë. I do. But Terenwen will not be pleased should I come back emptyhanded, knowing your whereabouts yet revealing nothing to her.>”
”<I will speak with her when I return. But first I need some solitude, such as cannot be found in the haven even behind closed doors. I am not like Theolas, who can escape his confines through written words of ages past. Please, Wilwarin, please!>”
He studied her for a long while before giving in with a resigned sigh. ”<Very well. I shall tell your mother that I have found you and that you are safe. But I will not reveal your whereabouts. I will, however, come by in a few days' time and see that you are still safe.>”
Whindaër nodded. ”<Thank you!>”
”<May the stars shine upon your path, little Hwindë. Yours and that of those in your company.>” Wilwarin gave her one last smile and a nod before disappearing. Whindaër listened carefully to the marchwarden's fading footsteps before climbing the rock wall and peering over the edge to watch as he left. She could see him nod towards the forest; three shadows detached themselves from the deeper gloom and fell in line behind him as he disappeared into the twilight beneath the trees.

Once they were well out of sight, she climbed back down where Graznikh caught her and placed a hand over her mouth before she could cry out. He had sneaked up behind her while she spoke with the Elven scout, and now he pushed her against the cave wall and held her gaze with a strange expression.
”Someone ya know?” he hissed.
Whindaër nodded. ”His name is Wilwarin, he is a marchwarden from my home. My mother worries, as I knew she would, and sent him to search for me.”
He let out a string of Orcish curses that made Whindaër's ears hurt. ”And now they know... Skai bâl azgonûb karkû!” Then he fell silent and looked down; the disappointment she felt from him through the bond brought tears to her eyes. ”He's gonna come back, isn't he?”
Whindaër nodded. ”In a few days' time, or so he said.”
”Can't trust that. They've probably set up an ambush or the like, meaning I'll get an arrow in my throat the moment I peek up there.”
”But if I go first, lead them away-”
He shook his head. ”Won't work. One or two'll get behind your back, search the cave once you're outta the way.” Graznikh began to feel afraid, but Whindaër walked over to the mouth of the cave and looked down upon the waves crashing against the cliffs far below. ”Can you swim?”
Graznikh shook his head. ”Nar, never even tried. I, uh... Water doesn't agree with me.”
”But you can climb?”
”What, climb sideways?” He gave her a meek grin as she nodded. ”That won't work. The cliffs're too crumbly off to the sides, they won't hold my weight.”
”That may not be necessary.” She looked out across the Sea, searching the horizon until she found what she was looking for. ”See there? The Moon is just on the horizon, visible even in daylight. And it is full.” She turned to meet Graznikh's confused frown. ” Twice a month, the tide is unusually strong. It will rise higher and recede further than it does at other times. Usually the water here is waist-deep at low tide and the current makes wading difficult and dangerous, but if I am right, a strip of land will be bare close to the cliffs tonight.” She smiled. ”We may yet make it.”
”When? And how long'll that be?”
”During the late watches. And we will have two hours, if we reach the beach just as the water recedes.”
”But... How does the water just disappear?”
”Do you not know?” Whindaër said as she turned away from the waterfall. ”The Sea is a living being; it breathes, just as we do. Only a little slower.”
Graznikh stared at the waves below. All of a sudden he could hear them breathing, sighing, murmuring. And with every breath, they hated him. Slowly he backed away from the entrance, filled with an ancient, bone-deep fear.
”Aye,” he said faintly. ”That sure as fuck makes things much better.”

Whindaër had guessed it right; as night fell and the Moon rose above the horizon, the Sea slowly receded as if inhaling before a scream. They had emptied the cave on all they could carry, including the quilt and one pelt each. The last part of the climb was a difficult one; the receding water had revealed a shallow cave that followed the base of the cliffs as far as they could see, meaning that they had to fall the last ten feet. The water was still knee-deep when Whindaër landed with a splash, closely followed by Graznikh.
”How're we gonna get back up from here?” he asked as he eyed the sea grass-filled cave.
”I am sure there will be easier spots to climb further down the shoreline,” Whindaër replied. ”Come, let us walk.”
”I'm more keen on running, really,” Graznikh muttered as he followed her.
As they went, the water sunk even lower and soon a wide strip of land parted the cliffs and the Sea. The wet sand was riddled with little creatures that had been surprised by the sudden low tide; crabs, shrimps, mussels, sea stars and many others. There were even flatfish in the tidal pools and lung fishes flipping back and forth on the sand. Graznikh had never been this close to the Sea before and soon his curiosity overrode his fear. He ran here and there as they went, chasing down crabs, poking them, leaping out of the way and laughing as they waved their claws in a futile attempt to repel their tormenter.
Whindaër watched him frolic with an astonished smile. The more she saw this playful side of his, the fonder she grew of him. There was an almost childlike wonder in his eyes as he prodded a washed-up man o' war jellyfish with a claw, seemingly immune to its extraordinarily painful stings. But even his playfulness had a cruel streak to it and quickly turned to wanton destruction as one of the little crabs managed to pinch his toe. He caught it with a vicious snarl, broke its claws off and smashed it into the sand with a rock. When he was done, he gave the crab-mash-stained rock a thoughtful look and licked it.
”Too salty,” he said as he spat. The next moment he pounced her, swept her off her feet and licked her cheek. ”Too sweet,” he murmured with a wink and a grin as he let her down. Then he was off again. Whindaër stared after him, unsure of whether she should be mortified or giggle hysterically.

”Hey, Whin! Look what I found!” Graznikh returned and held up something that looked like a sea shell. ”Found a thing that's a snail and a pinch-spider at the same time,” he grinned.
Whindaër laughed. ”It is a hermit crab,” she explained. ”Unlike other crabs, they have no shells of their own but make use of the abandoned ones of other sea creatures. When they grow too big for their current one, they discard it and search for another.”
”What happens when they're too big for all of 'em?”
Whindaër frowned. ”I do not know.”
”Wouldn't it be awesome if they used skulls instead? Someone finds a washed-up tark skull, then when they pick it up – pow, crab attack! - and it pinches their eyes out!” He snickered at Whindaër's horrified expression. ”Aw, come on, t'was just a joke!”
”Your humour is so dark,” she said with a smile. ”At times I do not understand it.”
”That makes two of us,” Graznikh replied. He threw the hermit crab one last look before he tossed it aside and began to walk beside her, carefully placing himself between her and the cliffs. ”So this is what Elves do? Walk the beach and look at crabs'n shit?”
”Inbetween the studies, crafting and household chores. And running in the forest.”
”Getting ambushed, disobeying yer sire, fucking an Orc...”
”There is no need to rub it in,” Whindaër protested.
”Sure there is,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”I'm kinda happy with that turn of events.” Without thinking, he moved to take her outstretched hand, but found that she had not moved. What..? Then he remembered the bond. Whindaër smiled at him and he meekly grinned back as he reached out to touch her through it. It felt so strange, as though her slender little fingers had taken a steady grip on his black heart just as surely as he had buried his fangs in hers.
There was a splash from below and water suddenly pooled around his feet. Graznikh let out a yelp and jumped into the air to avoid the little wave; he had not even noticed that they had left the cliffs and strolled out to where the waves touched the sand. He watched with increasing anxiety as Whindaër waded further and further out until the waves danced around her hips.
”Hey, Whin? Don't... Don't go too far, will ya?” She smiled at him and nodded.
”Can you hear it?” she asked. ”The Sea sings!”
No matter how hard Graznikh listened, he heard no song. The Sea sounded more like distant thunder to him. But then a sound reverberated up from the deep, as if muffled by wet cloth and echoing through a cave; a deep, powerful howling lament that rose and fell slowly. Whindaër stood in the water with outstretched arms and closed eyes, swaying ever so slowly as the current pulled at her. Suddenly Graznikh was certain that it was calling to her, and that, if he did not do something fast, he would lose her forever. ”Whin..? Get back here!”
”But why? There is no-”
”GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!!!”
She stared at him for a moment, shocked by the sudden outburst. When she waded back, Graznikh grabbed her arm and began to pull her away from the water's edge.
”Graznikh, what is-”
”From now on, we stay the fuck away from this place,” he snarled without looking at her. Whindaër frowned, but let herself be led back to the cliffs without asking any more questions. Something had unsettled her Orc and she did not wish to anger him further. Once they were back on the far side of the tidal beach, Graznikh relaxed a little.
”This looks like a decent place to climb,” he commented.
”Must we leave already? Can we not explore a little further?”
”The fuck're you so bloody fascinated with sand for?”
”Not sand,” Whindaër replied. She began to walk here and there, studying the sand until she let out a little whoop and squatted down. When she stood up again, she held up a little piece of amber. ”This!”
Graznikh's eyes grew wide as he saw the little gem. ”Hey, gimme that!” he said and snatched it from her hand before Whindaër could give it to him. ”This shit's nice..! think I could sell it?”
”I am sure you could,” Whindaër replied with a smile. ”If i have been told correctly, they are highly sought after further inland. As are these.” She picked up a little seashell that looked more like a rock than anything else. Graznikh frowned and gave her a look of disbelief, but when she opened the two halves and showed him the inside, he dropped the amber in surprise. The inside of the clam was a caleidoscope of blue, green and purple hues, as if a dark rainbow had been caught within it and merged with the shell. He started eyeing the beach with greedy eyes. ”Think there're more o' these?”
”Yes! See, here is another.”

Graznikh completely forgot his fear. They left their belongings by the cliff and began to search for more seashells and amber. Not that Graznikh needed the wealth they would bring, but until he had time to cut the little ingots into smaller pieces, this would come in handy.
”Ha! Found another.” He dug in the sand to get the shell out. ”...Okay. This one's got a dick.”
Whindaër giggled as he held up the clam. ”It is not... It is a foot, the clam uses it to-”
Graznikh suddenly roared and sent the clam flying all the way to the shoreline. Then he snarled and rubbed his face.
”What happened?” Whindaër asked.
”The little fucker pissed me in the eye!” He glowered at the laughing Elf. ”Yeah, you laugh! I don't see the whole bloody beach out to get you!”
”But then I do not go around poking everything I see either,” Whindaër giggled.
Graznikh snorted. ”Cock-pissing clams, skull crabs... This place is just fucked up.” Then he grinned. ”Right, I take it back. Don't look now, but there's something stuck on yer arse.”
Whindaër frowned and looked down; a large sea star had somehow gotten hold of her upper thigh without her noticing it.
”See? Everyone likes your arse,” Graznikh purred as she tried to remove it without success.
”Do not simply stand there!” Whindaër snapped with a smile. ”You are stronger than I am; help me!”
Graznikh kept purring as he groped her thigh. The sea star held on tight, but with some effort he managed to pull it off her. Then he had to spend some more time getting the sea star off his own hands before they were finally free of it.

They continued to explore the beach. Whindaër practised rolling on the soft sand, leaping over tidal ponds and furrows in the sand. As she had finished a series of rolls and got back on her feet, she felt water lap at her feet and looked down. A tiny stream trickled across the sand in between her feet, slowly growing wider. She turned away from the Sea.
”Graznikh!”
Graznikh looked up. He had been building a fighting pit in the sand and packed it full with crabs; a difficult task since the crabs kept trying to pinch him instead of each other and took the opportunity to sneak off whenever he took his eyes off them. ”Huh?”
”The tide is returning, we must hurry!”
She saw his eyes widen slightly and the bond turned ice cold with fear, then he bolted. He threw himself up onto the cliff and began to climb frantically. There was a grass-covered ledge about two thirds of the way, and now he aimed for it whith Whindaër close behind him. The tide rose rapidly and as Graznikh reached the ledge, he heard the first wave crash against the cliff below. More and more hit the crumbling rock as the water rose ever higher. Whindaër was having trouble; his weight and carelessness had pulled some of the rocks loose and she could not find a good spot to continue climbing.
”Whin!!” he shouted as she lost her footing briefly.
”No, do not climb down!” Whindaër called as he began to do so. ”The rock will not carry you, and I am not strong enough to lift you out of the water should you fall!” She opened her mouth to say more, but at that moment the stone broke under her feet.
”ÂÂÂMBAL!!!” Graznikh howled as she broke the surface and disappeared. He almost fell over the edge in his futile attempt to reach out; he scanned the water's edge in the hope that she would have caught the edge of the cliff near the surface and could pull herself up, but as time passed and nothing broke the surface, he broke down and lost all pretense of self-control.
The fear of deep water was instinctual for Orcs; there were many pools of murky water in the deep places beneath the mountains, and many of them were inhabited by nameless creatures that gladly feasted on Orc whenever they could. Also, with their dense bone structure and hunched backs, most Orcs were poor swimmers. To fall into water, even a calm lake, was more often than not a death sentence if there was no one else around to pull you up. And the Sea beneath where Graznikh lay was roiling and foaming as the waves rose and fell with a roaring sound. As far as he knew, there was no way she could have survived the fall.
He howled her name over and over, clawed and hit the rock that had betrayed him so and reached out through the bond in panic and fear. She feels so calm, how can she be so calm?! She's dying already, she's given up! Graznikh had never felt such intense grief before; he had never been so alone and so helpless. He pushed away Whindaër's soft reassurance; he did not want her comfort when she was drowning and there was nothing he could do about it.
He lay there for a long time, staring at nothing and wallowing in the pain inside.

Then the surface stirred, but it was not Whindaër. It was further out, far beyond the lowest point where the water had previously receded, and it was huge. Graznikh slowly lifted his head and stared in silent horror as the grey giant erupted from the water as if thrown, arching gracefully in the air and then falling back down with the sound of a watery thunderclap. As three more followed the first, letting out that terrible howl that he had heard earlier, the instinct to survive overcame his grief and Graznikh scrambled up the cliff to uncertain safety.
”You need not fear them,” Whindaër said as he fell flat on his belly on the grass. ”They are- Oh!”
Graznikh took a deep breath and pounced her with a bellow. He kept roaring with every breath as he rolled on the grass, clutching her tight and punching the ground.
”Graznikh, please!” Whindaër gasped. ”You are hurting me!”
”How...” he growled without letting go. ”How... the FUCK... did you get up here?! HOW THE FUCK'RE YOU ALIVE???”
”Please,” she whimpered. ”It hurts so...”
Through an exercise of sheer willpower, he managed to convince his arms to let go a little. Whindaër gasped and rubbed her arms where he had clenched her before she spoke.
”The current was too strong; it swept me away. I swam to another place where the cliff was more solid and climbed up there.”
”And why the FUCK didn'tcha say anything!? I thought you were DEAD, for fuck's sake! I thought... I thought...” He roared and fell on her again. Whindaër tried to comfort him through the bond and hugged him tight. Little by little, Graznikh seemed to calm down.
”I tried to tell you, meldonya, I truly did! But you shut me out and would not listen; so trapped in your grief were you that I could not reach through to you! Oh, I am sorry for causing you such pain!” She looked at him when he did not answer. ”I am so sorry... Will you not forgive me?”
You little bitch, Graznikh thought. Had me whimpering like a tark cub for your pleasure while ya went for a leisure swim, didn'tcha? Golug makatok... Âmbal... He tried to growl, but all that came out was a croak and he deflated a little. ”Aye, whatever.” Whindaër clearly did not expect that answer, but Graznikh did not care. He started digging through his belt pockets and eventually found what he was looking for.
”Got something for ya,” he said quietly. ”Meant to give it to ya back in the cave, but since our stay there got cut short...” When she did not move, Graznikh leaned closer and placed the little lump of filthy cloth in her lap.

Whindaër wondered about his strange behaviour as she opened the litle package. All such thoughts left her when she revealed its contents.
”Oh..! Oh!” Gingerly she picked up the necklace, little starlight crystals glittering in the twilight of almost-dawn. Graznikh eyed her carefully as she held it up, trying to assess whether she liked it or not. After staring at it for a little while, she turned to him with tears in her eyes and let out a whimper as she embraced him.
”Thank you... Oh, thank you! It is so beautiful!”
”Glad ya like it,” he mumbled.
Whindaër sobbed a little. Never had she thought that he would give her such a gift! The comb was better, since it was the first, but this was something she would be able to wear at all times without raising unnecessary suspicion. Then she grew cold inside. ”Where... where did you find this?”
”Abandoned farmstead,” Graznikh replied. Technically it was no lie; the farmstead was abandoned by the time he found the lockbox. ”Scavenged a bit.”
”I wonder who held this last,” Whindaër mused. ”What could have happened to make them abandon it? Or perhaps it was lost?”
”I'm not gonna go back'n track 'em down,” Graznikh said.
”No, do not do that,” Whindaër said. ”No matter how good your intentions, I fear it would only end in tragedy.” She admired the necklace some more. ”This almost looks as though it was made in Ost-In-Edhil.”
”Whazzat?”
”The Elven realm north of Enedwaith. My father dwells there.”
”Think he made that?”
”No, he prefers to make arms and armour.”
”Good guy!”
”Hardly,” Whindaër said with a sad smile. ”I fear it would spell doom for you should you ever encounter him. He hates Orcs with a passion, and he is... Not like my mother's kin.”
”So he's a crazy Elf? More crazy than the rest, I mean.”
”Umm... perhaps?” Whindaër could not help but giggle a little at the thought of her stern but kind father being 'crazy'.
”Well, then he's got stuff in common with my sire. The 'crazy' part, not the Elf-stuff. Ya shoulda heard him when I was younger; 'how the fuck could I spawn a cub what's pale as a bloody corpse maggot? He'll never get anywhere 'cept himself killed, yada yada'.”
”How could anyone say such things to a child?” Whindaër asked.
”We're talking about the guy who named me here, that should tell ya everything.”
”...Oh. Yes, I... I suppose I can see what you mean.”
”The fuck, are you talking shit 'bout my sire there?!” Graznikh burst into laughter at Whindaër's wide-eyed expression.
”Oh, you are nasty!” she exclaimed and pushed him gently.
”Yeah, I'm yer nasty Orc!” he chuckled and pulled her close.

They sat in silence on the cliff, watching the moonlit Sea. After a while, Graznikh grew bored and began to look at Whindaër instead. Eventually she noticed and gave him a smile that he could not help but return. Her hand sneaked up behind his ear and scratched gently and he let out a low, content purr. Then he chuckled.
”What is it?”
”Did ya think any 'bout that thing we talked about the other night?”
”Which of them?”
”The song ya promised to sing me.”
”I promised nothing of the sort!” Whindaër exclaimed.
”Sure ya did,” Graznikh grinned. ”I'd make you a song if ya made one for me, that's the deal me made.”
”Ah...”
He cocked his head with a teasing leer. ”Whaaat, ya didn't make one? Here I've been working hard ever since to come up with something good, and you just walk out on me?”
”I do not! I have made one, I swear it!”
”Oho? Sing it then.”
”...After you.”
”Nar, you first,” he grinned.
”It is not very good,” she whispered with a blush.
”C'mon, you're the poetry-master here, not me.”
”You wanted this, it is only fair that you start.”
”Awright, awright, fine!” Graznikh got to his feet with an embarrassed little grin. Then he crouched down on all fours and stretched his fingers.
”Gotta get into the right mood,” he murmured. Whindaër watched as he prowled here and there, close to the ground as if tracking something. Then he pulled both his knives and began to spin, leap and crouch in a strange dance, slow at first but the more he moved the faster he did so, working himself into some kind of trance. Then all of a sudden he stopped, staring at her as if he saw her for the first time, and began to chant in a hoarse growling voice.

”Over mountains tall, through the forests deep,
Through the fens an' bushes an' stones.
Where'er your pathway winds, I'm too close behind
I've followed ya through dark nights'n years.
You've escaped me yet, but I'm beyond regret,
Saw ya many times just outside my reach.
Fuck the time I've spent, fuck the lives I've rent
All paid for this sweet reward.

But every wind'll turn
So come, my dear, let's burn!
Instinct an' lust an' bloodthirst,
Distinct upon a strong gust!
A tickle an' a caress
When the wind carries your scent
To me...”

As he trailed off, he pounced her unexpectedly. Whindaër cried out and fell flat on her back; Graznikh hovered above her without touching, held up only by his fingers and toes, and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before lowering himself down on top of her with a purr.
”And now I've caught ya, my sweet prey. What'm I gonna do with ya now..?”
He grinned as he felt her answer through the bond. He badly wanted to fuck her one last time, but such activities out in the open were bound to attract unwanted attention. Their time was running out, no matter how he wanted to forget it.
”Can I ask you something?” Whindaër whispered.
”Sure.”
”When we wed... Did you see anything?”
Graznikh frowned. ”Whaddya mean?”
”When our bond formed. Did you see anything in your mind's eye, feel anything that was not of the here and now?”
”Yeah, a world o' pain.”
Whindaër looked away. ”...I see.”
Graznikh cocked his head as he sensed her disappointment. ”What? What'd ya expect?”
”I did not expect anything, only...” She fell silent and sighed as he nuzzled her ear.
”What'd ya see?”
”...There was pain for me as well. Darkness and a strange fire, so intense that I dared not look upon it. But there was also life, I felt so alive, so careless and free.”
”Told ya you need to be more here'n now,” he whispered. Whindaër smiled and he felt himself fall like a stone.
”But you felt nothing of the sort?”
”Aye... But not like that. At first it was like needles pierced my eyes, white light, I'd never seen or felt anything like that before. Then t'was like... Well, like time moved and stood still at the same time. Or maybe it moved, but I stood still and saw it passing by. And I was fine with that.” He looked into her eyes with such intensity that Whindaër could not look away. ”I was fine with everything so long as you were near.” He rested his cheek against hers. ”Still am. I don't wanna let ya go, âmbal. Don't wanna ever let ya go.”

After a little while, he looked up with a big grin. ”But now it's your turn to sing! Ya can't wriggle outta this one.”
Whindaër let out a jokingly exasperated sigh. ”Very well, you shall have what you desire!” She sat up and cleared her throat; Graznikh remained lying and made himself comfortable in her lap. Then the Elf's clear voice rang out in the early morning.

”Now who can douse the fires
You lit for fun and games?
Now you cannot say what you want
And how much you dare to give.

But your games held me captive
I dared not understand,
That in your eyes lay eternity
And no fear would stay your hand.

Shall it die
By the cruel hands of fear and hate?
And who taught you what surety is like?

And who can douse the fires?
You fight for what you need
But if you will not give some back
There is nothing left for me.

The rain falls on our fires,
The wind tears us apart,
And in the wind the fires dance
That are fueled by the embers of time

Can it die?
I hear the echo of my own voice
And the silence that frightens me is yours...

We have many flaws
But still we must go on
Wherever lived the warrior
Who never stayed his arm?

But still you were the fairest
When nothing held you back
I hide you in my dreams at night
And remember all that I lack.

Who can die?
Simply fade and cease to exist
When you've left a trace in someone's life?

Who can die?
Simply fade and cease to exist
When you've left a scar in someone's life..?”

Graznikh was overwhelmed with disappointment, loneliness and hurt as she fell silent. So that's it. As clear an answer as I'll ever get, I guess. ”So... this is 'bye' for good?”
”Not for good,” Whindaër whispered. ”How could we ever truly part when we are bound together?”
”'S not the same,” he muttered.
”I know... but it cannot be helped. I have no choice. We have no choice.”
”Doesn't make this shit any easier...” He pressed his forehead against hers. ”Go learn how to be a proper fighter, âmbal. And remember to practice. I'll test ya proper the next time, make sure ya didn't grow lazy.”
”I shall look forward to it. And you will stay alive; do not abandon me for some foolish insult or other.”
”Promise. Got more to live for now than just myself.” He grinned as they got to their feet, but it was a hollow grin. ”Gon' miss ya, Elf.”
”I will miss you too, Orc.” Whindaër turned to leave. Just before she entered the woods, she stopped. ”I believe I have found a fitting epessë for you,” she said softly, ”but I am afraid it is quite long.”
”Doesn't matter,” Graznikh said with a meek grin. ”Lemme know.”
”Hravan yë cola endanya raccarya.”
”What the everloving fuck does that mean?”
Whindaër smiled. ”Wild beast who holds my heart in his claws.”
The grin that Graznikh had worn to mask the pain of parting fell off. ”Do I?”
She nodded and gave him one last smile. ”Namárië, hravanya.” Then she was gone.

Graznikh whimpered as he watched her go, then he turned towards the montains. One step, then another. Every muscle, every joint, every nerve and every fiber of his body screamed at him that he was making a mistake, that letting her go was idiocy. That he should be going after her, take her in his arms, hold her close... And then what? Take her back to the band, where we'd both get raped, tortured, butchered an' eaten? Follow her back to that haven where I'd get killed an' used as fuel for the smithies and she'd get shunned by her tribe, if not killed as well? Skai, kill me if ya want but don't hurt her! I don't ever wanna see her cry again... He sighed as he picked his bag up.
Maybe it's better if I just stay away. Better for everyone, except us. But I don't wanna hurt her, and I don't wanna die fighting a battle I know I can't win. He threw one last look at the forest before he took off running.
I'm sorry, little wind. This 'raven' won't fly back to ya 'til he's strong enough to peck out the eyes of those who'd give us shit for bein' who we are.

Chapter End Notes

Queta! – Speak!
Istan nal tanomë – I know you are there
Epessë – lit. 'after-name', a name given later in life, usually as a title of admiration and honour but sometimes chosen by the Elf who carries it.
Hwindë – whirlpool
Skai bâl azgonûb karkû – bloody Void-cock
Bâl azgon – lit. 'mighty nothing', the Void
Golug makatok – Elf slut

Graznikh's song is inspired by ”Vittring” ("Scent") by Raubtier. Whindaër's song is inspired by ”Vem Kan Släcka Elden” ("Who Can Douse the Fire") by Nordman.

Theolas frowned. ”Orcs,” the scroll read, ”are small of stature, with coarse hair and fanged jaws. Without a greater evil will to govern them, they quickly degenerate into small quarrelsome tribes that congregate in mountainous areas, making travel there perilous in smaller groups.”

He threw the scroll aside and picked up an old leather-bound book. ”It is unclear when Orcs first came into being, but it certainly happened before the War For Sake Of The Elves. They first appeared in greater numbers some time before the First Battle of Beleriand, where the Elves...”
He closed the book with a sigh. Nothing, he thought. It is as if the scholars of old tried to wipe the Orcs from memory, mentioning them no more than absolutely necessary. He had scoured his library for anything that mentioned them, and the collection he now had before him was meager. The libraries of Eregion or Mithlond probably had more, but was it enough? Would it answer his questions, or leave him with even more?

The Orc's voice echoed in his mind. ”I love her. I'm not even sure what that means and what I do know scares the shit outta me, but I do. Nothing can take that away from me.” Theolas remembered the revulsion he had felt when first hearing those words, his doubt and his anger at stolen innocence. But the truth had been there in Whindaër's eyes when she had first visited him in the healer's house, and now he was not sure how he felt. He turned to watch the Sea through the dusty window. Some of the wise of Eressëa claimed that Orcs had once been Elves, taken captive and tortured by Morgoth. It was commonly repeated, but was in truth a much debated topic. If that was the case, did they have fëas? Could they be redeemed? Were they to be counted among the Children of Ilúvatar or rather placed among ents and other sentient yet soulless creatures? For sentient they were, they clearly had minds and wills of their own when not controlled by their masters. And apparently they are capable of emotions other than hate and spite, Theolas added to himself.
Whindaër had not yet received the Orc's message. Theolas was not sure how to bring the topic up. But he had made a promise to his unlikely savior and time was passing. He took the staff he used to support himself with and began limping out of his study.

”A good feint,” Sairion said. ”At it again!”
Whindaër watched from the side as Falastur sparred with the weaponmaster. How they have grown, Theolas thought as he approached. The two combatants ceased their sparring as they spotted him and Falastur and Whindaër bowed.
”Let me see that,” Theolas said. Falastur placed his sword in the scholar's hand, and Theolas held it up while studying the blade. Then he glanced at Sairion, who nodded slightly. They exchanged a few swift blows. Then they stopped, as abruptly as they had begun. Theolas smiled.
”It would seem that I have not forgotten my training after all,” he said while handing the sword back to the astonished Falastur.
”You have forgotten none of it, my friend,” Sairion said. ”Return the swords, both of you. The lesson is over.”
”I have come to steal one of your students, if I may,” Theolas said as the youngsters returned.
”It is hardly theft if I allow you to,” Sairion said jokingly. Then he nodded.
Theolas turned to Whindaër. ”Come. Walk with me.”

They left the haven and turned west, following a narrow path that led towards the Sea. There was a small cove among the high cliffs where the waves that swept in from Belfalas Bay were calmer and the wind less severe. Theolas sat down upon the sand and beckoned for Whindaër to do the same.
”I often come here to contemplate,” he said, ”when I do not wish to be disturbed. This place rarely has visitors.” Whindaër nodded, and Theolas could see the question in her eyes. He collected his thoughts for a moment, then he spoke.
”I have brought you here to deliver a message, one meant for your ears and yours alone. Graznikh wishes you to know that he still has it.”
Whindaër picked up a seashell, turning it in her hands. Theolas watched her patiently. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it. Then she whispered; ”How?”
”I have not described to anyone the details of my escape from the dungeons of the Orcs. But I will tell you this now: I did not make it. He did. He devised the plan to get me out on his own, without my knowledge, and executed it expertly without my aid. I thought him an Orc like any other, coming to end my life as it was already nearing its final moment. But he bound my wounds, brought me out unseen and carried me all the way to the edge of our realm, where he left me with this message for you.”
She looked up. ”Did you speak to him?”
”Yes,” Theolas said softly. ”He told me that he loves you, and, as unreal as it seems, I believe him to be sincere.”
Whindaër's eyes teared up, and Theolas held her as she cried.

”I do not know if I love him,” Whindaër said later. ”It certainly did not feel that way when the bond formed, and now...” She sighed. ”It is not at all as I had imagined it.” I daresay, Theolas thought, desperately trying to shut out the vivid, horrid mental images that came with those seemingly innocent words.
”In all my long years, I have never heard or read about anything even remotely similar,” he said, ”and it worries me. Your lover,” it was sheer strength of will that kept his voice neutral and him from scowling with disgust, ”may be free of mind and body now. Morgoth is gone, but many of his servants also have the ability to control the Orcs. Some of them are still unaccounted for.”
Whindaër looked at the seashell in her hands. ”Would you have me fade? Or take the ships into the West, as mother speaks of doing?”
Theolas frowned. ”Of course not. And... I did not know she nurtured that desire.”
”She has not decided yet, and father is apparently reluctant to leave Eregion now that great things are happening there.”
”And what of you and Falastur?”
Whindaër shook her head. ”I have no wish to leave and it is not only because of... him. This is my home, I know of no other, and I wish to travel once I am ready. There are so many sights I have not yet seen. I do not know Falastur's mind, we have not spoken much lately.”
Theolas smiled. ”You are a child of this Hither Shore in truth. I too wish to stay for a while longer. If your parents depart before you are of age, I would be honoured to mentor you both.”
She gave him a sad smile. ”Thank you.”
”And fear not, your secret is safe with me. Have you met him again after he let you go the first time?”
She nodded.
”I see.” Theolas pondered it for a while. ”I will not ask you not to meet him, for I fear that it would be fruitless. The bond will pull you towards each other whether you want it or not. But be cautious. Every encounter increases the risk of detection.”

As Whindaër walked along the docks, she found her path barred by Aldariel and her friends. The group would never stop pestering her about her 'hidden lover' and found the mystery unbearably romantic.
”Will you not yet reveal to us who it is?”
”There is nothing to reveal,” Whindaër replied.
”Is it a Man? Have you chosen the path of Lúthien?”
Whindaër gave her a tart look. ”Why would I ever do that?”
”Because of your lover! Has your father sent him on an impossible quest to win your hand?”
”In a manner of speaking,” Whindaër said. There was no silencing them.
”But then he will die, and you will fade in grief!”
”Perhaps it is one of the Doriathrin from Edhellond,” One of the others said.
”That would be preferable to a Man,” Aldariel replied.
The youngest of them giggled. ”Perhaps it is an Orc?”
”Yes!” Whindaër spun and clapped her hands, startling the group. ”Yes, of course it is! I have gone and fallen in love with the Orc that captured me; like Aredhel to Eöl I have forgiven the violation that was forced upon me and now I walk these shores and pine for my dark lover from the shadows!”

With that, she left the stunned group. At least they are silent now. Then she realised how much like Graznikh she had sounded. That dry causticity was his, as was the lack of patience. Whindaer wrapped her arms around her shoulders and watched the mountains in the distance. My dark lover from the shadows...How he would laugh if he ever heard that. Must life always be so complicated?

”That was cruel.”
Aldariel and her friends turned from their whispering as they heard Falastur, who was leaning against a pillar at the top of the stairs. ”But she is so quiet!”
”As you might be after suffering at the hands of the Orcs,” he said as he walked down to join them.
”Then... do you know who it is?”
”No. And I will not ask her. Neither should you. Like Theolas, she will speak when she is ready to do so. Bothering her beforehand will only delay her healing, you know this.”
The group looked down in shame at the gentle scolding. As they curtsied and left, Falastur spotted his sister by the end of the pier. Always watching the mountains, he thought. Why is that?
”Growing restless, dear sister?” he asked as he approached her. Whindaër nodded.
”It may sound strange, but I miss the mountain air.”
”Sairion spoke to me after you left and asked me to pass this on. We are to join the border patrols in a few weeks' time, once our new equipment is ready.” He returned Whindaër's smile.
”Finally!”
Falastur laughed. ”I do not quite share your enthusiasm. Walking in the cold rain, or sitting on a talan for hours... it may not be as adventurous as you crave.”
”Even so, I look forward to it.” She turned her gaze again towards the mountains.
All of a sudden a bolt of sheer panic and intense pain hit her through the bond. Falastur almost fell into the water as Whindaër screamed and fell to the ground. He called her name and began calling for aid when she did not reply.
”HELP!!! Help, my sister is hurt!!!”

Theolas came limping into Elveanië's house as the healer tried in vain to soothe Whindaër's invisible wounds. Falastur tried to comfort Terenwen who sat on the bedside beside her daughter. The terror in his niece's eyes told him everything he needed to know.
”May I speak to her for a moment?” he asked softly. ”Alone.”
Terenwen stood, followed by Falastur, but Elveanië hesitated. ”You are no healer,” she said.
”I am no healer, nor do I intend to become one,” Theolas reassured her. ”But what my niece suffers from is no illness, nor a wound that can be healed by any outer means. It is a pain I am very familiar with. Let me try to reach her.” Elveanië looked at Terenwen, who nodded. As they left, Theolas knelt by the bed and looked into Whindaër's eyes.
”Is it the bond?” he whispered. She nodded, eyes hazy with pain.
”Is he alive?”
”He is dying, he cannot breathe!” came the terrified whisper. ”My fëa... he is tearing my fëa from me!”
Theolas placed his hands on her tear-stained cheeks. She should not be able to feel it this strongly, he thought as he looked into Whindaër's eyes. ”Listen to me. I know that it hurts, more than anything, and I know how you fear for him. But you must be strong, you must stay here. Your strength may save you both. Can you do that?”
There was a glimmer of determination in her eyes and she took a deep breath. Then she frowned and closed her eyes.

Graznikh hit the tree with the full force of the avalanche that had caught him. He screamed but there was no sound and the next moment, everything went black. There was snow everywhere around him, he did not know what was up or down and he could not move, could not breathe... Succumbing to panic, he tried to scream again only to feel his mouth fill with the white cold. His lungs burned from lack of air. I'm dying, oh shit I'm dying!
Moments passed; days, years, centuries, all in darkness. This is what the Void feels like, he thought. Whin, I don't wanna go without you! I don't wanna leave you! He felt his chest cramp as it desperately tried to draw air into his lungs.
Suddenly he was blasted by feelings through the bond. Love, reassurance, resolve. They slowly but surely pushed the panic and fear away. Then he felt something tug at his hair. He tried to scream again and suddenly his head came free. He took his first painful, blessed breath as Shâtaz pulled him up from the snow.
”How many did we lose?” someone asked.
”Three,” came Tarnakh's voice. ”Skai...”
Graznikh sat on the snow, feeling dazed. He looked out across the snow-covered mountain range. I'm alive! Whin, I'm alive! He gave her a push of sheer ecstasy of being alive and could almost hear her gasp in surprise. It made him grin.
Tarnakh stopped beside him. ”How're you holdin' up?”
Graznikh met his sire's eyes. ”Never felt better.”

Weeks turned to months, which in turn became years. Every now and then they would reach out to each other through the bond, sometimes in fear or grief, sometimes in joy. They could stay for hours, exploring each other through it. But Graznikh would also use it while fondling himself, forcing his need on her until she lay writhing upon her bed, face pressed into the pillow to muffle her desperate moans and gasping for air as the sheets underneath became increasingly wet. Occasionally he would even goad her into touching herself; the first time it happened had been a complete shock for them both. Feeling each other's pleasure intensify as they spiralled towards completion was almost as good as the actual act, and the knowledge that his little Elf was so hot for him that she fingered herself even though 'Elves did not do that' was amazing fap material for Graznikh. Wanking had never felt better. Whindaër studied and practiced hard and was soon a fully fledged marchwarden, patrolling the borders of the small settlement and occasionally venturing out on her own. But she did not meet her 'dark lover from the shadows' again. Always there seemed to be things in the way.
One day, Terenwen called both her children to her. ”I have decided. I shall leave for Mithlond once the weather has calmed enough for sailing.”
Falastur cried at this, but Whindaër stood calm. ”I will miss you,” she said as she hugged her mother.
”And I you, the both of you,” Terenwen said.
”What of father?”
She looked down. ”He will not go.”
”Will he not come and say his farewells? He has been absent for so long,” Falastur said. Terenwen smiled sadly.
”He will come, fear not.”

A few weeks later, Whindaër stood before her father for the first time since she had come of age. Estelmaitë was a stern man who rarely smiled, but his eyes spoke clearly of the things his mouth would not. As he met his daughter's eyes on the training grounds, his eyes shone with pride and appreciation.
”Sairion tells me you show great promise.”
”He gives praise too generously,” Whindaër replied.
Estelmaitë nodded. ”Be that as it may.” He took a sword from the weaponstand, then turned to face her. ”Care to spar?”
He seemed surprised as Whindaër took a glaive, a polearm similar to a spear but with a swordlike blade in one end, from the stand.”This is your weapon of choice?”
Whindaër nodded. ”I have always been most proficient with staves and the like; Sairion thought that this would be a fitting weapon.”
Estelmaitë smiled. ”A weapon fit for a king. Or a queen.”

Whindaër knew that it was an uneven match. Estelmaitë tested her in every way and in her anxiety she made several dreadful mistakes. Soon, the tip of Estelmaitë's sword lay at her throat.
”Do not fear me, daughter,” he said without removing the blade. ”You are yet young, but I foresee great deeds in your future. You shall be a hero in the coming war.”
Whindaër met his eyes with a steady gaze. ”The world has been at peace for a long time.”
”It has indeed. But I am no optimist, and I know the signs. This Hither Shore is an ever changing place, and war will come. It will always come.” He returned the sword to the weaponstand and beckoned for her to do the same.
”There is darkness inside you, daughter,” he said quietly as she came close. ”Your mother worries for you.” Whindaër swallowed and nodded. Estelmaitë gave her one of his rare smiles.
”I say this to you now, for others would disagree with me if they heard my words and seek to sway your mind. Do not fear the darkness. Never surrender to it but use it, chain it down, let it be your strength and not your weakness. It cannot defeat you unless you let it.”
”I will try to heed your advice, father,” Whindaër said. Estelmaitë nodded.
”In truth, they are not my words. Terenwen wrote to me of your problem and her worries, and it so happened that Annatar was gracious enough to listen to me and lend some insight. He is a man of great knowledge and skill. I would heed his words, if I were you.”
"I have heard so much about him, all from different voices. I do not know what to believe."
Estelmaitë smiled. "And how many of these voices belong to people who have met him in person?" He took her hands. "I want you to know that there is always a place for you by my side. And should you ever feel that this darkness overwhelms you, do not hesitate to write or even come to me in Ost-In-Edhil. Annatar knows much that is hidden even from the Eldar, he will know the solution for sure."
Whindaër nodded. "I will bear it in mind. Thank you, father."

Whindaër barely reached the cave in time before the storm hit. The weather had been unstable for weeks, as it often was in the mountains in late winter, and now it had finally broken out into a full blizzard. Snow drifted in behind the frozen waterfall as she entered, bow in hand and wary of any sign that the cave might have become inhabited since the last time she visited. But the only sound that reached her ears was that of the howling blizzard outside, so she slowly went further in, trying to remember the way.

Eventually she found the little cavern she had been looking for. It had been long deserted. The door that had once fitted into the roughly hewn-out doorway was gone. A few old bags lay discarded in a corner, torn and riddled with the droppings of rodents. There was a dark smudge on the floor where someone had lit a campfire long ago, and all that was left of the torch holder was a rusted nail in the wall. Memories washed over her, both good and bad. So much time has passed... The room that had once seemed large enough for two had become so small. Near the opposite wall lay a pile of old firewood that was still dry, among them the smashed-up door. Soon the fire was crackling gently, lighting and warming the place up. Whindaër removed her quiver and knapsack and leaned her bow against the wall. At least she would have a warm meal and a dry bed tonight.
While waiting for the water to boil, she thought of the cave's first inhabitant. If felt like ages since they had first met, a terrified young Noldorin maiden and an overly confident young Orc. So many years have passed since then... She thought of the little cavern with the crystal roof somewhere below, of the unlikely encounter that had led mortal enemies to form a bond that neither of them had expected nor wanted but could not escape from. Despite extensive research, Whindaër and her uncle had not been able to find out how it could happen, and there was no one they could ask about it without risking far too much.
Her leather armour creaked softly as she stirred the contents of the pot. He was still alive, of that she was certain. But where and how? She could not tell. The bond was still there, a small something inside her connected to the consciousness of another. A part of her still grieved what could have been had the world been kinder, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was still the same. If he was still capable of that gentle smile or if the harsh reality of Orcs had extinguished what little light there once had been.

The Orc in question had no time to think about the past, or anything else for that matter. He was too busy running for his life. Graznikh cursed under his breath. Some tark-friendly Dunlendings had set his band up and they had walked right into the ambush like bloody beginners. He did not know if any of the others had made it out alive but he was not going to stop and see. The wind had picked up and smelled of snow, the unmistakable sign of an approaching blizzard. That could be good. It could also be very, very bad, especially if he was caught out in the open.
The faint howling of the tarks' hunting dogs were drowned out by the wind as he made his way up into the remote mountain pass. He had not been in this area for years, not since... No use thinking of that, he reminded himself. There was a forest down south, a place he shunned like the plague. She was probably still down there, living happily ever after while he fought for his life every step of the way. The sour taste of unfairness filled his mouth at the thought. Would she feel it when they finally ran him through? Would she cry then, or laugh perhaps?

The bittersweet memories led him to another. He looked up, suddenly recognising a distinct cliff in the distance. He turned slightly southeast and ran faster, wasting what little reserves he still had in the hope of soon going to ground. Soon he spotted the stream, now covered with a thick layer of ice, that hid a small cave further upstream behind a waterfall. But the cave had more than one entrance. The baying of the hounds returned, closer now despite the wind. The blizzard hit with full force as he threw himself into the hole in the cliffside. He stopped for a breather when he suddenly heard the sound of chainmaille and running feet behind him. Shit!!

Whindaër tensed as she heard the sound of running feet. Seven, she counted as she pulled a fistful of arrows from the quiver, took the bow and placed an arrow on the string. She moved slightly to the right, hoping the fire would blind the intruders long enough for her to pick them off at close quarters. She drew her bow as the Orc came crashing in. Then she released the string.

Graznikh sped into the small cavern that had once been his home and hid behind the doorway. The tarks had slowed down, wary now that they had their prey cornered. Graznikh caught his breath when the sound of a drawn bowstring reached his ears. He closed his eyes, swallowing. This is it. The bow sang.
When nothing happened, he looked up. The hooded Elf warrior kneeling behind the fireplace stared at him with piercing eyes, bowstring still quivering after the arrow had left it. He glanced to his right as the tark fell to the ground without a sound, an arrow protruding through his throat. The Elf nodded ever so slightly as the tarks' war cries echoed through the cave. Graznikh had no idea what was going on, but he was not going to turn away the help, however unlikely. He twirled his twin blades in his hands, dropped and rolled as two more arrows hit their marks. He blocked an incoming sword with the back of a knife and twisted, using the spike there to twist his opponent's blade. The other he rammed into the tark's chest. The two archers at the entrance were gone. Or hiding.

He gave the Elf an apprehensive glance as it rose to retrieve the arrows. He grabbed the legs of the tark he had killed and began pulling it out of the cave when the Elf suddenly grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out of the way, just in time to avoid the arrows that ricocheted off the cave wall.
”It would seem we are beleaguered,” the Elf said quietly.
That voice. He knew that voice.
”Well, that's too bad for them,” he whispered back. ”There's another entrance further up. It exits above the waterfall, so either we pick 'em off from there or just leave and let the blizzard finish 'em for us.”
”Why are they hunting you?”
He laughed, a short dry laugh.”Do they need a reason?” Then his eyes narrowed. ”Why aren't you?”
”Do you not know?” came the quiet reply.
Graznikh frowned. Then he couldn't resist anymore. He stared at her intently while reaching out with the smallest of touches through the bond. She had been wiping the blood off the arrows with a cloth, but now she stopped and met his gaze with a knowing smile and returned his mental touch. The next moment Graznikh had caught her. He let out a low, possessive growl as he squeezed her hard. She responded in kind and the sound made his scarred face crack up into a big grin.
”You may've grown into a mountain leopard but ya still sound like a kitten.” A sound from the outside made them both start. Graznikh had an idea. He picked up a rock, signalling for Whindaër to be quiet. Then he threw the rock hard towards the entrance and jumped away as two arrows came flying. He chuckled. Whindaër gave him a reproachful look and he scowled, but then she smiled and picked up a rock of her own. Soon they were merrily throwing rocks at the frustrated archers outside.

Graznikh stopped after a while to listen to the silence. ”Think they've left?” he whispered. Whindaër shook her head. ”Not unless the storm forced them away.”
”So do we kill them?”
”Let them freeze. I doubt that they will brave the corridor knowing that at least two warriors are waiting for them.” She beckoned him over to the fire. ”The stew should be ready, and there is enough for two.”
As Graznikh crouched down beside the fire, he could scarcely believe his eyes, ears or nose. But there she was. As she removed the hood, her long brown hair, braided at the temples, tumbled down to grace her hips. The dark leather armour hugged her upper body and the lower part was covered by the green wool coat that she wore underneath the armour for warmth.
She had changed. Taller than he remembered and with a sternness to her eyes that had not been there before. The terrified young maiden he remembered was gone, replaced by a grown Elven woman. Graznikh knew a warrior when he saw one; her every move spoke as clearly to him as if she had explained her training with words. She handed him his bowl after filling it, and Graznikh took a sip. There were mushrooms, some kind of root vegetable and, surprisingly, salty meat. ”This here's Elvish food?”
”I suppose so, since I made it. It is not what we usually eat in the haven, but I wanted something warm for once and this is what I had.”
”Elves eat meat?”
”Not often, but yes. Did you think that we lived on leaves and berries alone?” She smiled, and Graznikh felt strangely warm.
”Well, judging by how skinny most Elves seem to be, I woulda thought ya lived on sunlight and bird song.” Whindaër gave him a peculiar glance. ”Now what?”
”I have been called 'chubby' on more than one occasion,” she said.
Graznikh snorted as the hot stew entered his nose. Whindaër handed him a piece of cloth after he had stopped coughing and sneezing.
”'Chubby'?” he laughed and shook his head. ”Guess I have a thing for 'chubby' Elves then.” He cocked his head and admired her body with a wolfish grin. Maybe my little âmbal isn't completely gone after all, he thought as Whindaër blushed.
They reclined by the fire after finishing their meal, Graznikh leaning against the rock wall with an arm around her shoulders. ”I woulda given ya a go,” he murmured as he nibbled her ear, ”but I've been running for three bloody nights and I'm not as young as I used to be.”
Whindaër smiled. ”You do not need to be. Rest if you wish. I shall guard you and watch the fire.”
”Nar, no need to. Let it die.” He glanced at the doorway. They whispered together for a while, then he stoked the fire while Whindaër rolled out their sleeping mats on the ground.

Night had long since fallen and the cave was almost completely dark. A thin ray of moonlight filtered in from the ice fall up ahead, but Graznikh did not need it to see in the dark. The tarks were good sneakers but not quite good enough to fool keen Orc ears. As their shadowy forms entered the doorway, weapons in hand, Graznikh flung one of his blades from his place at Whindaër's side. One of the tarks dropped with a shriek. The other lunged at him, but he rolled against the man's feet and felled him to the ground. Whindaër quickly stroke the flint and the fire blazed up, blinding their attacker.
Graznikh lifted the man and pushed him up against the wall. ”Taking the blade for a stroll, are we?” he growled. ”Enjoying a little night-time tumble in the dark?” The man said something that made Whindaër gasp. ”Sorry,” Graznikh growled, baring his fangs. ”I don't speak warg-shit.”
The man spotted Whindaër and the sight seemed to shock him. He looked from her to Graznikh and back several times. Then his expression and scent changed, from anger to intense fear. Graznikh grinned as the tark began babbling incoherently.
”I hope you enjoyed the little run I took ya for. T'was fun, and I guess I should pay ya back.” He held up his other blade. ”Consider this my thanks.”
”Graznikh, do not-” Whindaër began, but too late. The man's screams echoed in the cave as Graznikh slowly pushed the blade in between his ribs. There was a dull sound as the tip pierced the lung, and he savoured the look in his eyes as life slowly bled out of him.

Blood trickled out as he withdrew the knife and wiped it on the man's shirt. Graznikh shot Whindaër a glance as he retrieved the other blade. She was paler than usual, staring at the man with unblinking eyes.
He killed him. He pleaded for his life, yet he killed him, and enjoyed doing so. The sick blackness that had welled up through the bond as Graznikh had murdered the man still lingered, and it made her stomach twist into a knot. She slowly knelt beside the dead man and closed his eyes. Whe she rose, Graznikh was watching her.
”You knew him?”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
”Then why the sad face?”
”He pleaded for mercy,” she managed to whisper. ”He begged for his life, yet you killed him.”
Graznikh shrugged. ”So?”
She went from pale to white. ”Why murder a man in cold blood when he has surrendered?”
”Would you have preferred it if I sold him to the slavers?”
”No!”
”Would you have preferred it if I let him live, only to end up with a knife in my back as soon as I turned around?”
”No! I-”
”Then again; why the sad face? He and that other guy was about to knife us both in our sleep, unless you've forgotten. You think they'd have let me live if I'd stopped running and asked for mercy on bended knee?!” Graznikh was working himself into a frenzy. ”They fuckin' hunted me like a bloody trophy stag for three nights and days! My kind's nothing but bloody animals to them, they don't give a shit if we live or die! Welcome to the world of the Orc, my dear, there's no such fucking luxury as mercy here!!” Whindaër had backed away as he shouted and now he had her cornered.
Graznikh forced himself to breathe. She stared at him with wide eyes, her cheeks wet with tears. The chill he felt through the bond suddenly made him sick with fear.
”I didn't... Shit! Whin, I...” He tried to find the words that would make those tears go away. He felt so helpless, and he hated it. Then Whindaër hugged him and he buried his face in her hair.

Whindaër had grown. She was no longer the frightened little girl at the mercy of an Orc. As Graznikh began to shout, she had reached out through the bond, trying to understand why he became so upset all of a sudden. There had been pain. The fear of loss, anger at an unfair world, hate for the Men that had taken so much from him, grief. There was the fierce affection and intense lust he felt for her, so very different from the gentle love of Elves but no less true. And covering all was the taint of Morgoth, like a slick oily film that clinged to all it touched and could not be washed away. It was stronger now than it had been when they first met, and it tainted her too. Even now she felt it claw at her fëa but her will kept it in check. Whindaër wondered if she would have survived their first encounter if she had felt this through the newly formed bond, instead of it growing on her over time. Would she have been able to hold the fading at bay? Probably not, she thought. My dear, beloved monster. How cruelly the world has treated you!
Graznikh let out a low eerie howl as he felt love and safety flood him through the bond. Whindaër wondered if she had hurt him when she felt his shoulders shake, but it was not pain that reached her. She realised that this may be the closest an Orc could come to crying.

”I can't go on like this,” Graznikh said later with a tortured grimace. ”Going back and forth like this, having ya and feeling so full and then losing ya over and over. It's driving me insane. Every parting tears little bits and pieces off me.” He was lying on the bedroll with his head in her lap.
”Perhaps we could travel together for a while.”
”They don't expect you back?”
Whindaer shook her head. ”I left the day before yesterday. I am a capable hunter and I often spend weeks or even months away. They will not search for me.”
Graznikh's grin was contagious. ”Mummy and daddy not worrying about ya anymore?”
She gave him a sad smile. ”My mother departed these shores years ago. My father dwells in Ost-In-Edhil.”
Graznikh did not know what she meant by that, but it seemed to bother her so he dropped the subject.
”So... how'd ya recognise me back there?” he asked.
”I felt your fear. It told me you were close.”
Graznikh gave her a sleepy grin. ”I almost shat my breeches when I heard the bow. I thought I was done for.” He closed his eyes and enjoyed as she traced the scars on his face with gentle fingers. It did not take him long to fall asleep.

When he woke up, he found Whindaër kneeling beside him. There was a fresh supply of firewood drying nearby and she was melting snow in the pot over the fire.
”Do you Elves never sleep?”
”Rarely,” she replied. ”It comes with age; I know elders who never sleeps. They only rest their minds by watching a beautiful view or listening to music, and after a few hours they are alert again.”
Creepy, Graznikh thought. Then he rose. ”Guess I better clean up this mess.” Whindaër watched him search the bodies for useful or valuable trinkets, then he lifted two of the Men and carried them out of the cave.
”You are strong,” she commented as he returned to pick up two more. He shrugged but couldn't resist rolling his shoulders and giving her a cocky grin as he lifted a third one. ”I guess it comes with age.” He heard her laugh as he dragged the dead tarks out. He turned back to get the last one, but stopped short to stare as Whindaër passed him with light steps, balancing the body on one shoulder. That tark's bloody bigger than her and wearing heavy armour!

”What do we do now?” Whindaër asked as she placed the last body next to the others which Graznikh had piled up. ”Do we burn them?”
”If it makes ya feel better,” Graznikh replied. ”But I wouldn't. I dunno if there're others out there still hunting me, and the smoke might draw them here.”
”Very well, then.” She turned to leave but Graznikh caught her from behind and pulled her close. ”You still upset? With me I mean.”
She leaned into his embrace and shook her head. ”I understand that you live in a much harsher world than I, and it has led you to make different choices than I would have. And I cannot say that they are wrong. I am sad, but it is not your fault. I simply cannot help but wonder... Had I had the same upbringing, faced the same trials and the same mistrust and hatred... would I have become more like you? Would I have made the same choices?” She looked at him.
Graznikh shrugged. ”Who knows? Maybe. It wasn't easy for me either, in the beginning.”

As they left the cave that evening, they were met by snarling barks. The attackers had tied the hounds just outside the cave, and now the hounds were lunging at their prey, despite shaking from having been left out in the storm. One was already dead from the cold. Graznikh yelped as he saw them and hid behind the frozen waterfall. As Whindaër walked past, he grabbed her.
”What're you doing?? They'll tear ya to shreds!”
She smiled. ”They are bound and cannot reach us. Besides, I do not think they will harm us.”
He gave her a disbelieving look. ”What, you just gonna walk up and pet 'em? I saw 'em tear one of my bandmates to pieces!” He stared in disbelief as she pulled free and walked up to the two dogs. They were still baring their fangs, growling as the Elf approached and knelt just out of reach.
”Poor things,” she whispered. Then she began speaking gently and softly in a tongue Graznikh had heard only a few times before. The last time he heard it it had been filled with fear and hate, it had been her brother spitting the words in his direction and it had stung his ears. This time it was different. The sound of wind blowing gently through the treetops, the sound of a calm spring rain, the rustling of leaves in the autumn weaved through Whindaër's voice as she spoke. It made him want to scratch his brain out through his ears but amazingly, the hounds fell silent. One of them sat down and cocked its head. She's putting a spell on them, Graznikh thought, an icy shiver running down his back at witnessing Elven sorcery.

After falling silent, she stood and petted the now calm dogs who began to wag their tails at the attention. ”They were only obeying their masters,” she told Graznikh, ”but now their masters are dead and they are alone and confused. We could set them free, but I do not think they would make it back home. It is a long way to the nearest settlement. I could bring them back to the haven. The hunters there will care for them and give them a new purpose.”
Graznikh nodded. ”Yeah, sure. Just... don't set them free, will ya?” He paused as she held out a hand.
”Come.”
”What, go near those beasts?!”
”Come,” she said calmly. ”Let them know your scent. If you do, you will not be an enemy to them.”

Graznikh did not know why he allowed her to lead him close to the dogs. Maybe it was the lingering effect of her voice. Both dogs sniffed his hand intently as he waited for a bite that never came. One of them suddenly prodded his hand with a wet nose. Graznikh hesitantly gave it a quick scratch behind the ears, and the dog suddenly jumped back and took a weird position, bowing with its front paws stretched out while staring at him, mouth open and tail wagging. He leapt back with a yelp and Whindaër laughed.
”I believe she likes you,” she said. ”She is inviting you to play.”
Graznikh gave her an unsure grin. ”Play?” He looked at the dog. There was no hostility in its eyes now, and no fear. Maybe I could get used to that, he thought.

After a short detour to leave the dogs in the Elven hunters' care, they moved north into Enedwaith. Graznikh complained that he was going miss the 'mutts'. After a night's journey, they camped in the shadow of a large boulder. Graznikh tried to recall his childhood at Whindaër's request.
”I remember the first time I killed a tark. My sire, Tarnakh – I guess you'd use the word 'father' – had caught a young tark from one of the villages they'd raided and dragged him into the stronghold. It was just a kid, not much older than me and really skinny. I'd looked forward to it for weeks, but when I stood there, knife in hand, I was bloody terrified. But Tarnakh and the whole tribe was watching, so I had to do it.”
He took the offered mug. It was filled with herbal tea, warm and fragrant. He wrinkled his nose but drank anyway. ”The first cut went wrong,” he continued after a sip. ”I panicked, stabbed and stabbed and stabbed like crazy, there was blood everywhere and I'll never forget the screams... My knees gave in as the kid stopped screaming, and Tarnakh lifted me away. Everyone was cheering and laughing, calling me a fierce little warg cub, but I just felt sick.” He shook his head with a mirthless grin. ”I never told anyone before.” He looked up as he felt Whindaër's hand on his arm and the warmth returned to his smile. ”Did ya ever have to do something like that?”
”No, my kind do not kill innocents.”
”Then how d'ya become warriors if you never actually fight and kill?”
”We spar with each other. It begins with wooden weapons of various kinds, when we are considered ready we move on to blunted metal, to get used to the weight and balance. After that, we practise with sharp weapons. At that point we also begin to accompany the border patrols and hunters. Few Men ever become as proficient as a good Elven swordsman, they do not have the time. We Elves have all the time in the world, literally so, to become good at what we do, whether it is gardening, cooking, writing or the art of weaponplay.”
”But if you never fight anything but Elves, you'll never get good, will ya? I mean, really good. A big part of being a warrior is knowing your enemy and if you never face them, how will you learn?”
”What do you learn from killing children?”
”That was just the first test,” Graznikh said, ”to see if I was up for it. The killing got easier with time, after I'd learned how to use a weapon and started going on raids. That's where you learn the real deal, not sparring.”
”So sparring with you will not teach me anything new?”

Graznikh grinned. ”You want me to teach you how to fight, huh?”
Whindaër nodded with a confident smile. ”If you have anything to teach me, that is.”
He sucked in air through his fangs. ”Was that a challenge I heard there? Did the little Elven lady just taunt me?” He stood up, a wolfish grin on his lips, and rolled his shoulders with a cracking sound.
”Lady, is it?” Whindaër rose as well and stepped out into the clearing. ”I have heard that Orcs fight dirty.” Graznikh cocked his head, admiring her swaying hips for a moment before drawing his blades. This is gonna be good!
”Since they let ya out here, I'll assume you're old enough to play with sharp toys. Catch,” he said and threw the blade hilt-first in her general direction. She spun to catch it.
”Show-off,” he jeered and laughed as she stuck her tongue out at him.
”Right,” he continued as he twirled the blade between his fingers. ”I'm gonna test ya a little, see what you can and can't do. Don't drop the blade, or I'll do things to you that'll invade your dreams for years to come. And If I catch ya with your guard down,” he added with a sly grin, ”you'll pay for it. Oh, how you will pay.”

Graznikh begun with some basic moves and Whindaër caught on fast. Their sparring slowly intensified and he begun adding some easy feints and tricks. It was obvious that she had never fought an Orc before. Whindaër began to make small mistakes that Graznikh mercilessly took advantage off, and soon he had caught her from behind with a knife at her neck.
”Too bad,” he whispered hotly in her ear as he groped her. ”Lucky you're with me or something bad might've happened.”
She twisted out of his grip and they continued sparring. Soon Whindaër found herself without a weapon as Graznikh grabbed her wrist, twisted it behind her back and plucked the blade from her hand.
”Oops,” Graznikh grinned. ”This could happen in a real fight too. I guess you'll just have to come and take it from me, it's good practice.” He watched as she paced him well outside his reach. ”You're not afraid to come closer, are you? Am I too rough on ya?” She shook her head.
”Good. Come here, I'll show ya how to disarm someone. Seriously, I'm not gonna do anything,” he added when she hesitated.
When she came close, he could not resist snarling and snapping his fangs towards her. It was meant as a joke, but she exploded from the tension and slapped him hard.
”Skai!!” Graznikh yelped and stumbled back. Whindaër gasped.
”I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”
Graznikh chuckled, rubbing his stinging cheek. ”Nar, it's my own fault. I shoulda seen that coming.” He looked around. ”Oh, for fuck's sake!” he exclaimed as he spotted his blades in Whindaër's hands. She gave him an innocent smile before returning one of them.
”That's just naughty,” he grinned as he caught it. ”Really, really naughty!” He charged and put her on the defensive. Soon he had her pinned against a tree.
”Here's another lesson; always keep your back free,” he murmured. Then he kissed her and tried to keep from grinning as she returned the kiss. After a while, he retreated a little to look at her. She was rosy-cheeked and breathed heavily, and not only from the sparring.

”Come on then, back to the lesson!” Frustration hit him through the bond and he chuckled. ”Oh no. If you wanna play, you gotta work for it.”
They began pacing each other again.
”So when does this test end?” Whindaër asked.
”When you give up,” Graznikh replied with a mischievous grin. She lunged at him but he dodged.
”I was not aware that this was a competition.”
”It's not a proper test if you can't fail, is it?” Steel met steel briefly.
”And what is the punishment if I do?”
”You'll see. Don't worry, you might even like it.”
”That is assuming I do fail,” Whindaër said and attacked again. Graznikh made a grab for her hand in an attempt to disarm her, but Whindaër pulled back and he grabbed the sharp blade instead.
”Gah, skai!!” he roared, clasping his hand. ”Shit.”
Whindaër dropped her blade and ran up to him. ”Is it deep? Let me see, I have bandages in my pack.” Graznikh opened his hand and showed her. ”But... There is no blood...” She slowly rose to face Graznikh's mad grin as she realised her mistake. She bolted, but he was too fast. After a short and noisy struggle he managed to fell her and she tumbled down onto her back in the grass, laughing.
”You cheated!” she exclaimed.
”Nar, I feinted,” Graznikh replied while rubbing against her. ”And you fell for it like a beginner.” He grinned. ”And what did I tell ya 'bout dropping the blade? Oh, you're really screwed this time, little Elf...” He heard her whisper something that sounded like 'not yet', but wasn't sure if he had imagined it. ”Now, how to get ya outta that armour...”

After fumbling with it for a while, Graznikh began to grow frustrated. There were no straps, no buckles, no lacing, nothing that showed how to get it off. ”What the fuck is this?” he snarled at Whindaër's amused expression. ”Did you glue this thing on?”
Whindaër giggled. ”It comes off fairly easily once you know how.”
Graznikh rolled his eyes with a scowl. ”Of course it's easy when you know how!” He forced her hands up above her head. ”Besides, if memory serves me right I don't really need to take your clothes off to fuck ya.” He grinned, growling and exaggerating his Orcish accent. ”D'ya want me ta fuck yuh like this? Like yuh were a soldier I'd just defeated in battle, layin' there all helpless on the bloody ground?” There was a distinct tint of apprehension in her scent now. Just the way it should be.
”'Cause if you were, I'd do this,” he said while pulling a leather string from his belt and tying her hands. One of his knives lay close by and he used it to nail her hands to the ground above her head. Then he flipped her over.
Whindaër stared at her tied hands. The situation brought back memories of the first time her body had betrayed her because of his touch.
”And then I'd do this,” he murmured and she heard him spit loudly in his hand. She wondered if he did that on purpose. Experienced fingers slid beneath her clothes and found the right place, forcing a whimper over her lips. ”This ain't for you, ya know,” Graznikh chuckled. ”I don't care how much I hurt ya. But it slides in easier if it's a little slick.” He purred deep in his chest as Whindaër could no longer keep silent. ”Will ya listen to the mighty warrior. I think the little slut likes it!” The glower she gave him made his dick throb.

Whindaër gasped and rose her hips to meet him as he replaced his fingers with his dick. The inevitable assault upon her fëa came as the Orc filled and stretched her insides, but this time she did not fight the darkness. It cannot defeat me unless I let it. Graznikh moved slowly, taking care not to hurt her. But soon he heard a frustrated groan.
”Stop,” Whindaer gasped.
Graznikh froze. This wasn't part of the deal! ”What?”
She glanced at him through the corner of her eye. ”Stop holding back!”
Graznikh couldn't believe his ears, but shook his head. ”I'm not gonna take any risks. If you die-”
”You cannot kill me,” she said hotly. ”Not anymore.”
He hesitated and stroke her cheek with a finger, but she growled and quickly caught his hand between her teeth. She was not nearly strong enough to pierce his tough hide, but the sting of pain and the fact that she had just bit him was enough to make him lose control completely. The sudden assault was like a breaking dam and Whindaër cried out as he began bucking furiously into her. Every hard thrust seemed to be aimed at some sensitive spot deep inside and soon she came hard, biting her lip as she did. The scent of blood seemed to spur him further and she felt him bite viciously into her shoulder as he roared his own climax. The leather armour prevented any serious damage, but she would no doubt have a bruise by the morrow. After a brief rest he began thrusting again, driving them both to a second climax with fingers and cock. They clung to each other as their breathing slowed, kissing and nuzzling. Graznikh could not stop purring.

They continued to spar regularly as they traveled, and not every session ended like the first one. Graznikh enjoyed it anyway; Whindaër was pretty good already and she learned fast. Graznikh taught her how to fight dirty, and once he had managed to convince her to do away with the whole 'fighting with honour' deal she began to show real promise.
They hunted together, and now it was Whindaër's time to instruct Graznikh after he had seen her draw, nock and kill a deer in a single motion. He had practiced a lot while hunting for the stronghold, but Whindaër gave him some pointers and taught him the Elven method of 'instinctual archery'.
”We are creating monsters here,” Whindaër said with a smile after a particularly successful hunt. ”An Elf and an Orc learning each others' ways of fighting. How will this end?”
”Yeah, if we go on like this we'll be bloody invincible.” Graznikh stopped grinning as he saw Whindaër frown. ”What's wrong?”
”The bond feels strange,” she said. ”Do you feel it as well?”
Graznikh concentrated, trying to feel if anything was different. ”I feel... It's hard to describe. Like a faint tugging. It's not the bond though, it's something else.”
Whindaër looked worried. ”Can you feel if it pulls you in any particular direction?”
Graznikh shook his head. ”Nar, it's too faint. Don't worry, I'll keep an ear to the ground and let you know if anything changes.”

As the weeks passed, Whindaër realised that she was happy. As strange as it was, Graznikh turned out to be a good friend as well as a good lover. He could be cruel and bloodthirsty, but he tried hard not to upset her with it. He was nimble-fingered and efficient and what few necessary crafts and repairs that Orcs made, he made with great skill. There was an foreign, rugged almost-handsomeness about him as he sat in the firelight, shirtless in the hot summer night, and braided thin rawhide strips to replace the old lacing that had worn off the hilt of one of his knives. Every now and then he glanced at her and grinned briefly before returning to work.
She was still unsure about whether their intense physical activities could be called 'love-making'. And she was not sure that it even mattered. Graznikh was no Elf, of course he would not express emotions in an Elven way. The love of Orcs would be like they were – rough, selfish and violent. But things were slowly changing. The more she learned and the more she proved herself a capable fighter, the more Graznikh seemed to respect and treat her as an equal.

Graznikh savoured every moment they spent together. He had always imagined Elves to be pedantic versions of Orcs, but the more time he spent with Whindaër, the more he realised how very wrong he had been. But he simply could not get the point of life in the Elven settlements. They built a kind of stronghold, only with excessive decorations everywhere, and then they... lived? There was no fighting, no raiding, just the occasional trading trip and hunt. But mostly they ate greens, listened to music, poked plants, practised with weapons they hoped to never use or wrote letters to Elves in other settlements and told them all about the lack of living they all did. The idea of 'gardening' was particularly hilarious. Plants grew anyway, there was no reason to poke them with a stick. And if there were plants that needed to be poked with a stick to grow, then what was the point in keeping them at all? To Graznikh, it seemed like a very sick and distinctly Elven kind of cruelty. As he told her as much, Whindaër fell over laughing at the thought of an Orc explaining to master gardener Faerinwen what an insane torturer she truly was.

One evening, the chill of fear struck her as she woke up beside the extinct campfire.
”Graznikh?”
”Mmh?” came the sleepy answer. He buried his face in her hair and sighed happily.
”How... how long do Orcs live?” She dreaded the answer.
”No idea.”
”How can you not know?”
”Never thought about it,” he said and yawned. ”Never cared to. I've seen tarks and Dunlendings die of old age, but no Orcs. We tend to go down fighting.”
”Are all Orcs fighters? What of women and children?”
”Some of the women are, but not all. And not the cubs. But they get killed too, sooner or later. There are tark mercenaries who gets paid to clear out strongholds, and when they succeed they kill everyone and everything inside. That's how the female who whelped me died, or so I'm told. I was too young to remember.”
”Oh, Graznikh... I am so sorry.”
He shrugged. ”Don't be. Like I said, I don't remember it. Hoshash – the one who brought me up as a cub – hid with me, and when Tarnakh and Kurrush and the others returned they brought us to Dunland.” He looked at her. ”Why d'you ask?”
”I feared that you would fade and die, like Men do.”
”Nar,” Graznikh grinned. ”We're better than those lousy tarks. I don't think any of us die unless we fall in battle.”
”Why do you hate them so? And what makes them different than, say, Dunlendings?”
Graznikh growled. ”I told ya, they hunt us! And not just after raids and such, it's a free-for-all on Orc heads everywhere tarks settle down. And they keep settling bloody everywhere! Sure, you Elves kill us too if someone's stupid enough to set up a stronghold too close to Elfy places, but when you're left alone, you tend to do others the same favour. That's why we never attacked your haven or caravans until Tarnakh went crazy. I'm kinda glad he did as things turned out pretty well. But the tarks...” He growled again. ”Dunlendings are different. They don't like us, but it's not kill-on-sight. Many of 'em are open to talk, to trade, even to broker alliances. The tarks seem to hate them almost as much as they hate us Orcs, so we've got a common enemy there.”
Whindaër frowned. ”I always believed Orcs stayed away from the haven because we were too strong a foe for them. Everyone else in the haven seems to think so too.”
Graznikh laughed. ”What? You told me you were trained by the best you got, and you stood no chance against me. Gimme five decent-sized raiding bands and that place'd be a ruin in no time. But I won't. We won't. You Elves are like wasps, nice and calm when left alone but swarming when someone tries to poke your nest or take your honey. And you've got no honey, nothing we want, so it's not worth the effort.”
”You could ask for whatever it is you want, you know.”

Her words made Graznikh chuckle, and he pulled her close with a possessive growl. ”Orcs don't ask, m' dear. We take. No pretty 'please's or 'thank you's. Begging's for the weak. I'm smart enough to see the consequences of whatever I do and I've enough insight to know when to stay my hand, which is probably why I've survived this long. But don't make the mistake of thinking I'm docile. I've made a lot of exceptions for you, but only for you. No one else gets off the hook.” He pressed his bared fangs against her cheek, inhaling deeply. ”You're mine. And I intend to keep ya. Anyone threatens ya, or pisses ya off, or bores ya, just point 'em out and I'll deal with 'em if you don't wanna do it yourself.”
Whindaër felt a chill as she met Graznikh's glowing eyes in the deepening shadows. Sweet shade of Yavanna, she thought. He actually looks forward to it!

Chapter End Notes

Whindaër is not doing magic, it's just Graznikh's superstition playing tricks on his mind. The only 'magic' she has is the Gift of Foresight, which is so weak as to be more or less useless.
Whindaër is 'chubby' and not beautiful by Elven standards. She's 165 cm tall, same as Graznikh, making her at least a head shorter than the average Noldo (and him a fairly large Orc). She's also sturdier than most.

Of course, the peace would not last. As time passed, Graznikh began to feel more and more restless. Now he could feel the strange pull clearly, and it grew stronger. As Whindaër asked where it came from, he pointed to the east.
”It's fucking scary,” he growled one night. ”If you blindfolded me, spun me around and told me to walk, I'd walk east. If all Orcs feel like this, I wouldn't be surprised if all the strongholds are empty when I return. If I return,” he added. ”I might be walking east in my sleep soon if this continues.”
Whindaër watched him with fearful eyes as he glanced eastward.
”I heard something years ago, a rumour Bardoc mentioned. I didn't really pay attention, but he said something about something big being built somewhere far to the east, in Burzdur.”
”The Black Land? I have heard that it is a desolate place. Why would anyone want to build anything there?”
”Maybe someone who doesn't like company.” He grinned. ”But you were going to say something, weren't ya? Before I interrupted.”
Whindaër nodded. ”I must return to the haven, briefly at the very least. I have been gone for half a year, and I fear that they will soon begin looking if I do not show myself.”
Graznikh scowled. ”If ya have to... But I don't like ya leaving, not now. If you're not around to keep an eye on me, I... This pull isn't easy to live with.”
”I know,” Whindaër said. ”I shall return as soon as I am able.”

The haven seemed busier than usual when Whindaër entered the gate. There were three large swanships in the harbour, carrying the banner of Mithlond. Theolas rose from his chair as Whindaër entered his home.
”Still studying, uncle?” She asked as she embraced him.
”Always, dear,” he replied with a warm smile. ”I am glad you have returned to us. I was beginning to worry. Falastur is out with the border patrols, but he will rejoin us by the end of the week. Please join me; I was just about to eat.”
”Why are there ships from Mithlond in the harbour?” she asked as she sat down by the table.
”Ereinion Gil-Galad sent them with supplies. I do not know why. Perhaps it has something to do with the trouble in Eregion and he wanted us to be well stocked if the supply lines by land are interrupted.”
”What trouble?” Whindaër frowned.
Theolas looked up from his plate. ”Ah, I forgot you have not heard.” He frowned, and Whindaër saw deep worry in his eyes. ”The Smiths of Eregion have been deceived. Their tutor, whom they called Annatar, has been revealed; it is Gorthaur, the lieutenant of Angband of old. Morgoth's most feared commander.” He put his fork down. ”I fear it is only a matter of time now. I fear war.”
Whindaër remembered her father's words and the pull on Graznikh's mind. ”Uncle, there is something you must-”
”Whindaër!” Falastur entered the dining room and gave her a hug. ”I have missed you, sister! How were the mountains?”
Whindaër forced herself to smile. ”They were lovely, as always.”
"You return early," Theolas pointed out. "Were you not to patrol until Aldúya?"
"We were," Falastur replied, "but strange things made us return early to report." he turned to Whindaër. ”Did you perchance see any Orcs?”
Whindaër paled slightly and glanced at Theolas, who frowned and, barely visibly, shook his head.
”A few, but I kept my distance. Why do you ask?”
Falastur shrugged. ”They all seem to have disappeared from the western mountains, and Sairion told me he has received reports of large groups moving eastward. There is a council being held later this week.” He looked to Theolas. ”Will you go, uncle?”
Theolas declined. ”I am no strategist, and will gladly leave such decisions to others. But sit, eat! There is enough for us all.”
That night, Whindaër woke as the darkness surged through the bond. She gritted her teeth against the pain and reached out, but received only a brief sensation of grief and pain before Graznikh shut her out.

Graznikh hissed as Tarnakh's fist connected with his gut. Then his head was yanked back by the hair. He growled and bared his fangs in a defiant grimace, unable to do much else as his arms were securely bound to a tree.
”This is what you've been doin' all this time? Ditchin' tribe and band to roll in the woods with a bloody golug?!” Graznikh had never seen Tarnakh so angry.
”What does it fucking matter? I've been killing and looting alongside y'all this time too, unless you've forgotten! I never ditched ya!” His lip split as Tarnakh backhanded him.
”You little shit! I should've let ya have it when you let that prisoner go and killed the patrol!”
Graznikh frowned. ”You-”
”-Knew about that?” Tarnakh leaned in close with a dangerous grin. ”Oh yes. The only reason the chief didn't have ya flayed alive is because I covered yer sorry ass for ya. I've been keeping an eye on ya ever since you came back from that first little stroll, stinkin' of golug from your smallclothes and up.” Graznikh's guilty stare made him growl. ”Ya fuckin' little traitor.”
”I never betrayed anyone,” Graznikh growled back. ”I tried to turn her over to our side!” Another punch cut his defense short.
”I don't want no bloody Elf in the band, you sick fuck!!” Graznikh grew dizzy as he was slowly throttled. Tarnakh lowered his voice to a hiss. ”If I ever catch ya out of sight again, if you so much as try to take a piss out of view, I'll hunt ya down an' kill ya myself!” He bashed Graznikh's head against the tree as he let go. Graznikh gasped for air and fought the dizziness. Pissing Tarnakh off was the most terrifying thing he knew. He felt a gentle touch through the bond and closed his eyes. Not this time, âmbal. I'm sorry. The terror in question slowly turned and drew a knife and Graznikh's breath caught in his sore throat.

”Call me stupid,” Tarnakh growled, ”call me soft. But you've got one last chance at life. Don't disappoint me.” With that, he cut the rope around Graznikh's wrists. You are soft, Graznikh thought rebelliously as he got up. After all, you let the Elf go. And when she picks up your trail, you're done for. He dearly hoped Whindaër would follow. You're not a kitten anymore, are ya âmbal? I already owe ya for saving my ugly hide once. If you do it again, I swear I won't leave ya again. I'll go to that haven of yours and be your faithful little snaga for the rest of my life.
As Graznikh was allowed to retrieve his knives, an intense pulse washed over him. The strange pull became a roar inside his head, red clouded his vision as he stumbled. Tarnakh obviously felt the same thing, because he turned eastward with a delighted grin. ”It's time.”
”What's going on?” Graznikh asked as his vision cleared.
”Big things're happening off east. We're leavin' tonight.” Graznikh dared a brief touch of the bond. I'm so, so sorry!

”This will not stand!” The scout paced back and forth as he spoke. The council had gone on for some time and the discussions had already been heated a few times.
”The logging operations keep intruding on our borders. The Andrast will soon be nothing but grass and dead stumps if they continue like this!”
Some of the council members frowned. The reports that came in from the west were more and more disturbing. The Men of Elenna, who called themselves Númenoreans, grew ever bolder and more arrogant. They had long been harvesting lumber from the shores surrounding the haven, but previously they had done so with restraint and never without seeking advice from the Eldar who dwelled on the shores. Now they were clearcutting large swaths of land, forcing both wildlife and forest dwellers to seek new homes. There had even been talk of them raiding and burning the villages of the fishermen and foragers in the northwest.
”We dare not risk open conflict with Nùmenor,” one of the elders said. Another scowled.
”Celebrimbor will not hear us. He cares only for his craft. Ereinion Gil-Galad may listen to our plight.”
”The Men of the mountains are hostile and unlovely,” one of the younger council members said. ”Why should we protect them?”
”As primitive as they may be, we have no quarrel with them. They leave us alone as we leave them in turn. But Númenor threatens both our homes. That is reason enough,” Falastur said.
”Even the unlovely have a place in this world,” Whindaër said quietly. "It does not fall to us to judge who has the right to exist." Falastur gave her an odd glance, but nodded.
”That is not all,” Sairion said. ”Large Orc bands are seen roving east of here, near the Anduin. Never before have they amassed in such numbers. They will be a real threat to us soon.”
”We do not have the power to fight on two fronts at once.”
”Númenor has never threatened us! We should not seek their ire.”

”No,” the elder said. ”We should not. We do not have the mandate, as Ereinion Gil-Galad still holds them in high regard. These Orcs though, they worry me. What do we know of them?”
”Not much, I am afraid to say. We know that the smiths of Eregion were decieved; the man who called himself Annatar was in truth Gorthaur, lieutenant of Morgoth. The Orcs are servants of evil, there may be a connection.”
Whindaër wondered if Graznikh was among them. The bond felt dull and distant, meaning that he was far away. ”Then we should investigate.”
Falastur nodded slowly. ”My sister is right. The Orcs are the greater threat.”
”I will go,” Whindaër said. ”I am familiar with the area and can track them without being seen.”
Sairion nodded. ”Indeed. Falastur, will you accompany her?”
Whindaër opened her mouth to protest, but Falastur nodded. ”I will.”

”Are you sure of this?” Whindaër asked later. ”The clinking of your armour will be heard over half of Eriador.”
Falastur smiled. ”Think you that I cannot be silent when I wish it?”
”I seem to remember a certain time when silence would have been prudent.”
Falastur scowled. ”I was tied to a tree while an Orc was chasing you. At such times, I would think shouting for aid was the more prudent thing to do.” He frowned. ”But what of you? You have had run-ins with Orcs before.”
”I was a child at the time, brother. Be assured, I too know how to keep quiet. And I have studied Orcs and their movements since; I may be able to gather information that others might miss.”
Falastur snorted. ”Studied them, indeed. Why?”
”Curiosity.” She filled her quiver with newly fletched arrows. ”Knowing your enemy makes them appear less fearsome when you eventually face them.”
She froze as Falastur suddenly leaned in close behind her. ”Every time you leave the haven,” he whispered, ”Orcs attack you. From the very first time, until now. And every time you return from the mountains, you reek of Orc filth. I know you try to scrub yourself clean of it.” She slowly turned to face him. ”And now you volunteer to venture straight into their main camp. What is happening to you, sister? Why are you so eager to seek them out?”
”Because I hate them,” Whindaër hissed.
But Falastur only shook his head with a grim smile. ”There is no hate in you, sister. Not when you leave, not when you return. I have seen the eyes of those who hate, and it is not in yours.” His smile faded. ”You have never spoken of this bond which you share with another.”
”Nor will I ever. It is best left forgotten. I wish others would see this as well.” Falastur watched her back with a concerned, fearful frown as she left.

A few days later, Whindaër and Falastur were nearing the enemy camp. It was much closer than the council had believed. What had first been thought of as roving Orc bands were the scouts sent out by a much larger force, such as had not been seen since...
”It is almost like the War of Wrath all over again,” Falastur whispered as they peered above the edge on the outcropping where they hid. The enemy army was vast, stretching almost to the horizon. The land surrounding the camp was burned and devastated, not a single spot of green could be seen anywhere. They remained on the ledge for a while, trying to get a grasp of whatever could be amassing such a force.
A shadow, quick and quiet, crouched beside them.
”Pretty, eh?” Graznikh said in a hushed voice. ”Pity 'bout the trees though.” Two pairs of blue Elven eyes stared at him. ”What?”
The whispering sound of a drawn sword was heard and Whindaër grabbed Falastur's arm just before the stroke fell. ”No!”
Falastur managed to tear his eyes from the Orc to stare at his sister instead. ”No?!”
”There is no need for bloodshed. Please.”
Falastur stared at her. Then he frowned and looked into her eyes as if for the first time. Then he slowly, reluctantly, turned to look at Graznikh, who winked at him. Then he promptly turned around, bent over and threw up.
”Well, that's a way of saying 'hello' that I haven't seen before,” Graznikh muttered. ”Is this an Elvish thing?” He hugged the ashen-faced Whindaër. ”It's okay,” he whispered. ”I'm here now. I got your back.”
Falastur coughed and wiped his mouth before standing up. ”What,” he gasped, ”have you done with my sister, you monster?!”
”What, you didn't know? You just saw an Orc and went 'blaaargh'?” Graznikh put his blade back in the sheath. "Some warrior you are." He grinned at the white-faced Falastur and gave Whindaër a wink. Then he became serious. ”We need to talk. Let's go.”
”You cannot be serious!” Falastur hissed while grabbing Whindaër's arm. ”You would follow this fiend? He may as well lead us into a trap!”
”If I wanted to kill ya, I'd just call the patrols down on your arses,” Graznikh whispered. ”But I don't. Now let's go, before the patrols find us anyway and we all die.”

Half an hour and many explanations later, they were crouching inside an abandoned farmstead.
”That glare just doesn't cut it,” Graznikh told Falastur. ”Your uncle is a much better glarer, and even he gave in to my charms eventually.”
”You will not have the pleasure of corrupting me, filth,” Falastur hissed. ”Would that I could run my sword through your wretched mouth!”
”Ah, but if you do that your poor sister will fade and die. You want that?”
”This 'bond' is an abomination that should not be. Better that she grieve and go into the West than continue to exist in this perverse state!”
”You have no right to say or do such things,” Whindaër said sternly and turned to Graznikh. ”How did you find us?”
Graznikh grinned at her. ”You know that already. Why'd you bring that one? Has he gone rogue too?”
”I have not-”
Falastur glared at her, mortified. ”Is this why you did not wish for me to follow you? Because you knew that he would be waiting for you? Did you mean to pleasure yourself with this filth while the haven burned and we were all slaughtered?”

Graznikh spun and leapt at him with a bellow. Falastur had no time to draw his sword before he was pinned to the wall with an Orc blade at his throat.
”Go on,” Graznikh said with the calm and charge of a gathering storm. ”Keep talking like that.”
Falastur spat him in the face. Graznikh shook, fighting the black rage that welled up inside him. He barely managed to withdraw and sheathed his blade with a ragged gasp.
”You wanna know why I won't kill ya?” he asked Falastur through gritted teeth, while the Elf stared at him with pure, unbridled hate in his eyes. ”Because if I did, your sister would cry over your sorry corpse! And unlike you, I love her and I don't wanna see her cry.” Whindaër gasped.
Falastur walked up to Whindaër. ”I am leaving this place. I will return to the haven and I will tell them what I have seen and heard today. I will not hide your dark secret!”
”Then we'll have to kill ya,” Graznikh said quietly. Falastur stared at him, then turned to Whindaër. She was looking at Graznikh, who met her eyes briefly.
”No protest?” Falastur said to her. ”No 'let us live in peace'? Not even a 'please do not'? You would let this Orc kill your own brother?”
Whindaër stood still, her eyes closed. Now that he was close, Graznikh could feel the bond clearly and hated the he-Elf all the more for the pain he caused his âmbal.
Falastur took a step back when Whindaër did not reply. Then another, eyes darting back and forth between her and the Orc, whose red eyes suddenly seemed to burn. They seemed to be having a silent conversation of some kind. He felt a chill as the word came unbidden to him – sanwë-latya. No...
”Go.” Falastur frowned.
”Go,” Graznikh repeated with a growl, ”both of ya. And tell your leaders this: the army is led by the Dark Lord of Lugburz himself. You have no chance of defending your home against this. Anyone who isn't north of the mountains by nightfall will die.”
Graznikh swallowed hard and gave Whindaër a heartbroken glance. ”Goodbye âmbal,” he whispered. Then he disappeared through the door before she had a chance to speak.

”I am glad that mother and father are here no longer,” Falastur said as they headed towards the haven. ”I am glad that they did not have to suffer this.”
”You need not worry,” Whindaër said coolly. ”They already know.”
Falastur stopped. ”What?!”
”I told mother the evening before she left. If she ever told father, it was long after they were gone from here.” She looked down. ”Still, I am glad they are not here. I doubt that this will end well.”
”And... Uncle Theolas?”
”He knew first of all. Graznikh saved him from the torture he was subjected to.”
”He must have been delusional. Why would an Orc do that?”
Whindaër gave him a chilly glance. ”Perhaps for same reason he came to warn us.”
Falastur hesitated, then he caught up with Whindaër as she continued walking.
”When did this happen? And how?” He took her arm as she did not reply. ”Will you not even give me an answer, instead leaving me in bewilderment and horror?”
”Would the horror be less if you knew?”
”I do not know.”
Whindaër stopped. ”It happened after the ambush on the caravan. This was the Orc that caught me and held me captive. I chose this path because I feared death. I did not know at the time what kind of other path my decision would set me upon.”
”You... chose this?” Falastur closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath. Then he frowned. ”This Orc... was the one who ambushed us, was it not? In the forest.”
Whindaër nodded and Falastur began to understand. ”And the time you fell ill... That was because of it?”
”Because of him, yes. He was gravely injured and close to death. But he survived.”
His expression darkened. ”And every time I saw you watching the mountains, you thought of it. You missed it, as one would miss a-... a spouse. You have been a traitor for a very long time.”
Whindaër spun to face him. ”I have betrayed no one but myself,” she hissed.
”Have you not? Had you told us of this when first you returned, things would have been different! We could have severed the bond before it became strong! But you have let the Orcs have a silver cord straight into the heart of our home, you have let them corrupt everything! And now we shall all pay for it!”
”That is not true, and you know it! If I had told anyone, our parents would have had me locked up in a golden cage and Sairion would have sent hunters to kill him! And how dare you accuse me of Annatar's betrayal?! I had nothing to do with it!”
”This is no primitive Avari,” Falastur shouted, ”No Man or Dwarf. This is an Orc! Of all the vile creatures beneath the Shadow, Orcs are the worst! They revel in nothing save the death and destruction of others!”
”You have never even spoken to one save for curses and battle-cries, what would you know of their minds?!”
”Enough to understand the suffering their perverted and corrupted existence have caused throughout the ages!” His expression suddenly changed from anger to worry. ”Tell me sister, when you lay together with it, did you never feel darkness emanating from its touch? Was there light and beauty in it, or violence and perversion?”
Whindaër opened her mouth to reply a few times, but there was only silence. Falastur's words had hit home. He embraced her with a grief-stricken expression. ”I do not want you to die,” he whispered, ”But neither can I stand aside and watch you fall. You cannot save him, dear sister, as much as we wish it was otherwise the Orcs are beyond redemption.”

Whindaër remained silent. After a while, they began walking towards the haven again.
”Do you believe what that Orc told us?”
Whindaër nodded. ”The bond cannot lie. His fear was real, as is the darkness that pulls at him. Even now I can feel it.”
”What if it affects you too? You could be a liability in the coming siege.”
”Siege?” Whindaër stopped. ”Falastur, what siege? You saw the army, there were trolls and siege weaponry! Our walls are decorations, they are not for defence. We would be overrun in the first assault!”
Falastur placed his hands upon her shoulders in an attempt to reassure her. ”Let greater minds than ours worry about that. We report what we have seen and leave it at that.”
She shrugged. ”Report what you will. I... need to rest for a moment.”
Whindaër never found out what Falastur told the council. When she woke up from a nightmare, darkness had already fallen. As she was putting her armour on, a clarion horncall rang out over the city. It was answered with other horns, deeper and more ominous. Then the sound of war drums rolled in from the east. The siege had begun.

When Whindaër entered the streets, she found them empty. The city felt eerily quiet. Did they leave me behind? As she neared the main square, shouting could be heard. Falastur and Sairion turned to watch her approach.
”Whindaër. I am glad to see you are well,” Sairion said. ”We did not wish to wake you. Your brother said that you had a difficult journey.”
”My brother is too kind,” she said. ”But I am well, considering the circumstances. What is the council's decision?”
”It is as you said,” Falastur replied. ”We cannot hope to defend the haven or repel an army this large. What we can do is delay it and buy the refugees time. I do not believe the haven is the main target, but every hour we can keep them occupied is an hour bought for the refugees and the realms to the north.”
”Dark magic is in the air,” Sairion said. ”These clouds are not natural. They are trying to weaken us with despair. We must not falter.”
Falastur leaned closer. ”How are you holding up?” he whispered as soon as the captain was out of hearing range.
”Better than I thought that I would. What of you? Are you still angry with me?”
Falastur nodded gravely. ”But this may be our last night on these shores. If all goes ill, Mandos will be our judge.” Then he looked to the Sea with a griefstricken expression; on the horizon, flames could be seen. The ships were lost, as were all those aboard them.

As the meager walls were breached and the battle began in earnest, Graznikh realised how much he had missed it all. There were no consequences here save life or death, his only task to let his blades bite deep into unguarded flesh, to survive to fight another night or take as many with him as possible if he did not. Some influence that was not his own was feeding his bloodlust, but he did not care anymore. This was life. This was a real battle!
As his current opponent went down, he sliced the Elf's throat and revelled in the sight of crimson staining his hand and blade. Then he spun to face the next one, only to find himself alone and the small square deserted. As he pondered his next move, he heard the whispering sound of soft leather shoes against smooth stone. Graznikh leered as he turned around. The armourclad Elf watched him from the other side of the square. He could smell no fear. A seasoned warrior then, he thought. One who won't give in to despair so easily. This will be good!

His adversary carried a glaive. Graznikh had never stood against a weapon like that before, but he did not care. He would find a breach. The Elf was lightly armoured, thick steel-reinforced leather covering its upper body, arms, and legs. It wore a helmet in similar fashion, but the lower body was covered only with soft wool and linen apart from the greaves. Clad for speed, he thought as they slowly began circling each other. He gave the Elf a wicked grin, baring his fangs in an attempt to intimidate. He was rewarded with a small smile. Still no fear.
He barely had time to block as the Elf attacked. Three quick hits, then it retreated to its former position. Graznikh cursed at himself for not being able to see that coming. Like a bloody beginner! He made the next attack and the Elf backed away, not letting him close enough to reach with his blades. Graznikh jumped to avoid having his legs knocked out from under him by the glaive. That was the backside, he noted. Why not use the blade?

Several clashes later, he was becoming seriously annoyed. The Elf countered his every move, every feint and dirty trick seemed to be known before he even executed them. It also retorted with some tricks of its own. Does this bastard read my mind? He thought as he wiped the sweat from his eyes. What the fuck is this? The Elf paced, still watching him with those calm eyes. There was no hate there, no fear, no anger, no threat. Nothing he could use. He growled as he felt something waver inside him. The Elf tilted its head slightly, as if listening to something. Then it attacked, and it was then Graznikh realised that it had been toying with him and that he had been played for a fool all along. He caught the glaive blade with one of his knives, but the Elf twisted the glaive and his weapon fell to the ground with a clang. He took a hard blow to the side of his head, shortly after that his second blade flew away from him. The Elf finished it by handing him a spinning kick to the guts, then one to the crotch.
”Bloody unfair,” he whimpered as he went down. Gasping for air and steeling himself against the pain, Graznikh turned his head to face his death. But death never came. The Elf simply stood there, watching him with an expression that looked like... sorrow?
It stepped aside and waited until he got back on his feet, then simply watched as he retrieved his blades. He held them in his hands, feeling the weight of the  rawhide hilts. Then he turned to stare at the Elf. He felt something again, stronger this time. The Elf frowned for the first time. Then a spear of ice shattered the darkness.

Whindaër put all her will and resolve into breaking through the taint that was blocking the bond. The sensation as it budged and stretched made her fëa twist, but she pressed on. The kick seemed to weaken the resistance for a moment and she pierced through. As the bond opened wide, the taint flooded her mind, roaring in her blood and threatened to strangle her fëa into nothing.
”I told ya to fucking leave,” Graznikh growled as she fell to her knees with a groan. The red haze that had all but consumed his mind was gone, for now.
”There can be no leavetaking now,” Whindaër said between gritted teeth. ”The Enemy were waiting for the ships just outside the river's mouth. We were caught between the jaws of the trap long before the siege had even begun.” Now that the bond was clear, Graznikh could feel the intense fear and despair that he had not been able to even get a whiff of before. That's some serious self-control.
”All of those who fled are dead, drowned or burned. We who stayed behind to delay the inevitable are all that are left. And soon there will be none. It will end in darkness.”
”Then come with me,” Graznikh whispered as the sound of battle came closer. ”Ditch the weaklings and come with me. I'll cook something up to get ya outta here alive. We can go to the East, far away from all this, find our own little corner of the world where we can be together. Nothing'll part us again, nothing!”
Whindaër gave him an incredulous look. ”You ask me to abandon my home-”
”A home that'll burn soon!”
”-my family-”
”A family who ditched you years ago!”
”-and my friends-”
”What kind of friends? Your brother wants to see ya dead rather than happy!”
”-and sell myself to the Shadow like a common whore-”
”That Shadow could save your life!!” Graznikh roared. ”Don't you think I've felt it? You're fading, Whin, you're dying already!”

Their argument was cut short as a group of elven warriors ran into the square. They stopped short as they spotted Whindaër and Graznikh. Graznikh acted on pure instinct and grabbed his âmbal from behind, placing a blade against her throat. ”You'll have to trust me on this one,” he whispered and growled at the warriors. Whindaër felt his reassurance through the bond and relaxed a little. He was only bluffing.
If the wind had not swept it in her direction, she would not even have noticed the soft creak of a bow being drawn. The archer sat in the shadows on top of a low tower. It was far away, but there was no time to think. Let it be your strength and not your weakness. In one fluid move, Whindaër kicked Graznikh's legs out from under him, took the knife, spun and threw.

The arrow missed its mark, whistling past where Graznikh had stood a moment before and broke on the cobblestones. The knife did not. Falastur stared in disbelief at the hilt protruding from his chest, then he lifted his head and looked at Whindaër with the sorrow of ages in his eyes. He stumbled as a trickle of blood ran down his chin, and he fell.

Graznikh shook his head to clear it and wiped his broken lip. What just happened? Then he noticed the cries of outrage and the pure shock coming in waves through the bond. He looked at Whindaër who bled from her throat where his blade had sliced her, then at the chip in the stone where the arrow had hit. Then he recognised the body on the ground on the other side of the square and the red haze returned. A grin spread on his face as the meaning of her recent action dawned on him.
”You killed him?” he whispered to the perplexed Elf. ”You just killed your own brother to save my life?” He could barely contain the sick glee. A small part of his mind told him that this was not very good, that he was not supposed to feel like this, but he shut it out. He tugged at the bond but there was no response. Whindaër only stared blankly at nothing at all. I guess she's broken for the moment. Graznikh to the rescue! He threw her over the shoulder, picked up her glaive and ran as the Elves in the square suddenly found themselves surrounded by the enemy. He pulled the blade out of Falastur's chest as he passed.

A few streets away, he put Whindaër back on her feet. There was no reaction as he shook her. I'm sorry âmbal, he thought, this is tough love but it's for your own good. He removed his leather gauntlet and gave her a hard slap. She cried out and met his eyes with despair in her own.
”Back from the dead, are we?” he asked. Tears began to well up in her eyes, but Graznikh shook her. ”Hey! None of that now!” There was a flash of anger in her eyes. Good.
”Ya wanna live?” he growled in her face. Resignation met him through the bond even though she did not reply. ”Then we need to move! Follow me, I'll do the talking. You just stay close and look dangerous.”
They ran up towards the closest breach, but found their path blocked by Sairion and five other Elves. He hissed as he saw them coming.
”You... you murdered your own brother!”
Whindaër closed her eyes as Graznikh nudged her through the bond. Use it. Use the darkness. It cannot defeat you unless you let it. She opened her eyes and met Sairion's gaze. He clearly expected her to plead for mercy, to claim that it was a mistake, because he paled as Whindaër spoke with a voice devoid of any emotion. ”Get out of my way.”
Someone gasped and Sairion straightened up. ”You will surrender yourself,” he said with a stern voice. ”You will face judgement by Ereinion Gil-Galad for this atrocity!”
”Get out of my way,” Whindaër repeated. Graznikh fed her resolve along with his own unnatural bloodthirst through the bond. Kill him. If you don't he'll kill us both. Bleed him dry!

Sairion motioned for the others to stay back as Whindaër approached him, glaive in hand, the front of her armour stained red from the cut at her neck.
”The blood of kin will be on my hands alone,” he said before turning to Whindaër. ”You cannot hope to defeat me. I trained you, I know your strengths and weaknesses.”
”As I know yours,” she replied. ”But you are not my only teacher.”
Graznikh held back as the two Elves clashed. A group of Orcs came running up from behind, distracting Sairion's guards before they could advance upon him.
She has changed, Sairion thought. She fights differently, and those cold eyes, like ice... He stopped holding back and soon he had her on the defensive. Graznikh groaned. Come on, Whin, you can do it!
Whindaër tried to block the flurry of blows that seemed to come from all directions at once, but too late. She screamed as Sairion's finishing lunge cut through the side of her armour. The sword stuck in the tough leather and Sairion dropped it to kneel before her as she fell, taking her head in his hands.
”I did not want this,” he wept. ”Why did you have to turn on us? Why did you kill him?”
Whindaër stared into his eyes, but said nothing as the darkness surged inside her. She kept staring as the blade of her glaive, now detached from its shaft, slid up between the segments of Sairion's breastplate and pierced his heart.

Graznikh squatted next to her as she removed Sairion's sword.
”No blood?” he wondered.
Whindaër shook her head. ”I am wearing chainmaille underneath.”
”I love ya, you know that? That was the sickest feint I've ever seen! And you got it from me.” He grinned as she reattached the blade to the shaft, fastening the hidden pins that kept it steady. He checked the wound at her throat but found it to be only a scratch.
As they walked out of the wrecked gates, Orcs turned to stare. Some growled as they recognised the Elf, but they kept their distance as Graznikh bared his fangs at them. He felt her hesitate, so he placed a hand on her back and pushed her forward. Then he made her sit down by a campfire well away from the front and held out a flask. When she did not move, he grabbed her hair andtilted her head back as he poured the ghâshpau into her mouth. The surrounding Orcs laughed as she gagged and coughed. Graznikh grinned; her eyes rapidly cleared after the ghâshpau worked its magic in her blood.
”Feeling better?” he asked. She met his eyes and shook her head. How the fuck is she still upright? he wondered as he touched the bond. There was grief, despair and pain so intense it almost made him shiver. But there was no outward sign of the turmoil inside, for which Graznikh was very grateful.

”What the fuck, Graz?!”
Graznikh almost saw red when he heard Shâtaz's voice. I do not need this right now! he thought as he turned to face his former band mate with a snarl. ”What?”
”Isn't this a bit much? I mean, I know you're into Elves and all, but this?!” Shâtaz exclaimed and pointed at Whindaër.
Graznikh shrugged. ”So? I do whatever the fuck I want. It's none o' your business.”
”When Tarnakh hears 'bout this...”
"Tarnakh can go fuck himself,” Graznikh growled. ”And if that's how ya want it, you can too. I've got my mate right here, I'm not going anywhere.” Whindaër met his eyes with a dazed expression.
”That one's going to Lugburz,” a deep voice said. Graznikh and Shâtaz turned to see a large Black Uruk commander towering over them, watching Whindaër with glowing yellow eyes. Graznikh could not stop cursing in his head as the commander went down on one knee and forced Whindaër to look at him.
”Looks like a golug,” he growled. ”Smells like a golug, sounds like a golug, but feels like one of us.” The Uruk stood and brushed the dirt off his knees. ”Lug-durbatar Dachman'll want to see this.”
”No need to,” Graznikh said nonchalantly. ”I can take her east.” Shâtaz was nowhere to be seen as the Uruk gave Graznikh a dangerous grin. ”That's not for you to decide, snaga.”

A few hours later, Graznikh and Whindaër were heading east, retracing the army's footsteps.
”I thought you meant to sell me to this Dachman,” Whindaër said listlessly.
”Are you kidding me? I've seen that guy, he's a bloody moron. Keeps reciting 'dark poetry' about the end of the world every chance he gets. I can't believe someone like him ended up in charge, even that cowardly idiot Shâtaz would do a better job. Probably the only one they had to spare after sorting out the useful folks for the real attack.”
”Real attack?”
”The main army went north o' the mountains, through the Gap on the North-South Road, heading for that Elf-stronghold north of Dunland.”
Whindaër looked at him. ”Eregion? They are even less defended than the haven is – or was...”
”The longer they're occupied, the better our chance of disappearing,” Graznikh grunted.
”Think you not that Dachman will send hunters after us?”
Graznikh gave her a nasty grin. ”Oh, I dearly hope he does. After all, he hates Elves with a passion. And I'm really in the mood to kill someone. I hope he comes himself. Bloody vampire-wannabe, I'd tear his lungs out through his back. Then he can use 'em as wings to flap back and explain to his master how he could fuck up this badly.”

Graznikh kept muttering about tarks and poetry as they went, leaving Whindaër to her own dark thoughts. I am going to fade, and there will be no solace for me in Mandos. Will I even be let in, or will my stained fëa be cast adrift in the Void? I am sorry, father. I am no hero. I was not as strong as you thought me to be.

Chapter End Notes

Snaga - literally 'slave', but generally used either as an insult or to describe anyone of lower rank than the speaker.
Lugburz - the Black Tower
Lug-durbatar - lit. 'tower-ruler', High Officer, the highest ranking commanders of Mordor's armies.

They walked swiftly in the unnatural dark. Graznikh took some time to scavenge for necessities – a bashed-up cooking pot that he managed to restore somewhat and a discarded tent with narrow holes in it, as if someone had stabbed it repeatedly. Having seen the chaos that reigned among the grunts of the Black Land, he was convinced that someone probably had. They had no food and the ravaged countryside had been swept clean of everything that used to live there, people and beasts alike. He still had the ghâshpau flask, however. He had recieved it when his band first arrived at the base camp near the Great River; it seemed to be part of the basic gear of all grunts in the army, and after trying a sip he had quickly found out why. It was far more potent than what the dushatari to the north could cook up, and with none of the side effects. At least that's something, he thought as he took a sip after offering it to Whindaër. She seemed to handle ghâshpau much better than he had handled miruvor. He grinned. My little kitten has really become a mountain leopard, claws and all. And now she's tasted blood, too. Wonder what'll happen next?

On the third day after they left the army, Whindaër finally snapped. Graznikh saw her stumble from the corner of his eye, then she let out a shrill, bloodcurdling scream as she hit the ground. There was a strange wavering sensation through the bond, the same he had felt when she reached out to him when they were fighting. Graznikh squatted next to the wailing Elf and placed a hand on her shoulder. ”Hey, we don't have time for this.” He poked her when she did not reply. He became increasingly frustrated as she refused to stop sobbing.
”Is this because I hit ya back there? What would ya have me do, you wouldn't snap outta it!” Should I slap her again, will that help? His hand moved on its own, but before he could bring it down onto her face, that little voice inside him cried out. He stared at his fist. She killed her littermate and I just laughed, he thought. I hit her even though I promised her I'd never do that. And I would've killed her if she hadn't managed to reach me through that bond. I didn't even remember it was there. What the fuck is wrong with me?

He moved to take her in his arms and reached out through the bond. She pushed him away, shoving pain and defiance against him like a shield. Graznikh roared as the red haze of bloodthirst descended upon his mind like a vulture on a fresh carcass. There was no resisting it. He pushed her down and began tugging at her clothes.
Whindaër resisted. ”Graznikh, no! Not now!”
He grabbed her hair as she began to struggle and pulled her close. ”Shut. Up!”
”Stop! Not like this, you will kill me!”
Whindaër tried to kick him between the legs but he slapped her repeatedly until she stopped resisting. She was barely conscious as he flipped her over, tore her armour off and forced himself onto her. She gritted her teeth and her pained sobs only served to intensify the pleasure as he raped her on the scarred ground.

Whindaër felt her fëa beat with the wings of an eagle. There was no holding it back now, it would soon be o-
She gasped as Graznikh's fingers sneaked down to rub her sensitive spot fiercely. Her body responded against her will, washing her with physical pleasure that quickly dulled the pain. He invaded her through the bond, locking her in place and forcing his own sick lust and taint into her being with every hard thrust. This was a violation worse than physical, he forced her to feel the rapist's black pleasure even as he raped her. There was no escape from this. His touch brought her to an intense climax and he buried his fangs into the skin on her back as he came as well, eliciting a cry of pain. Then he collapsed over her.

The red haze slowly faded as Graznikh's heartbeat returned to normal. Whindaër had gone limp in his arms, and the realisation of what he had done hit him like a bucket of icy water. He stared at the blood that streamed down her back and smeared the insides of her thighs. Nar, nar, nar nar nar... Her eyes were dead and unseeing. He tenderly reached through the bond and nearly threw up from fear when he felt the damage he had done.
”Whin, please...” he whimpered as he pulled her lifeless body close. ”Don't die on me, please! I didn't want this, I didn't, I don't know why I hurt you, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry...” He stared at the blackened hills, hoping in vain for some miracle that would bring his âmbal back. When nothing happened, he looked at her again. She was still breathing and her heart still beat, very shallow but it was there. He did not know what death would feel like through the bond, but it did not feel dead. It was a tiny spark of hope, and he desperately clung to it.
”You're not dead, are ya?” he murmured. ”You're just hiding, from me and from the pain and all the rest. Don't worry âmbal, I won't abandon ya. I won't hurt ya again. I can't carry the pain for ya, but I can carry you!”

He carefully washed her wounds and dressed them as best he could. Then he dressed her and placed her armour in the makeshift bag he'd made from the tent. Gently he tied a rope around her hands and knees so that he could carry her on his back without her falling off. It would be tough, but he was not going to abandon her.
It was a dreary walk through the desolate landscape. Graznikh had never seen such destruction. The Orc strongholds in the mountains were practical rather than pretty, but the inhabitants knew that wrecking their surroundings meant losing all the prey that made up their main food source when loot was scarce. This wanton ruin was something he had never encountered before. Every single Orc in that army must've been blinded by that red rage. I wonder if Tarnakh's still among them, or if he fell in the siege? He missed having Whindaër beside him, but at the same time he was glad she that would not have to see the dead lands. Two days later, he found a tiny green sapling in the ash.
”Look Whin, life's returning even after all this. Won't ya come back to me too, hm?” He sighed as there was no reply. The constant churning sky meant that he did not have to stop at dawn. He only took quick sips of ghâshpau whenever he felt himself dozing off, focusing instead on getting as far away from the army as possible.

What was left of Whindaër's sanity huddled in a dark corner of her self, trapped beneath a fog of painful memories and anguish. Every time she moved closer to the surface it all came back, so intense that she could not face it. Sometimes she thought she could hear voices, calm and soothing, but they were only mirages in the fog. And time stood still.

As they passed a low hill on the fourth morning, the sun began to rise, colouring the bottom of the dark clouds a blazing red. The signs of the passing army had faded somewhat; the blackened trail had veered off to the north and Graznikh could see trees and shrubs in the distance. He gently placed Whindaër on the ground with her head propped up on the cooking pot, making sure the sun reached her before hiding in the tent. Then he watched her stir for the first time in four days.

The sun had risen above the edge of the clouds as Whindaër came to. The Bay of Belfalas bathed in a reddish light and her pain had faded to a dull ache, but everything else was shrouded in darkness. You were right, Falastur. I was a liability of the worst kind. Beloved brother, you did not deserve this fate! It would seem that I am our father's daughter after all. He would never admit the sins he committed in the Havens of Sirion, and so the doom of the Kin-Slayers still hangs over us. May your judgement be kinder than mine, for there is no mercy left for me now. She was closing her eyes, ready to give up, when she noticed a small bouquet of flowers upon her chest. They were wilted and some of them were mangled, but they made her smile. Graznikh... A strange chill and weariness seeped into her bones as the memory of his recent actions washed over her. No! I cannot fade, not now! Not yet. She forced herself to roll over and rise on all fours. Quiet footsteps could be heard approaching and Graznikh knelt by her as Whindaër managed to conquer the unearthly weariness and sit up straight. He did not look at her as he made the fire and dressed the two hares he had managed to catch.
They sat in silence, watching the fire. Graznikh kept fidgeting nervously, something Whindaër had never seen him do before. She gently reached out, not through the bond but with her hand, and he twitched as she placed it upon his shoulder. He met her eyes with a haunted look.
”I'm sorry.”
”If you wish.”
He frowned. ”You... you're not angry?”
Whindaër shook her head. ”I cannot be angry with you, endanya. Never you, no matter what you do.”
Graznikh swallowed. He had hoped that she would scream, cry, curse and try to hit him. Anything would be better than the impassiveness she now showed. He turned the hares on their spits. ”I don't know what came over me,” he said quietly. ”Really, I don't. Everything just went red and-”
”I know. It is what made me kill Falastur and Sairion as well.”
Graznikh glanced at her. ”It took you too?”
”Yes. The bond makes me vulnerable, same as you. You said it yourself before the siege – The Dark Lord leads this army. If half of what I have read is true, only Ereinion Gil-galad have any hope of standing against him. Pray that he succeeds, or all will end as the haven did.”
”Speaking of ends... I think the meat's done.” He tried to grin, but it just felt hollow.

”We should try to move inland from here,” Whindaër said after they had finished eating.
”Why?”
”There is a Doriathrin haven ahead, at the mouth of the joint rivers Morthond, Ciris and Ringló. The army came from the north and did not pass here, so there will be Elves there.”
”You can't talk our way past them?”
Whindaër shook her head. ”They are Doriathrin, and hostile to the Noldor. That is why my people built the haven by the Lefnui.”
”So Elves have rival tribes too?”
”In a manner of speaking. My 'tribe', the Noldor, came from beyond the sea in pursuit of a great evil and bathed these shores in blood, both that of our Enemy and that of other Elves. The Sindar and Nandor used to live in Beleriand in the northwest, but the actions of my people caused their home to sink into the sea in a great cataclysm long ago. Some of the Elves in the haven ahead also lived in the now sunken lands, and they have never forgotten our crimes. They call us Kin-Slayers and we are not welcome among them.”
Graznikh listened, enthralled by the story. ”So you were an Elf-killer even before ya went wild back there? I wonder why they seemed so surprised, they should've seen it coming.”
”Not I, I was not yet concieved when it happened. But my father was there, as was my uncle. Theolas threw his sword after that, swearing never to raise it again. My father... refused to atone.”

Graznikh saw Whindaër in a completely new light. The little maiden he had caught and claimed all those years ago had a heritage just as bloody as his own. Is that why this bond of ours formed? Because whatever made it knew we were more alike than our looks showed? That made the bond much easier to live with. He tried to see her as another Orc might, and the sight almost took his breath away. A great Elven warrior with dark hair and armour, eyes that burned like moonlit ice and a razorsharp, bloodstained glaive in her hand.
Then he found her watching him. He grinned. ”If ya ever went to Burzdur, I doubt we'd have a Dark Lord much longer, but a queen. All would love ya and despair.”
”Have you become a poet now?” She gave him a small smile. ”Flowers and poetry. You are changing, endanya.”
”Well, so are you. Âmbal vrâstar,” he grinned.

They turned north until they reached the river Morthond. The passing army had built several bridges which made it easy to cross. After passing it, they followed the mountain range east, passing the other two in similar fashion. At the Ringló ford they found a road.
”This must be the road Bardoc used to take,” Graznikh said. ”If it is, then it'll go east and then south.”
”Who is Bardoc? You have mentioned him before, but I never thought to ask.”
”Oh, just a raider-turned-trader that I used to know. He bought my loot every now and then and we'd take a drink and chat. Haven't seen him in years.” Graznikh shrugged. ”He's probably dead by now.” He smiled at the memory. ”Bardoc was the first I told about us.”
Whindaër stared at him. ”You told a Man about us?”
”He wasn't a tark,” Graznikh protested. ”I don't know what he was, he looked a little funny. But he was alright. And I didn't tell him really, I asked him about some related stuff and he figured it out on his own. He wished us luck.”
”I see.”
They decided to risk the road and soon found it deserted. After a few days' rest in the hilly countryside and taking the time to hunt and forage, they set out again. The road turned south as the land levelled out, passing another river, then turned back east.
”I feel like we're going back and forth all the time,” Graznikh complained.

One night they found themselves standing on the shores of a large river, the largest either of them had ever seen.
”How the fuck 're we supposed to cross that?!” Graznikh exclaimed. ”Build a bridge?”
”Or a boat,” Whindaër said. She was holding some rushes in her hand. ”These are similar to the sedges near Andrast. If we gather enough, I may be able to fashion a raft from them.” She proceeded to gather rushes while Graznikh made camp. Whindaër instructed him in the art of tying bunches of rushes together to form 'logs'. She sewed the makeshift boat together with rush stems while Graznikh used one of his blades as an axe to hew out oars from driftwood. Soon, they could rest and admire their little craft.
It was then that Graznikh felt the bond fade. It was brief, just a moment before it passed. But he gasped and looked at Whindaër.
”What?” she asked.
”You- you didn't notice? You didn't feel anything?”
”I... I feel a little tired.” She became worried as she felt Graznikh's fear. ”What happened?”
”I felt the bond fade,” he whispered. ”Just a little bit, it's back to normal now. It's the same as I felt before, but much stronger.”
Whindaër closed her eyes and swallowed. ”So it begins.” There were tears in her eyes as she opened them.
”Nar,” Graznikh said, clutching her tight. ”You're not going anywhere, I won't let ya. We'll go east, away from all this shit, we'll find a cure, make our own little place in the world, everything'll be just fine!”
Whindaër hugged him back. ”It is a beautiful dream.”
”It's not a dream, it'll happen!” he growled. ”And if ya dare go before it's done I'll take that bloody boat, paddle across the sea and sky, break into the halls of Death and fucking drag ya outta there! And kill every last bastard who dares to stand in my way!”
She laughed a little and made herself comfortable in his arms. They stayed like that until the next sunset.

”Let us hope the wind does not pick up. This is not very stable.”
”Can you swim for us both? I don't know how, and I'll sink like a rock with this on.” Graznikh knocked on his chestplate.
”Then take it off and tie it to the boat. And hold onto me.”
They knelt in the boat and pushed out with the oars. The night was dark and the waters calm and still as they paddled. Tiny lights could be seen in the distance on both shores, probably fishing villages. The river was almost two miles wide above the delta, so they did not reach the opposite shore until late morning. Graznikh cursed the sun and hid in the uncertain shade of the rushes while Whindaër emptied the boat of their meagre belongings.
”I read once that the sun in the southern lands shines so strong that water evaporates as soon as it hits the ground. For that reason, nothing can grow there,” Whindaër said.
”And we're going there. Great. Perfect place for an Orc, I'd wager. The things I do for you, my âmbal...”
Voices rang out across the water and Whindaër dove for cover. They peered out of the sedges as a large ship with mighty sails slowly moved upstream. Graznikh recognised the banner on the sails immediately.
”Tarks,” he growled but Whindaër hushed him.
”That is a Númenorean war ship,” Whindaër whispered. ”Why are they sailing upstream?”
”Probably going to investigate our army,” Graznikh whispered back. ”Or maybe they just wanted to know if the river is deep enough for sailing.”
As the ship passed, another banner was revealed. That of the Eye, the same symbol as the army commanders that sieged the haven had worn on their armours. Whindaër and Graznikh exchanged a confused glance.
"Why would tarks use that flag? They gone daft?"
"I have no clue," Whindaër whispered. "Perhaps the ship is stolen? But those are clearly Men sailing it. No, this makes no sense."

When the ship was well out of view, they climbed the high banks and continued on. There were no trees in sight, but to the east a large dark mountain range towered. Graznikh used the tent as a cloak, but he did not feel well and soon they were forced to stop.
”I can't go on,” he said weakly after throwing up. ”The sun's much stronger here.” He sighed with relief as Whindaër poured river water over his head.
”And yet we cannot stay here,” she said. ”There is no shelter, is someone comes we shall be spotted right away.”

Night had almost fallen when they were found. Whindaër had left Graznikh who was sleeping in the tent to forage for something to eat when a group of Men clad in black and riding black horses approached her. She recognised the symbol they wore instantly; the red Eye, and raised her glaive while they surrounded her.
”<Men! Stand down. There is no need for bloodshed.>” The leader gave Whindaër a kind smile as he dismounted. He speaks fluent Quenya, she thought.
”<My lady,>” he bowed, ”<We have searched far and wide for you. You needn't have feared the road. My master, Tar-Mairon, sends his fondest regards and deepest regrets about what happened to your home. He wishes to extend an invitation to visit his castle in the north, and sent us as an honour guard should you accept.>”
And no doubt as an assassination squad if I do not, she thought. And 'King Excellent', who calls himself that anyway? ”<Tell your master that I am honoured by his invitation and gladly accept it. However, my companion whom I travel with is ill, and->”
”<Yes, I have already sent a few men to take care of him,>” the messenger said. Take care of!? Whindaër grasped the bond in a panic. Graznikh radiated anger and reassurance. He was safe, at least for now.
”<I am afraid I must urge you, my lady. The roads are dangerous at night, and we should travel swiftly.>”

Graznikh hid behind the bank as he saw the Men approach the camp. I hate tarks, he thought. He had bunched the bedroll up underneath a blanket before he hid, and now he watched as the tarks threw a net over both tent and blanket and cursed loudly when they realised ther quarry had eloped. They spread out and began searching the banks of the dried-out river. He leapt up and cut the throat of the first one to approach his hiding place. The man fell off the bank and left a dustcloud as he fell into the ravine. The others came running as they heard the sound, but the night was cloudy and they had no torches. This was a night for Orcs.
As he disarmed the last attacker, he felt the bond steadily grow weaker. They took her, he thought, fury and despair vying for control inside. They took her! He twisted the man's arm until he screamed.
”Where are they taking her?” he growled. The man shook his head and Graznikh slowly began crushing the bones in the man's hand with his fist.
”Where are they taking her?” he repeated.
”No!” he suddenly cried as Graznikh lifted his other hand. ”No more! I will speak!”
”Then speak.”
”Lugburz! They're taking her to Lugburz!”
Graznikh stared at the dark mountains ahead as he slit the man's throat. Lugburz.

Chapter End Notes

Endanya - My heart
Âmbal vrâstar - Sweet murderer

Also: Let's play "spot the distorted LotR quotes"! :D

Whindaër was given a horse, but the leader of the group held the reins.
”I am Agannâlô,” he said, switching to Westron as they began to move. ”And you are Whindaër,” he continued when he received no reply. ”Fear not, the others will rejoin us soon.”
”Why did you try to kill my companion?”
”Kill? That was not my command.” Agannâlô suddenly seemed worried as he met Whindaër's cold stare. ”I swear to you, I did not send my men to kill your companion! There must have been a misunderstanding.”
She held his gaze almost long enough for it to be a challenge. Then she looked down. ”He is not overly fond of... tarks. And the Men of Elenna have slighted him on more than one occasion.”
Agannâlô gave her a wry smile. ”I did not expect one of the Fair Folk to take that word in her mouth. And 'Elenna'... It was long since I heard that name for the island of my birth. However, I am no longer a 'Man of Elenna', nor are those who follow me.”
”I doubt he would notice the difference.” Whindaër fell silent. Why had she used an Orcish word? It had come to her almost as naturally as her native tongue. Had Graznikh's crude manner of speaking rubbed off on her more than she knew?

They traveled for weeks. First north along the Great River until they reached a dark pass in the mountains. Here, Whindaër was blindfolded and covered in a black cloak.
”It is for your own safety,” Agannâlô explained. ”The Fair Folk rarely walk these roads, and there are those who would look unfavourably upon your passing here. Even your eyes would reveal your identity, and so I fear we must cover them.”
Whindaër felt a chill run down her spine as they entered the pass. There was strong magic at work here, dark magic. It made her skin crawl, and it grew stronger the further in they went. On the other side of the pass a cold wind blew, carrying a faint scent of sulphur and smoke. Whindaër could hear a strange thundering sound in the distance. It must be a plain of some sort, she thought as the wind increased in strength and threatened to tear the cloak off.

Graznikh cursed silently as he reached the valley and found his way blocked by a large tark camp. To the west he could see the ship that he and Whindaër had seen sailing up the river weeks before. Backing away from the ledge and out of sight of the camp, he went over his options. Can't go through the pass, too many tarks. Can't turn back and go 'round, that'd take too long. I don't have that kinda time. He glanced up. That leaves climbing the bloody mountains.
He doubled back an hour or so and began climbing. It was slow going, but easier than the treks he had done back home. These mountains were dry, so there was no ice to slip on. He took a brief rest after a few hours and turned to admire the view. The clouds had split up further west and he could see faint stars, but above his head the cover was still thick. The Great River ran far below like a band of silver, reflecting the moonlight, and far off in the distance he could see dark peaks that belonged to a foreign mountain range.

As he reached the top of the foothills, the ground levelled out somewhat. The main peaks were still far above, but he hoped to find a pass or the like further down. Strange sounds echoed up above, despite the wind. Graznikh frowned. They sounded a bit like bird sounds, but not quite. He knew that strange creatures older than Orcs dwelled in the deepest caves, where neither sun nor surface air ever reached, but he had never heard of such beasts living among the mountain peaks. Better safe than sorry, he thought and drew his knives.
When he found the entrance of a narrow pass, he also spotted a thick white rope spanning the pass further in. He had seen its like many times, glistening with dew after chilly mornings. Only the size was different. Why does it always have to be spiders? he thought as he eyed the pass. What's wrong with giant grasshoppers or fleas? He warily eyed the webs far above as he sneaked through the pass. The faint chittering sound echoed from above every now and then, but it sounded distant. Another sound reached his ears. A shaggy shape flew at him from behind a large rock and he dodged instinctively. He dropped, rolled and got to his feet, knives ready and stared in surprise at his attacker. The half-starved warg pup was almost the size of the hounds that he and Whindaër had cared for long ago. It bared its fangs and crouched, ready to pounce again.
”Don't do that, little one,” he growled. ”You'll only get yourself killed, either by me or by those chittering fiends above.” He relaxed slightly as it hesitated, watching him with wary, intelligent eyes. He glanced up and noticed one large and several smaller bundles hanging from the webs above, neatly wrapped up in spider silk.
”Your mummy and littermates?” he asked gently and the pup whined. ”I know. I lost mine too.” He slowly sheathed his blades and squatted, holding his hand out the way Whindaër had instructed him. The pup watched it for a while, then took a few steps closer to sniff it. ”I'm not here to hurt ya,” Graznikh said. ”I'd wager we both wanna get out of here as quick'n quiet as we can.” He grinned as the pup wagged its tail. Then it lay down, panting as if it had just ran ten miles. ”Hungry are ya? Thirsty too, I'd wager. I'm afraid I don't have much in the way of food, not enough to fill the belly of a growing warg at any rate. But if you promise not to spill, you can have one of the water skins and a sip o' ghâshpau. That ought to clear your head.”

The pup eagerly emptied half a waterskin that he poured into a natural hollow in the ground. After lapping up some ghâshpau it perked up noticeably.
”So which way did ya come?” Graznikh asked. He had no idea how much wargs understood, or if the pup even spoke the common tongue, but it took a few steps in the direction he had come and turned towards the pass. It gave him an eager look. ”Right. Then we go, but quietly. Don't wanna call the chitters down on us. They've taken enough.”
The warg pup turned out to have extremely sensitive ears, far more so than him. It scouted ahead as they slowly crawled through the narrow pass, crouching down flat and holding their breath every time one of the large spiders passed overhead. They did not seem to be able to spot them as long as they stayed still and kept well away from the webs. Graznikh could not keep from shuddering as one particularly large shadow passed right over him. Butterflies would be downright nice. Or centipedes. Just as they reached the other end of the pass, Graznikh felt something touch his hand. The string was so thin that he had not even seen it, but it sent a soundless shivering signal that amplified through the giant webs above. The warg pup yowled in terror.
”Fuck my life!!” Graznikh cursed. He cut the web with his blade, grabbed the pup under his arm and ran with the spiders in hot pursuit behind.

The eyefold was removed, and Whindaër blinked in the sudden light. Agannâlô took up position next to her and Whindaër gave him a hostile glance. Soft footsteps were heard from behind and Agannâlô straightened up. The man who entered the room looked Elven at first glance. Long reddish-golden hair flowed behind him as he turned to sit in the armchair opposite hers, and his eyes were a strange golden hue that glowed with infernal intensity. Beautiful was the only word that could be used to describe him. He radiated power that made her skin tingle as he beckoned to the servant with a graceful move.
”Is there anything I can get you? Only the best for such an esteemed guest,” he said in fluent Quenya with a glowing smile.
”I thank you for the offer,” she said as a blindfolded servant offered her a cup containing a steaming red liquid.
”Mulled spiced wine,” the servant replied to her unspoken question.
The beautiful man waved his hand. ”Leave us!” As the door closed, he looked at her through honeycoloured eyelashes. ”Do you know who I am?”
Whindaër shook her head. ”No. I have heard rumours though.”
”Oh? Humour me.”
”The smiths in the haven spoke of a great tutor who had come to the smithing guild in Eregion. A master smith of great power. Of Annatar.”
The man smiled into his cup. ”I have had many names. That is one of them.”
"They also said that Annatar had betrayed the Eldar. That he was not the one he claimed to be."
The beautiful being did not reply. Whindaër shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. ”And the Men who brought me here called you Tar-Mairon.”
”That is another.”
”But you are not of Elenna. Of... Númenor.”
”I am not.”
”And yet... they follow you.”
He looked up. ”That is because they see what I see. What you have seen as well, though you do not yet know the magnitude. Númenor is growing too powerful, and they are arrogant. They see themselves as the true Masters of Arda and they would have dominion over all shores, be they East or West. And they could very well succeed. The Elves are weakened, they would not stand a chance if Númenor decided to invade. Yet your kin allowed them to grow so strong, even helped them. You have been decieved.”
Whindaër frowned. We may have suceeded, had we not been attacked by a vast army of Orcs."
”You have seen it already, albeit on a small scale,” Tar-Mairon continued, seemingly oblivious to her words. ”How they cut down your forests, slowly turning all of Enedwaith into a wasteland. They used to do so with your leave, but now they do not even ask.”
”Does it matter?” Whindaër whispered. ”Another force has already claimed that land and turned it into a wasteland of their own.”

Tar-Mairon radiated a deep sadness at these words. ”Yes,” he said. ”I know, and I am sorry. I tried to prevent it, you see, but was utterly unsuccessful. I failed you, and all those who dwelled on those shores.”
Whindaër tried to meet his gaze, but quickly looked away. ”What happened in Ost-in-Edhil? I have heard only rumours, that there was some kind of commotion before the war. That... Annatar was-”
”A grave misunderstanding,” Tar-Mairon interrupted quietly. ”No, I am not He. If I was, would I have aided the Gwaith-i-Mirdain as I have done? Would I have helped them create all the great works that they made? No. What happened was that I attempted to ask Celebrimbor for a boon, a payment of sorts for my efforts. But he would not have it, he would not even hear me out. He claimed my works for his own, accused me of crimes that I had not committed and had me thrown out.” He frowned at the memory. ”I... regret my words then. They were what caused the 'commotion', as you call it. I will always do, but they cannot be made unspoken. I can only try to make what little amends I am capable of, even though they will largely go unnoticed.”
”My father spoke well of you.”
Tar-Mairon lifted his gaze, suddenly interested. ”Oh?”
”His name is Estelmaitë. I do not know if you remember him.”
But the man smiled knowingly. ”That is a name I know well. A great smith and a dutiful student. He defended me, even as Celebrimbor threw me out. I am... humbled, by his conviction and loyalty. I dearly hope it did not spell his doom.” He eyed her. ”You are his daughter then?” As Whindaër nodded, Tar-Mairon looked... eager. ”Then this is... a most interesting turn of events. Interesting indeed.”

After narrowly escaping the spiders, Graznikh set the warg pup down and allowed himself a brief rest.
”I don't even know why I'm doing this,” he grumbled to himself as he sipped from the ghâshpau flask and found it to be nearly empty. ”Skai!” The pup whined and nudged his elbow. He grinned and scratched it behind the ear. ”Don't worry little one. I won't abandon my âmbal, and I won't abandon you.” He looked out over the foreign land beyond the mountains. Burzdur... he thought. The slopes ran steeply down into a deep gully before rising again into a smaller ridge and then stretching out into a vast plain beyond, dominated by a large, cone-shaped mountain with fire instead of ice at its peak. Smoke billowed from its interior, turning the sky dark. Only the occasional lighting lit up the lifeless plain and foothills. There seemed to be several roads leading from a gap in the gully, and he spotted several strongholds and encampments. He looked down and found the pup bundled up next to him, fast asleep. ”Good idea,” he whispered. He rolled up on the stony ground and fell into a fitful sleep as soon as his head hit the ground.

Whindaër took a deep breath, steeling herself. ”And what would the Admirable want with a lowly outcast?”
He gave her a kind smile. ”I am curious about you. I too have heard rumours, other than those your father voiced. And I may be a master smith, but smithing is not all I am skilled in.”
Whindaër could not meet that burning gaze. ”I do not understand.” She could feel him studying her.
”You bear the telltale signs of fading.”
He rose from his seat and walked over to her. His fingers were burning hot as he placed them under her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. Suddenly she could not look away. He said something, but she could not hear it as the roaring of fire filled her ears and his eyes grew until they were all she could see, melted together into one great burning Eye that bore into her very being. There was no pain, only intensity. Then the moment passed and her vision cleared. Tar-Mairon sat down, understanding slowly spreading on his face.
”I must say, this is unbearably romantic,” he said. ”One of the proud, haughty Noldor has beloved an Orc of all things! It is no wonder you are fading; your delicate fëa cannot withstand the burden of such an affront.”
Whindaër closed her eyes. ”I will carry the shame with me to Aman,” she whispered, tears burning behind her eyelids.
”Do not speak that name here!” Tar-Mairon snapped. Then he regained his composure. ”Why were you traveling east?”
”To seek solace,” Whindaër replied. ”My... companion thought there might be someone, a sorcerer of some kind, who could help us.”
He beamed at her. ”And there is! You are looking at him.” He rose again and began pacing the room. ”You are fading because you, as admirable as it may be, have attempted to bridge an impassable chasm. You and your dear Orc have formed a bond that should not be and tried to create a greyscale where there can be none.” He stopped to take a sip of his wine before he continued. ”This, my dear Noldo, is a world of black and white. The only grey here are Men, which is why they are so contested and contradictory. Dwarves are neither; in truth I would hardly call them a People at all. Elves and Men can join, and even have offspring, as can Men and Orcs. But Elves and Orcs? They are opposites, mortal enemies. Never shall the two join. You have done something impossible, and I am curious as to how that came to be.”

The question hung in the air, and Whindaër felt obliged to answer.
”I convinced myself to accept him. There was something he said... 'an Elf that wishes to live will live through any torture'. I suppressed my fëa, willed it to give in.”
”Ah... so there was no love between you before the bond? The love came after the fact?”
”Yes.”
”Interesting...” He continued pacing in silence, deep in thought. Whindaër fidgeted nervously.
”As far as I can tell, there are two ways to go about this,” he said as he sat down. ”The most obvious would be to break the bond. No bond means the taint may be washed away in time. But I doubt either of you want that,” he added at seeing Whindaër's dismayed face. ”Also, I would need the both of you here for it. The other solution is somewhat... unconventional.”
She swallowed. ”Tell me.”
”Well,” he said after a sip from his goblet. ”Simply put, I may be able to warp your fëa into its very opposite and bind it in your body by magical means. The warping has happened naturally once or twice before, usually after the Elf committed heinous acts which closed the door to the other shore but had something that kept them going, something that prevented them from fading. That madman Fëanor and his sons being the most obvious examples. You have already taken the first step, which makes this so much easier. The rest will, however, require certain acts.” He gave her a knowing smile as she blushed. ”I see you begin to have the mind of an Orc already. No, my dear, I will not subject you to that. But what I will do will be painful, and it will take time. And you will have to resist me with all your might and fail.”
”I... understand,” Whindaër said. ”But surely you would not go to all this effort and expect nothing in return?”
”No, I do not think you fully understand. But I am glad that you asked,” Tar-Mairon smiled. ”I want you to serve me. I will let you stay with your beloved, and in return you will help me in a similar fashion. You are a skilled warrior, you are strong, intelligent and, if your actions up to this point are of any merit, you have a strong will as well. And you are an Elf, a Noldo at that. All things that I will have need of in the years to come.”
When she did not reply, he rose. ”I can grant you even more, should you wish it. This room is yours to use as you see fit. Take some time to think things over, and send for me when you have decided.” With that he left.
Whindaër laid down upon the soft bed. She reached out through the bond and was rewarded with a wave of love, joy, relief and fear. The fear puzzled her; did he know something she did not? She sent him reassurance and comfort, but was met with disbelief and worry.
She wondered about the identity of this 'Tar-Mairon'. He could not be Gorthaur; she could sense no evil aura about this man and the self-appointed Dark Lord was currently annihilating Eregion. Unless he had the ability to be in two places at once...
There was a large mirror on the wall, and she walked over to it. The image that stared back at her terrified her. Her hair had completely lost its shine and hung dirty and tangled around her shoulders. Her face was unbelievably filthy, and the dust on her cheeks bore lines from her tears. Her robe which had once been a dark green was now a mottled mix of green, grey, brown and black. It was torn and disheveled and her boots were worn and cracked. There were tiny wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. I have aged..? She knew well the tale of Gwindor, who toiled in the mines of Angband and returned a broken, ruined man. Will I face the same fate?

The door was unlocked and a servant entered with a large tray laden with assorted foods.
”My Master sends his fondest regards,” the servant said as he placed the tray on a low table. Whindaër noted the strange pattern of the man's speech as she thanked him. The servant bowed, and it was then that she realised that he had no eyes. Or rather, his eyes had been removed and the hollows glazed over with a milky white film, rendering him completely blind but somehow still able to orient himself. There were also tiny stitches of thin thread outlining his lips, no doubt making it extremely painful for him to smile or open his mouth wide. A terrible, efficient way of keeping servants from needless talk. Whindaër felt cold.
The tray was nothing short of a display of excessive wealth. There were delicacies from all corners of the known world, and even some she did not recognise. There were exotic fruits of various kinds, Númenorean cheeses, cold cuts of what could only be aurochs from the far east, and a small bottle containing a clear liquid that smelled almost like the creme Whindaër used to perfume her hair with.
Someone must have misread the date, she thought as she read the label. Mead from Vinyamar in Nevrast, the place where the Noldor-in-exile first settled? Impossible.

She thought about Tar-Mairon's offer as she ate. She had always thought the opposite of fëa to be hroa, the duality of spirit and body. But the strange man obviously knew things she did not. As the mead made her relax and let down her guard, Whindaër felt the alternative as the weariness seeped into her. Only her will held her in this world and she knew that it was only a matter of time before the moment came when that will would fail. She had not slept since Agannâlô captured her for fear of fading while she lay defenseless.
Whindaër was terrified of death, more so now than ever before. She could not bear to face her brother, or Sairion, or the others from the haven who died needlessly because of her. If there was a way to delay that moment, as Tar-Mairon believed, the price of serving him would be worthwhile. Would it not?

After waking up and sharing a quick breakfast of dried meat and water with the warg pup, he set out towards the road. If this is Orc land, he reasoned, the road ought to be safe. If not, there are plenty of hiding places nearby. As he walked, he tried to come up with a good excuse for being there. I could say I'm on my way to Lugburz to join the army. Hopefully that's legit enough. The warg pup trotted at his side, sticking its nose in every hole and nook along the road. Suddenly there was a loud squeak and up from a hole flew the biggest rat Graznikh had ever seen. The pup fought bravely, but the black rat was fierce. It ended as Graznikh caught the rat by the neck and gutted it alive with a knife.
”Good catch!” The pup seemed to beam at the praise, bleeding from several bites on its neck and shoulders. ”That's yer first battle scars,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”I'll tend them, then we'll both have a nice juicy meal for once!”
As they traversed the plain, Graznikh figured he had been lucky for once. The pup kept catching rats and large lizards. He let it keep the smaller ones; it had been starving long enough and needed to put some meat back on. The larger ones he split evenly and snacked on as he walked. The lizards weren't that bad. After a while, the pup seemed to have finished gorging itself and returned to his side.
”I wonder if you have a name,” he mused. ”Can't really call you 'little one' later on when you're big and fierce, now can we?”
The pup let out a 'wuf'. Then it suddenly tore off the belt pouch containing his last silver pieces and some other useful stuff, most importantly the old comb, and bolted with a sound that was remarkably similar to a hissy laugh. ”Hey!” Graznikh chased after it. ”Get back here, you damn little pirate!”
After a wild chase, he finally managed to tackle the pup and get his pouch back. He wrestled with it a bit for good measure and the pup definitely laughed now.
”So that's how you want it, huh? Zuzar,” he grinned. The little warg met his eyes and repeated the name. Graznikh stared, amazed. The pup hadn't pronounced the word like an Orc or tark would, it was more like a hissing gasp followed by a low growl, but it was definitely a word. ”So you can speak! Y'know, I always thought that was just a story, of Orcs and talking wolves running together long ago.” He kept scratching Zuzar's belly and was suddenly drenched by a big wet tongue.

Zuzar suddenly perked up and let out a warning growl. Graznikh turned as three tarks on horses stopped nearby. They wore similar garb as those that had tried to catch him before. Three mounted against one on foot. Well, one and a half. This is not good.
”Your name and number?” one demanded.
”Graznikh, no number yet,” he replied. Number? The pup growled quietly, trying to pronounce his name.
”Then state your business. How did you get past the gate without a number?”
”I didn't use the 'gate'. And I'm on my way to Lugburz to join the army.” He placed a reassuring hand on Zuzar's shoulder as he felt the pup press itself against his leg. The tarks eyed him suspiciously.
”Very well, then. Turn right at the Orkish Cross and follow the Doom Road past the Mountain. You'll have the Tower in clear view after that. The recruitment office is three streets up past the main gate, to the left. Good luck!”
Graznikh stared after the tarks as the horses cantered off. The fuck was that? He shook his head as he kept walking. They let me go, just like that? And were damn civil about it, on top of everything. I'l probably get killed when I get to that bloody tower of theirs. No tark is that polite to an Orc without holding a sword at their neck.

As they passed the Mountain soime time later, Graznikh had to stop and stare. 'Tower' was not really a fitting word for the immense structure that rested upon the mountain spur like a giant, sleeping beast of steel and stone. A large chasm filled with molten rock separated it from the plain, spanned by several wide bridges. The tower that rose at the center was perhaps the first thing one noticed, but it was actually only a small part of the fortress. There were several walls, one inside the other, with immense battlements and several smaller towers. Innumerable lights from torches, lamps and windows dotted the place like fiery stars. In Graznikh's eyes, it looked downright cozy. I wonder how many tribes that place could hold, he thought as he began walking towards it. That's like the stronghold of strongholds! He gently touched the bond. It was slowly growing stronger, meaning that he was heading in the right direction. I wonder how she's holding up in there.

Closer to what Graznikh assumed was the main gate, the road became crowded. The last time he had seen this many Orcs at one time was when his band had reached the main camp of the army back home, and even that seemed small in comparison. Graznikh stopped by the roadside for a while and simply stared at all the people.
There were companies of soldiers, lines of snagas carrying things or pulling carts, taskmasters with whips, smaller groups of the large Black Uruks and myriads of civilians. The din was overwhelming. Suddenly the ground rembled underneath his feet as the Mountain belched another plume of black smoke; from the mountainside, a wide channel ran and now it was nearly flooded by the lava stream that gushed through it and jetted out into the chasm surrounding the fortress. Eventually graznikg found the courage to enter the road. Zuzar tiptoed right next to him as he followed the living flood towards the gate.
”Wanna stay free, or could I put a leash on ya? I don't wanna lose you in this crowd,” he said. The pup seemed to ponder this briefly, then nodded. ”Great. You're still small, but don't worry. Soon you'll be huge and everyone'll get outta the way as soon as they see ya.” He took a rope from his belt and placed it around Zuzar's neck. ”That doesn't help, ya know,” he said with a grin as he tried to tie it to the scratching pup.
”Wuf,” Zuzar replied and accepted his bindings.

Out on the road, Graznikh soon realised that he stood out. People kept giving him odd looks and as the only pale-skinned Orc among thousands, his black warpaint long gone, he felt like a walking target. The fact that he had a warg pup tied to his belt did not improve matters. He quickly fell into the swagger that he had used so many times before to bully his way into Dunlending villages and tried to ignore the knot in his guts. Showing weakness here, where competition was everything, would simply not do.
Getting in through the gate proved to be a minor problem. The guards barely glanced at the seemingly endless stream of Orcs entering through it. But as he passed, he realised one thing – everyone was going inside. No one was walking in the other direction. He stopped. Is this a one-way gate? He thought about going the other way, but decided against it. There was no point in drawing attention to himself and risk getting thrown out, or worse.

He remembered the tarks' instructions. 'Three streets up and to the left.' What does that even bloody mean? What's a 'street'? He kept walking as if he knew exactly where to go while pondering the instructions. Soon, Graznikh was completely lost. Zuzar whined.
”Aye, I know,” Graznikh said. ”I fucked up again. And there's not even any food left.” How the fuck am I gonna save my âmbal when I can't even save myself?
”'Ey.” He looked up as an Orc with rings down his nose came up to him. ”Lookin' fer sumthin'?”
The warning bells set off in Graznikh's head. ”Recruitment office.”
”C'mon, I'll show ya.” the stranger beckoned.
”And why would you help me?” he asked.
”Oh, c'mon!” the stranger said with an almost toothless grin. ”There be tons of new ones 'ere, just like ya! And there's good pay in helpin' 'em out, settin' 'em straight.”
Graznikh frowned. This stinks of a trap. But he had nothing better to do, and maybe he could shake some directions out of the survivors afterward. Sure enough, as they rounded a corner, Graznikh found himself in a backalley with two big Orcs armed to the teeth. He heard footsteps behind and spotted three more from the corner of his eye. He gave his guide a lopsided grin.
”Thanks for showing the way,” he said merrily to the surprised Orc. ”I owe ya one!” With that, he drew his knives and spun into action. Zuzar wiggled out of the leash and went straight for the little Orc's throat. The fight was quick and bloody, just the way Graznikh liked it. He had taken a cut to his thigh, but it was not debilitating and the blade had not been poisoned. He slit the throats of the fallen to make sure that there would be no repercussions. One of the attackers was still awake, leaning against the wall and clutching his belly to keep the contents in. Graznikh squatted before him.
”Everything going according to plan?”
The other Orc bared his fangs weakly. ”Just finish it. Don't... Don't leave me like this.”
”I might,” Graznikh replied, ”if you gimme some info. If not, I'll let Zuzar here finish you off instead.” The warg pup sat down beside him, baring it's little fangs.
The Orc reeked of fear. ”I'll tell ya whatever ya want!”
”Where's the recruitment office?”
The other laughed weakly. ”Theres none. Whoever told ya that... pulled yer leg.” He coughed and gasped in pain.
”So where do I go to sign up?”
”No.. where. Ya get a number at th' Gates, or... in th' pits. No such thing... as signin' up. Oh shit, I can feel it slippin',” he squeaked. Graznikh growled. Bloody, cock-suckin', shit-riddled, karkû-bagurz kûrr-haurz flagîti!
”Last one then; where are the dungeons?”
”The... Tower!” the other managed to gasp. ”Main gate, but... you'll need... number!”
”Then give me yours. You won't need it anyway.”
But the Orc was now beyond speaking. He shook and sweat poured down his face. He stared at Graznikh with pleading eyes.
”Skai, golugob karkûz za ghâsh-ishi!!!” Graznikh roared and slit his throat. There was a glint of gratitude in the dying Orc's eyes, but Graznikh did not see it. He stormed out of the alley, so livid that he could barely see where he went. Zuzar trotted after him with a worried look.

Soon he found himself on the lower battlements, shaking with frustration, fury and helplessness. He forced himself to breathe deeply, burying his face in his hands and trying to get a grip on his temper. Zuzar let out a low 'wuf' and tried to get his attention but Graznikh ignored him. I don't want this. I didn't want any of this! Why couldn't things just stay nice and simple, when everything was going so well? Whin, âmbal-zemar... I'll never see ya again.

Chapter End Notes

Agannâlô - Deathshadow (Adunâic)
Zuzar - pirate, corsair
Karkû-bagurz kûrr-haurz flagîti - cock-shitting, snot-eating morons
Golugob karkûz za ghâsh-ishi - elf-cocks in the fire
âmbal-zemar - sweet-heart

Praktash had a good evening. Most most evenings were good, but not having any duties to attend to or being pestered by snaga helped. He sauntered along the battlements atop one of the outer walls to his usual spot where he had planned a meeting with a skin of booze when he noticed someone standing ahead. Funny, this place is usually deserted.
The other was a snaga he did not recognise, with a tiny warg at his feet. Praktash could not keep track of every snaga in the Tower, but something about this one's clothing and bearing told him that he was not from around here. He stopped to lean on the battlement next to the stranger.

Graznikh gave the odd Uruk a sullen look. The unwelcome newcomer had the strangest looks Graznikh had ever seen. First of all, he had red hair and eyes that glowed a toxic green. The colours stood out against his slate-grey skin. The tip of each pointed ear had three tapering spikes through it, with the smallest at the top. There were also four spikes in his lips, two in the upper lip and two larger ones in the lower. His face was covered with spike-shaped tattoos, but it was the face itself that was the true oddity. He was bloody beautiful. He was distinctly Uruky, but his big lips, broad blunt nose, strong jaw, high cheekbones and heavy brow were all smooth and perfectly symmetrical. His entire face and body looked as if they had been sculpted by an Elf. Add to that the long red eyelashes that framed his eyes, his white teeth and skin that looked like velvety suede instead of the regular leathery texture... It was more than a little disturbing.
Graznikh was not in the mood for company, but neither was he in the mood to get into another fight. A bump on his shoulder alerted him, and he glared as the Uruk offered him a drinking skin without a word. He hesitated for a while, but he had not had anything to drink for all of yesterday, so he accepted with a nod and handed it back after a swig. The alcohol burned his innards.
”Nice evenin',” the Uruk said.
”Hnh.”
The Uruk grinned. ”Shitty night?”
Graznikh shrugged. ”More like shitty year.”
”That bad, huh? Have another drink then, you look like you need it.”
Graznikh gave him another look. ”Why so friendly?”
”Why not?” The Uruk chuckled. ”I've no reason to bitch with every other face I see here. The name's Praktash by the way, just another grunt who sweeps the floors for the Top Ones with his tongue if they command it.”
”Graznikh.”
”So, where you from? You don't sound like you're from around here.”
”Dunland.”
Praktash shrugged. ”Never heard of.”
”Way out west, beyond the mountains.”
”I thought that place was crawlin' with Elves?”
”Not those mountains. There were a few Elves, but not anymore.”
”Hnh.”
They stood in silence for a while, watching the desolate landscape of the Gorgoroth plateau. The booze was starting to get to his head, but Graznikh did not care. He kept drinking every time Praktash offered him the skin. ”Don't wanna steal all your drink,” he muttered after the fifth time.
”Don't worry, I've got another skin. This is easy to come by and like I said, you look like you need it.”

Graznikh turned from the depressing view beyond the walls to stare at the equally depressing sight of the Black Tower. Praktash sat down.
”So what's so horrible about this particular year?”
Graznikh groaned as he sat down as well. ”One of my... pals got caught. Ended up in the dungeons here.”
The grin on Praktash's lips disappeared. ”Well, shit.” Graznikh nodded.
”He musta done somethin' serious. What'd he do, punch a High Officer?”
”Yeah, 'he'... Nar, 'he' just... existed.”
Praktash nodded. I'd wager there's a story to be told here, if I play things right. Another moment of silent drinking passed.
”So... what d'you do here?” Graznikh asked.
”Guard duty mostly. Stand around lookin' like an idiot, occasionally pesterin' some poor snaga about numbers or breakin' up nearby fights.”
”Like those oafs at the gate?”
Praktash laughed. ”Yeah, my fellow guards aren't exactly the smartest bunch.”
”Ya can say that again. I almost didn't get in here at all.”
”That was you? I heard there'd been some commotion, talk of a great warrior or somethin' like that. How many were they?”
”I was a little busy, so I stopped counting at six.”
Praktash laughed out loud. ”Good on you! They need a bit of roughin' up at times.”
Graznikh snorted. ”Didn't help my mate much, though.”
”So what're you gonna do? Sit here and sulk for the rest of your time?”
”Any other suggestions?”
”Yeah, sign up for guard duty. Then you can sit and sulk there instead, and earn a livin' while you're at it. From what I heard of the gate ruckus you're a good fighter, which definitely can't be said for most folks here.”
”I don't know,” Graznikh said. ”I'd probably go berserk soon if I had to stand around staring at nothing all night. I'm too used to moving about with all the travelling I've done lately.”
Praktash shrugged. ”T'was just a suggestion. By the way, you got a place to sleep?”
”Nar. Might just crawl up in some corner out here.”
Praktash shook his head. ”Sleepin' in the streets is a sure way to end up in the cook pots. I've got room to spare in my crib, you can bunk there 'til you find somethin' better.”

Praktash's 'crib', located in an abandoned stash room near the easternmost gate, was unlike anything Graznikh had ever seen. Apart from the usual straw-stuffed mattress and firepit in the floor, there was a workbench filled with bottles and jars of various sizes and several rods in the roof which held stringed-up bouquets of dried herbs. There were also several large barrels and crates and in one corner, there was a strange oven.
”What is this place?”
”Distillery,” Praktash said. ”I earn a few tokens on the side makin' ghâshpau and poultices for the garrison. There's always someone with a rash or a cut that won't heal, or wants to forget their misery with smoke or liquid or mushrooms, so I've got a bit of a runnin' business.”
”Tokens?”
”What we use to buy stuff. We're forbidden to barter since that tend to cause too many casualties. Tokens're used all over Lugburz, Rhûn an' the South, all the merchants accept them.”
”Sounds practical. So how do I get some, if I should need them?”
”Either you join the garrison, they get a small amount each forthnight if the commander likes ya. Or you hire on as a bodyguard for some merchant, or if you're good at makin' or repairin' stuff you can hawk that. There's a large market near the main gate where you can find pretty much everythin' you need, from raw materials to ready-made stuff.”
Graznikh nodded. He had passed the market earlier while wandering the streets, but had not cared to take a closer look. Praktash went on to explain the details of life in Lugburz while Graznikh gave Zuzar a bowl of water. He began to realise that Lugburz was more than just an unusually large stronghold. It was more like the tark cities that Bardoc had told him about, but governed by the simple, straightforward rules of Orc society. The whole place made sense in a way he could not quite put into words.

”Indeed? You wish to proceed?”
Whindaër was on her knees before Tar-Mairon in the grand audience hall. Several months had passed since she had been imprisoned in her golden cage, and Whindaër had decided to unlock it the only way she knew. There was no true choice – either she accepted Tar-Mairon's offer, which did hold a glimmer of hope if he was sincere, or she would spend the rest of her days in her prison until he eventually killed her or the fading took her.
There were a few courtiers along the wall, whispering and watching the Elf with hateful eyes. Tar-Mairon himself sat upon the throne with a solemn expression, dressed in regal black and red garb emblazoned with the Eye that seemed to both fit him and not at the same time.
She gave a solemn nod and he rose. ”Follow.”
They left the throne room through a small door behind the throne. Up a flight of stairs, through another room covered with maps and a large table, down another flight and through a long corridor with doors on either side. At the end, he motioned for her to enter. ”After you.”

The room was a torture chamber. There were shackles on the wall and on a table lay an assortment of implements. Whindaër froze.
”Ah. I did tell you that it would be painful.” She looked up at Tar-Mairon towering above her. ”Fear not, I will not maim you or remove any limbs.”
She hesitantly took another step into the room as he examined the shackles, making sure they would hold. ”I will not enjoy causing you this pain.” He sounded so sincere that she almost believed him.
As per his instructions, she undressed and allowed herself to be chained to the wall. Tar-Mairon studied her naked body for a moment. ”Well then... I shall have to let go of this form for the first phase, I believe. See me.” The air shifted around him, and suddenly his outline became hazy. The raw power emanating from the being as he shifted made her skin crawl, but she could not look away. What have I done?
The being met her terrified gaze with burning eyes.
SEE ME.
 

Graznikh and Praktash were walking down a deserted alley, laughing and talking. They had become fast friends, or as close to it as Orcs could get, hanging out together whenever they were not on duty. If only Whin had been here, this would've been perfect, he thought.
Praktash said something he could not quite hear. ”Huh?”
SEE ME. The voice boomed through his head, and he crashed into the wall. Praktash stopped to look at him. ”Hey, what's up now? Graz?”
”Oh shit,” he squeaked as the bond wriggled. Then he threw up until there was nothing left.
”I thought you could hold your drink! You lied to me,” Praktash snickered.
”Shut up,” Graznikh growled as another tremor came through the bond. ”They're doing something to her, oh shit...” He dryheaved again.
'Her'? Praktash stared at Graznikh for a moment, then he dragged him back to the stash room. No one will care about weird noises in here, he thought as he watched Graznikh shake on the floor, staring with glassy eyes into a world only he could see.
His screams were only shadows of those coming from the torture room beyond the Dark Lord's throne.

Whindaër drew a ragged breath, her throat sore from the screaming. Tar-Mairon took her face in his hands with an almost loving smile.
”Good,” he whispered, ”you are strong.” His fingertips began to glow as he slowly slid them down her naked body, leaving deep burnmarks as the dark magic seared both flesh and fëa.
”Do not give in,” he instructed her. ”Resist me! If you give in willingly, your fëa will fail. Neither of us want you dead.”
Whindaër fought against the bonds, searching desperately for something to hold onto as she felt her fëa dangerously close to splitting down the middle. A memory surfaced; the night Graznikh had raped her. The violation she had experienced then was nothing compared to this, and even that memory comforted her as the tendrils of His spirit probed her for any weakness, any crack in her defense.

”You owe me an explanation,” Praktash said. Graznikh lay on his mattress, soaked in sweat and gulping down ghâshpau as if his life depended on him downing as much of it as he could possibly hold. ”What the fuck happened back there?”
”I don't know,” Graznikh gasped after emptying his mug. ”It felt like... Like someone shoved a hand into my head and poked my brain!”
Praktash gave him an unsure grin. ”Maybe you should wear a helmet next time you drink.”
Graznikh stared at him, then began to laugh. ”You're one weird Uruk.”
Praktash laughed. ”If I got a token for every time I heard that... So who is this pal of yours? I've never heard of anyone lastin' this long in the dungeons, but you keep repeatin' that he's alive like you got regular reports from the place.”
Graznikh hesitated. ”If this gets out, I'm probably bound for the dungeons as well.”
”I've no reason to tell anyone. You're a pal, you're clever and cunnin' enough to stay outta trouble and you seem to know how to pick your fights when you have to. You may not be an Uruk, but you're alright.”
”...Fine. It's not an Orc.”
”Your buddy? A tark, then?”
”Fuck nar!”
Praktash frowned. ”A dwarf? Seriously?”
”Try again.”
Praktash shrugged after a while. ”Just tell me already.”
”Elf.”
”You what?!”
Graznikh nodded. ”Elf. And not 'he'.”
”So what reason did you have for travelin' here of all places with an Elf?”
”We weren't heading here, we were trying to get past the whole place, to go further east.”
”Why?”

Graznikh took a deep breath. Then he began talking. He told Praktash everything; from that first sighting in the forest to the ambush on the Elven caravan. Of his and Whindaër's first nights in the cave and their painful bonding. Of the encounter in the mountains, the siege and destruction of the haven and their flight east. It felt so good to finally tell someone. He explained the strange bond they shared, their confusion, the deal with Elves and kin-slaying. Praktash listened, sometimes staring in disbelief, sometimes leering as Graznikh gave him the details of certain intimate events.
”So what does this Elf look like? I've never seen one, just heard horror stories.”
Graznikh leaned back against the wall, remembering. ”Long dark hair, not black or grey but brown, shimmering with gold in the sunlight and silver beneath the moon. Not thick like ours, it's thin like spiderwebs. Blue eyes with stars in them, stars that doesn't sting. Soft pale skin, not like mine, more reddish. And it glows in the moonlight, real faint but it's there. She looks so frail, like she'd break a rib just from breathing heavy.”
Praktash leered. ”And you made her breathe quite a bit, didn'tcha? A bit of gaspin' too, perhaps?”
Graznikh returned the leer. ”Oh, she was breathing alright. She was screaming my name by the time I was done with her, in the good way might I add!” He sighed. ”But she's strong, much stronger than she looks. When I first caught her she was like a frightened little kitten, shivering in the dark. Then when I met her in that cave, she was well on her way to becoming a real warrior. The third time, at the siege... The kitten had become a bloody warg-bitch. I didn't even recognize her at first, so we crossed blades and she disarmed me in the blink of an eye. If she hadn't reached through I would've attacked her again, and then I'd be dead by now.”
”And then she stared into your pretty red eyes and turned all mushy, right?”
”Sort of, she stole the knife outta my hand and killed another Elf with it.”
”Oh, that's just too cute!”
”Aye... To get her out we pretended she'd turned traitor and switched sides. In a way, she had. Then we went rogue. We thought we'd be going east, away from everything. But those Black Tarks were waiting for us and took her while she was out scouting. I've no idea how they knew we were coming. I followed them here, and... well, that was it.” Graznikh stared at his knees. ”I can still feel her through the bond, so I know she's still alive. I figure if she dies, it would go as well.”
Praktash grimaced. ”An' what do you feel?”
Graznikh just shook his head, anguish filling his eyes. Zuzar licked his hand. The young 'Terror of the East-Gate' had grown a lot since they reached the Tower, despite the sometimes scarce food. The nickname and subsequent reputation spread after Zuzar had decided to take a nap in a pleasantly cool and dark alley, where three kitchen snagas had found him and tried to capture him for a little extra protein. Their plan had backlashed and the tiny warg had made a decent meal of them instead. His shoulders were now level with Graznikh's waist but he still looked somewhat emaciated and lanky.

”Tell you what? Sign up for guard duty. I might be able to grease some wheels one way or another so we get posts down in the dungeons. I'll cover for you and you can look for your pal.”
Graznikh stared at him. ”And why would you do that? You've only just met me.”
Praktash grinned. ”Because I'm a bloody romantic. I don't care about the Top Ones, they don't give a shit about us grunts. We might not get your pal out alive, but then you can at least say goodbye.”
”You know, I lied to her about it once.”
”About what?”
”About torture. Common knowledge is that Elves die from rape and such, but I told her that if an Elf has a reason to live and want to live badly enough, she'd survive any torture. She believed it then, but it was a big fucking lie.”
Praktash patted his shoulder and handed him the drinking skin. ”Here. Finish it.”
Graznikh muttered a ”thanks”. He then proceeded to drink himself into blessed, forgetful darkness.

Over a year later, Praktash's 'greasing' finally gave results as they were assigned posts at the door to the audience hall where the Dark Lord received visitors. There had been no Elves in the regular dungeons, so they had figured that she must be held higher up in the Tower, and the only way to reach the upper levels was through the audience hall.
”You will keep any and all from entering while the audiences are held,” the vice-castellan said. ”You will also remain afterward, make sure the audience chamber is empty before you leave, and report to me each time after you are relieved.”
They waited until after the waiting chamber was clear after the night's audience sessions, then Graznikh listened at the door. When he heard nothing, he peered inside. The room was grand; the walls were decorated with banners and flags from every realm beneath the Shadow. There was a rich black carpet with red patterns reaching up to the throne at the far end of the hall. Behind the throne there was a large tapestry with an outline of Lugburz beneath the Eye. He nodded to Praktash, then sneaked inside. On each side of the throne, behind the large braziers that flanked it, was a small door. Graznikh hesitated. Which one was right? He decided upon the one to the right. He quietly climbed the flight of stairs inside that lead to a room that must be where the Dark Lord and His confidantes discussed war strategy. There were several maps and scrolls on a large table in the center of the room. Several corridors led out of it, but Graznikh concentrated on the bond and turned left. It led down another stair, and there it ended.

Graznikh stopped, his way barred by a seemingly impenetrable Darkness, so intense that it seemed like everything simply ended there. The bond told him that Whindaër was close, inside that Darkness. He swallowed, but he could not turn back now that he was so close!
Graznikh could almost feel the Darkness surround him as he entered. It was tangible, stretching around his arms and legs. It felt like wading through deep water. Unable to see, he felt his way along the wall, hoping that he would not bump into something. The wall disappeared to his left. It's either a doorway, or the corridor splits here. He turned left after a moment's hesitation. He bit back a curse as he bumped into something at waist-height. It felt like a table. He heard a quiet gasp.
”Wh-who's there?”
Graznikh felt a wave of relief as he heard Whindaër's voice. The Darkness seemed to part a little as he came close.
”No,” she whispered as he came close and whispered her name.
”It's okay,” Graznikh whispered, ”I'm here now, I'll get you out.”
”No! If it is truly you and not a phantom in my mind, you must leave! He will find you!”
”I don't care,” Graznikh growled. She felt sticky to the touch, but he could not tell whether it was blood, sweat or something else.
”Please,” she wept. ”I need you alive! I need you...”
The Darkness suddenly tightened and her head snapped up. What Graznikh felt through the bond almost made him sick with fear. ”He is coming,” she whispered. ”Go, go now, run!”
Graznikh's heart bled as he kissed her.
”I love you,” Whindaër whispered as he turned to leave. ”I will always be with you.” He glanced back, unable to speak. Instead he sent through the bond what he could not express with words. As he began to walk towards the corridor, the Darkness seemed to tighten further. He pushed against it but it clinged to him like glue, making it difficult to breathe. Just as he reached the stairs it solidified and he barely managed to tear himself free. He panted, staring at the slick, solid wall behind him. Had it been real, or just an illusion? He turned and ran.

 The Dark Lord watched the Orc skulking through the map room. So this is the one? Curious.

Graznikh jumped back with a shriek as the Dark Lord materialised in the doorway, blocking his escape. He had never seen the Master of the Black Land, supposedly He had better things to do than hang out with the grunts at the bottom of the hierarchy. The being that now stood before him was... an Elf?
”Stand.” The calm word was not a command, but an action. Graznikh's body moved on its own before he even had time to react, leaping to his feet. He could only move his eyes and his mind was still his own, but the rest of him was completely in His control. His head turned this way and that as the Dark Lord studied him with a calm, thoughtful expression.
This one is strong, He thought. Resourceful too. How much of it is her doing, I wonder? Graznikh could only look as a slender hand approached his face and moved as if casting a wordless spell. He could not even scream as he felt the effortless invasion of his mind. The Dark Lord sifted through memories, opinions and feelings, sorting and categorising them. Graznikh literally saw his life pass by before his eyes. Suddenly the flashing stopped, and rewinded in a blur that made him want to throw up (but of course he could not) in a bout of the worst motion sickness he had ever experienced. Then it slowed down, and he saw Whindaër's face. Little Whin, during the raid when they had first met.
Not that, he cried inside. Please don't take that! Graznikh did not doubt for a second that the Dark Lord could extinguish everything with a snap of His fingers.

So it began this early, He thought as He studied the Orc's memories. This is valuable. The Elf had been difficult to break indeed, and so far He had only been able to gather scraps from her. But now vigilance and a stroke of unexpected luck had handed Him a goldmine. He studied each and every memory in detail, every stolen moment, every conversation. Because of the Orc's memories of the bond, He also had a fuzzy experience of the Elf's feelings. The 'love' was no lie. Most curious indeed. When the memories approached His invasion of Eriador, things became very interesting. Graznikh saw the Dark Lord's expression change from thoughtful to amazed as He had a first-hand motion picture of Whindaër's fall and how His influence on her, through Graznikh, had initiated the unknown Fourth Kin-Slaying.

As Graznikh relived the event, he realised how much he had fucked up. Whindaër had been nowhere near fading before the Dark Lord had begun spreading His influence in Graznikh's mind. Under that influence, he had done things that he would never have done had his mind been his own. And during the siege, he had pushed that darkness on Whindaër so hard that it had almost killed her then and there. He had not wanted Falastur to die, the kid had been alright despite his hatred and constant attempts on Graznikh's life. And old man Theolas, had he saved his life just to send him to a watery grave years later? And Whin... If Graznikh had been able to cry, he would have had tears streaming down his face. As it was, he could only let out an internal scream of anguish.

The Dark Lord watched the Orc's internal struggle with amusement. He had considered wiping its memory, but the bond could prove useful in the future. From what He had seen, this Orc was one of the things that kept His young ward in this world and every anchor was important at this point. Then, out of curiosity, He sought and found the Orc's memories of the past year. So this Orc feels everything she feels? It would seem that I have touched both their fëas unwittingly. The discovery gave him an idea. The tendrils in Graznikh's mind suddenly became barbed spikes and the pain was so intense that he almost lost consciousness. Almost. But the shrill scream that emanated from the torture room told the Dark Lord all He wanted to know. He made a graceful motion with His hand and the tendrils in the Orc's mind withdrew.

Graznikh felt weak and abused. Is this what Elves feel like after getting raped? He wondered. I dare say they do, came the amused answer throgh his own thoughts. Graznikh lifted his head to stare at the Master of the Black Land. You're bloody reading my thoughts too? The Dark Lord met his gaze with a gentle smile.
”You have given me a valuable gift,” He said. His voice dripped with honey and blood and left Graznikh dizzy from the praise. ”Consider yourself lucky. I should send you to my 'cat' as entertainment for your intrusion, but I think I shall not. You are free to leave.” When the Orc did not move, He frowned. Then He remembered. ”Ah.”
Graznikh felt himself following the Dark Lord out of the map room and through the audience hall. The great doors opened on their own as He approached, stopped in the doorway and invited Graznikh to step outside. As the doors slammed shut behind him and the Dark Lord finally released him, Graznikh collapsed in a howling heap on the floor.

A few months later, Praktash sat on his mattress and eyed his 'buddy' warily. When Graznikh had returned from the unsuccessful rescue attempt, he had gone berserk and killed three Uruks and several snagas before he was finally subdued. His wounds had taken months to heal and Praktash had more than once been forced to tie him down to keep him from berserking again. He feared that his weird little buddy was losing his mind.
Graznikh sat on his mattress, fiddling with some rawhide strips. Praktash cocked his head. ”What's that you're doin'?”
”Braiding,” Graznikh said. ”I need to do something, I'm going insane just sitting here.”
Praktash took a closer look at the intricate braided handle he was making for his ghâshpau skin. Praktash had, unbeknownst to Graznikh, spiked his ghâshpau and booze with calming drugs and they seemed to have taken effect.
”Hey, that's good! If you made a few of those you could sell them for tokens.”
Graznikh looked up. ”Ya think?”
”Yeah! Can you do more than just handles?”
Graznikh showed him the braided hilts on his blades, the belt and various leather and rawhide bags he had made. ”I don't have that much left of it though. Not enough to make hilts or bags.”
”You could check the market for raw materials. If I brag about these to the right people you'll have a business up in no time.”

The Dark Lord studied the Elf intently. He had made sure to feed and water her regularly to keep her body strong, but it was clear that she would not last much longer. This was a critical stage; one mistake now and He would lose her.
He had decided not to use the Ring at this stage. Removing it had been a very difficult thing to do and it left Him greatly weakened, but too much power was a liability at this point. He forced her to meet His gaze as He wove a powerful spell of binding.
The Void gaped wide as He released the spell and subjected her to His final assault. She felt her defenses break and the chain of will that kept her solid and Him from claiming her shatter. His tendrils dug deep into her being as she passed beyond pain. A last defiant cry passed her lips before her fëa evaporated under the onslaught, accompanied by His victorious laughter.
”SAURON!!!”

And far below, Graznikh felt her fade and die.