The Battles We Choose by Hoglorfen

First there was pain. Blistering, mind-searing pain, beyond screams and reason.
Second there was darkness. A darkness so deep that all light and memory waned in its presence.
Third there was the voice. Whispering, booming, reaching inside.
WHO ARE YOU?
It wanted to answer, but there was none to give.
YOU ARE MINE.
A purpose, a reason!
MY CHILD, MY CREATION.
A history, an origin.
SEE ME.

Slowly the existence came to. It tried to see, but the light was painful. Something shielded it from it, someone, and it opened its eyes and looked around the room. Everything was black except the torch and the Eye. It closed its eyes again, taking a deep breath. Then it looked at the one shielding it from the searing light. The man's eyes burned, so intense that it could not meet His gaze.
”No,” He said. ”See me.” It forced itself to meet His gaze. ”What do you remember?”
It moved its dry, broken lips to speak. ”Darkness.”
The man seemed pleased with the answer. ”And who am I?”
”Father,” it whispered. ”Creator. Master. Fire.”
The man laughed at this, a laughter that rang off the walls, so beautiful it brought tears to its eyes.
”Rise,” He said and beckoned with slender fingers.

It rose mechanically as its body remembered something its self did not. The man gave an order to help 'her'. A shape, an existence! Two other, lesser men took place on each side and supported her as they followed Him out of the room, through a corridor and into another room. This one was lit by small braziers in the corners. The man turned towards her.
”Who are you?” He asked again.
”I am yours.” The answer came naturally, now that she knew it. The two lesser men covered her body with a soft, black robe.
The man smiled; a terrible, beautiful smile. ”I am your Master. You are mine. But you can be more.” He took her face in His hands, His burning eyes boring into her. ”You can be my weapon against my enemies, my lash against my slaves. You can be the living, breathing sign to Elves and Men alike that none can stand against me, not even the Noldor. You can walk where others fall, succeed where others falter. You can be Záhovar.”

A name? But not yet. He let her go and turned away. ”But first you must learn and prove yourself worthy. I have no use for the useless. You will be given tutors; learn what they have to teach you. Do not fail me, Za.”
Catching the Elf's warped fëa had been like catching an invisible, soaped-up eel. Only the taint upon it had told Him of its existence in the Unseen and allowed Him to hold onto it as He released the final spell. But now it was done and, judging by the answers she had given, successful. Still, He had to be careful. If she regained her memories too soon, the delicate cage He had placed her in could be broken and her fëa escape. For now, it was better to leave her without all but the most vital of memories, like how to walk and talk. The rest He would portion out over time, disguised as learning.

”You're a bloody madman.” Praktash snorted.
”Aye, but he started it.” Graznikh readjusted the hacked-off leg he carried on his shoulder as they made their way past the second gate, heading back to the stash room.
”That didn't mean you had to pull a knife on him. He was a wimp, all talk and no claws.”
”And now he won't bother any of us again.”
”Pity. He was fun to mess with.”
Graznikh sighed. His temper seemed to only get worse with time. He had always pictured himself as a sensible fighter who didn't take unnecessary risks, but after the Eye touched his mind something had snapped, and once the red haze clouded his vision there was no stopping the carnage that ensued. ”Why do you even try to keep me alive?”
”You know why; I like ya. Besides, you're a bloody one-Orc-army once you get riled. If the tarks come, we'll just stick two knives in your hands, mention you-know-who to ya and point ya at the enemy. You'd depopulate the West in no time.”
Graznikh couldn't help but laugh. ”The Eye makes sure to keep those it finds useful. You may pretend to be all rogueish, but you're a real zealot deep down.”
Praktash grinned. ”How do you think I've stayed alive this long without fightin'?”
”By sucking cock to those above and giving it to those below?”
Praktash grinned even wider. ”That too.”

As they returned to the stashroom, Graznikh's warg lifted its head and gave them a welcoming growl. Seven years had passed since Graznikh and Zuzar came to the Tower, and the warg had now grown to full maturity. He barely fitted on Graznikh's mattress anymore and they had been forced to widen the door, but curled up against the warg's warm belly was the only place Graznikh managed to sleep without being harried by nightmares. Graznikh grinned at his 'pup' and threw the leg.
”Here buddy, catch!” Meat was difficult to come by and most of the Tower's inhabitants were fed an oily, sludgelike gruel dotted by minuscule cubes of meat of unknown origin. Feeding a fully grown warg in the Orc city would have been impossible if Zuzar had not hunted most of his food himself. And Graznikh made sure to take the warg for a run outside the gates regularly so that he would not trash the workshop in a restless fit.
”I was thinking 'bout going to the scrubhouse later,” Graznikh said. ”You wanna join?”
”To watch your pretty arse? Sure,” Praktash purred. Graznikh laughed. Praktash's preferences were obvious, but the Uruk never made any serious passes at him. Sometimes he wondered if he was the only one except the Top Ones who was completely safe from Praktash's predatorial advances.

Praktash himself was happy. Half a year had passed since the bond died, and things were finally going back to normal. Graznikh had spent the first few weeks afterwards howling and screaming in that funny dialect of his, calling the name of his lost mate even in his sleep. Praktash realised that his buddy had never really given up hope on the Elf and he could not help but be impressed that she had lasted as long as she had. He figured it must have been a tough bastard.
Zuzar had been a great help during the healing process, first by simply lying on top of its master as he thrashed, assisting Praktash in getting the drugs into him to calm him down and later by dragging the depressed berserker out of his booze nest and into the world. And slowly but surely, Graznikh had learned to enjoy life again.
If anyone else had found him on the walls that night long ago, Graznikh would have been dead for sure. He had shown such obvious signs of weakness during his stay in Lugburz that anyone else would have killed him for it. Anyone but Praktash. As long as Graznikh kept his shit together, he was alright. Just fine, actually. And sensible folk who did not run in the other direction once they got a whiff of Praktash's lousy reputation were hard to come by in Lugburz. Sure, a lot of people depended on him for booze or a cure for the headache after, or other ailments that they were not tough enough to deal with on their own, but those were business arrangements. There was no trust whatsoever and no one would ever come to his aid if he got himself into a tight spot. Graznikh had gotten more than a whiff, and he simply did not care. His laid-back attitude made a lot of people underestimate him or take him for granted. But the last guy who had tried to take advantage had been left alive without a face once the berserker was done with him.
Graznikh had not formed any solid alliances either. Berserkers were both feared and shunned in equal measure; feared for their ferocity in battle, shunned for their unreliability in the same battles. Praktash had learned to see when the madness began to creep into the pale Orc's eyes and take the necessary precautions, but Graznikh had never berserked on him or even turned on him when Praktash stepped in. Praktash still watched his back a little around him, but he found himself relaxing more and more in Graznikh's presence and the warg was a huge bonus. It felt odd, not having to sleep with one eye open to keep intruders out of his little hidey-hole, but it was a pleasant oddity.

Graznikh briefly looked up from his braiding as Praktash checked the progress of his latest brewing experiment. He could not fathom why the Uruk kept pushing him back up. Graznikh had met a few berserkers during his time as a raider; they rarely lasted long due to their lack of self-control. In the strongholds, they were considered a danger to the entire community and they did not fare much better as raiders, where the ability to break and run could mean the difference between life and death if an ambush went wrong. Graznikh himself had often sneered at them behind their backs; now he embodied that flaw himself. He did not like it, no matter what Praktash said about berserkers being seen differently in Lugburz. What does he know anyway?
Graznikh frowned a little as he returned to braiding. What did Praktash know? The tattooed Uruk was an enigma. His cheerfully arrogant attitude was like a breath of fresh air after a dungeon crawl, but he was as tight-lipped about his past as Graznikh was outspoken about his own. He was a good listener and seemed to genuinely enjoy hearing about his pale little 'buddy's grand tales of raiding and raping, but he never spoke a word about himself. Even when drunk he laughed the question off and switched topic; when pressured, he claimed that his past was too boring to relive; when pushed further, he simply fell silent until the annoying pest gave up. He never seemed to take offense, but after a year or so, Graznikh had stopped asking. Something in the Uruk's veiled face made him back off; perhaps it was the barely noticeable tension in the corners of his mouth, or perhaps the tiny crease that appeared in the corners of his eyes and lent the smiling, too-pretty face a haunted appearance. Whatever had happened, revealing it was not worth losing the only shield Graznikh had. Whatever had happened, the present was far more interesting.

In the beginning of their acquaintance, Graznikh had not understood why the snagas bolted whenever they spotted Praktash in the streets, or why the guy in charge of the alehouse where Praktash delivered most of his booze and where Graznikh hung out whenever he was off duty always greeted him with ”still walking, eh?”. At first he had thought that it had something to do with him being a berserker, but when he eventually got around to calling him out on it, on a night when Praktash happened to be absent, the grisly truth had been unveiled.
”He's a bugger,” the barkeep said after ensuring that Graznikh was not joking. ”Worst o' the lot. Likes 'em screaming in pain. Dunno how many snagas that one's spent.”
”Spent?”
”Aye, y'know... fucked 'til they stopped howling. I'd wager that one's the main reason the gruel always tastes salty when topped with snaga meat.”
”Hnh.”
The barkeep gave Graznikh a quizzical look. ”'At's fine with ya?”
Graznikh shrugged. ”Why would I care what he does to snaga? Never tried anything with me. A few sweet words's all.”
”Izzat so? Thought you were one o' those what liked that kinda stuff.” The barkeep frowned. ”Maybe you're too big for his taste.” But the look on his face told Graznikh that he did not believe so. Afterwards, Graznikh had turned this new knowledge over and over in his head and come to the conclusion that he truly did not care. Praktash had never tried anything with him and Graznikh felt confident that he could handle things if that ever happened. Besides, the Uruk knew that he would have the berserker exploding in his face if he ever tried to violate him, and Graznikh was equally confident that Praktash was not so stupid as to risk that. Graznikh never brought it up with Praktash; there simply was no need. That was five years earlier, and Praktash had done no more than leer, ogle, purr and comment on Graznikh's physique and 'delicious' scars whenever he saw him less than fully clothed. It was obvious that he had no interest in going further.

After the first few weeks with her new tutor in the art of war, Za learned a new feeling: hate. The man was more interested in torture than in teaching and his punishments for her imagined failures became more and more excessive over time, as did his attempts to 'harden' her. When he realised that he could not mar her, that her wounds healed swiftly and without leaving any mark, he resorted to other means instead.
”You little bitch..!” The trainer's fist crashed into Za's face and she hit the floor hard, scraping her elbow and shoulder in the process. She reflexively kicked at his leg as he approached, but missed.
”Your insolence is beginning to bore me,” he muttered as he grabbed her long hair and lifted her to her feet. Za quickly regained her footing, but he kept pulling her up until she was forced to balance on her toes to prevent her scalp from tearing. Her trainer eyed her intently, upper lip curling in a sneer as he glanced at her jagged ear. The scars were already fading and soon no trace of them would be left. The jagged cuts into the cartilage would remain, an eternal reminder of how flawed she was. Za let out an involuntary little sound of disgust as he trailed them with a finger, only to cry out as he pinched the utmost tip and twisted it hard.
”Pointy-eared wretch... Your presence here matters little. Your kind has no place in the new world order my Master is laying out, and you will soon find out why.” He let go of her ear and grabbed her chin instead. ”But you are pretty... And you're a woman.”
Za bit back another cry as he released her hair unexpectedly and made her fall to her knees. Then he dragged her over to the desk, pulled her back to her feet and shoved her forward. The next moment, Za was lying bent over the desk's edge, fingering her aching scalp. Little flecks of red stained her fingers from where the skin had broken. A sound from behind caught her attention and she found that her trainer was unbuckling his trousers. Does he intend to... relieve himself on me? She gave him a glance that said 'is that the worst you can come up with?'.
”No foul words for me?” he sneered. ”No spitting curses or pleading for mercy?” He chuckled when Za did not reply. ”You do not even know what is going to happen, do you?”
”What care have I for your petty insults?”
”Indeed..? Then allow me to teach you what it means to be a woman.” His hands moved to the back of her trousers.

All of a sudden he was close; too close. Za tried to fight him off as her trousers were torn and her lower body exposed, but he was too strong. His weight pressed her down into the hard surface and her hips ground painfully against the edge of the desk as he groped and prodded below. What is he doing?! Then Za understood, a moment too late.
The first thrust forced a scream over her lips. Getting it in was difficult with no lubrication and the trainer cursed under his breath while trying to force the issue. Then he pulled out, spat a few times and smeared her with no care for her comfort and tried again. This time it was easier and he impaled her with a single, hard thrust.
It hurt in a way Za had never before imagined. He was inside her, using that part of his body as a third fist to punch her insides. Every time their lower bodies connected, the pain reverberated up through her body; after a while she threw up a little from how intense it was. And from the sound of it, her trainer was enjoying himself immensely. His fingers dug into the flesh on her hips and he pulled her towards himself with every thrust. Za clawed the desk in a feeble attempt to get away but her struggles only served to drive splinters in underneath her nails.
The agony soon ended. Her trainer let out a shuddering groan and slammed into her one last time, then he pulled out.
”It looks like you do have a use after all!” he said, his face ripe with weary, malicious spite. ”Woman.”
Za was well acquainted with pain and both physical and spiritual intrusion. This man's petty acts could not move her, not even as he began to call in his pet Uruks 'for a treat' after he was done. The Uruks at least were straightforward. She soon found that her moans of pretended pleasure from their attentions seemed to infuriate the man even more than her defiance and that was a victory, however small.

Her tutor in the knowledge of the Tower and its workings was different. Gîrakûn was old and wizened but her eyes were dangerously bright. She was a dushatâr, a sorceress who had dwelt in Blog Shakâmb as a scholar for many long years before the Dark Lord called her back into His service.
”You have so much to learn and so very little time,” she said the first time Za entered her study. ”Our Master is not a patient man, and if you do not study well enough to please Him, both of us will suffer for it. You will read what I tell you to read, learn what I hand out. I encourage you to do to more; every step you take on your own is in itself a valuable lesson.” She took a large book from the desk. ”Can you read?”
”I do not know,” Za said.
Gîrakûn gave her a mirthless smile. ”Try it. Read the title aloud to me.”
As Za opened the book, strange symbols danced upon the parchment. But after a while, they settled and formed words in her head. ”He Who Arises In Might; A treatise on the history of Darkness.”
The old woman seemed pleased. ”You will come to me every second night after the fifth toll, and you will describe what you have read with your own words, the meaning of it and your thoughts on the matter. I will ask you questions on the topic at hand and you will answer, again with your own words. I know these books by heart, so I will know if you try to simply repeat the words you have read. When we are done with this book, I will give you another. Our Master has also commanded me to teach you the basics of sorcery, so after each rehearsal I will give you exercises which are intended to strengthen your mind, body and spirit so that they will not deteriorate too quickly when you embrace the Unseen.”
As Za nodded, Gîrakûn held up a hand. ”And if you somehow manage to damage or, Utumno forbid it, destroy any of my books, I will have you piece it together and write a new copy. I do not think I will need to make any harsher threats than so.”
”I will defend these books with my life,” Za assured her and Gîrakûn gave her a genuine smile.
”I am glad to have finally received a sensible student. Run along now! I shall expect your return two nights hence.”

Two nights later, three tolls of a bell rang out from the underground, vibrating up through the Great Tower despite its size. Za was awake already when the first one reached the floor of her little room. Being late for the lessons was no alternative; her mentor was as ruthless when meting out punishment as she was meticulous when teaching. The slightest sign of disobedience earned a new one, as it should be. Not like the martial trainer who beat first and asked questions later. No, Her Ladyship Gîrakûn was better than that. Za knew by now that she should not even be here; she had far more important things to do than to educate a thing like Za. ”It.” Less than ”it”; ”za” was not a word that could be used on its own. Za Lug-durbatar; ”the High Officer”. She was only ”the”. Not even that...
Za sat down by the little mirror she had been granted and looked at the foreign face within. She did not know that face, but then there was much she did not know. The dark mark over her left eye had nearly faded and the only memory of the split lip was a pale little line that would fade as well soon enough. No matter how her trainer tried to mark her, his attempts never lasted. Za watched as the corners of the mirror-image's mouth arched slightly. Although she did not enjoy the trainer's attentions, she enjoyed the slighting he was given every time her battered body refused to obey him. None could mark her but Him, and none could slay her but Him. Those were the words of awakening, and this petty Man could not change them. His frustration and futile hate almost made her hope that he would hit her again, just so she could savour the look of defeat upon his face one more time.
When the third toll had fallen silent, there was a brief knock on the door before a Lug-snaga entered with a tray. Today's breakfast was some kind of watered-down broth that told Za that today's lesson would be strenuous. Gîrakûn never let her eat anything solid before the lesson if it would be so; broth meant that there would be no solid pieces to choke on when it came back up. The Lug-snaga brushed her hair with mechanical moves as she ate and helped her dress once she was done. When it was time to tie the sash, Za held a hand up to stop the slave and took it. She placed it around her waist and frowned as she tried to remember how to tie the knot. Cross them like this, then one over the other... No, that does not work. After a few attempts she gave up and allowed the snaga to tie it for her. It would not do to be late, and there would be other opportunities to practice.

Gîrakûn sat at her desk as she always did. She looked up when Za entered and gave her a little smile. ”Ah, there you are.” She motioned for her to sit and Za obeyed. ”Now what have you learned?”
”That the True Master spent three full ages in vilest torture beyond the Sea, where the Elves drank greedily of the knowledge He offered. They too were snaga, but so beguiled by that land of undeath that they could not see it for what it was. But their greatest smith rejected the offer of alliance and earned the True Master's wrath. So it was that He went to Avathar in search of one who had once dared to spurn Him, and offered the gift intended for the Elven smith to her instead.”
”And our Master..?”
”Remained in Ôngburz and governed it in the True Master's stead.”
”And how do you think he managed to escape when one so formidable as the True Master did not?”
It was a difficult question and Za had to think for a while before she found the answer. ”At times, a ravenous warg will go for the large chunks and forget the smaller scraps. Perhaps the Nameless did the same?”
”'Perhaps' is not an answer I like.” Za bowed her head and accepted the inevitable, but Gîrakûn smiled. ”But I shall let it pass this time, if only because you will soon have enough on your mind as it is. Continue.”
Za took a deep breath. ”A great blow was struck against undeath that night, and together the True Master and the Queen of Avathar left that realm behind. But the Queen of Avathar's treachery was folly and her theft an even greater one. She stood no chance against the ghâshgoths who lay in wait for the True Master's return, and the battle cry that was sent forth there permeated the very rocks in that valley, reawakening whenever someone called out there.”
”Mmn... Passable. Do you have any questions?”
”I only wonder... What happened to the Queen of Folly after the True Master drove her off?”
”Unfortunately, whatever records there were of that fate have been lost. What I wouldn't give to find even a fragment of such a manuscript... But I doubt that it is ever to be. But let us not stray; what happened after?”
Za looked down. ”The Sun and Moon rose in the sky.”
”And you have a question about it.”
”I do not know what it means. There is no light in the sky.”
”But there is. There are places where the sky is different from that here in Lugburz, where our Master's will is strong. One day you might be permitted to see those places with your own eyes, if you are found worthy.”
”But what does it mean? Why did they rise when the True Master returned to His dwelling? Did He make them?”
”No... There are many theories about where they came from, all very plausible. I am not sure that I believe any of them, though... They all engender questions for which there are no answers within the theory. Whatever they are and whoever made them, it was clearly NOT the True Master.”
”Are they... dangerous?”
Gîrakûn sat in thoughtful silence for a moment before answering. ”No, not precisely. Not to us, at any rate. Orcs and Uruks weaken when exposed to their light; the Sun far more so than the Moon. It will not kill them, but I would advise against driving them hard beneath the Sun if they are expected to fight at the journey's end. If not, then one simply needs to apply some added persuasion. Trolls, however, turn to stone when touched by the Sun's rays.”
”Stone?” Za whispered.
”Indeed. What does that tell you?”
”That... Trolls are not a larger kind of Orc. Perhaps... they came before them?”
”Very good. It seems you have been paying attention. Yes, Trolls were a prototype, of sorts. As a tree turns to ash when exposed to fire, so Trolls turn to stone in the heat of the Sun.”
”Why?”
Gîrakûn smiled. ”That knowledge is not for you. Not yet. Now go; you have another lesson waiting for you.”

The underground was a vast network of caves that ran deep underneath the fortress city of Lugburz, shaped by volcanic activity. Because of the free access to both heat and water, the kitchens and the scrubhouses were located there. The scrubhouses, or steam baths as the tarks called them, were simply caverns where steam rose through cracks in the rock and gathered; the Orcs used these caverns to keep themselves somewhat clean. The place brought bittersweet memories for Graznikh; the pyrite crystals and travertine formations reminded him of the secret cave where he had joined with Whin and sealed his own fate so long ago, but the lure of a relaxing steam bath and scrubbing, and possibly a backrub from Praktash who turned out to be surprisingly good at it, was simply irresistible. Soon he lay on a crude stone bench carved out of the cavern wall with a big grin on his face as the Uruk kneaded away tensions and knots.
”Will you stop purrin' like that?” Praktash complained. ”It's distractin'.”
”Were you a Dunlending whore in a past life? I seem to recognise some of the techniques ye're using.”
Praktash leaned closer. ”What makes you think I'm not one now?”
”'Cause if you were, people would be running towards ya instead of away from ya.” That made Praktash laugh. When he was done scrubbing the dead skin and grime off, Graznikh returned the favor.
”Hey, Prakûth!” Praktash lifted his head and grinned as a naked Orc woman sat down on the bench next to them with a thump. ”Found a boyfriend at last, have you?” she remarked with a grin, nodding towards Graznikh.
”Nar, just a buddy. Graznikh, meet Hîsht. She's part of the garrison in Udûn. Old friend o' mine. Hîsht, this here's Graznikh.”
Graznikh nodded a greeting. The woman before him was not young, but not ancient either. Her flat breasts and belly bore the stretchmarks that were the telltale sign of a breeder, but she was clearly not one anymore. The large scar on her lower abdomen marked her as one of those rare women who had gone barren for some reason but were large and fit enough to be potential soldiers, so instead of having her killed and cooked the pitmaster had punctured her womb with a knife and sent her packing. The Tower had no use for the useless, but Hîsht had proven her worth twice over as both breeder and fighter.
”Not just a 'part'; I got promoted,” Hîsht said with a grin and giggled as Praktash groaned. ”Don't worry Prapsam, I'm not an Officer... yet.” An even louder groan made even Graznikh chuckle. ”Yeah, soon I'll be sippin' wine in fancy robes and you'll both be lickin' my feet clean. How 'bout that, ey Prashnak?”
”Wonderful,” came the forlorn answer. Graznikh laughed as much at Praktash's fake dismay as at the nicknames. Praktash laughed as well, then looked up.
”So why're you here? I thought you were supposed to be in Udûn,” Praktash said.
”Got transferred. The whole hûrk. No idea why, as usual. Guess they gotta keep the wheel o' war spinnin', even if there's no war to be had right now.” Hîsht shrugged and looked at Graznikh. ”So, pretty one? How long you been in the Tower?”
”No idea,” Graznikh said, flashing fangs at being called 'pretty'. ”Years. I've lost count.”
”You in the army, or..?”
”Nar, guard.”
”And fixer-upper whenever someone's favourite boots gets a hole in 'em,” Praktash added with a grin.
”Screw that, we could use those nice shoulders in the army,” Hîsht said with a grin.
”Oh no, you don't!” Praktash shot up. ”You're not takin' my buddy! If he ever ends up there, he'd be a Low One in no time at all and all my fappin' material would be ruined forever!”
Hîsht laughed out loud at that. ”Aw, don't worry Pushaktar, I won't steal your toy.” Someone called, and Hîsht replied with a curse. ”Gotta go, company's missin' me. Anyway, drink and chat tomorrow night? Whaddya say?”
Praktash and Graznikh shared a look. ”Sure, we'll be there.”

Graznikh shook water out of his ears as they left the underground and walked out into the open air where they were violently welcomed by Zuzar, who had been out hunting and had tracked them down when they were not to be found at the stash room. There was some kind of commotion on the training grounds as they passed. A large group had gathered, probably to watch some prisoner or other sorry bastard get beaten to death under the pretense of a training session. Neither Praktash nor Graznikh cared much for that kind of entertainment, but something made Graznikh stop to listen. Perhaps it was the tiny whimper of pain, or the way the torturer spoke to the victim, but he began walking towards the crowd. Praktash caught up with him.
”I thought you didn't like this kind of shit.”
”It's not that,” Graznikh said with a frown. ”I gotta take a look.” He pushed his way to the front, growling and simply shoving smaller Orcs out of the way.
The woman on the ground was thin and pale. She had long brown hair and wore a simple, dirty linen tunic and trousers. The scars on whatever skin could be seen showed that she had been in the dungeons a very long time before being dragged out here to die. She had been whipped recently; there was a dark red spot on the back of her tunic. There was also blood on the back of the tunic's hem, a tell-tale sign that she had been subjected to another form of torture as well. Graznikh felt a hole begin to grow inside; he did not need to see her face to recognise her.
The tark who was 'sparring' with her barked at her to pick up the sword, then slapped her with the flat side of his own as she tried to reach for it. The sound of ribs cracking was heard amid the laughter and hooting of the onlookers.
”How useless can you possibly be? How am I to train you to fight if you cannot even lift the sword?”
Graznikh noticed another tark standing nearby with a concerned look on his face. He gulped down his disgust and went over to him.
”What's going on here?” he quietly asked. The tark twitched at being spoken to, but he found his tongue admirably fast. ”He... Our Master has commanded him to teach this young one the art of war and weaponry, but I doubt that this was how it was meant to be done. We were clearly instructed not to maim or mar her, but-” he winced as the other tark kicked the woman; Graznikh felt the red haze burn at the edges of his sight when he heard her pained groan. ”If this goes on, he will kill her and it's our heads on the line!”
”Who is she?”
”A High Officer-in-training, I believe. No one seems to know where she comes from or what her name is. This is a special case; normally we do not train Officers. They are simply appointed on the basis of earlier merits.” Then he seemed to realise it was a common Orc grunt he spoke to and fell silent. ”Ask my master if you wish to know more.”
”Oh, I will.”

”You are pathetic,” the man spat. Za tried to stand, but everything spun and she felt nauseous. ”That I would be forced to babysit one of your wretched brood is nothing short of insult! I should inform our Master what a useless wretch you are. After I have killed you.”
”Nar, you won't.” A pair of heavy Orc boots stopped in Za's field of view. ”Although I suppose you could go and explain to the Eye how you're incapable of doing even such a simple task as teaching an already experienced warrior to fight.”
The man stared, almost too infuriated for words. ”How dare you?”
Graznikh shrugged. ”It's pretty easy, really. You're doing most of the job yourself.” The onlookers began to back away. He twirled a knife between his fingers and turned to the tark servant. ”You can go back and tell the Top Ones that this one's got a new teacher. One who'll actually teach her something instead of beating her senseless. And you,” he turned to the torturer, ”will now show me how good you really are with that sword.” He began advancing. The red haze grew tronger, and this time he welcomed it.
”You dare not raise a hand against a High Officer! I am far above you in rank!”
”Didn't you read the contract before you signed, little tark? We've got no use for the useless! And pulling ranks you don't have isn't very smart. You don't wear the armour, that means you're only a Low One. And now you're prey.”

Praktash crouched down beside the woman. Graznikh could have his fun, he was not going to interfere this time. He pulled the plug on his ghâshpau-flask and held it to the woman's mouth, making her swallow a little. She coughed and spat at first, but some went down. She met his gaze and there was no fear or hate in those catlike eyes, only quiet resignation. Zuzar sniffed at her and met Praktash's eyes with a low growl.
”Golug,” the warg said with a voice that only Graznikh and Praktash could understand. Praktash frowned. Elf?? He took a closer look at her ears and frowned at the deep cuts in them. But they were pointed once. Didn't Graznikh say that Elves have pointed ears?
Za felt the liquid's strange effect spread in her body. The pain dulled, but she was too weak to do much more than move her head slightly to watch the slaughter with hungry eyes.
Seven years, Graznikh thought as he chipped away at the tark's defenses. You scum stole seven fucking years of my life. You took my Elf, you tortured her, you turned her into that thing on the ground. You've chased me and tried to kill me all my bloody life and so help me Darkness, I will hurt you for it! The tark dropped his sword. Graznikh continued to hack off bits and pieces, whittling him down and savouring every curse and every scream. When he was done, there was nothing left but a carved-out carcass. Some of the onlookers cheered. Zuzar wagged his tail, hoping for a treat.
”Wuf?”
Graznikh nodded to the warg as he turned away with the bloodlust pounding in his ears. ”Take whatever you want. Enjoy!”

They carried the wounded woman to Praktash's crib without further incidents. Soon she was lying on Graznikh's mattress while he washed the blood and grime off and rubbed some of Praktash's greasy healing salve on the lash marks on her back, cursing under his breath. Praktash kept an eye on the entrance while working on some mixture.
Graznikh stared at her naked upper back. There were not only fresh lash marks but hundreds, even thousands of scars that covered every visible spot of skin except her hands, feet and face. They formed an intricate, bramble-like pattern that was disturbingly hypnotic to look at. Elves aren't supposed to get scars. He also noted that someone had made jagged cuts into her once leaf-shaped ears. On the left side of her ribcage was a large irregular dark spot. She's broken a rib, Graznikh thought. Maybe even more than one. If I ever get my hands on those bastards, I'll...
”You were there.”
He started at the whisper. ”Eh?”
”You were there,” she repeated. ”In the Darkness. I felt you.” She met his gaze with eyes that did not recognise him. ”Why?”
Graznikh stared back. ”I... got pulled in somehow.”
”And you killed my teacher. Why?”
”That was no teacher. And we had a... bond of sorts, back before.”
”But there was only Darkness before.”
”Err...” He looked away. ”I might tell ya about it another time.”
She gave him an impassive look, then she nodded. Graznikh was not sure what she nodded at. He watched her as they shared a moment of silence, feeling shocked and empty. I felt you die. I felt the bond go dark and silent, and it still is. How can you still be alive?
Praktash barely had time to shout a warning before the door broke and four fully armed Uruks marched in, followed by a true High Officer. Graznikh lashed out blindly but was quickly knocked unconscious. They did not smash the place, for which Praktash was immensely grateful, but the woman was taken and carried away.
 

When Graznikh came to, he found his hands and feet bound. Zuzar had balled up into a corner with his tail between his legs, letting out little frightened whimpers.
”I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't do anythin' stupid,” Praktash said. ”I'll let ya go if you don't.”
”They took her! They fucking took her again,” Graznikh roared at him.
”You can't lay claim like that! Whatever she was before, she belongs to the Eye now and He doesn't share!”
”Fuck the-” Graznikh began, but Praktash slapped him.
”Don't. Just don't,” the Uruk growled. ”Not here, not in the streets, not ever! If He hears, and you bet your sorry arse He will, you're dead! You and everyone you're seen with! The Eye sees all, you can't hide anythin' from Him. And you're already in His view because of that stunt you pulled before, it's sheer bloody luck they didn't take you too!”
They stared each other down, growling. Then Graznikh gave in and rolled his eyes.
”Fine,” he said. ”Now can you get these off? I need a drink.”
Praktash leered. ”I don't know... you look kinda good, all tied up like that.”
”What? Shut up, I'm not in the mood for this!”
Praktash continued to leer as he untied him with deliberately slow motions. Graznikh sat up and rubbed his wrists to get the blood flowing.
Praktash frowned. ”So that was the one you've been pinin' over all this time?”
”Aye.” Graznikh reached for his drinking skin.
”Hnh...” Praktash studied the broken door.
”It's not like I'm gonna see her again,” Graznikh muttered after a swig. ”They'll probably lock her up after this.”
”I'm not so sure about that. No one gets out of the dungeons without the say-so of the Eye. If the Top Ones wanted her safe and out of reach, they'd never have let her out of there in the first place. I'd guess they want her out on the floor with the rest of us, only not dead.”
Graznikh grunted.
Praktash turned to look at him. ”What did he say? The tark you spoke to?”
”That she was an Officer-in-training. The guy I minced was ordered by the Eye to teach her how to fight, but wasn't doing a very good job of it. Bloody understatement of the age.”
Praktash laughed. ”Then you probably did him a favor.”
Graznikh snorted. ”When the Eye finds out, I'm done for.”
”Probably already know. You saw how fast they came to pick her up, didn'tcha? Besides, if you were done for they'd have dragged you along, not left you knocked out in my tender care.” He shot Graznikh a nasty grin.

Graznikh lowered the skin. An idea came to him then. It was dangerous, ambitious and completely crazy, but he liked it. Praktash stopped smiling as he saw the insane gleam in Graznikh's eyes. ”Now what?”
Graznikh grinned. ”I'm gonna kill the next one too.”
”You... What?”
He nodded. ”And the next one. And the next. I'm gonna pick 'em off until one of two things happen; either they kill me, or no one wants the position as her tutor anymore because they know it's a death sentence.”
Praktash stared at him for a moment. Then his eyes narrowed. ”You're declarin' war on the Eye.”
Graznikh shook his head. ”Only her tutors. I want that position for myself.”
”Think you can do it?” Praktash asked with a thoughtful look. Graznikh nodded as he returned to drinking.
The Uruk grinned. ”You sick, fuckin' bastard. I love it!”
”So tell me more about these Top Ones,” Graznikh asked.
”Well, they're the highest in charge under the Eye,” Praktash began. ”I've never cared much for them, mostly tried to stay far away. The Low Ones, or Low Officers as they say, they're in charge on a daily basis. They're drartuls an' krîtars in the army, Captains'n sergeants in charge of the guard posts an' lesser fortresses. Anyone can be one, if you've got the guts for it. They take orders from the Top Ones, or High Officers, an' those are handpicked by the Eye itself. I've never heard of any Orc, snaga or Uruk, ever becomin' a Top One. Those I've seen were all roundears, or looked the part anyway. They're warriors, sorcerers, commanders of the major fortresses like Udûn or Blog Shakâmb. There's probably a lot more to them, but I've never bothered to find out. They're creepy.”
Graznikh frowned. ”What are those places? I've never heard of 'em.”
”Udûn's a huge fortifed gate bein' built in the north. Blog Shakâmb's a fortress to the east, they say the Eye lived there before Lugburz was built. The road from the nearest gate leads right to it.” Graznikh tried to inquire further, but Praktash refused. ”I don't wanna talk about that place. Gives me the shivers, it does.”

Half a year later, Za knelt with her head against the floor of the audience hall. The hall was empty save for herself and the Dark Lord, whose eyes cut into her like knives.
”Five tutors,” He said. ”Five dead tutors.” She felt rather than saw Him beckon. ”Stand. See me.”
As she obeyed, He brushed a finger against His lips as He often did when thinking. Then He held it up.
”The first one; torn to pieces on the training grounds. This we know was done by a berserker, so I shall not hold it against you.” He lifted a second finger. ”The second; stabbed in the back in an alley near the market. The third,” He said as He held up a third finger,” poisoned. A simple, common toxin that he should have had the antidote for, if someone had not stolen it from his belt the very same night he died.” He looked at His hand. ”And that one antidote was the only thing that was missing. The fourth I know you killed yourself. But not alone.” She met His gaze, careful not to let herself tremble. ”The fifth was apparently devoured by a warg. And now I have been forced to have three others killed, because they disobeyed orders and tried to flee when notified of their new position. I must say, I am somewhat... nettled.”
Dark Lord smiled as He lowered His hand. ”I shall let you decide the Orc's fate.”
Za swallowed. ”What choices do I have?”
”All. Do what you will. But know this; if you do not find yourself a new tutor, I will consider you failed.”
He waved His hand in dismissal. Za bowed deeply before leaving, desperately trying to calm the storm inside. Well away from the audience hall, she allowed herself to relax slightly. Many in the Tower believed the killer of her tutors to be either she herself or an enemy assassin in disguise. In truth, it was neither. She was not surprised that her Master knew the culprit, all-seeing as He was. The Orc puzzled her greatly. He made sure to let her know that it was he who killed her tutors, as if he was trying to challenge her and lure her out of the Tower. But he had never made any attempts on her life whenever they had met, instead chatting amiably and in general behaving in a decidedly un-Orcish manner. Hate, fear, repulsion – these were feelings she knew well, these she could use. But there was no trace of those in the Orc's eyes, only that strange familiarity. He had nothing that could be manipulated and it confused her greatly.

'Do what you will', the Dark Lord had said. Za tried to detach herself from the situation and see the Orc with other eyes. He was cunning, this he had proved by staying undetected for so long. Strong as well; some of her tutors had been very skilled warriors but still they had fallen. Both were signs of the makings of a Captain. The third was ambition. She frowned. If he was ambitious, should he not have risen in the ranks of the Tower already? His outfit was that of a regular grunt and she somehow doubted that he would have been able to disguise himself well enough to go unrecognised for so long if he was of higher rank. He had stepped in as her first 'tutor' was about to kill her, asking nothing in return. Or had he? She remembered his words from before. Was it ambition that drove this Orc, or something else? And if not, what else was there?

Chapter End Notes

Blog Shakâmb – literally 'blood stone', Orcish name for the fortress of Seregost. Seregost was the first dwelling of Sauron, before Barad-Dur was built. It is described in many places as a 'place of dark sorcery' and was the breeding ground for the Black Uruks of Mordor.
Udûn – The Black Gate has not yet been built when this story takes place.

Prakûth – ambush
Prapsam – behind
Prashnak – mispronounciation of 'plashnak' – cunt
Pushaktar – Sharpshooter, a division of Black Uruk marksmen armed with heavy duty bows.

A few weeks later, Graznikh was standing guard near the market, Zuzar snoring loudly at his feet, when a Low Officer marched up to him.
”Your name and number?” the Officer demanded.
Great, one of the names-and-numbers guys. ”Graznikh, D gakh-go-chem, fahr-go-krak,” he grunted. The man checked some kind of list, then nodded to himself.
”Your replacement is arriving soon,” he said. ”You are to report to the vice castellan's office immediately.”
Graznikh frowned as the man left. The vice castellan was a High Officer, and being sent to him usually meant either a promotion or an execution. But there was no refusing a High officer, so Graznikh left for the Tower as soon as his replacement arrived. He had to repeat his name and number to the guards at the main gate of the Tower and outside the vice castellan's office, then he waited. And waited. And waited. 'Immediately' is really a fluid term around here, he thought as he squatted against the wall, carving dirt from underneath his nails with a knife. Eventually he was called into the office. The vice castellan asked him some completely random questions, then nodded to the two Uruks standing by the wall.
”Take him upstairs.”
”What's going on?” Graznikh asked, but the Uruks only leered. ”Do not question.”

He began to grow worried when he noticed that they were heading towards the audience hall. Not good. Not good at all! But the Uruks turned and went down a smaller corridor. After unlocking a door, they went up a long flight of stairs, through several more corridors and up another stair, this time turning round. Graznikh tried to keep track of the way but was soon completely lost. He had no idea how far up or down they were. Eventually they entered a wide corridor with a floor of polished black marble. The walls here were decorated with tapestries and dark statues and had intricate inlays of multicoloured stones here and there. This must be the High Officers' quarters, Graznikh thought as he stared at the rich surroundings. Reminds me a bit of Whin's home, only darker. He spotted a trickle of black blood coming out from beneath one of the doors further down the corridor. A lot darker.
The Uruks stopped outside a large, carved door. ”Final destination, snaga. Hope you enjoyed your life.” With that, they grabbed him and threw him in.

Graznikh hit his head as the door slammed shut. After the footsteps faded, everything went eerily quiet. He lay on his back on the cold floor with closed eyes, not daring to open them as the whisper of cloth brushing stone was heard beside him. Eventually he dared to open one eye. Then he stared, wide-eyed, into catlike blue eyes.
”I did not tell them to do that,” she whispered, frowning. A small grin forced itself onto his face.
”You've got to be more specific,” he said softly. ”Uruks need to be kept on a tight leash, otherwise they'll take every chance they get to screw ya over.”
”And you will not?”
”'Course not.” He couldn't tell if she was serious or toying with him. ”I'm yours.”
She rose, and Graznikh took it as an invitation to stand as well. As she walked over to a desk, he took the opportunity to look around.
The floor, walls and ceiling of the large room were black, and unlike the corridor there were no inlays or other decorations. There were a few armchairs around a low table filled with books in one corner, a large bed with high bedposts and a dark red cloth canopy in another and of course the desk by which she stood. Three arched doorways led to other rooms, but he could not see the interior of those.
Suddenly he recognised the robe she was wearing. Its cut was almost identical to the one she had worn that very first time he had seen her and touched her, but instead of plum and dusty yellow it was black and the sash icy blue with silver threads woven into it. The Dark Lord's irony was not lost on him.
”Well, somebody's got a sense of symbolism,” Graznikh muttered. ”Or humor.”
”Hm?” she looked up.
”Nothing, just a memory.” He sighed. ”So, about what those Uruks said... D'you intend to kill me?”
”Do you want me to?” The sincerity of the question sent shivers down his back. What is this?
”Well, if I have to go I'd rather it be by your hand than anyone else's. But nar, I'd prefer to live.”
”Then live you shall.” She turned towards him. ”I sent for you because of your previous actions and words. When you slew my first tutor, you expressed a wish to take his place. Is that still so?”
A grin slowly spread on Graznikh's face as he nodded. ”Aye, I can teach ya. If you want me to, that is.”
”What I 'want' is irrelevant.”
”Not to me,” Graznikh said. ”I wanna teach ya because you want to learn from me, not because someone else forces you to.”
”If you do not, someone else will.” There was a shiver of anxiety in her voice, a tiny display of weakness. Záhovar widened her eyes slightly as she realised her mistake, steeling herself in anticipation of an assault that never came. Graznikh stepped up close to her and forced her chin up with his fingers, a little rougher than intended.
”Then I'll teach ya,” he growled. ”I'll teach ya better than any one of those bloody pansies in black and red could ever do! I'll teach ya how to use whatever weapons you want, how to move in armour and how to fight and lead.” He wanted to tell her more, to lay down his life at her feet and be her personal slave to the end of his days, but he held back.
”I accept your guidance,” she said. ”Do you have a signet?”
Graznikh shook his head, not knowing what that was. She placed a stone pendant on a thin, black chain and hung it around his neck. It had an odd symbol inlaid in silver.
”This is my signet. It will allow you to send for me at the main gate of the Tower at will. I will not promise to come every time, but you have my attention.” When he did not move, she met his eyes with a slight frown.

Now that he was finally close enough, Graznikh drank in her scent. It was still her, that soft smell of fresh birch leaves and pine tar, even though it was now mixed up with the sharper scent of taint, pure evil and the sourness of the general decay of the Tower. He stared into her flickering blue eyes as he reached through the bond and found only emptiness. Why are you gone?! came the internal scream. How can you be gone when you're right in front of me??? Her eyes grew dangerous and he slowly backed away. She swept by and picked up a book from the table, then sat down in one of the armchairs and opened it, seemingly oblivious to his presence. After a while she looked up slightly. ”Dismissed.”
The word cut through Graznikh like an icy blade. So that's it, just like that? Then he remembered something. ”I, er... I don't know the way down.” She paused her reading again with a small frown. Then she closed the book with a sigh. ”Follow.”
Donning a more formal robe over her ordinary one, she swept out of the room with Graznikh in tow. The door opened on its own as she approached and closed behind them, Graznikh thought he could see a faint glow as it apparently locked itself on its own as well. She seemed to know the way but Graznikh got lost again as they turned this way and that to return down to the entrance level.
Just inside the main gate, she stopped and turned towards him. ”Tomorrow.”
Graznikh frowned. ”Tomorrow?”
She nodded. ”After the third toll. Meet me here, then we shall go to the training grounds.”
He grinned. ”Yer wish is my law,” he said. He did not know how to show throat to High Officers, but the tarks here bowed a lot so he did that. She nodded again, this time with eyes that were a little less cold than before. Then she left him and hurried back up. Graznikh looked after her for a while, then he looked at the signet again.

Praktash was stuffing jars of healing salve in a crate as Graznikh sauntered in with a smug look on his face and tossed something to him. Praktash held the signet up with a bewildered frown. ”Where'd you get this?”
”Guess.”
Praktash stared at him. ”You didn't.”
”Aye, I did.” Graznikh couldn't keep the grin off his face anymore. Victory had never tasted so sweet! ”Come on, I wanna celebrate!”
”Sure, just let me finish this or the quartermaster'll have my hide.”

”This is nice,” Graznikh said as he sampled the wine. This particular alehouse was one of the fancier ones, occasionally frequented by tark Low Ones so it had a slightly better stock than the rest.
Praktash chuckled. ”Was it worth spendin' all your savin's?”
”Oh aye! Besides, with the pay I'll be getting from now on I could drink this shit every day if I wanted to.”
”They're payin' ya that much for tutorin' an Officer?”
”Apparently. It's a lot less than they gave the previous ones, what with me being 'snaga' and all, but it's still a sweet deal.”
”Will you be movin' out too?”
Graznikh shrugged. ”I don't know. Maybe if she wants me to, but I'd rather not. Gotta stay in touch with my roots, y'know.” He shot Praktash a nasty grin.
”Hey! Don't get all Officery on me now, you know I can't stand those smug bastards!”
”I was joking!” Graznikh laughed. ”Nar, I'll never be like that. And if I do, feel free to punch me.”
”I might have to do somethin' else to put ya back in your place, snaga,” Praktash murmured with a sly leer and licked his lips. Graznikh grinned back.
”I'm not that drunk yet.”
”You will be if you keep heavin' that stuff.” He shone up. ”Tell you what; you should get a tattoo!”
”A what?”
”Like these,” he said, pointing at the dark markings on his face. ”It's a more lastin' celebration than booze.”
”Hnh,” Graznikh grunted. ”I've been meaning to get one o' those. Back when I was younger, I used to have trouble during ambushes and such. My skin's so pale, it's easy to spot at night. So I used grease'n soot as warpaint to cover it up, but it didn't last all that long. Here,” he pulled a knife and carved a rough design into the table. ”Something like that, up along the nose and across my forehead. I always wanted it tattooed in, but Tarnakh wouldn't let me.”
”Well, he's not here now. Let's take this plank down to the foundries, I know a guy there who's really good.” Graznikh laughed at that, but Praktash gave him a solid look. ”I'm serious.”
Graznikh fell off his bench in surprise as Praktash put a knee on the table and pulled the plank out, nails and all. Then he punched it hard until it snapped in two with a loud crack.
”Oi, what the FUCK!?” the serving snaga squealed. ”Those things don't fuckin' pop outta the ground, ya know?!”
”Sure they do,” Graznikh said as he picked himself up from the floor. ”I'll pay for repairs later.”
”They do?” Praktash asked as they left the alehouse.
”Wood,” Graznikh said, knocking on the plank on Praktash's shoulder. ”Trees grow outta the ground. You flearidden son of a warg bitch.” He couldn't keep his face straight anymore and they both laughed until they could barely stand.

Graznikh's face felt like it was on fire as the sharp knife broke the skin, followed by the black paste that would colour the scars.
”T'is easier on pale skin,” the fat Orc who handled the knife grunted. ”Don't need as much grease for th' markin's t' show.” Graznikh sat with closed eyes, head reclined back against the edge of a table as the tattooer worked. It was good to feel real, physical pain for once, not the sick creepy sensation of Whin's torture. But soon they would be together again, and everything would go back to normal. Or at least as normal as things could be.
So many times had he tried to reach out through the bond, only to find that there was nothing to reach out to. The bond told him that she was dead, yet he had seen her, touched her, talked to her. She did not seem to remember him, yet she had sent for him herself once the list of teachers ran out. She knew that he had killed the others, yet she had not sent him to his death. Was the being in the Tower still Whin, or a wraith wearing his âmbal's face?
Graznikh swallowed. He could feel blood trickling down his face and focused on the pain. She was not a wraith, he decided. Not yet. The emotions he had picked up on her scent told him otherwise; a undead thing would not show emotions. I don't care if you don't remember me. I'll make ya remember. I'll get that bond back, I don't care if I have to suck the Eye's cock to do so!

”'Ere,” the tattooer said. ”Outline's done. Take a break, wait fer it t' stop bleedin'. I'll do th' rest after. An' don't touch it, th' colour ain't settled yet.”
Praktash grinned. ”How 're you holdin' up?”
”Just fine. Don't need any,” he said as Praktash held out a ghâshpau skin. ”I wanna feel this.”
”You like pain, huh?”
”Aye.” Graznikh leaned back with a sigh, blinking to get the blood out of his eyes. ”I miss her nails.”
Praktash gave him a look. ”Nails?”
”Mhm. I loved the way she dug her nails into my back every time I fucked her. Sweetest pain in the world.” He grinned at the memory.
”So you prefer plashnak? Ever tried guys?”
”Aye. Or, I did before I met Whin. I was pretty open to suggestions before, but after... Not that I didn't try both guys and gals, it just wasn't the same with others.” He frowned. ”Come to think of it; I haven't fucked a single time since I got here.”
Praktash stopped drinking and stared at him. ”You what?! Not even hands?”
Graznikh shook his head and shuddered with revulsion. ”Not with the Eye as a bedmate in my head. I just couldn't do it.”
”That can't be healthy. So what now, is it still there?”
”I think it's gone. At least I don't feel it anymore. It's just... empty.”
Praktash nodded with a thoughtful look. The tattooer returned and rubbed more coloured paste into Graznikh's forehead, then proceeded to fill out the tattoo by making a crisscross pattern inside the outline. The pain was intense and Graznikh had to bite into the leather on his vambrace to keep from screaming. Praktash held him down by grabbing his hair and holding an arm across his chest.

After what felt like an eternity, the tattooer finished by scraping excess paste off his bleeding face. ”Don't touch an' don't scratch,” he grunted. ”If it starts smellin' or swellin', go to Praktash, 'e knows what t' do.” Graznikh gave him a weak grin as he spat the mangled vambrace out. Praktash bandaged his head and steadied him as he tried to rise.
”You sure you don't want any of this?” he asked as he held up the ghâshpau. Graznikh took it with a defeated grumble and Praktash laughed. ”Don't worry buddy, I won't tell!”
Graznikh's jaws ached and he could feel his legs shaking as he stood. It had hurt a lot more than he thought it would and he felt more respect for Praktash now. The Uruk may be a lousy fighter, but judging by his many tattoos and piercings there was clearly nothing wrong with his ability to withstand pain. Graznikh told him as much with a lopsided grin as they returned to the stash room and Praktash laughed.
”Who says I'm a lousy fighter?”
Graznikh frowned. ”We've sparred hundreds o' times, and you've never bested me!”
Praktash gave him a dangerous grin. ”I'm not stupid enough to show off my skills in front of everyone like that. Let 'em wonder how the hell I survive down here without bein' able to fight, it keeps them on their toes enough to not even try to bully me. Besides,” he continued as his grin became more deranged, ”I've more than reputation to protect me. And, by extension, you.”
Graznikh chuckled. ”Yeah, I've heard a few things. Got a few questions of that nature too.”
”Oh? What did they ask?”
”Mostly about how I pay for my stay here.”
”I wouldn't mind it if you did, you know.” Praktash's grin widened.
”I told ya, I'm not that drunk.”
”Do you have to be?”

Praktash pounced him, and Graznikh had no idea how an Uruk of that size could move so fast. He growled and fought back but soon found himself pressed face-first into his mattress. Zuzar was out hunting, so Graznikh could expect no help from the warg. Praktash straddled his legs and he couldn't help but groan a little as the Uruk began to grope him and gently chewed on his ear.
”So, if you had to choose: top or bottom?” Praktash whispered. Graznikh gave him defiant growl, but fell silent as he felt Praktash's hand inside his loincloth.
”...Bottom.”
”Seriously? I always took ya for a top guy.” He nibbled Graznikh's ear some more before getting up. ”Be right back,” he purred. Graznikh removed his armour as he watched Praktash go over and fetch a small jar from the shelf. He was not sure how he felt about this sudden turn of events, but he did not want to fight, not with Praktash. The weird guy had been more than decent to him up until now, and if this was what it took to keep that...
”What, you're not gonna spit?”
Praktash scowled. ”That's just crude! Nah, I've got somethin' much better here.” He opened the jar and revealed a strange, transparent goo that looked like snail slime.
”I've seen ya sell a lot of that stuff. What is it?”
”This, my pretty pale fellow, is lube. And you'll soon find out why I sell so much of the stuff.” He grinned as he coated his hand with the glistening goo.

Graznikh allowed himself to be pushed down on the mattress. He forced himself to relax and prepared for the inevitable discomfort of intrusion as his arse got probed, but it never came. Praktash's fingers slid in with ease and tore a surprised moan from Graznikh's lips as they found a spot that sent sparks of pleasure through his body. Graznikh had been with guys before and it simply was not his thing. Even so, he had to admit that Praktash was good. Pretty damn good.
”Yeah, I can tell you prefer the ladies,” Praktash teased as he stroked Graznikh's cock with agonisingly slow strokes and fingered his arse, causing the Orc's eyes to flutter shut and his breath to come in short gasps. ”You really don't like this, do you?” As Graznikh began bucking against him, he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with his cock. Praktash used plenty of lube, but Graznikh still tensed against the large intrusion.
”Careful, will ya?”
”No rush,” Praktash murmured. The last guy Graznikh had tried this with had slammed it in so hard that he had felt something tear inside. The pain had lasted for weeks. But Praktash was careful, easing it in as he felt Graznikh relax and made sure to take the time needed for him to get used to the whole thing. Then he began thrusting, slow and deep, slowly increasing the pace until Graznikh growled in pleasure and bit the mattress.
”Changed your mind yet?” Praktash gasped.
”Fuck nar!”
The Uruk growled and Graznikh put a leg against the wall, bracing himself against the hard thrusts as the pace increased. His face burned with pain as he grimaced, which only added to the pleasure. It did not take long for him to come so hard his toes curled. Praktash slowed down until Graznikh was done, then increased the pace and came shortly after with a deep roar.

They lay still for a moment, catching their breaths and enjoying the afterglow of a decent fuck.
”So what made ya get to this now? I've been at your mercy for years, and you never seemed to care.”
”In case ya haven't noticed, I don't have that many buddies. None I can trust not to screw things up, except you. I've no intention of losin' that. If I had fucked you before, when you had nowhere else to go, the question would always hang in the air; did I just take advantage of the fact that you depend on me for a place to sleep? I didn't want all that hassle, it ruined a lot of stuff for me in the past that coulda been good. Things're different now. You're the snaga of a Top One, so technically you're higher in rank than me. If you wanna punish me for this, you can. Skai, you could punish me for anythin' now, real or not.”
Graznikh chuckled. ”More like the snaga of someone who has no rank at all. 'Officer-in-training' is no real title, it's just there to sound fancy.” The chuckle died as he realised the meaning of what he had just said. ”Shit.”
Praktash pulled him close. ”Hey, don't give up now. She's not an Officer, that means you're safe for now.” He grinned. ”By the way, I met Hîsht earlier. She told me to send her regards to your pretty face.”
Graznikh groaned. ”What is it with women and my face?! Hopefully I've ruined it enough now so they'll stop fawning over me like a bloody flower.”
Praktash laughed out loud. ”Ya don't need to worry about Hîsht, she's just messin' with ya.”
”Is that so?”
”Yeah, she prefers plashnak.” He chuckled as Graznikh let out a sigh of relief.
”So how did you and her meet?”
”Long story,” Praktash said. ”I had just arrived here, she helped me set things up.”
”You're not whelped here?”
Praktash shook his head and his smile disappeared. ”Blog Shakâmb.”
”Oh.” Graznikh remembered Praktash's reaction the last time he had mentioned the place. ”Not good?”
Praktash shook his head with a grim expression. ”Not good at all.” He rolled over on his back and placed an arm beneath his head. ”I was little more than a cub, already dabblin' in booze and whatnot. There was this tark sorceress, her name was Gîrakûn, they said she was a great herbalist an' all that I should go to her and ask to learn from her, so I did. Only...” He frowned.
”No tutoring?”
”Not a damn thing. She strung me up, used me for experiments and amusement. I don't know how many years I spent in the dungeon there, but once I got out, everything had changed.” He glanced briefly at Graznikh and whispered: ”If anyone here knows what you've gone through, it'd be me.”
Then he continued, louder. ”One day, she just kicked me out, head in shambles, I didn't know a thing. So I ran, all the way here. Ended up in the gutter where Hîsht found me. She was just out of the breedin' pits herself, but she saved my arse pretty much the same way I did yours.” He grinned. ”She's the toughest bastard I know. Sixty years in the breedin' pits, shittin' out litter after litter, then kicked out with her guts still torn open and just takes it in stride, fightin' her way back up again.”

They continued talking well into morning. Despite the good events of late, the nightmares returned as soon as Graznikh fell asleep.
He stood in the corridor outside Whin's cell, hammering his fists against the solid darkness that blocked his way to her until they bled. Hot tears streamed down his face as he felt the Dark Lord approach from behind, digging His tendrils into his flesh and mind and slowly dragging him away. The screams emanating from inside the darkness literally broke his heart and he began coughing blood. As the bond died, he woke up with a howl.
Praktash was there as always, holding a mug filled with spiked ghâshpau. Graznikh downed it, then fell back down onto his belly, digging his claws into the sweatsoaked mattress. ”Why won't it go away?” he groaned as the grief and pain of loss threatened to overwhelm him. ”It just keeps coming like it all happened yesterday!” He couldn't stop himself from reaching out into nothing and howling into the mattress.
”Do you have to keep chasin' her?” Praktash asked. ”Maybe you should lay off it for a while, just relax and enjoy life a little.”
”I can't!” Graznikh sobbed. There were no tears outside the dream as Orcs couldn't cry. He did not know why he always cried in the dream. ”I cant forget, can't let go, it's been too long. I've got nothing else to live for.” His anguished look made Praktash shiver. ”There's like a hole inside, like a little piece of the Void that keeps eating everything up. I can't go on living like this, if I don't go after her with all I've got there's nothing left!” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. ”I tried to leave, ya know. After that first time I went crazy and killed all those people. I hoped they'd kill me, but you brought me back. I hated ya then, for not letting me die. I keep chasing something that's gone, but I just can't stop running.”

Zuzar sneaked in and lay down beside its master. The pressure of the warg's large head on his legs calmed him somewhat. Praktash frowned, studying his friend with a thoughtful look. ”Maybe it isn't gone.”
Graznikh glared at him with one anguished eye. ”Of course it's gone, why else would I be so fucking miserable!?”
”Nar, hear me out,” Praktash said and sat down. ”I'm definitely no expert on magic and I know nothin' 'bout all this Elvish mumbo-jumbo, but... You said she doesn't remember ya, right?”
”Mhm,” came the reluctant reply.
”Right.” Praktash frowned even deeper. ”And when you went up there, you said the Eye looked at your memories, right? Like flippin' the pages in a book.”
Graznikh made a gagging noise at the memory. ”Yeah. He could've taken anything out, and I wouldn't even know that it was gone...”
”Maybe... just maybe, I'm not sayin' it's true, but maybe it keeps hurtin' because it's not gone? What if it's still there, but she's just forgotten about it? The Eye could've wiped her mind, it'd be easy to do for someone like that.”
Graznikh frowned and winced at the pain. ”But... I felt her die.”
”Maybe she did,” Praktash said. ”And maybe the Eye brought her back. I wouldn't put it past Him. Or maybe she just believed that she died, enough for you to feel it?”

The Orc suddenly looked absent. Zuzar began to snore and Praktash waited patiently. Graznikh's sudden outburst of laughter startled the Uruk and made the warg leap to its feet with a yelp.
”I'm such an idiot!” He looked up at Praktash. ”She said it herself! 'The bond is real, it is everlasting and it cannot be broken, even beyond death.' Those were her words, back when we first joined. I felt her die, and when she came back she'd forgotten all about me and the bond! She's not gone, just... not there. Somewhere else, too far away in her mind for me to reach her!”
Praktash gave him an unsure smile and Graznikh grinned. ”You probably think I've lost it for real now, right?”
”You were lost already when I first met ya,” Praktash chuckled. ”But I'm glad my ramblin' helped.”
Graznikh rolled over and stared up into the ceiling. ”And... I've felt like this before, too. Only, not nearly as strong. When I left her the first time, I ran like a coward because I thought she'd put a spell on me. But the farther I ran, the worse I felt. Just like this. One night, I just couldn't take the emptiness anymore, so I ran all the way back and didn't stop before I'd buried my dick in her. She's not dead, just far away!”

He glanced at Zuzar, who was looking at him with its tail between its legs. ”I'm sowwy buddy, did I scare ya with all my antics? C'mere, let's go to bed!” He moved and let the big warg roll up around him.
Praktash lay down on his own mattress. ”Sweet dreams, trênotar.”
Graznikh grinned. ”Sleep tight, bagshatîgatar.”
Praktash spun and bared his fangs in a challenge at the insult. ”If you weren't all the way over there, I'd kill ya for that!”
Graznikh answered with a threatening growl. ”You just try.” Praktash pounced and soon they were wrestling wildly on the floor, laughing and cursing. When they were both too exhausted to go on, they simply rolled over to Graznikh's mattress, which happened to be closest.
”Wuf,” Zuzar commented and wrapped itself around them both.

Chapter End Notes

For a more in-depth explanation of Mordorian headcounting, see: http://hoglorfen.tumblr.com/post/153326127868/headcanon-names-and-numbers-in-mordor

Gakh-go-chem, fahr-go-krak – 36-45
Trênotar – madman
Bagshatîgatar – an insulting term for a homosexual man who prefers to be on top

Za could feel a tremor run through her body as her will wavered. The Officer-in-training sat naked and crosslegged on the floor in the circular chamber. Her tutor had smeared her body with the thick black oil used in the braziers of the Tower, then proceeded to give her a few quick lashes with a burning lash until the oil lit up. It was indeed a trial by fire, to keep the flames burning until commanded otherwise even as they licked her face and danced on her skin. The Dark Lord sat near the wall, watching her with an impassive face.
”Contain it!” Gîrakûn snapped. Za felt the pain spread across her back and arms and realised that she was failing. The light seemed to dim as she drew upon the icy chill of the Wraithworld, cloaking herself from the flames. It was only a hair's breadth away, but it was enough. The pain dissipated and there was a flicker of interest in the Master's eyes.
Gîrakûn waited a little while before tugging the rope that emptied the bucket of water hanging over her student's head, extinguishing the flames. The Dark Lord rose and allowed Za to do the same. He walked around her, searching her for burn marks. When none were found He lifted her chin with a finger. ”Passed.”
Gîrakûn and Za both let out a sigh of relief as He left the room. The old woman smiled as she returned Za's robes. ”Go clean yourself up. We are done for the night.”

As the third toll rang, Graznikh stopped by the Tower gate. Those are real nifty, he thought as the tremor ran up through the ground. Ten tolls, evenly spread out, was the only way to keep track of time in the everdark of Lugburz. Graznikh had no idea what caused the sound and the following tremor, but it seemed to come from deep underground. It had been annoying at first, but he had soon grown accustomed to it. Everyone in Lugburz lived and died by it.
His new student approached him and Graznikh felt another kind of tremor at the sight. Whoever picked her clothing had chosen far better ones than last time. He bowed before her with a cocksure grin and walked beside her down the long flight of stairs that led to the training grounds.
”By the way,” he said as they walked, ”I never caught yer name.”
”There is none.”
He frowned. ”You don't have a name?”
”I have one, but I am not allowed to use it yet. I have not earned it.”
”...Right.” They walked in silence for a while.
”So... Can I give ya a nickname?”
She looked at him. ”What is that?”
He shrugged. ”It's... well, it's a name of sorts, but not a real one. Just something you call someone before they've got a real one. Something short and easy to pronounce. Some people use it in tiight spots too, like during battle when shouting the whole title would take too long.”
”Do you have one?”
”Aye. My real name's Graznikh, but my buddies call me Graz.”
”Graznikh...” She seemed to taste it in her mouth. ”Did you earn it?”
He grinned. ”Sure, and then some. That was a long time ago.”
”And... what would you call me?”
”Âmbal,” he said without thinking. Then he stopped and clamped his hands over his big stupid mouth as she turned towards him with an almost shocked expression. Skai!
They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Graznikh had no idea what went on behind that cold stare. Then her expression changed ever so slightly, and there was a twitch in the corners of her mouth.
”Very well. So be it.” She turned and began walking. Graznikh had not even noticed that he had been holding his breath, but now he let it out with a gasp of relief. Did she just agree to that?

'Âmbal'? He would call me 'sweet'? Za began to understand the Orc's game now. He was clearly torn between his fear and his wish to humiliate her and had in his carelessness given her threads to work with. Given enough, she would weave a web from which this Orc could not escape, and so make a loyal servant out of him. This battle could turn out to be easier than the previous ones, and the Orc himself had made it easy.

It was early in the evening, so the training grounds were nearly empty. Za frowned as he handed her a blunted practice sword.
”What, not good enough for ya?” Graznikh said with a grin as he noticed her reluctant expression. ”I'm not gonna hand you sharp toys and risk you hurting either yourself or me with 'em, not before I'm sure you can handle 'em. We'll start with blunted weapons, go through the basics 'til you know them. Then we'll move on to the real deal, if I think you're ready.”
”Fair enough.”
”Fair?” He chuckled. ”Fighting's got nothing to do with 'fair'. Fair fighters die. You wanna get the better of your opponent. How you get there doesn't matter.” He held the sword out. ”Let's start with defense. There're five basic blocking positions; upper left, upper right, lower left, lower right and above.” He showed her the different positions as he spoke. ”These apply to all blades. If you have a shield you use that, but shields're clumsy and they can break.” He made her go through the different positions, then brought his sword down against her from different directions, slow at first and then increasing speed until she began to make mistakes.

Graznikh knew that he had to push her limits. No doubt the Top Ones were already impatient with the loss of time because of the previous casualties and his days in this position and state of existence were numbered according to whatever progress she made. After a few lessons, the speed with which she learned began to freak him out. It was not natural. She unwittingly did things he had taught her years ago, back when they were sparring in the forest during those few blessed moons they got together before everything came crashing down. Is she remembering? Graznikh soon had to pick his old skills up. No more could he relax into the somewhat sloppy fighting style he had used to get by in the Tower, not when facing a warrior with elven speed and reflexes. They went through the arsenal of the Tower – swords, knives, clubs, axes, polearms, archery, even bare hands which made Graznikh wish that they had been in a more secluded place. But their lessons had gained quite an audience over time with a bunch of off-duty snagas, Uruks and even a few of the Low Ones watching with astonished looks and betting on who would come out on top the next time.
Even Praktash came by a few times to watch from a distance, but he always made sure to leave with the crowd. The Uruk disliked authorities of all kinds, and Graznikh could not even get him to come up and say 'hi'. The lessons only happened once every four nights and he had been relieved of guard duty because of his new position, so Graznikh had a lot of time for his crafts and hanging out with Praktash. And Zuzar of course; the warg made sure to let him know whenever it felt neglected.

Learning to ride Zuzar had been an exhilarating experience. A warg could not be ordered about like dogs or ponies could be. Wargriding was about cooperation; if warg and rider had a serious disagreement, things could get very ugly. But Zuzar trusted his master completely, so their disagreements were rare and quickly solved.
Staying on was another matter entirely, Graznikh did not even have a saddle or a collar to hold onto. Warg paws were almost like hands, they had thumbs and could grip and hang onto irregularities in the ground, which made wargs very good at climbing and running in the mountains. Zuzar leapt with ease over chasms and cracks that Graznikh would never have been able to traverse on foot and laughed as his master gave off terrified squeaks on his back.

One night, they were hunting deep in the mountain spur where the Tower was located. The lizards here were larger and more aggressive than out on the Gorgoroth plateau and spat a nasty, corrosive acid as a defense. That did not protect them against thrown knives, so Graznikh and Zuzar got some good battle practice while filling their bellies with the juicy meat. Graznikh stood nearby, knives at the ready as Zuzar pulled rocks and rubble away to reach a lizard that had hid in a crevice when the warg's ears suddenly pricked. Graznikh had learned to trust his friend's instincts and quickly mounted to face the unknown foe.
Zuzar growled as an unfamiliar warg and rider appeared on a cliff, closely followed by several others. Graznikh could feel the fur on its shoulders bristle and scratched him in an attempt to calm. Attacking would be suicide; three of the riders had bows and he was outnumbered.
The leader of the wargriders eyed him. ”Been lookin' fer you,” he growled.
”You could've found me in the Tower anytime,” Graznikh replied and the other grinned.
”Aye, ye're gettin' a bit o' a rep there, aren't ya? Bullyin' yer way right up the Tower to the Top Ones' feet an' all.”
As they spoke, the wargs kept circling each other. Zuzar trembled from the tension, ready to pounce at the slightest provokation.
”We've been watchin' ya fer some time,” the leader continued. ”I'm Brodhurz, and this is my pack.” He nodded towards the group. ”We're not here to fight ya, but I wanna know what ye're made of. You and yer warg.” Graznikh had heard that name a few times before. Brodhurz was not from the Tower but from Nargroth, one of the largest Orc encampments in southern Gorgoroth, near the Gap of Nurza-Shûk. If he had come all the way here just to corner him in some obscure pass in the Tower Spur, Graznikh realised that he must have gotten quite a bit of a reputation indeed.

Zuzar sprung into action with a roar at almost the same time as the other warg. Brodhurz dismounted as the wargs clashed, Graznikh followed suit and rolled to his feet, blades in hand and jumped to avoid the incoming sword as soon as he got to his feet. For a moment he thought he would get torn to shreds, but the rest of the group kept their distance. The wargs howled and cheered their packleader on.
For someone not here to pick a fight, this looks suspiciously much like one, Graznikh thought dizzily after taking a hard punch to his chin. Brodhurz tackled him and tried to grab his neck, but Graznikh twisted out of his grip and sent him flying with a kick. They engaged again, slashing, punching and kicking. Graznikh was soon put on the defense. This isn't good.
They were interrupted by a loud yelp and turned towards the fighting wargs. Zuzar had the other warg in his jaws, securely caught by the neck. Graznikh spun to face Brodhurz, who sheathed his blade with a grin. ”No need. Ye're good, and ye're in if ya wanna join us.”
Graznikh sheathed his knives. ”Interesting offer, but I can't really leave the Tower. Still got that teaching job to do. No good comes from pissing off the Top Ones.”
”No problem there. We're stationed in th' Tower fer now. Lemme know if ya wanna train with us.”
Zuzar let go of the other warg as it spotted the lizard. It pounced it in front of the astonished group, tore the lizard's belly open and lay down to eat.
Brodhurz laughed out loud. ”Been wonderin' how 'e got so big! That one could teach these pups a thing or two 'bout survival.”

”Are you bloody fuckin' kiddin' me?!” Praktash could hardly believe his ears. ”You turned Brodhurz down? You idiot snaga!”
”Hey, none of that!” Graznikh growled. ”You know why I can't join his pack, the moment I have a nightmare there I'm done for.”
Praktash winced. ”Yeah, but... still. I'm fuckin' envious! That pack is legendary. They took down a rampagin' Olog-hai in the Eastern Desolation on their own not four years ago!”
Graznikh grinned. ”You could always borrow Zuzar and join them yourself if you're so eager.”
”Not a chance. I'd break that poor pup's back if I tried ridin' him. An' I'm nowhere near as good a fighter as you.”
”You could spar with us, ya know. That'd put ya in good shape.”
Praktash's smile disappeared. ”Nar.”
”I don't get what you're so afraid of. She's a little weird, but she's alright!”
”Nar! We've been through this already. You haven't seen the things I've seen them do. I don't want anythin' to do with any Officers, High or Low.”
”...Fine. Will ya come and watch at least?”
”Alright. Once I'm done with the next batch.”

As Graznikh went to meet his âmbal for the lesson, she was not alone. A tiny, white-haired tark stood next to her, apparently discussing something of great import. He waited patiently as they finished and turned to look at him.
”So, this is the one?” the tark woman asked.
”Nashrakû.” Graznikh bowed and she made a surprised cackle.
”An Orc with manners? What is the world coming to?” Suddenly her eyes twinkled with intelligence and cunning. ”I have heard what you did with the other tutors. Will you kill me now as well, now that I stand before you?”
Graznikh shook his head. ”No point in that, I already have what I want.” He glanced at his âmbal.
”Do you, now?” The little woman studied him. ”Very well. I shall not delay you, but I will accompany you.”
”Gîrakûn wishes to watch the lesson,” his âmbal said.
”I'm not gonna stop her,” Graznikh said. That name... ”I doubt I could even if I tried.”
”And what makes you think that?” Gîrakûn asked as they headed to the training grounds.
”Nobody grows old in the Tower unless they know how to defend themselves. You don't look like a warrior, if you don't mind my saying so, and that means dushatâr. And I can't bloody well fight something I can't see. I don't pick fights I know I'm gonna lose.”
Gîrakûn gave him an evaluating look. ”A clever one, at that,” she said as if to herself. ”A rare catch indeed.” Catch?

The lesson began as it usually did. Graznikh decided what weapons should be used, and today he chose the weapon she was most proficient in – the glaive. They had moved on to sharp weapons long ago, and he decided to use his own knives this time. Gîrakûn sat on a chair in an alcove, a small table at her side where her accompanying Lug-snaga had placed refreshments, and watched them spar with great interest.
So you wanna play it tough, huh? Graznikh thought as he blocked an incoming blow and leapt to the side. She gave him no respite, attacking over and over as soon as she found a breach. He was forced to put her on the defense. Probably showing off for the nashrakû. She spun the glaive, blocking two of his attacks at once. She raised her hand, and he prepared to-

Graznikh had no idea what happened next. There was a soundless blast, then pure dread seeped into his bones until he could no longer control his limbs. Everything went silent as he fell backwards with a howl and stared at the wraith that assaulted him. Then it passed, as quickly as it had come. Sound returned, and he could hear the terrified shrieks of the audience as they scrambled towards every available exit. He slowly lifted his eyes from the glaive that was buried in the ground right next to his head to his âmbal who knelt against his chest, watching him with the same impassive face she always wore.

Praktash had managed to dive for cover behind a pillar just before the High Officer-in-training unleashed the spell, and so he heard Graznikh's scream with his own ears. I told ya, he thought with a terrified wince. I told ya over and over, 'don't go near the Top Ones! It'll end badly!' But would you listen? Nar! You just had to go an' poke the Eye over an' over an' look where it got ya! I'm sorry, little buddy, I can't drag ya out of this one.

Záhovar was still kneeling beside the Orc's body and heard Gîrakûn approach from behind. This is... No. I will not do this. She reached out and broke the spell that would have severed the Orc's spirit from his body. He let out a shrill howl with his first breath, and Záhovar could feel the anger radiating from Gîrakûn. She caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of her eye and caught the sorceress' staff just before it connected with her head.
”Why did you break the spell?”
”Because it was unnecessary.”
”I gave you an order, which you deliberately failed to follow. Why turn against me now?”
”I did as you commanded. I succeeded in casting and releasing the spell. I simply did not kill him.”
Gîrakûn wrenched her staff out of Záhovar's grip. ”You know full well the crimes this Orc has committed! He murdered three High Officers, and now you would let him go?”
”No. But I will not mete out your vengeance for you. Our master gave me free reins in dealing with him however I see fit, and I will. It is not for you to decide.”
Gîrakûn began gathering strength. ”Then I will finish his wretched life myself.”
The glaive hissed through the air and stopped as it touched the old woman's throat. ”Then I will kill you. The Orc is mine.”
Gîrakûn took a few steps back, her anger replaced by astonishment. Such assertiveness and defiance she had not seen in the aspiring Officer before. ”You are ready,” she whispered.

Their argument had been carried out in the language of Rhûn, so Graznikh did not understand a word. Nor did he want to; once the women were ignorant of his presence, he scrambled to his feet and ran towards the exit as he had never run before. Outside, he was joined by Praktash and they both fled back to the stash room.
”You still think that's your mate? You still think there's anythin' left of her inside that thing?” Praktash asked as they collapsed on their mattresses, each with a skin of strong Orcish booze in their shaking hands.
”Nar,” Graznikh whispered with dismay. ”My âmbal-zemar woulda never attacked me like that, no matter how angry she was with me.” He grimaced after taking a swig from the skin. ”I'm gonna have nightmares this time, for sure.”
”Me too,” Praktash said. ”I thought you were dead.”
”I think I was. At least for an eyeblink or so. Maybe I should sign up with Brodhurz after all. Then I could get away from here. You wanna join? We could use a potionmaker.”
Praktash shook his head. ”They won't accept ya now, not when they hear the Top Ones want you. They'll just parade you up there and dump you in front of the throne.”
”Oh, great...” They proceeded to drink in silence until they dozed off.

Graznikh woke up as the door was bashed in and the castellan entered followed by four Uruks. He tried to shake the headache off, then nodded to Praktash with a forced smile as they pulled him up from the mattress. ”Take care, buddy. It was nice knowing you.”
”Same,” Praktash said. He did not even try to cover the pain in his eyes. ”Try... Try to go out with a grin, eh?” He tried to slap Graznikh's outstretched hand, but only hit the fingers as they dragged the Orc away.
Outside, the Uruks placed shackles around Graznikh's hands and feet and a collar with the Eye symbol around his neck. He tried to walk fast enough to keep up but was half-dragged all the way up to the Tower gate. He did not know where Zuzar was – probably out hunting with his new packmates. He hoped that Praktash or Brodhurz would take care of the warg for him.
Inside the gate they stopped. The castellan held out a hand and Graznikh felt the hair on his neck stand up as the air crackled from dark sorcery. The huge gates swung shut with a boom, the first time ever in Graznikh's memory to do so. This is it. I'm well and truly fucked now.

The Uruks continued to drag him up to the waiting room outside the Dark Lord's audience hall where the woman he had loved, followed, protected and tutored for years untold waited. The Uruks removed his shackles. The castellan nodded to her and left, taking the Uruks with him and leaving Graznikh and her alone.
You just stand there, he thought bitterly. In those fancy robes, with that blank stare. Is there anything left inside ya? I guess I should be afraid, huh? It's too late for that. I might as well just speak my mind.
”So what'll it be this time?”
She met his eyes. ”This time?”
”Yeah, what'll it be? Torture practice? Brainwashing? You've got me by the balls now, are you happy?”
”I do not know that word.”
He bared his fangs. ”Of course you don't. That's why you take it from everyone else,” he snarled.
The smallest crease appeared between her eyebrows. ”Have I offended you?”
”Have you offended me..?” he hissed. ”HAVE YOU OFFENDED ME???” he roared at the top of his lungs. ”I LOVED YOU!! I cared for ya, I protected ya, I saved your sorry arse over and over as you saved mine! We fought, we hunted, we went through ice and fire together!” He took a deep breath. ”You wanna know what you are? You're dead!! I tried to save ya, but I failed! We were bound together, I spent seven years in the same fucking darkness as you, felt the same pain, had the same nightmares and I felt you die.” He felt the pain well up inside. ”And then you came back as this half-wraith monster, just as I was beginning to live you had to pull me back down and take everything from me all over again!”
She stared, eyes wide, as he fell to his knees in front of her. ”All I wanted was to be with you,” he sobbed. ”But every time I sleep, I lose ya over'n over again. Then I find this, this thing wearing your face and I thought... But there's nothing left, nothing... I failed...”
His forehead pressed against her soft leather boot while a shaking hand clutched the hem of her robe.

Záhovar knelt beside the whimpering Orc, gently lifting his head. ”You have not failed,” she whispered. ”On the contrary. And I have not brought you here to punish you.” He simply stared at her. ”In truth, both of us have been brought here unexpectedly. But I do not think either of our lives are on the line this night.” As she said this, the doors to the audience hall began to open slowly. She rose and encouraged Graznikh to do so as well. He wiped his eyes with his hands and tried to focus.
”Keep your eyes on the ground,” Záhovar advised. ”Do not meet His eyes unless He bids you to, and do not speak unless directly spoken to. The slightest defiance will be rewarded with pain.”
She straightened up and Graznikh could see apprehension in her face. She adjusted the robe slightly. He directed his eyes to the floor as they entered the hall. From what little he could see, the hall was crowded and the air almost tingled with anticipation. If I'm not going to die, what the fuck is going on?

There was a murmur as they entered, but it quickly fell silent. He fell to his knees before the throne as she did and pressed his head against the crimson carpet. He spotted Gîrakûn in the same position on her other side.
RISE, the dark Lord's voice boomed in his head, as it no doubt did in everyone else's. WHY HAVE YOU COME BEFORE ME IN THIS HOUR?
Gîrakûn struck the floor with her staff thrice. ”Master, Thy command has been fulfilled,” she said solemnly. ”This one before Thee has been tutored, and judged ready to face Thee and serve Thee in his own might.”
IS HE LEARNED IN THE HISTORY AND WORKINGS OF THE BLACK TOWER?
”He is!”
AND CAN HE STAND HIS GROUND AS IT QUAKES WITH THE ARMIES OF HIS ENEMIES?
”He can!”
AND HAS HE THE POWER TO DEFEAT AND SUBDUE THEM?
Everyone's eyes were suddenly on Graznikh. He swallowed hard, then he lifted his eyes and met those of the Dark Lord. He flashed a grin and growled: ”He has.”
The Dark Lord returned his grin as He rose from the throne. Then He pointed at Graznikh's former mate with a finger decorated by a golden ring that glowed with arcane letters. I NAME THEE ZÁHOVAR, HIGH OFFICER OF MORDOR. I AM THE MASTER OF ARDA, AND MY WORD BE LAW!

Za – now Záhovar - took a step forward and tore her robe off, revealing magnificent armour underneath. Graznikh recognised it as almost identical to the one Whindaër had worn, but this one was black with reinforcements in a silvery metal.
That voice must've echoed across half of Gorgoroth, Graznikh thought. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone under the Shadow heard those words in their heads. And what do they mean by 'he'? The crowd left, some shouted dark blessings upon their newest colleague and rival. Soon, the power balance in the upper Tower would shift in a blood-drenched attempt to fit the newcomer in but for now, everyone was equal under the Eye. Záhovar and Gîrakûn did not leave with the others and not knowing what else to do, Graznikh stayed as well. The Dark Lord left His throne once the doors closed.

Graznikh quickly looked down as He approached, but he could see the strange glowing ring as He lifted His hand to touch Zàhovar. Záhovar. He tasted the name in his mouth. It was a pretty name and it fitted her. He regretted not having thought of it before. You bloody idiot, you just told her off loud enough for half the Tower to hear and started bawling like a tark baby. You're a lousy useless weakling, why would she ever even look at your miserable face again?
”See me.” He twitched hard as he hadn't even heard the Dark Lord approach. His head snapped up to meet His gaze. It felt strange, looking into those fiery eyes in that calm face. It was as if His burning spirit was too large for the body it inhabited.
”You have given Me a valuable gift,” He said. ”And so I give you my full attention this once. Ask whatever you will.”
Graznikh swallowed. ”I don't have any questions,” he said quietly. ”But... I've a wish.” The Dark Lord waited, cloaked in angelic patience. ”I want the bond back,” Graznikh whispered and waited for his inevitable destruction.

The Dark Lord studied the Orc. The doors to the audience chamber were impenetrable by sound, sight and any physical means, but He had heard the Orc's explosion and subsequent breakdown with other ears. He glanced at Záhovar who in turn shared a confused glance with Gîrakûn. He admitted to curiosity about the bond. Opening it was risky, but He believed her to be firmly under His control now. Firmly enough for Him to be able to repair any damage the opening might cause.
Graznikh expected to find himself melting, evaporating or spontaneously combusting at any moment. But neither happened.
”It shall be done.”
His mind went blank. That could not be right. This was not happening. The Dark Lord beckoned for Záhovar to approach and made her stand next to Graznikh, almost close enough to touch. Graznikh stared at the carpet as the Dark Lord shifted and a Power so strong that it threatened to tear everything that he was from him washed over, under, around and through him. It was agony, ecstasy, as a white-hot spear shattered the darkness and the bond opened wide. He heard Záhovar scream with Whindaër's voice and he screamed himself as he passed out.
Záhovar screamed as feelings rushed in to fill a void she had not even been aware of before. The familiar Shadow and Flame swirled around her, but there was also searing Light and the contesting forces threatened to utterly tear her apart. She desperately reached for the blessed Darkness and felt the Dark Lord's presence hold her together as the torrent raged. There was another presence as well, just as dark but nowhere near as strong. She reached for that as well and was met with welcome.

As Graznikh came to, he found himself lying in a soft, comfortable bed in an unfamiliar room. He looked around but there was nothing that could tell him where he was. Then the memories returned. He reached out through the bond, and found... darkness? Then the presence that was Záhovar invaded his mind. He tried to resist but had no chance against the powerful torrent. She drank his memories and emotions like a vampire until Graznikh kicked and screamed for her to stop. Then she was gone, just as fast as she had come. He shivered and gasped, trying to regain his sanity after the violent intrusion. What the everloving fuck was that?! Then he felt something touch the bond, much gentler than before. There was wonder and a tiny tinge of regret. He smiled weakly. I know, âmbal. It wasn't easy for me either. Is this what it felt like for you, the first time? Power pulsed through the bond, feeding his strength and he suddenly found himself extraordinarily alert. It was like the most potent ghâshpau he had ever had. He concentrated on the bond and pumped as much love and lust as he could muster through it. He grinned at the loud gasp and clinking sound from outside.

Záhovar was wiping spilled wine from the table and her trousers. She looked up as Graznikh walked over, grabbed her arms and lifted her to her feet.
”What is-” she began but was interrupted as Graznikh grabbed her head and kissed her passionately. Záhovar froze. What is he doing?! Graznikh tried to push his own want through the bond, but hesitated when he recieved no response. He withdrew and gave her a confused look which she returned. ”Why did you...” He took a step back, then he turned and roared out his frustration. He exhaled sharply as Záhovar's intense intrusion returned, digging through his head.
”Will you stop doing that?!” he roared. The tendrils disappeared and he glared at her. She looked as confused as he felt.
”I only wish to understand.”
Graznikh fell into one of the armchairs with a groan, burying his face in his hands. ”Why did He have to take everything? Couldn't He have left a few scraps for me?”
”What is it He took?” Záhovar asked as she sat down.
”Everything that made you you. What the fuck did He do to you?”
She frowned. ”He created me.”
”Nar!!” Graznikh looked up. ”Nar, he didn't! You were there before too, just... different. But you don't remember anything, do you?”
”Whatever there was before, it is gone now.”
”Nar, it isn't! I was there, I remember everything! I just... wish you could remember as well.” Maybe this bond wasn't such a good idea after all. What's the point if there's nothing left?

She gave him a wary look. ”I could see yours. Your memories, if you would let me.”
He gave her a sullen look. ”Why ask now? Why not just invade like you've done twice already?”
”It is easier if you are willing.”
He snorted. ”Sure, why not. Go ahead, I won't stop you.” He leaned back, steeling himself and trying to open himself up, and this time it was easier. He brought up memories himself for her to see. He could not give her own memories back, but he could give her his view of her.
”Was I truly so weak?” Záhovar said as she studied the moment when Whindaër protested his killing of the tark. Graznikh shrugged.
”Maybe it's just strength of a different kind.”
Záhovar shook her head. ”There is strength and there is weakness. Power does not come in hues.”
Graznikh felt inclined to agree.
She seemed particularly interested in the memories he had of the times they lay together. He could not help but grin. I wonder what it feels like to see yourself in that situation but not having any memory of it happening... ”See something you like?”
”I did not know that it could be... pleasurable.”
Graznikh frowned. ”Seriously?”
”My previous tutors made sure to cause as much discomfort as possible.”
Graznikh's eyes narrowed. ”They raped you?” Then he was blasted by memories that weren't his. Of that first Officer he'd killed, grunting and sweating above. Of him laughing at the screams. Of Black Uruks doing the same thing, taking his place. Of pain, humiliation and intense hate. He screamed and tried to shut it all out. Thankfully, Záhovar got the gist now and ended it. Graznikh was furious. ”I'm gonna learn sorcery just so I can wake 'em all up from the dead. Then I'll kill them again, over and over to the end of time!”
”Why do you care?” The sincere question cut like knives.
”Because...” He had no words with which to answer, so he showed her instead. He lifted every happy moment he and Whindaër had shared, the fucking, the chasing, the playfighting, the falling asleep in each others arms... With the memories came the pain, but he pressed on, pushing everything to the surface. Záhovar looked concerned. So you're not completely dead inside, after all, he thought. Then he had the impulse to show her exactly what he had been through. He threw every painful moment in her face, from the moment when he felt her fade the first time, to the years of her torture, to the moment the bond died, the nightmares and the grief. What he had felt with Praktash, and when she tore him away from that. He shoved it all against her and as he did, he noticed the crease between her eyebrows deepen. She looked... disturbed. Suddenly she broke contact, got up and began pacing the room with an alarmed expression.
”You okay?”
”There is... something,” she said as she paced. Then she stopped, her eyes widened and she gasped. Graznikh felt the bond fail and shot up. ”Nar! Nar nar nar, not again, not now!” He caught her as she fell and felt the Dark Lord's awareness descend upon them like a giant, black vulture. The bond wavered, then slowly stabilised. Graznikh breathed a sigh of relief as she opened her eyes.
”I'm sorry,” he whispered.
”I am not strong enough,” she whispered back as she met his eyes. ”Give it time.” Graznikh trembled. For a brief moment, Whindaër had spoken. For a moment, it had been her eyes looking back at him. He nodded. ”Sure, I can do that.”

”So, what'll happen now? I mean, now that you're an Officer, I'd guess my job is done.”
”Do you wish to leave?”
”Nar! I mean, I wouldn't mind it if I could go out of the Tower every now and then, but... I don't wanna lose you again.”
”Then will you accept a place as Lug-snaga?”
”I don't even know what that means.”
”Be my bodyguard,” Záhovar said. ”Follow me when I travel, carry whatever commands I have to the Low Officers, that sort of things.”
Graznikh grinned. ”Will I still get paid?”
”Yes. All your expenses will be covered by me personally. But I will want to know that you do not squander.”
”Well, you already read my mind so I doubt I could squander without you knowing it.”
”Then you accept?”
”'Course I do! I told ya; I'm yours.”
”Then from now on, you are my servant and do my bidding. It is risky, for I am not yet strong enough to openly challenge other High Officers should you end up in trouble, and everything you do will reflect upon me. None of the other High Officers have common Orcs in their personal entourage, as they are considered too chaotic and unreliable.”
Graznikh shot her a wicked grin. ”Then I'll just have to prove them wrong.”

Chapter End Notes

Nashrakû – old woman (sharkû – old man)

Graznikh lay on his bed as Záhovar returned from her first briefing. He had agreed to stay in her quarters for a while before going back down to Praktash. Or rather, she had commanded him to stay. Despite the lack of emotions from Záhovar's end, the simple fact that the gaping void in his chest had closed was enough to make him feel full and content. He had slept soundly and without nightmares for the first time in years, in a soft comfortable bed in a room all his own and with Záhovar's calming presence in his mind.

One evening as he woke up, Záhovar was waiting for him. She had left her armour on the stand, meaning that she did not plan to leave her quarters any time soon. She beckoned for him to approach but wrinkled her nose as he came close.
”When was the last time you bathed?”
”Bathed? Not in ages,” Graznikh replied. He could scarcely remember his last visit to the scrubhouses down in the underground. She beckoned for him to follow and entered the room opposite the entrance. As Graznikh passed the threshold, he could only stare.

The room was dominated by a large basin in the floor, big enough to hold at least six people without feeling crowded. Large, unlit braziers filled with coal instead of oil stood in each corner and gave off a strange, sweet scent.
”Must take ages to fill that up,” he said as he squatted at the basin's edge. Záhovar gave him a half-smile and turned a strange little mechanism on the wall. Immediately, steaming hot water began pouring out of several holes in the wall.
”There are large steam-driven pumps in the underground,” she explained to the bewildered Orc. ”Water is poured in from the outside and the pressure of the steam pushes it up through pipes in the Tower walls. All of the Tower, from the kitchens below to the Dark Lord's own chambers, have free access to running water.” Graznikh grinned as he watched the tub fill up. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted Záhovar standing a few paces away with folded arms.
”Undress.”
The command made him frown. ”What, here? Now?”
She did not deign to repeat the command. Graznikh grinned as he slowly stripped down to his loincloth. Yes! She gave his loincloth a stern look.
”Oops,” he grinned. ”Forgot that one.” She watched him with mild interest as he tore it off and threw it over his shoulder. How can you be so cold in a situation like this? She came closer and placed a hand on his chest, tracing his scars. The hand slid downwards and for a moment he thought that she would touch his cock, but the hand changed direction just before. The thought alone was enough to make him harden slightly. She traced the scar on his shoulder as she moved behind him and followed the lash marks on his back, so ancient now that they had faded almost completely. He had to bite back a purr as he felt her fingers touch his buttock where Praktash's fangs had once dug in a little too deep. The memory of that moment came unbidden to his mind and he felt his dick throb. Suddenly he realised that Záhovar had stopped, standing next to him and watching him intently. A chill ran down his spine as he met her expressionless gaze.
”Who is he?”
”Just... just a buddy,” Graznikh said as he cursed his own stupidity. He had just outed his best friend to a High Officer!
”And you do not wish for me to know about him,” she said calmly. ”Why?”
”He doesn't want anything to do with... Officers. And I don't wanna get him in trouble.”
”That is not for him to decide.” Záhovar smiled, and Graznikh felt his knees go weak from horror.
”Do you want me?” she whispered. Moments ago he would have thrown himself at her at that question alone. Now he dared not say no. There was an insane, predatorial gleam in her eyes that was enhanced by the fact that her eyes, once deep blue and shining like the stars, now burned with the Eye's own fire but blue instead of red.
”Who is he?” she repeated. As Graznikh hesitated, her eyes grew dangerous. He could feel her presence slowly approach through the bond; she would take what she wanted from him no matter what he tried.
”Not for me to decide either, eh?” He whispered with a frightened grin. ”Alright! Alright, I'll talk.” He sighed as her presence retreated. ”He's an Uruk from Blog Shakâmb. Nashrakû Gîrakûn was... his mistress, I think. His torturer for sure. He brews potions and stuff for the garrisons.”
”And what is he to you?”
”We, well we... live together. We share a room, or it's his room really, I just stay there. We hang out, we drink, we fuck at times. I don't know what to call it.” Then an odd thought hit him. ”Are you jealous?”
”I do not know that word.”
”Are you... Did you get... upset, when you saw that memory? D'you want me to stop doing that with him?”
”No. I want you to continue.”
Graznikh snorted nervously. ”Well, that's good. 'Cause I don't really wanna stop.” Then he frowned as an odd notion came to him. He touched the bond and felt intense envy through it. ”D'you... D'you wanna know what it's like? Is that it?” She gave him a small nod. He began to understand as he placed his hands on her waist and turned her around to untie the sash.

Zàhovar had no idea what to expect as the Orc undressed her. Rape she knew well. Pain, fear, humiliation, hate. These were feelings she understood and could relate to. Whoever controlled them and could cause them had power over others. What Graznikh had thrown at her after they woke up that first night was something else entirely. She realised that there was a large piece of experience missing here, for she could not relate to his memories at all. She could not even imagine what it was like, and her thirst for knowledge and power pushed her to explore.
Graznikh tossed the robe aside and let his hands roam, marvelling at her smooth skin. The strange marks that covered her body seemed to be located underneath the skin, visible but untouchable. For some reason it reminded him of a cage.
”So ya wanna know what fucking's like,” he murmured in her ear. ”I'll show ya, oh I'll show ya good...” Záhovar felt a jolt of something as his thumbs brushed over her breasts.
”Continue with that,” she said and tried to analyse the strange sensation his hands brought her. It spread to other parts that had not even been touched yet, and she seemed to need to breathe deeper despite not having exerted herself.
”Can I go on?” he asked after a while. As Záhovar nodded, he slowly slid a hand down her front and in between her legs. He pressed her close and she could feel his congested member press against the inside of a thigh. Graznikh let out a deep, reverberating rumble as he fingered her wetness and heard her gasp slightly. Záhovar seemed even more out of touch with her body than Whin had been, but he intended to change that. He gently bit the nape of her neck as his fingers moved and he could not keep from bucking slowly, rubbing his cock against her skin.

Everything spun and he hit the wall with a thud that forced the air from his lungs. Záhovar hissed, eyeing him with that same deranged smile that she had worn earlier. Graznikh's common sense told him that the intense fear that he suddenly felt was completely irrational, that it had to be coming from her. It seemed to trigger her the same way her fear had once triggered him, and that insight gave him enough control to think. So that's how you wanna play, is it? He gave in to the dread and she came closer, descending upon him like a snake on poisoned prey. The dread evaporated as he scooped her up into his arms with a growl and grinned at her wide-eyed look. ”Didn't expect that, did ya?”

Záhovar was taken aback as she lost control. She had felt herself slip at the Orc's unfamiliar touch, and submitting was not something she had been taught to do. This seemed like just another contest of wills where defeat was not an option. She could invade his mind through the bond the Dark Lord had so generously gifted to her, but that would end it far too soon. She had not yet learned enough.
Graznikh dumped her unceremoniously onto the large bed, closing the curtains behind him. She struggled as he pulled her close but stopped once he spoke.
”This ain't a battle, âmbal,” he purred as he sank down between her legs, rubbing his shoulders against her thighs. She gave him a look full of suspicion. ”I'm yer snaga,” he growled lustfully,”yer word is my law. Whatever you want me t' do, I'll do it. I'm yours.”
She kept eyeing him. Did he give in so easily? Why? ”Then show me,” she whispered.
”Yes, mistress.” Graznikh grinned. He held her gaze as he lowered his head, tongue stretched out, and felt a deep satisfaction as she fell back with a sigh when he connected with her exposed flesh. He purred and ground his hips against the bed as he felt her nails dig into his shoulders. There was a protesting hiss when he lifted his head after a while.
”I did not tell you to stop!”
”Will you let me fuck ya, mistress? I'll make it even better than this, I swear!”
She seemed to ponder it for a moment, then she nodded. But as he moved to mount her, she pushed him out of the way and sat up. ”Lie down.”
Graznikh felt confused, but obeyed. He did not have to wonder for long as Záhovar straddled him and took him deep inside in one fluid move. She smiled darkly at his astonished grin, but this time he felt no fear.
”Think you that I would give in so easily? Think again,” she murmured as her nails scraped across his scarred chest. Graznikh purred as she rode him, drinking in the delicious sight. Then he couldn't hold back anymore. He grabbed her hips and forced a loud ”ah!” from her as he began pounding up into her. He sat up and pushed her down on her back, pulling her legs up against his chest and held them steady with one hand so that she would not be able to move away. The other he placed on her shoulder to keep her steady as he fucked her hard. She clawed his neck and chest, drawing blood and spurring him even further into lustful frenzy. So good, so...

There was a knock on the door. Graznikh growled, but Záhovar made no move to acknowledge it. Another knock, louder this time, and Záhovar hissed.
”Fuck off!!” Graznikh roared. He could feel the shockwave as a spell broke the lock.
”You will not deny me, Záhovar, you impudent whelp,” the castellan said as he stormed in and pulled one of the curtains aside. Then he stopped, staring in shock at the sight before him. Graznikh shot him a look of pure hate, his face twisted with fury, but Záhovar simply met his eyes with an impassive expression.
”I am a little busy at the moment,” she said. ”I shall be with you shortly, as soon as my current appointment is done.”
Disgust and outrage vied for control of the castellan's face as he dropped the curtain. ”You have until the next toll,” he spat as he left.
”Close the door!” Graznikh shouted after him but there was no indication that he had heard. Graznikh swore and moved to get up, but Záhovar's nails dug into his thigh.
”He made his choice,” she said sternly. ”I do not care who hears.” Graznikh grinned madly at that, and soon after he made sure that her cries of completion echoed all the way down to the castellan's office.

Afterwards, Záhovar shared some of her food with him before leaving for her next appointment. The contents of the plate confirmed his suspicions – that the only reason the rest of Lugburz ate that disgusting gruel was because the Top Ones hoarded all the good stuff for themselves. He almost got sentimental as he tasted his first piece of rare aurochs cold cut.
”Praktash would punch the living shit out of me if he saw me now,” he said with a grin as he licked the meat juice from his fingers.
”Why is that?”
”He really doesn't like Officers, and I promised that he could punch me if I ever became too much like one.”
Záhovar frowned. ”Why make such a promise?”
Graznikh shrugged. ”Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He picked up an odd little fruit and gave it a sceptical look before throwing it in his mouth and chewing with a thoughtful expression. The next moment he was on the floor, spitting and cursing. ”Bolgurz bagronk agh karkû-garzatari!! My bloody mouth's on fire! What the fuck was that?!”
Záhovar began to pour water into a goblet, but he grabbed the pitcher from her hand instead and drank right out of it. She was laughing quietly when he lowered it. Graznikh gasped, sweating like he had run across the Gorgoroth with a dragon at his heels.
”It was a pepper,” she said. ”A spice meant to be cut very thinly and eaten together with other foods. Not on its own.”
”Well ya could've said so before I ate it,” he said and gave her a weak grin. ”That oughta teach me not to eat stuff I don't recognise.”
”Will it?”
”Nar, probably not.”

By now the tub was full, so they both washed after eating. Graznikh kept a number of little belongings on his belt, among them the rough brush he used in the scrubhouses, and he made sure to scrub himself clean now that he had the chance. Bathing in water was a luxury that the Orcs in the Tower had no access to. The brush that Záhovar used on herself was far softer, made of some kind of fine hair and the soap was the finest and softest Graznikh had ever seen, smooth and with a deep green colour but completely unscented.
She held the brush out to him. ”Wash me.”
”Yes mistress,” he replied with a purr.
”Master,” she corrected.
”What?”
”Master.” She repeated. ”You will adress me as master, and refer to me as 'Lord Záhovar' when speaking to others.”
Graznikh nodded, feeling confused. ”Right... when they made you Officer, they all said 'he'. This got something to do with that?”
”Yes.” She frowned. ”Women are breeders, wives, and in many cultures among Men and Orcs they have little power of their own. I am a High Officer, and He will not accept any disrespect be shown me because of my gender. For other reasons though, I am 'free game'.”
”Well, pardon my saying so but you'll never pass as a guy,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”Not with those hips. Even your armour is like built to show you off.”
”His word is law.”
”Right.”
As Záhovar brushed her long hair with her fingers after the bath, Graznikh remembered something and returned to his belt. The little comb had darkened from years of him fondling it with dirty fingers. At some point during those few months they had in peace, Whindaër had carved a cascade of little leaves along one end. He held it and closed his eyes, awash with memories of a time and place long gone. Záhovar looked up as she felt his pain through the bond. ”What is it?”
Graznikh shook his head, clutching the comb. ”Just memories,” he whispered. Then he held it up. ”I don't really wanna part with this, but... I could comb yer hair with it, if ya let me.” She nodded. Whindaër would never let him brush her hair for fear that his rough hands would do it damage. Záhovar had no such qualms, sitting with closed eyes as he combed and pawed the dark hair. I could get used to this, he thought. Being her snaga, doing this. I wouldn't mind at all. He felt giddy as the obsession dug its claws into him.

Graznikh was asleep in Záhovar's bed when she returned from her meeting with the castellan. ”We are leaving,” she said to the dazed Orc.
”Wha..? When?”
”Now. Pack whatever things you want to bring.” Záhovar began gathering things on her bed as Graznikh rose.
”Where're we going?”
”Thaurband, at first. I do not know where He intends to go next.”
"'He'? Ya mean...”
”Yes. The vice castellan has gone to requisition mounts for us both.”
”I already have a warg,” Graznikh said.
”Yes, the vice castellan said that he knew which one to pick.”
Zuzar, Graznikh thought with a grin. I hope he gets the right one. ”I just need to take a trip down to the east gate first, there's someone-”
”There is no time,” Záhovar said. ”We are already late.”
”What?! But-” The lash that hit him through the bond was agony and he grabbed the bedpost to steady himself. He avoided Záhovar's glare as he went to pack his meagre belongings. Sorry, buddy. I'll have to try and get a message through to ya some other way. He probably thinks I'm dead, he thought as he strapped his knives to his back.

Zuzar fought his bonds as Graznikh and Záhovar entered the secluded courtyard. The warg had been outfitted with a proper saddle and harness, and a heavy iron collar and two chains secured it to the wall. There was dried black blood around its snout, showing that outfitting the riderless warg had been a fatal task for some of the kennel keepers. Graznikh grinned as he was greeted by a giant tongue and a ferociously wagging tail.
”Hey buddy, did ya miss me? I'm sorry I was gone so long, I never got the time to tell ya. How's Praktash?”
The warg grew quiet at hearing the Uruk's name. ”Nâror,” it growled. ”Âshuk.”
Graznikh winced. ”And I can't even tell him I'm alive. We've got a new master now, and we gotta follow he-... him,” he corrected himself. Approval reached him through the bond.
”Golug,” the warg said as it sniffed in Záhovar's direction. She gave it a sharp look.
”Not anymore,” Graznikh said. ”Durbatar. Lug-durbatar Zàhovar. So, are ya ready to go for a ride? A real long one?”
”Wuf!” The warg grinned as he mounted.

Záhovar rode a black horse with wild eyes that danced restlessly as they left the courtyard and began making their way towards the main gate. Graznikh hoped to spot Praktash somewhere in the crowd, but the Uruk was nowhere to be seen.

As Praktash came to the warg kennels to take Zuzar for a walk, he could not find the warg anywhere. He asked one of the kennel keepers, who shrugged indifferently. ”Some Officer took it earlier. New owner and all 'at.”
”What, just like that? Who?”
”Fuck if I know. I don't keep track of every Top One who passes 'ere.” The kennel master glanced up at the Uruk. ”Why, what's it to you?”
”Nothin'... just curious.”
Back in the stash room, Praktash stared at Graznikh's empty mattress. He had not gotten around to moving it out of the way. A stubborn little part of him kept clinging to the futile hope that his buddy would return one night.
”You can't lay claim like that,” he whispered. ”Whatever he was before, he belongs to the Eye now, an' He doesn't share. Shoulda listened to my own bloody advice...” He grimaced and punched the leather bag he used for a pillow. Then he got up and continued packing.

Outside the gates, Záhovar's horse snorted loudly and kicked at the warg.
”Darat!” she growled and whipped it hard, and it actually seemed to subdue the beast somewhat. She sighed. She was not overly fond of horses, the beasts were unintelligent and unruly. It was a mount for weaklings, but wargs would only carry Orcs. Another Officer from Rhûn whom she had spoken to at times had mentioned a breed of horses that were more intelligent than the rest, but that were nearly impossible to tame by traditional means. She kicked the horse into a canter and Graznikh followed suit. They took the Doom Road past the Mountain and passed the patrol responsible for clearing it from the constant lava flows on the way. They were on their way back to the Tower, which meant the road would be clear. At the large Orc camp near the aptly named Orkish Cross they rested for the day, and the next evening they continued along the Moroth South Road that would take them past Morigost and the pass of Nurza-Shûk.
”This is the Morgai,” Záhovar said and pointed towards the ridge in the distance.”The Inner Fence. The Outer Fence runs all the way south of the river Poros, where it turns sharply east. There are only two passes, the one that you see to the west of here and one in the southern corner. Other than those, the mountains form an impenetrable wall against the Enemy.”
Graznikh grinned. ”Nar, it ain't impenetrable.”
Záhovar stared at him as they began to move again. ”What do you mean?”
”I climbed them,” he said. ”Me and Zuzar both, when I went looking for you. There are spiders there though, big as a trader's cart, so I doubt any tarks would ever dare to cross 'em.” When disbelief hit him through the bond, he brought up some memories of the perilous trip. The disbelief was replaced by astonishment and, surprisingly, respect. It made Graznikh feel really good. Zuzar growled merrily at having its neck scratched.

They rode hard and reached the fortress of Morigost the next morning. Graznikh frowned as Záhovar led them up a narrow sloping path. ”I thought you said there was a fortress on this mountain?”
”There is,” she said and pointed towards a large gate in the mountain that appeared as they passed a corner. ”The entire cliff is hollow. The mountain is the fortress. I demand passage,” she shouted at the gate. ”I am Záhovar, High Officer of Lugburz, Seen by the Eye! Open the gate or fear His wrath!” There was a clanging sound and the gate slowly swung open, each door pushed by six Orc soldiers. The Captain of the place came down a flight of stairs as they dismounted. There was a lot of posturing, scraping and tough talk. Eventually Záhovar got weary of it and Graznikh caught a flash of anger through the bond. He stepped up to the babbling Captain and planted a boot in his guts.
”Enough of this,” Záhovar snapped at the groveling Orc. ”Show me to my quarters!” Once the Captain had picked himself up from the floor, he nodded and began barking commands at the 'farkin' snaga rabble'. A little while later, he returned with the good news that quarters had been found.
”I guess yer snaga'll be stayin' with th' rest o' us?” the Captain said. Záhovar gave a short nod and left, leaving Graznikh alone. He glanced at the Captain.
”Watch who you're calling snaga,” he growled. The Captain glanced over his shoulder, making sure Záhovar was well out of hearing range before he replied: ”Aren't we all, eh?”
Graznikh scowled. ”Trying to get used to the damn title,” he muttered and the Captain laughed.
”C'mon, have a drink an' summat to eat. It'll help ya.”

”So what's up with that 'un? Ain't ever heard of a Top One lookin' like that. An' what the fuck's up with th' fancy name, eh?” The captain muttered. One of the Captain's lackeys could not contain his curiosity. Graznikh was in no hurry to finish the gruel, so he kept handing out little scraps of info that only served to make the little Orc even more excited.
”He's new,” he said. ”Brand new outta the Tower.”
”An' th' first thing they do is send 'im packin',” the Captain said with a sneer.
Graznikh gave him an insane grin. ”Oh, they didn't. He's handpicked by the Eye itself. Got trained by the best.”
”And sent off with just th' one snaga in tow? Sounds like a shit hand t' me.”
Graznikh chuckled. ”Oh, don't make that mistake. There's a reason they sent someone like him off like this.”
”Oho?” The little lackey sat on the edge of the bench, leaning towards Graznikh with big eyes. ”What izzit? What izzit?”
Graznikh lowered his voice. ”They say big things're happening off South. Maybe even another war. The tarks are fortifying the shores, we're going there to investigate.” He lowered it even more, so that the others had to lean in to hear him. ”If things're too serious, they say the Eye might lead the assault Himself.” He winked at the little Orc, who was now shivering with excitement at being privy to the intel of a Top One.
But the Captain snorted. ”Ev'ryone talks o' war, all th' bloody time. One Officer ain't much o' an army, izzit?”
”Don't make that mistake,” Graznikh said, leaning back with his hands behind his head. ”You haven't seen 'im fight.”
”Soon you'll say you trained 'im yerself.” Graznikh did not reply to that but the little one's eyes grew even larger and he had to bite his tongue to not laugh at the sight. The Captain downed the contents of his tankard and gave him an insolent look.
”Ye're a downright loyal little prick, aren't ya?”

Suddenly, over a hundred pairs of eyes were upon them. Graznikh did not move and gave the Captain a relaxed but smug grin. ”D'ya really wanna fight me? Really?” Zuzar lifted its head and gave the Captain a forthright look. The Captain leaned towards him. ”Well, you ain't got an Officer t' save yer arse now, do ya?”
”As a matter of fact...” The temperature in the cavern fell, and the Captain turned to stare into Záhovar's icy eyes. One of his hands began to tremble violently.
”W-we were just, ah... J-just foolin' round, right, eh?” He gave Graznikh a panicked grin, which Graznikh returned with a smile that would have been benevolent if not for the deranged gleam in his eyes. ”I didn't mean anythin' by it!” The Captain shot up. ”See? We're all buddies here, right?”
Záhovar slowly shook her head. ”You will fight.”
Graznikh rose from the table, spun around in an almost dance-like move and drew his blades. The Captain tumbled back with a squeak but managed to avoid the incoming attack. Graznikh drew back and waited for him to draw his blade so that they could fight for real.
Záhovar watched the scene with outward august calm, but Graznikh could feel her bloodlust. As the red haze descended upon him he felt her sample and savour it, leaving a sensation as if she had been running her tongue all over his naked body. The pleasure made him click his fangs at the terrified Captain.

It was over far too soon.
”If I hear of any more disturbances or insubordination, I will have this fortress cleaned out of every last living thing,” Záhovar said when the Captain had finally stopped twitching. The cavern was quiet as the Halls of Death, except for Graznikh's hoarse humming as he cleaned his knives and Zuzar's snoring. The warg had managed to sleep through the whole thing. Graznikh met Záhovar's eyes and the approval in them made his knees weak. She's really pulling my strings, that one, he thought as she turned away. Half the time I don't even notice it. But then why does it feel so good?
”Err...”
Záhovar glanced over her shoulder as a large Orc caught her attention. ”Yes?”
”We, err... We've got no Cap'n now. Who'll take 'is place?”
Záhovar gave Graznikh a look.
”Yes Master,” Graznikh said with a half-bow. As she nodded and left, he turned to the crowd.
”I'll make that decision. If ya wanna argue your case, form a line.”
The ensuing chaos was nowhere near a line as everyone with the slightest bit of ambition began to vie for his favour. A few fights broke out but a menacing growl and a few hard kicks were enough to break them up. He made every applicant name two others that he could agree to follow as Captain. Of course, most of them would pick two who would be easy to subdue or kill so that they could take the place themselves later on. Graznikh expected it, and soon one Orc had risen who had not been named a single time. Graznikh eyed him. From what he had been able to pick up during the night, this guy was not near the bottom of the pecking order, but not one of the old Captain's lackeys either. He was not the largest of Orcs but not small either, with light brown skin and grey hair, and he bore a number of scars on his face. There was a gleam of cunning in his eyes that Graznikh liked.
”What's yer name?”
”Sulmurz,” the other grunted.
”Where ya from?”
”Stronghold in th' Eastern Desolation.” Not a talkative one, Graznikh thought. Smart enough to keep his tongue to himself. He motioned for him to take a seat, which Sulmurz did after giving Graznikh an evaluating look.
”So what were you in the Desolation?”
”Raider. Caravan guard. That sort o' thing.” He nodded in thanks as Graznikh passed him a mug. ”But I had enough. Figured soldiering would be calmer. A little too calm.”
Graznikh flashed him a grin of understanding. ”None of the others named you. Why's that, ya think?”
Sulmurz gave him a lopsided grin. ”That's 'cause I never joined their little game of 'who's-gonna-be-the-next-Chief'. I could take it, sure, an' keep the spot too. But I never cared for that, seemed like too much hassle.” Lazy, lack of ambition or simply smart enough to keep a low profile?
”So if I give it to ya, what'd ya say?”

Sulmurz met Graznikh's eyes. There was a brief gleam of ambition in his eyes, but he hid it well. Smart, Graznikh decided. ”If you survive long enough, there might be more in it later, if you're interested,” he added. Sulmurz narrowed his eyes, taking in the new info and turning it over in his head. Graznikh pretended to ignore him, instead swirling the drink in his mug and watching the cavern. Most of the others had gone back to whatever they were doing before the entertainment begun. Some threw sullen looks in Sulmurz' direction, but averted their eyes when Graznikh met theirs. The old Captain's lackeys were nowhere to be found save for the little Orc, who peered at him from the corner it had hid in as the fight began. He beckoned for the little one to come closer, which it did reluctantly.
”So how does a lttle one like you survive here?” Graznikh asked. The little one opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again when Sulmurz snorted.
”He might be a runt, but Mikbork's the best snuffler I've ever seen. And he doesn't eat much, so he's an easy keeper.” Mikbork beamed at the praise, but his eyes grew wide as Graznikh pushed a mug into his hands, staring at it as if he had never seen one before.
”Well, good snufflers are always in high demand,” Graznikh said with a grin. ”Have a drink, you look like you need it. The new Captain'll have much use for you, I'd wager.” He gave Sulmurz a meaning glance, which was returned with a grin.

”Fine, have it your way,” Sulmurz said. Graznikh nodded and brought his mug down hard against the table a few times to get everyone's attention.
”Captain Sulmurz is in charge from now on,” he said loudly. ”I'll be keeping an eye on this place, and any disturbances I hear of will be reported and dealt with accordingly. The Eye wants the place in check for the coming war, so anything that goes against that will be seen as treason.” The murmur rose from the crowd as he sat back down and downed the contents of his mug. I hate talking in front of crowds like this. The torment you put me through, Záhovar... He could not help but grin as he felt a gentle tug on the bond. Sulmurz was already surrounded by a bunch of potential lickspittles, asserting himself as if he was born to do so. Good pick, there. I hope he lasts, could use someone like him on the team. He had already begun looking for potential recruits for Záhovar's bodyguard with the intention of building his own little band of trusty fellows.

Záhovar was lying down on the makeshift bed as he entered her temporary quarters about a toll later. He rolled out his bedroll next to the door and laid down, using his own body as a doorblock.
”I wouldn't be much use as a bodyguard if I didn't do my part,” he said as Záhovar gave him an odd look.
She nodded. ”You did well out there.”
”Thanks. And thanks for coming to my aid.”
”Aid?”
”Aye, with the Captain. I know you didn't intend it that way, but still... Thanks.”
She nodded, not knowing what to reply.

After leaving Morigost and Nurza-Shûk, they took the Nurn Road south. The landscape changed abruptly as they came within view of the inland sea and the Maegond vale. Thaurband was a rather large trading hub located near a natural harbour on the southwestern shore of the sea of Nurnen. Unlike northern Mordor, which was arid and barren, the land here was green. Ashfalls from the Mountain fertilised the soil and gave the roofs a rich, black colour and regular rainfalls kept the soil moist. Vast swaths of cultivated fields stretched along the lake's shores in both directions, tended by innumerable slaves.
A small fortress lay on a hill in the northern part of the city, but Záhovar did not take her snaga there, choosing instead an inn near the sea.
”Why not the fortress?” Graznikh asked as he closed the door to their room.
”Because the commander is an imbecile,” Záhovar replied. ”Are you familiar with the name Dachman?”
Graznikh let out a loud groan. ”Not that one again! Can I kill him? Please?”
”As tempting as that may be, I must say no. For all his antics he is a capable administrator, and as I have said, I am not yet strong enough to challenge him openly.”
”Do we have to meet him? I can't promise I won't go nuts on him if he starts reciting poetry again.”
Záhovar gave him a wry smile. ”I will have to, eventually. You need not follow me.”
”I'm not leaving your side,” Graznikh said. ”Bodyguard'n all that.”

They had a few days' leisure before the Dark Lord and His following arrived, so Záhovar and Graznikh spent some time exploring the market. It was larger than the one in Lugburz, hosting a myriad of stalls selling everything from exotic spices and silks to the High Officers and other higher-ranking individuals of Mordor to the regular weapons- and armour merchants, drug dealers, slave traders and craftsmen of various kinds. At one point, a man came out of one of the stalls as they passed.
”My lord!” As Záhovar stopped, he bowed deeply on bended knee. ”My deepest apologies for this interruption, but are you High Officer Záhovar?”
Graznikh reached for his knives, but Záhovar stopped him. ”I am,” she said.
The man stood and fetched a large package from inside his stall. ”The Blacklocks send their regards, and thanks you for the purchase,” he said as he handed it over. Záhovar nodded her thanks and motioned for Graznikh to take it, which he did with a confused frown.

”What? I don't need new weapons!” he exclaimed as they returned to the inn.
”But you do. If you are to be my bodyguard, you need to look the part. Complain all you want; posturing is necessary.”
”My blades are just f-” Graznikh began but was interrupted as Záhovar pushed the package against his chest. He scowled. ”Bloody Officers... ain't gonna dress up like a bloody pansy... Guh!” His grumbling was cut short as Záhovar yanked the bond. He continued to grumble quietly as he opened the package but fell silent when he saw the contents. There was a back plate with sheaths attached and two short swords, similar to what he had but of far better quality. The new swords were longer but lighter and better balanced than the crude Orcmake knives. They had no decorations of any sort; the high quality spoke for itself and was decoration enough. As he tested the edge, he found them to be extremely sharp.
”Where'd you get these?” he asked.
”I commissioned them from the dwarves of the Yellow Mountains in the Far South.”
”We have dwarves on our side?”
”Hardly. But the dwarves in the East are, if possible, even more indifferent about the world outside their caves than those in the West. And they will not turn away gold, no matter where it comes from.”
”Hnh. Makes sense. They always were greedy bastards” Graznikh eyed the blades again, fingering the dark oiled leather. These were not the kind of blades one welded together in an afternoon; they must have taken weeks, perhaps even months, to complete and ship all the way to Thaurband. He had seen a crude map over the Far South in one of the books on the table in Záhovar's quarters and the Yellow Mountains were not even on it, so they must be even farther south. It struck him that she must have commissioned them while she was still his student. She had this all planned, he thought with a wry grin.
”There is another thing, as well.”
Graznikh's heart sank into his guts as he spotted the collar in Záhovar's hand. ”You gonna leash me like a bloody dog?!” Yes, yes she is. And you'll wear it like a good little snaga. He wished that he could stop hearing Praktash's voice in his head at times like these. The Black Uruk would never have submitted to the things Graznikh now did. But Graznikh was not Praktash, he had thrown the dice and he could not cheat his way of this now. He closed his eyes and nodded. There was a click as the collar snapped shut around his neck, and he met Záhovar's impassive eyes with a defeated scowl. Collared like a dog. You're a snaga for real now. Feels good, doesn't it? Graznikh suddenly frowned. Now that he was aware of it, he could feel her manipulation clearly through the bond. It was subtle, the way she kept soothing his longing for freedom and independence and fanned the flames of his lust and affection, effectively subduing every single thought he had of rebellion. He felt sick, but Záhovar simply nodded to him before turning away. Graznikh held his tongue; this was not the time for protests.

”Záhovar!” Dachman exclaimed, holding his arms out in a mocking welcome as his new rival and her bodyguard entered the audience hall in the fortress of Thaurband. ”I did not think you would visit me at all! Such a shame... And I see you still prefer the rabble,” he said with a nod towards Graznikh. ”Collared like a pet. You took your lessons to heart.”
”Better than some,” Záhovar replied coolly. ”I take it the preparations are going well?”
”Nothing that warrants concern,” Dachman said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Then he glanced at her. ”What news from Lugburz?”
”You have two days. Morigost has a new Captain, and the vice castellan has been replaced. Other than that, it has been calm.”
”Replaced, indeed.” Dachman stopped at the large glass doors that led to a balcony with an amazing view of the sea.
”Inspiring,” Dachman said with a nod towards it, ”but the novelty wears off when you see it every day. 'For the waves shall be mountains and crash 'pon the shore, as Elenna will writhe in the Dark...' Ah, t'is but a thought so far.” He turned back to Záhovar. ”Two days, you said?”
She nodded. ”I will be available, should you need my aid.” Dachman nodded and waved his hand, not quite giving her permission to go but Záhovar left anyway. Záhovar breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped back outside.
”He wasn't as bad as last time,” Graznikh muttered.

Two days later, Záhovar stood on parade next to Dachman in the fortress courtyard as the Dark Lord's entourage entered. He did not ride a black horse as one would expect, but a brilliant chestnut whose coat gleamed with a metallic shimmer despite the cloudy sky. The large horse seemed to dance as it moved, beaming with pride to bear its master forth. Zuzar made a quiet comment that Záhovar did not catch, but Graznikh quickly hushed him. The Dark Lord stopped His horse in front of the Officers and adressed not Dachman, commander of the fortress, but Záhovar.
”Everything is prepared and in order,” she said as He turned His gaze upon her. He nodded and gave the command to move out.
Graznikh soon found that he was the only Orc in the large company. There were not even any Uruks, and the Men largely ignored him save for the occasional insult or attempt to bully him into subservience. Graznikh refused to budge for anyone but Záhovar. He had not felt her touch the bond since that night in Thaurband, but he could not tell whether it was because she had stopped manipulating him or simply because his discovery had made her more careful. The doubt made him feel empty and betrayed, but he obeyed her without hesitation whenever she asked something of him. He noticed that she did not command him to do things other than when other Officers were nearby. She knows you'll obey anyway, little snaga. He tried to shut the infuriating voice of self-loathing out.

One night, he realised that he was not the only one the High Officers treated like dirt.
”You have no authority to refuse me, 'lord' Záhovar,” the Ambassador to the Southern lands said with a smile. ”Hold him!” Záhovar hissed as her arms were caught. Graznikh watched as his âmbal was punched hard, once, twice, thrice. Then he could not push away her pain anymore, and it made him furious. The red haze descended so fast that he barely had time to plan ahead, and he drew his blades and attacked. He stabbed one of the men in the back and broke the other one's jaw with a pommel. Then he spun to face the High Officer, fangs bared and growling with fury.
The man stared at him with an incredulous smile. ”How quaint! The pet is defending its master!” Then he flicked his hand. Záhovar grabbed Graznikh from behind and spun to place her body between him and the spell. The blast pushed them several paces along the ground but her shield held, barely. Graznikh could feel her weaken through the bond. One more of those and we're done for. The moment the Ambassador's spell went out, she dropped Graznikh as if she had been burned, but the damage was already done. The Southern Ambassador's laughter rang out across the camp, followed by several others. Záhovar straightened up and turned to face him.
”You truly belong among the rabble, Záhovar,” the Ambassador said, still laughing. ”You should return to the Orc barracks. This is no place for you.” With that, he left and Záhovar could turn to leave as well with Graznikh in tow.

Back in the tent, she spun towards Graznikh with furious eyes. ”Why did you do that?”
Graznikh frowned. ”'Cause he hurt ya!”
”He would not kill me, and pain is nothing I have not felt before. Why did you interrupt?”
”What kind of a lousy bodyguard 'm I if I just stand there and watch 'em beat ya up?”
”You made me lose face in front of the entire camp! Defying a higher ranking Officer and accepting the punishment is a show of strength. Defending a snaga from him, no matter how useful, is not!” She turned her back to him and sat down at her desk, effectively ending the argument. Graznikh fumed in silence. So I'm just a snaga, am I? 'Useful'..? I made ya lose your face, did I? Guess I'll just have to take it back, then.

The next morning, the camp was in an uproar. Záhovar managed to catch a Lug-snaga and interrogate him on what was happening.
”The Southern Ambassador was found dead in his tent,” the servant said after bowing deeply. ”His body was so mutilated that he was not immediately recognised, and his face... His face was torn off, the skin hung on the pannerpost outside his tent. What is more is – no one heard it happen. Not a sound.” She let the servant go, feeling shocked. Then she slowly returned to the tent to look at Graznikh, who stretched and yawned.
”Slept like a warg cub in the den,” he said with a grin. ”How 'bout you?”
Záhovar felt a strange chill at seeing his amiable expression. ”You...”
Graznikh grew serious as he rose and stopped in front of her. ”I clean up my messes,” he whispered. ”I fucked up for ya, so I fucked back down again. You lost face, you said, so I stole another.” He came closer, devotedly brushing her cheek with a finger. ”Take all the credit you want. I'm yours.”

Chapter End Notes

Bolgurz bagronk agh karkû-garzatari – bloody cesspool and cock-swingers
Nâror – not good
Âshuk – alone, lonely
Darat – literally 'give', give up

Praktash stretched, wincing as his shoulders cracked loose. The snaga had died some time during the night, but it was just as well. It had been fun while it lasted, and Praktash doubted the little Orc would have wanted to go on living with the experience anyway. People died all the time in Lugburz; that was just the way it was. One of Hîsht's lickspittles nodded to him with a lopsided grin as he went over to the privy.
”Hungry?”
”Sure. What's on the menu?”
Narduf grinned as he passed Praktash a bowl. The garrison in Udûn ate the same grey slop as everywhere else. There might have been a little more meat in today's batch, but it could also just be his imagination. Hîsht came back from the morning inspection as he finished, and they exchanged a few words. Getting Praktash transferred to Udûn had been easy, despite his being a Black Uruk. He had been shirking his primary duty to the Tower for so long that the census office would happily send him anywhere he wished just to get him into the military where he was supposed to be. Once in the garrison, Hîsht had made sure to drill him hard to get him in proper shape. It was not just for his own sake; she had gotten a few jabs about picking him just for his looks, and that was a sentiment she intended to kill. Praktash had the Uruks' natural fighting instincts and was soon a passable warrior, and Hîsht made sure not to show any favouritism, giving him the least desirable duties as was befitting someone at the bottom of the pecking order. He did not seem to mind.

Praktash's face was still too pretty for the army, but Hîsht had been reluctant to mess it up and Praktash had been more than disinclined to let her. He had gotten a lot of lip for it from the others and until last night, he had simply shrugged it off. Now however, Hîsht was pretty certain no one would ever dare to bring it up again, at least not to his face. When one of the snufflers had kicked his bowl out of his hands and loudly proclaimed that he probably preferred to lick the contents off the floor, a new light had appeared in Praktash's eyes. He had lifted the snaga by what little hair it had, shoved it against the wall, jammed his thumb up its arse and then proceeded to fuck it until it bled from both ends in front of half the garrison while cooing little sweetnesses in its ear. Afterwards, he had dragged the snuffler back to the nook where he kept his bedroll and finished it off.
”And that, my sweet fellows, is why my face isn't as messed up as yours.” The message had been as clear as rainwater.

Keeping track of your position in the pecking order was an important thing to do. Mistakes could be fatal, and if someone else rose too fast they could threaten your own position. As a Black Uruk, Praktash would have been able to take Hîsht's position simply by virtue of being what he was. After all, Black Uruks were made and destined to lead. But Praktash had made sure to declare that he had no intention or interest in Hîsht's position or anyone else's near the top. Once he had settled in a place high enough not to get bullied but not high enough to have to give orders or carry out officering duties, he was satisfied. Hîsht kept an eye on him nonetheless. He had the brains to question stupid orders, but also the brains to back down when push turned to shove. Still, there was something odd about the Uruk that Hîsht had not noticed before. He was still his old talkative self, but the grin never reached his eerie green eyes. She had never asked him why he had suddenly chosen to sign up now after refusing it for years, but she had her suspicions when that cute palefaced guy he had been living with last she saw him never showed up.

A few months after his arrival to Udûn, half the garrison was transferred to the newly finished Great Gate. Hîsht and Praktash was among them. The night after their arrival, Praktash stood on top of the giant wall, catching his first glimpse of Enemy territory.
”Doesn't look like much,” he said.
Hîsht snickered. ”Disappointed?”
He shrugged. ”I'd kinda hoped for more enemies.”
”Oh, there are. Not near here, o' course, but follow the cliff here to the left, that leads south and west. Those lands are crawling with tarks. Even further west there are Elves too.”
”So I've been told,” Praktash muttered. Hîsht cocked her head and he tried to grin, but it came off as an odd grimace. Then he stared off into the southwest.
Hîsht hummed. ”That's where he came from, isn't it?”
”Yeah,” Praktash replied. ”He did.”
He let out a snorting sound and Hîsht quickly glanced about to make sure no one else had heard or seen them. But the night was still and calm, what few guards there were stood far away near the northern end of the gates. She gently patted Praktash's shoulder.
”Don't worry cub,” she said. ”I've got your back.” Praktash collapsed against the battlement.

Hîsht had seen the big Uruk cry a few times before. She had found him in the streets of Lugburz, scared out of his wits and with about as much knowledge of the world as a newborn cub. When he had told her of his experiences in Blog Shakâmb, the tears had come. Hîsht had not known what to make of it that first time. Orcs did not cry from emotional distress, and Black Uruks were not supposed to feel any extreme emotions at all apart from rage and lust. She had figured that the sorceress that ruled the place must have done some permanent damage to his head and had planned on putting him out of his misery. But something had stayed Hîsht's hand.

Orc women were ferociously protective of their cubs. For all their violent nature, no Orc with any sense left in its head would deliberately harm a child of their own kind. But the Black Land had changed the natural order of things, shoving the women together in breeding pits to breed an army and using dark magic to twist and change the baby cubs into Black Uruks. What should have taken years to grow and set was completed within months, and the grown Uruks were forever changed and set apart from other Orcs. Hîsht had been down there a long time. It was no easy thing to have your litter torn from you even as you sweated and roared to push them out one by one, chained to the wall and unable to defend them as your instincts told you to. It hurt deeper than mere physical pain, just as much the first time as it did the three hundredth. And in a small corner of Hîsht's mind, Praktash was the one cub she got back. For all she knew, he could very well be hers for real, and that tiny spark had lit up her mother's instincts.
”So what happened?” she asked as Praktash wiped his eyes.
”They took him. To the Tower. I guess they had enough of him messin' with them.”
”Whaddya mean?” Hîsht asked.
”There was someone... Someone he came here with. Got caught tryin' to sneak past and ended up in the dungeons. Not the regular one, the Eye's own private one. And he couldn't let go. Made him all obsessed. He even broke in there to see her, one last time.”
”Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? He broke into..?”
”Yeah,” Praktash sighed. ”I tried to stop him, I really did. Told him it was stupid, more than stupid, it'd get him worse than killed. But he wouldn't listen. He got caught of course, but for some reason the Eye let him go.”
”Hold on – your little pale buddy broke into the Eye's personal dungeon, and the Eye let 'im go? Just like that?”
”Nar, not before he had his head thoroughly messed up.”
”Figures. But... 'her'? He had a mate?”
Praktash nodded and swallowed hard. ”That was his âmbal, the one he'd give his life for. I... think he stuck with me 'cause when she died, he had nothin' left to live for.” He grimaced, trying to force away more tears. ”We had a good thing goin', things were good. An' I thought... but then she comes back, just like that, and steals him away again.”
Hîsht stared at him. ”She came back from the dead?”
”Sort of. Or... I don't know for sure, that's what it looked like. Scars all over like a cage etched into her hide. Eyes just like the Eye, burnin' blue. I think they turned her into a Top One, or meant to.”
”Why'd they make an Orc into a Top One? Ya know that doesn't happen.”
Praktash gave her a mirthless grin. ”Wasn't an Orc. T'was a bloody golug.”
Seeing Hîsht's face contort with disgust was oddly satisfying. ”That just ain't right! Elves die when you fuck 'em, everyone knows that!”
”This one didn't. This one liked it, or so he claimed. Came back beggin' for more and killed her own family when they found out.”
”Oh, come on!” Hîsht shot to her feet and grabbed the Uruk's ear with an angry look. ”He was bullshitting ya, Prak! That might be a pretty fantasy in a sick head, but I can't believe you fell for it too! Use that brain o' yours, if ya still got it! Think! There's no fuckin' way a golug would survive first gettin' fucked by an Orc, gang up with him after the fact and saunter into Lugburz as if the stars were out, then move on to become a High Officer! For fuck's sake, that's just stupid, they're the bloody Enemy!!”
Praktash winced as Hîsht tugged his ear. ”But... Zuzar said-”
”That mutt wouldn't find its own arsehole if someone pointed it out for 'im,” Hîsht growled. ”An' you know wargs follow their riders. You're not that daft, are ya?”
”I'mma lose my ear if ya keep tuggin' it like that!”
”And a good reminder it would be, too!” She let it go with a grin and squatted in front of him. ”Now you'll listen to Hîsht – forget the paleface. He was cute, but bonkers. There're more rats on the plain than that one. An' pale skin's bad luck anyway. I know it's hard, but give it time an' you'll soon be laughin' at yerself over the whole matter.”

To breathe was pain. To move was agony. The world was foggy and transparent, as if not truly there.
WHY DID YOU KILL HIM?
Despite having nothing to do with the Ambassador's death, Záhovar had taken full responsibility for Graznikh's transgression. In a way she was responsible; had she executed proper discipline, the situation would never have arisen. As it was, an important piece of the Dark Lord's puzzle had suddenly disappeared, and He was furious. Thin tent walls could not block out curious ears, so the Dark Lord had simply torn Záhovar apart from inside, thrusting both Himself and her into the Wraith-world, a shadow-realm where He was in complete control and she was nothing but a meagre will, defenseless against the Eye.
”He treated me like a mere snaga, I would not stand for it any longer! What use am I as an Officer if I cannot defend my position?”
THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS THAN YOUR PETTY POWER STRUGGLES! IS THIS HOW YOU REPAY THE BENEVOLENCE I SHOWED BY ALLOWING YOU TO LIVE?
”I will-” Every word He uttered tore at her self, and she had to pause and focus to keep herself together. ”I will repay it a thousand times over! I will make this worthwhile, I swear it!”
INDEED. His voice was no longer angry, but thoughtful. AND HOW DO YOU INTEND TO REPAY THIS DEBT?
Záhovar could not answer in words, so instead she conjured up an image of what she had planned. The Dark Lord radiated mild interest. THAT IS... AN INTRIGUING PICTURE. AS WAS THE MANNER IN WHICH HE DIED. THINK YOU YOURSELF CAPABLE?
Záhovar pulled what little confidence she had together, and He let her go. She could not help but let out a gasp of relief as the world turned solid and real around her, although the tent walls seemed to be closing in. As she stepped outside, the Dark Lord stopped her. Many people had found a reason to remain in the vicinity, no doubt hoping for a public execution. Záhovar prouded herself on being able to bow before Him and walk away without shaking.

When He had simply waved His hand in dismissal and no punishment came, people suddenly began tiptoeing around her and showed her respect in a way that they had not done before, figuring that a lack of punishment was the same as approval. Graznikh was still treated like shit, but he tried to shrug it off. I don't need any approval from tarks anyway. Záhovar on the other hand... She had really warmed up to him after his little cloak-and-dagger adventure, and had even agreed to let him sleep closer to her than before. He had eventually managed to sneak into her bed and spoon her a few times. Despite her protests that it would ruin her reputation if they were discovered, she seemed to enjoy it as much as he did and Graznikh assured her that no one could sneak up on them without him noticing. He had watched her tremble in her sleep and sob quietly every now and then, and him lying close seemed to calm her during those times.

After a few weeks' travel, they reached the capital of Khand.
”Hailed be the King of Arda!” the local leader exclaimed and bowed deeply as the Dark Lord entered the throne room, followed by the three Officers that should have been four. ”It is an honour and a blessing to house thee, Great Lord!”
The Dark Lord gave the king a nod, smiling benevolently. Záhovar glanced around the throne room. Many had gathered from far and wide to catch a glimpse of their supreme ruler. She could recognise Men of Khyardur, Rhûn, Khand, Númenor and even a few from the distant lands beyond. The reception was brief, for which Záhovar was grateful. She was still not sure that it was wise of her to leave her unruly Orc without supervision, but she would have to let go at some point. He had been tasked with caring for her horse, his warg and with bringing her belongings to her quarters, and she dearly hoped that he had not gotten into any fights on the way.
She found him by the royal stables, fetching the last bundles. The sky was cloudless and the Sun baked the city, so he wore a thick cloak and hood to protect himself. Still, he was sweating profusely as he greeted her with a grin.
”This is nice,” Graznikh said as they entered the lavish guest suite that Záhovar had been given. ”So how did ya manage to get me in here? I thought they'd have me sleep in the stables.”
”I will not part with my bodyguard. And the servants would instigate a rebellion if they were forced to share quarters with an Orc. And... you were not trusted to be left alone near any animals.”
”Right,” he said with a scowl. ”Vicious murderer and rapist and all 'at shit.” He licked a corner of his mouth as he eyed the large bed. Then he spotted a thin, dirty bedroll in a corner and his face fell. ”They want me to sleep on that?!”
Záhovar scowled as she saw what he was looking at. ”Get rid of it.” Graznikh merrily grabbed the bedroll and threw it out into the hallway. He also took note on the number of guards out there before closing the door. Too many. All probably stationed there because of me. He scowled a little as he removed his armour and clothes for the first time since they left the Tower and hung the swords on a bedpost where he could easily reach them if necessary. Then he threw himself into the soft bed and ground his hips suggestively against the silken sheets with a leer. ”So... Wanna try out our new playground?”
She gave him a small smile. ”That will have to wait. There is some paperwork that must be filled out before the official signing tomorrow, and I fear that I shall have to work late.”
Graznikh stopped grinding with a disappointed look. ”Hnh... well, I'll be keeping the bed warm for ya when you get back.” He sighed as she left. I've been holding back for weeks... He relieved some of the tension by wanking a few times and then tried to sleep. When she eventually returned much later, he simply pulled her close and wrapped the blanket around them both. This is what's important, he reminded himself as he drifted back into sleep. Screw the rest, it'll change.

The next morning, Záhovar awoke early. Graznikh managed to wrestle her down the first time she tried to rise and steal a bit of snuggling before letting her go. Later on, he was sound asleep in the comfortable bed as he heard the door open. A young female servant let out a shrill scream and dropped the bundle of cloth she had been carrying as he jumped to his feet with a growl.
”Whaddya want?!”
The girl began trembling. ”I.. I...” The next moment, two guards appeared in the doorway.
”Are you in trouble, child?” one of them asked.
Graznikh let out a groan. ”It's too early for this shit,” he grumbled into the pillow. As the guards spotted him, he suddenly found a number of spears brandished in his direction.
”You are not to sully the mistress' bed with your filth!”
He gave them a lopsided sneer. ”I do whatever th' fuck I want.”
”You will leave the bed at once! Your place is on the floor.”
Graznikh began to growl. ”Then call Lord Záhovar back here, ask him in person what he thinks of that. See how happy he'll be about being disturbed for a shit thing like this!”
”I must change the sheets,” the servant girl managed to say. Her eys widened as Graznikh grinned at her.
”Well, why didn't ya say so? No need to wave those sticks all over th' place, let's be civil.” With that, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. One of the guards made a disgusted sound and the servant girl squeaked and turned her back to avoid witnessing the full frontal horror he gave them. Graznikh stretched leisurely and stepped aside. ”Bed's clear,” he grinned. ”Be my guest.” The girl gingerly walked towards the bed, head turned away to avoid seeing the naked, leering Orc.

Graznikh had no real interest in the girl. Tarks had never been more than fleeting playthings to him, and since his arrival in Lugburz what little interest he had once had had quickly turned into hate for all their kind. But the scent of the girl's fear was intoxicating, so he could not keep from teasing her a little.
”Ever seen an Orc before?” he asked quietly as he leaned against the bedpost, ignoring the guards. ”Bet ya haven't, we're not really welcome in these parts. Or anywhere else for that matter, for... reasons. So go on, take a good, hard look. You never know if you'll ever get a second chance.” He made sure to emphasise the growling sound he made every time he tried to pronounce the Westron 'r' and chuckled at the girl's horrified expression. She changed the sheets with frantic movements but hesitated when proceeding meant having to stand closerto the corner where Graznikh stood. He grinned and motioned for her to come closer.
”Don't worry,” he purred. ”I ain't gonna rape ya. As tempting as that is, I'm saving myself for another.” She looked like she would faint at any moment.
”Stop it!” one of the guards exclaimed and took a step forward.
”Ya really think you're a match for me with those pig-stickers?” Graznikh asked in an amiable tone. ”I'd have yer arses in the air in no time. And what's the issue? You look like ya could've had an Orc for a sire anyway. I bet your mummy liked that big, hard-”
The guard stabbed at Graznikh with a roar. Záhovar's command had been not to fight, so he simply stepped out of the way. The guard lost his balance and tumbled down onto the floor.
”You done?” Graznikh asked as the humiliated guard got to his feet. ”I've no interest in fighting or fucking. Now get done and get out so I can go back to sleep!”

A few hours later, Graznikh was helping Záhovar adjust her armour in preparation for the grand banquet the king was holding in celebration of the Dark Lord's visit, when the doors opened and four guards, the mistress of the palace servants and the steward entered. He drew his blades and dropped into attack stance in the blink of an eye, and the group stopped short at the sight of the growling battle-ready Orc. Záhovar simply glanced over her shoulder briefly and touched the bond. Graznikh relaxed, resheathed the blades and returned to adjusting the armour as if nothing had happened. The tarks stood dumbfounded in the doorway.
”Ask them what they want,” Záhovar told him.
”Whaddya want?” he growled.
The mistress of the servants found her voice first. ”This is the one,” she told the steward. ”He threatened to assault one of my girls and injured the guard who came to her defense! The poor man is limping badly and will need both rest and herbs, as will the girl after such an ordeal!” The steward swallowed hard and bowed to Záhovar. ”There has been-”
”She heard ya,” Graznikh interrupted. ”I ain't done nuthin'.” The inevitable invasion of his mind felt like having icy water poured into his eyesockets and sent him reeling against the wall. It soon ended and Záhovar turned towards the steward.
”The girl misunderstood his intentions,” she said calmly to him. He twitched at being spoken to directly by the High Officer. ”This Orc is mine, and no action of his can be performed without my explicit consent. His boundaries may change, but they cannot be transgressed. The girl feared a fantasy that cannot become reality unless I wish it, and the guard injured himself because he lost his head over mere words and lied to you to save his own skin. He attacked my servant and by extension attacked me. I will let this pass, this one time. See that it does not happen again.” All this was said with a voice and expression completely devoid of all emotion. She had reached into the Unseen as she spoke, turning the room cold and causing the tarks' breaths to come out in little white puffs. Graznikh with his higher body temperature was steaming. Záhovar met his eyes briefly, and he nodded as if he had understood what she wanted.
”Yes Master,” he said with the reverent voice he used while among others and returned to his armour-adjusting task. It was a trick they had agreed to use, to pretend that she controlled his mind and could see through his eyes if she wanted to. It was tricky at times, but the effect it had on the gullible Khyarmen was hilarious. All six of them scrambled for the door the moment they were dismissed. Graznikh closed the door and turned to face Záhovar, who was laughing silently. There was a sense of elation through the bond that he shared wholeheartedly.
”Probably thought I'd be alone in here,” he said with a big grin.
”That is a mistake which they will not repeat.” She refastened the armour. ”Why did you frighten the servant?”
”'Cause she woke me up from a really nice dream and I was feeling grumpy.” He leered. ”I kinda hope they send her up again. At a time when you're here, too. I'd like the little bint to watch and learn what fucking an Orc's all about.”
Záhovar gave him a thoughtful smile. ”I could send for her.”
Graznikh laughed. ”Gur opashat lat! But let's not blow yer cover; ye're supposed to be 'Lord' Záhovar, right?”
”Alas for such a fate,” Záhovar said with pretended exasperation.

The event turned out to be just as dull as Záhovar had feared. The food was decent, but few of her dinner partners spoke Black Speech or the Common tongue and the rest largely ignored her. This was for the most part a relief, as she was not in the mood to begin a conversation.
As the dinner ended, the Dark Lord rose and beckoned for her to follow. He was speaking to a Man Záhovar did not recognise, and she followed them into a smaller room. She had to bend her neck backwards to meet the eyes of the man her Master had conversed with. He had ebony skin and his black hair was plaited into fine braids that reached his waist, each one ended with three golden studs, one above the other. The tall man could have looked Praktash straight in the eye but where the Uruk was bulky and muscular, this man was almost willowy in comparison. He could easily have been called beautiful had the Dark Lord not been there in all His radiance. He also had an air of arrogance about him, but kind eyes. The combination made Záhovar wary.
”Allow me to introduce Jí Indûr, the king of the Kirani realm of Koronande,” He said.
The man smiled. ”A king without a crown, I am afraid,” he said with a heavy accent. ”And thus no king at all in truth. I had heard that a new star had risen in the ranks of the Tower, and I fear the sight makes me glad that I do not dwell there.”
The smile disappeared from the Dark Lord's face and His eyes darkened.
Záhovar frowned. ”Why is that?”
The Kiran smiled sadly. ”For it is clear that, had I dwelt there, I would soon be a hapless slave to such beauty. Even now I feel myself falling. Alas for such a fate!” He bowed deeply before Záhovar. The smile soon returned to the Dark Lord's face, but Záhovar remained impassive. Was this supposed to be a compliment? What is he insinuating? At her Master's request, she left to call for refreshments and was relieved to do so.

Jí Indûr watched her as she left, and the Dark Lord watched him in turn. He had not expected the Kiran to recognise Záhovar as a woman so fast. But the Kirani had close dealings with the Eastern Elves and as a member of the assembly, Jí Indûr had probably encountered them before and was familiar with their androgynous looks. He had hoped to use the Elf to ensnare another man, a noble from the northeast who had proved reluctant to fall in line and who was too powerful to be subdued by traditional means, but the king-in-exile's sudden infatuation provided an unexpected opening of a different kind.
”Your daughter?” Jí indûr asked quietly.
The Dark Lord nodded slightly and His voice sank to a persuasive whisper. ”I say this in confidence, for few know of her. The truth could be used as a weapon against Me, so she poses as an Officer both for her own safety and to learn the realities of politics. I dare not send her out alone or reveal her identity just yet; my realm can be a harsh land and many of my Officers cling to their prejudices.”
”Indeed. A father's worry never ceases, so I have been told.” Indûr glanced in her direction. ”She has the bearings of a queen. It is only to be expected, of course, with an emperor for a father. Whoever marries her will have a valuable ally, I am sure.” The Dark Lord nodded with an expression that Indûr took as a father's reluctance to part with an only child. They changed the topic and were discussing the intricacies of Southern politics as Záhovar returned with a servant that carried a tray with drinks, and the Dark Lord beckoned for her to sit with them. Jí Indûr kept giving her small compliments and asked her questions about life in the Tower. They were innocent enough, but his continued interest made her increasingly uncomfortable. Eventually she was allowed to excuse herself and return to her quarters.

They remained in Khand, and time seemed to fly by. Záhovar spent much time alongside her Master and had little time for leisure. Graznikh was bored and tried to alleviate it by being an absolute terror to the servants. He was reluctant about going out in the sun, but spent cloudy days exploring the capital. The city was not planned the way Lugburz was; as soon as one left the palace district it became an absolute maze of streets, side streets, little plazas and narrow alleys. There was a large market square and several inns near one of the city gates, but he also found that there were innumerable little shops, alehouses and other establishments scattered throughout the place. There seemed to be people everywhere and there was a mix of colours and cultures that he had never seen before. Not all were hostile or disdainful, but the hidden message was clear; Graznikh was alien, he was inhuman and did not belong.

One morning there was a knock on the door to the guest quarters. As Graznikh opened, he spotted a young Southron servant holding a large, exotic flower.
”Whaddya want?” he snarled. The dark-skinned boy looked surprised but not frightened, shaking his head and pointing into the room.
”Forget it. Whaddya want?” As Záhovar appeared behind him, the boy suddenly lit up and held the flower out to her. Záhovar stared at it as if it was a poisonous snake.
”What is the meaning of..?!” She was interrupted as the boy pushed the flower into her hand with a big smile. Graznikh tried to catch the kid but missed. The servant dashed away, his laughter ringing through the halls. The guards made no motion to aknowledge what they had just witnessed. Graznikh snarled a curse and slammed the door shut. ”What the everloving fuck was that?”
”I do not know,” Záhovar said, frowning at the flower in her hand. An image came to her then; a vague, faded memory, as if belonging to someone else. A small bouquet of withered flowers, held under a dark sky but with a sea of light on the horizon. She dropped the flower as if it had burned her.
Graznikh picked it up as she turned away. ”Throw it away?” he asked.
”Destroy it,” she whispered. He returned it to the floor and proceeded to stomp it into the luxurious carpet.

Acceptance came in the most unexpected way imaginable. Graznikh was sauntering down a side-street, his hood up to avoid the scorching sun and chewing on a meat pie he had bought at the market with tokens that Záhovar had given him when he suddenly found his way blocked by a large gathering of people.
The mob turned as one towards him. ”Your kind is not welcome here!”
Graznikh groaned. Not this again. ”Of course we're not,” he said after cramming the last piece of pie into his mouth. ”But the Eye and the Top Ones are, ya really wanna mess with them?”
”You are nothing but a slave,” another sneered. ”Slaves are expendable and Orcs breed like flies. No one will miss you.”
”Ya wanna take yer chances with that?” Graznikh sneered back, but his insides twisted as footsteps were heard behind him. Záhovar, I could really use some help here!
”We are not Orcs, killing innocents in the street,” a voice from behind said. ”You stand accused of raping several women and girls during your stay here. Also of killing three guards and several others who tried to stop you. This is justice!”
Graznikh turned with bared fangs. ”Those are bloody lies, and you know it! I never raped- oh, fuck this!” he exclaimed as he saw the man's attire and instantly recognised the brooch he wore on his turban. One of that imp Dachman's lackeys! He wore one just like it. This is a trap. Don't come Záhovar, it's a trap!

He threw himself at the hedgemage with a roar, breaking his concentration as he began chanting. The mob descended upon him like vultures and everything turned into a blood-drenched chaos. Not all of the blood was his enemies', he realised as he managed to break free for a moment. Most of them wielded daggers of various kinds and he began to feel dizzy as he broke into a run, thrown knives and other sharp objects whistling past him. His attackers knew the streets and soon he was cornered again. He desperately reached for the red haze, begging for it to come, but it never came. The bastards probably have a poison that counter berserking, he thought, shaking his head to get the cloudy feeling out of it without success. He could feel Záhovar approach, but tried to shut the bond out so that she would not fall into the trap. I'm sorry âmbal. This is my time, I won't let it become yours as well.
As the mob's battle cries rang out, he prepared to take as many with him as he could. This would not be an easy victory for them! But he was not alone anymore. In a blur he saw someone descend from a roof, crashing into the mob and sending them flying in all directions. He slumped to his knees and leaned forward, clinging with all his might to consciousness but with little success. The last he heard as he collapsed were the clinking of a chain.

When he came to, he found himself lying in an alcove bed in an unfamiliar room. He shot up, only to double over immediately, throwing up into the bucket that someone had thoughtfully placed next to the alcove. His arms shook as he laid back down and he felt dizzy and weak. After swallowing a few times and spitting to get the taste of bile out of his mouth, he looked around. The room was frugal; the walls were made of adobe and the roof and floor of wooden boards. There were cracks in the rough-hewn wooden door that let in light from a torch outside and the only furniture was a small wooden bench near the left wall. There was a clinking sound from outside the door that echoed in his aching head and he placed a hand over his eyes as light streamed in from outside. Once he heard the door close again, he looked up.
The man sitting on the bench had bronze-coloured skin and wore a plain robe made of unbleached hemp with frayed black trimmings. He had a chain around his waist with the Eye cast in rusted iron dangling from it, and a similar chain around his neck. Graznikh had seen the attire before; the blind servants of the Tower's upper floors wore it. Like them, this man was blindfolded and had stitches around his mouth. They did not seem to bother him in the same way though. He nodded in greeting and turned to Graznikh with a small smile.
”I am glad that you are finally awake,” he said with a strong Rhûnish accent. ”I feared I had come too late, but you are of sturdier make than I first assumed.”
”Where am I?” Graznikh asked weakly.
”You are in the Temple of the God-King. We are a small assembly of people from varying backgrounds who have sworn our lives and souls in service to the Eye.”
”Never heard of ya.”
The man smiled. ”That is not unexpected. Our numbers are still few, and we prefer to keep a low profile.”
”Záhovar,” Graznikh whispered, suddenly remembering how the ill-fated battle had ended. He reached out in panic through the bond and breathed a sigh of relief as he was met with reassurance.
”Your master has been informed of your whereabouts,” the man said. ”Fear not, you are among allies here.”
He felt his head clear as Záhovar gave him of her strength and he could finally take a better look at the man who had saved him. He was not old, Graznikh realised, older than twenty but probably no more than twenty-five. He had the scent of fanaticism about him but not insanity. ”So why risk yer life to save me?”
”As I said, we serve the Eye.” The scent of fanaticism briefly grew stronger. ”And those who serve Him with sacrifice. You are one of the true Children of Darkness, one who embraces the Shadow in a way we Men can barely fathom and only simulate with poor results. That is reason enough to me, but your master is also a new and unexpected pawn on the board, with as of yet unrevealed strengths. The Temple of the God-King would know him better.”
Graznikh gave him a lopsided grin. ”So I'm a hostage.”
”Not at all,” the man replied. ”You are free to go whenever you wish. Though I would recommend that you do not attempt to stand just yet; the poison is still in your blood, though we have halted its progress. It will take a few days to dissipate and during that time, you will feel ill and dizzy.”
”Right,” Graznikh said with a sigh. When I get my hands on Dachman, I will carve a blood-eagle in his back!

Záhovar managed to escape her duties the day after the attack and went into the city to find Graznikh. The messenger from the 'Temple' had provided her with a detailed description of the way, so the house was easily found. There was no outward sign that the two-story building was a temple, run-down as it was and located in the scruffier part of the city. Three knocks on the door, then a brief pause followed by a fourth. That was the signal she was to use. A small shutter opened above the door as she knocked.
”What would the Tower never use?”
”The useless,” Záhovar answered. The door was unlocked and the messenger let her in, bowing deeply.
”Welcome, my Lord. My deepest apologies for the delay; we must be careful. Even here and now the Enemy has spies and agents that would seek to harm us.”
”Apology accepted. I understand the need for discretion.”
The interior of the house was very different from its outward appearance. While the outside was uncoloured adobe like all the other houses of the district, the inside walls of the main hall were black and the wooden beams painted red. As the messenger-turned-doorguard showed her in, a man who, judging by the deference everyone else showed him, was the high priest of the 'Temple' came down a flight of stairs to greet her.
”My Lord Záhovar,” he said as he bowed. ”Welcome to the Temple of the God-King. I am Eälaion, caretaker of this humble enclave. It is an honour to have you here. Come, I will show you to your servant.” A servant carrying a tray followed them as they went down a short corridor to the left, near the back of the main hall. Faint chanting could be heard from above, but she did not recognise the tongue used. Another servant opened a door to a cell-like room. Graznikh grinned as he spotted her.
”Hey master,” he said. ”Sorry 'bout this mess. Looks like I fucked up again.”
Záhovar waved her hand dismissively. ”Some good may yet come from it.”
The high priest bowed as she glanced at him. ”I shall leave you alone. There will be a servant outside, should you require refreshments or anything else.”

”I'm kinda loath to call a tark my 'rescuer',” Graznikh told her after she had been given a chair to sit on next to the alcove. ”But that's the truth of it. If he hadn't shown up back there, I'd be dead.”
Záhovar nodded. ”I will see to it that he is rewarded accordingly.”
”This was a setup, y'know,” Graznikh said grimly. ”The leader wore Dachman's signet, I saw it. They'd probably planned for you to show up as well.”
”It was to be expected,” Záhovar said, ”though I had hoped for him to be a little more direct about it.”
”Bloody coward,” Graznikh growled.
”I still have His attention, so Dachman will not dare to attack my person. But he will make sure to whittle my defenses down so that he can arrange an 'accident' once I return to Lugburz.”
Graznikh grunted. ”You could always try to get these Temple people on yer side,” he muttered with a nod towards the door. ”They're fanatics, or at least that Lion fellow is, and I'm not sure what use they'll be but it can't hurt to have a few more allies. I can't protect ya now, not knocked out like this.”
”I will consider it,” Záhovar said. Graznikh lay quiet for a while before daring to ask the question that burned in his mind. ”He's not Lug-snaga, is he?”
”No. He may have been, once. The stitches are real, and I suspect that should he lift his blindfold we would find that his eyes are white and unseeing. But he is far too powerful a sorcerer to have gone unnoticed in Lugburz. His name puzzles me as well. 'Eälaion' is Elven in origin, but he is clearly from Rhûn or perhaps further east. It cannot be the name he was born with. Perhaps he chose it to sound more Númenorean, although I do not know why a servant of Lugburz would choose a name of the Enemy.”
”He's a good fighter too. He couldn't take you on, but he's good. Enemy spy?”
”He could be... But I doubt it. His conviction and devotion to the Eye is real, and the 'God-King' that his temple reveres is obviously our Master. Perhaps they are simply seeking His blessing through a High Officer, to give their religion some credulity.”
”But you don't think so, do ya?”
”No,” she said quietly. ”I do not.”

The convalescence turned out to not be as bad as Graznikh had feared. The room was dark and cool and the odd, subservient Men kept providing him with some really good meat and even some Orcish ale that he had no idea how they had gotten their hands on. It was watered down, but still better than regular water or that disgusting sickly sweet wine the Khandians seemed to prefer over proper booze. His rescuer often came by to talk. Graznikh had tried to piss him off by constantly mispronouncing his name as 'Lion' or freak him out by telling some gruesome stories from his past, but Eälaion had only laughed and encouraged him. It was hard to imagine the mild-mannered Rhûnlander as a warrior, but the way he moved and handled the staff he always carried told Graznikh that he was one worth keeping an eye on, even though he hid it well. The staff was a nasty thing, odd runes ran down it in three even lines and both ends were adorned with a spiky steel ball. Graznikh had a vague memory of how the 'Lion' had spun it while fighting and in one move had cracked three opponents' skulls open like eggs.

After a few days, Eälaion encouraged him to stand. Swift movements still made him sick, but the more he moved about the easier it got. The young high priest had his weapons and armour returned to him. As he put it on he found it clean and repaired. He met Eälaion's invisible eyes.
”You were in the Tower once, weren't ya?”
The high priest nodded. ”I was given in service to the Eye by my parents when I was very young, in payment of a debt they owed the Temple.”
”But ye're no servant now. Ye're a sorcerer.”
Eälaion seemed surprised. ”So you know..? I take it you are no ordinary servant then. No, I am a servant no longer. When my capacity for sorcery was discovered, I was sent to study in one of the academies in eastern Rhûn. But when the realm erupted in civil war, my academy was destroyed and the students scattered to the winds. As did I.”
”And the temple? How does that fit in?”
Eälaion smiled. ”You may not understand, Orc that you are – and I mean no disrespect by that – but faith is important for us 'roundears'. All Men believe in something, be it real or not. Some worship spirits. Some worship stars, or trees. This Temple of the God-King is a wayward servant's attempt to garner support for his Master through that need for faith. It is better to believe in something, or someone, who can truly change our lives and bring us to greatness, rather than having our prayers fall on the deaf, cold ears of the stars.”

Chapter End Notes

Gur opashat lat – I desire you
Blood-eagle – this is an old Norse execution method mentioned in the Icelandic sagas. It was performed by cutting or sawing off the ribs along both sides of the spine, bending them out and then tearing the victim's lungs out through the cuts. It was called 'blood-eagle' because the result apparently made the victim look like they had wings. It seems like a very Orcish thing to do.

Khyardur is the Black Speech name for Harad. The word stems from KHYAR, which is a root in the Elven languages and shapes Quenya 'hyarmen' and Sindarin 'harad', both meaning 'south', and the Black Speech ending -dur, which indicates a realm (see Burzdur – Mordor – Black Land).

Jí indûr, Koronande, Mûmakan and the Kirani comes from the Middle-Earth Roleplaying Game.

The flower turned out to be only the first of a number of similar little gifts. Graznikh was livid as he desperately tried to clear each and every one out, but ultimately failed. He became more and more convinced that this was another setup, aimed at throwing either him or Záhovar or both off balance. Who the fuck gives flowers and sweets to a High Officer anyway?! This is ridiculous!

One afternoon, Záhovar's bed was covered in black and blue rose petals. Graznikh let out a roar and assaulted the bed, clawing at the petals.
Záhovar placed a hand on his shoulder. ”I will send servants up to take care of this,” she hissed.
Graznikh turned as he heard her icy voice. ”This isn't my fault!”
”I do not blame you,” she said coolly, ”but I need to vent. As do you, I assume. Let us go to the sparring grounds until this mess is cleaned up.”
Graznikh nodded. They had not sparred since their last lesson before Záhovar was elevated, and the memory was not entirely pleasant. ”Just... nar dushum, right?”
”Nar dushum,” she agreed.
Their chosen 'sparring grounds' were simply a circle of soft earth located in the palace gardens where royalty and visiting nobles could show off their fencing skills. A rare rain was pouring down as they entered, but Graznikh did not care. It was a nice change from the usual scorching weather and somehow fitted the turmoil he felt from Záhovar through the bond. He handed her two of the curved Khandian scimitars and began with a few basic drills, just to make sure that she had not forgotten. Soon they sparred in earnest and turned the soil beneath their feet into a black, slippery mud.

Záhovar soon noticed that they had an audience of one. Jí Indûr watched them discreetly from one of the nearby balconies, sheltered from the rain. Záhovar made no sign that she had seen him but met Graznikh's eyes with an unspoken question as he managed to catch one of her blades and pulled her close.
”I've seen him,” he whispered before releasing her. He made sure to keep a close eye on their surroundings as they continued, cursing over the fact that he could not focus entirely on the sparring. Fighting Záhovar was only second best to fucking her, but it was still a very enjoyable experience. He was proud to have taught her this well, even though he suspected that much of her prowess was due to what Whindaër had once known. Her body remembered how to fight even though her mind did not; she held her own against him with ease and Graznikh suspected that among all the High Officers, she was the best fighter.
Two quick hits tore one of the scimitars from his hand. He held against her a little longer, until a painful slap by the flat side of a blade hit his wrist and made him drop the other. He fell on his knees in the mud as he felt the cold blade against his neck.
”You're getting good,” he purred as he looked into Záhovar's eyes. She nodded ever so slightly and handed him her blades hilt-first. Jí Indûr was gone.

As they walked back towards Záhovar's room, Graznikh chuckled at the servants' mortified looks. They were both plastered with black mud from the waist down and the rest of their bodies was soaked from the rain. He could hear his boots squelch with every step. Soon they were stopped by a servant in a white robe.
”Your bath is ready, my Lord,” he said. ”If you would follow me.”
Záhovar turned to Graznikh, who shook his head. ”I didn't set this up.”
”I am beginning to grow tired of these surprises,” she said quietly, but motioned for the servant to lead the way. As the servant opened a door, Graznikh stepped out in front of Záhovar and gave the servant a suspicious glare. ”I'm goin' in first.”
The large bath was vaguely similar to the one Záhovar had in the Tower, but here the walls were covered in white marble and colourful mosaics. There was an alcove with a mattress and another with several bottles and jars of coloured glass. The roof was covered in elaborate paintings and in the middle of it there was a large round window with blue glass inlays. Large blue lotus flowers floated in the water and the air was heavy with incense. Graznikh sneezed. Three servants in similar garb as the one who had led them here stood in wait along the wall. A woman rose from the mattress with an indignant look.
”This is meant only for lord Záhovar!”
Graznikh blew his nose and shook the snot from it. Then he turned towards the woman and bared his fangs. ”Yeah, and it will be. Get out!” None of the servants made a move until Záhovar entered. They bowed as one upon seeing her. The woman who had tried to tell Graznikh off swept past him, kneeling before Záhovar and opening her robe, revealing naked skin underneath.
”Your grace,” she said in a husky voice. ”His Highness has commanded me to teach you the delights of the South, if it pleases you. I am yours to enjoy as you see fit.”
Graznikh snorted and Záhovar smirked. ”She will stay. The rest of you will return to whatever duties you had before this.”

As the door closed, she beckoned for the woman to rise, then she pushed the open robe off her shoulders with two fingers. Her upper body was naked underneath with fairly large, heavy breasts and she wore loose-fitting trousers made of a semi-transparent fabric that hung low on her wide hips. Graznikh assumed she was supposed to be beautiful by tark standards, but she looked too soft for his taste. He grew increasingly confused as Záhovar slowly paced around her, studying her body. She's not actually considering it, is she?
As he watched her pace, he noticed the familiar sensation of her connecting with the Wraith-world. She had used it before to instill terror in him, but it was not aimed at him this time. The scent of fear bloomed on the woman as Záhovar stopped in front of her. There was a predator's hunger in her eyes and Graznikh could feel himself harden despite the discomfort of his wet and muddy clothes. The woman's voluptuous lips trembled as Záhovar lifted her chin with a finger. A dark smile played upon her own as she spoke.
”There is nothing you can teach me. I fear the tastes of Lugburz differ somewhat from what you have been told. However, my poor snaga,” she said softly and met Graznikh's eyes briefly, ”has had a bad time here. He has been absolutely miserable, and I have been meaning to cheer him up. I am glad you volunteered for the task.” With that, she gave the girl a hard shove and sent her flying backwards into Graznikh's open arms. She let out a terrified sob as he ran a claw over one of her breasts. Záhovar walked up to him and ran her tongue along his ear from the lobe and up along the tapered tip, playing with the iron rings that pierced it until he began to purr.
”I want to watch you,” she hissed. ”Do not be gentle!”

Graznikh growled in reply; she fanned his need like he once used to do with her, and there was no resisting it. He tossed the servant into a corner of the room and stripped, removing his wet leathers with a relieved grunt and heard Záhovar do the same behind him. Muddy water trickled down his scarred chest. The woman backed up against the wall as he approached slowly, savouring her fear and leering as he stroked his dick. Her sickly sweet perfume made him nauseous. She tried to run but he caught her by the hair and forced her down over the edge of the mattress in the alcove. Once he had her securely in place, he tore a hole in the back of her trousers.
”Please,” she gasped. ”Mercy! Have mercy!”
Záhovar chuckled and Graznikh gave her a hungry look as he spat in his hand. She leaned against the wall next to the alcove, fingering herself while watching him with half-closed eyes and parted lips. The woman screamed and cried out in pain as he entered, rolling his hips to force himself deeper. He moved slowly and added a bit more spit to ease things for himself. Her cries and sharp sobs echoed in the large chamber as he began to thrust with stabbing motions. He grabbed her hair with a snarl as she tried to bury her face in the mattress.
”Nar my pet, you don't,” he growled. ”You'll let my master hear every sob, whimper and scream, or you'll get worse than this once I'm done here!” A punishing thrust forced a shrill scream from her lips, and Záhovar's ecstatic approval washed over him. Graznikh did not care to draw things out more than necessary and soon spent himself. The woman whimpered as he withdrew.

Záhovar beckoned for him to stand and he forced the woman back onto her feet.
”Are you in charge of the palace servants?” she asked. The woman shook her head, weeping silently.
”Do you know who is?”
She nodded.
”Then you will tell her this; there will be no more surprises like this. No more gifts, flowers, parts of flowers or unexpected 'treats'. I will have nothing brought to my quarters that I did not explicitly ask for. If there is any uncertainty, you will consult me before taking action. This applies to all the servants. If this is not followed, then this,” she gestured towards the mattress which was stained with the woman's blood and black Orc semen, ”will be repeated and the one responsible for the transgression will be the subject. Have I made myself clear?” The woman nodded frantically. Záhovar turned away and made a dismissive gesture. Graznikh dragged the crying woman to the door.
”Thanks for the ride,” he murmured with a leer and licked her ear in front of the mortified guards before throwing her out into the corridor. Then he slammed the door shut and shuddered in revulsion. ”The things you make me do, âmbal,” he muttered as he slid into the water to clean the mud, blood and other fluids off. Záhovar was already in the bath after having removed the flowers from it.
”You did well.”
He grunted and looked at his dick. ”That must've been the most unsatisfying fuck I've ever had,” he complained. ”She had no fighting spirit at all!”

”I take it this meeting is just for the Top Ones, right?” Graznikh asked later that evening. Záhovar stood naked next to the bed, eyeing the lavish gown the Dark Lord had given her with reluctance.
”Yes. I do not know why He asked for me to wear this... thing for it. But I fear you would not be let in even if I brought you.”
"Well, thank the Void! Say, am I grounded for the night?”
”You may leave, but do not stray too far. I cannot say that I will not need you later.”
”What, you think you might get attacked here? That'd be an insane bastard, what with the Eye here in person and all.” He grinned as he felt her worry through the bond. ”Don't worry, I won't get in trouble again, not now that my hackles're up. This place can hardly be more cutthroat than Lugburz.”
”Perhaps not,” Záhovar said. ”I believe most of the throatcutting will be done within the palace walls.” She turned back to the gown and Graznikh purred softly as he eyed her backside. She opened a pair of doors on the wall and revealed a huge mirror. As she put the gown on, Graznikh walked up to the mirror and stopped abruptly. He had never seen his own reflection this clearly before. He stared in astonishment at his angular, gnarly face. A scar ran down across his right eye, another crossed the left corner of his mouth and a third split his right jawline in two. He had forgotten how they came to be there. Compared to the High Officers and the tark servants in their proper, clean uniforms, he looked like a monster from the ancient tales. It made him grin. Do I really look like that? Skai, I'm awesome!

Záhovar appeared next to him, adjusting the gown, and suddenly he had something else to stare at. It was high-necked, but the pale silk hugged her body all the way down to her hips, making it look like it had been tailored especially for her. From her elbows and hips it flared out into wide sleeves and a pleated skirt that had so many gores that it folded even when laid out in a full circle. All edges were trimmed with black. Graznikh remembered the satisfying sound that silk made when torn to pieces and licked his fangs.
Záhovar felt his lust through the bond and shook her head. ”Not now. Perhaps... afterwards.”
”I'll hold ya to that,” Graznikh whispered. Then he took a closer look at the gown. ”How're you gonna wear your weapons with that?”
”I will not. Weapons are banned.”
”What?! Fuck that, I won't let ya go prancing about this place dressed like that without any means of defending yourself!” He deliberately ignored the fact that the place was full of people skilled in sorcery. He took a thin scarf which he tore to strips. Then he lifted her skirt and tied the sheath of her obsidian dagger to her thigh. He finished by carefully cutting a slit in the skirt in such a way that it was hidden by the pleats.
”There,” he said when he was done. ”It's not much, but it's better than nothing.”
Záhovar nodded in thanks, and he simply could not keep his hands off her anymore. Her eyes widened as he pushed her against the mirror and opened the soft folds between her legs. He let the skirt fall down over his face as he licked her. His deep rumble vibrated throughout her lower body and she came silently, gasping and pressing a hand to her mouth to keep from crying out.
”Just giving ya a little something to remember me by,” Graznikh murmured in her ear as she tried to regain her composure and breath. He backed away, giving her one last leer and a wink before adjusting the swords on his back and heading out into the night. Záhovar gave herself one last critical look in the mirror and suppressed a shudder. She donned her formal robe to avoid walking in only the gown through the corridors; she felt naked and vulnerable without armour.

The Dark Lord was waiting for her in the study of the large suite He was occupying. He had exchanged His lavish robe for a formal, almost militaristic dark red coat with gold buttons down the front, black, knee-high boots and a black shirt with loose, flowing sleeves.
”The others have not yet arrived,” He said and beckoned for her to sit. As she obeyed, He looked her over. ”Are you enjoying your stay here?”
Záhovar chose her words carefully. ”It has been entertaining.”
”So I hear. I have also heard of a disturbance at the baths earlier. Some poor servant came out a little worse for wear.”
”If I have caused trouble...”
”Nonsense.” His smile widened. ”I do not care what you do with the servants. Kill them all if you wish! I am glad to hear that you are capable of proper discipline when the need arises.” He waved a hand as He sensed her question. ”Ask.”
”I am curious as to the reason why I was asked to dress in this manner for the meeting. I believed that I was to keep my gender a secret.”
”That is mainly to not distract the Orcs and to make sure that people do not forget your rank. The reason for the gown is because I wanted to see how you look in it. And I have a new task for you, apart from the one you offered on the road, where charms such as these will be needed. See it to its end and I will consider a large part of your debt paid.”
”Thy word is Law,” Záhovar said.
The Dark Lord could barely keep the mirth from His voice as He spoke again. ”You are to pose as My daughter and seduce Jí indûr. He is infatuated with you already and will court you; play coy, hesitate for fear of incurring My wrath but be not altogether resistant. Draw him in until he asks for your hand in marriage. When this is done, you will bring the proposal to Me.”

Graznikh was waiting for her, hiding behind the door and catching her in his arms as she returned.
”You stink of tark,” he complained as he pulled her close, but frowned when he touched the bond.
”What's wrong?” he asked as Záhovar slumped down upon the bed with a dismayed expression. She explained the situation to him.
”Nar,” he growled.
”His word is Law,” she whispered.
Graznikh bared his fangs, feeling helpless. ”He'd sell you to a tark like a piece of junk?”
”They live brief lives; it will be over soon.”
”I can't be without ya for that long!” Graznikh squatted in front of her. ”Marriage for tarks is like slavery; you'd be his plaything, a pretty bauble to put on display, having no say-so in anything!”
”His word is Law,” she repeated, avoiding his eyes. Graznikh threw himself onto the bed beside her with a defeated groan. ”I should kill him. He can't marry you if he's dead. I'm not serious,” he added as he met Záhovar's sharp glare. ”It's just... the thought of a tark touching ya, fucking ya...” He growled loudly and hit the bed with a fist. Then he looked at Záhovar. ”You still in the mood?”
”No.”
”Me neither.”
She sighed. ”Let us go to sleep.”
”Sure.” He stood. ”But first I wanna do something.” He beckoned for her to stand, then he grabbed the neckline of the expensive gown. The silk tore easily with a satisfying sound.

Jí Indûr was waiting for her one day when Záhovar returned to her quarters.
”You seem to have refused my gifts of late,” he said, looking at his nails with a frown. ”Why is that?”
”The flowers... They were from you?”
”Yes. But lately the servants have been refusing to bring them to you, claiming that you have threatened them with death or worse if they do.”
”Oh...” Záhovar looked down, pretending to be embarrassed. ”I must apologise. I... misunderstood your intentions.”
Indûr looked at her, anger replaced by worry. ”Have I offended you?”
”Not at all. It is simply... I believed them to be some assassin's ploy. There has already been attempts at my life here, and I fear it made me overly suspicious. I am sorry.”
Indûr's eyes grew wide as she spoke. ”Assassins... and they would target you?”
Záhovar nodded with pretended apprehension. ”My father's rule is a grave threat to Númenor's dominion in the North, and they would harm him and end the line of succession if they could. It is only to be expected,” she added sadly.
Indûr nodded gravely. ”Such a heavy burden for such beautiful young shoulders,” he said quietly. ”Will you not let me ease the burden, for a brief time?” He held out his hand with a gentle smile.
She gave him a bashful glance as she felt the bond grow stronger. ”And... how would you do that?”
”I would-”

Whatever he planned on saying was interrupted by a bellow. In the blink of an eye, Indûr was pinned to the wall by a furious, blood-thirsty Orc, who held a crude knife at his throat and bared its fangs, dripping slaver onto his fine coat. Indûr stared at it, surprised but not afraid. Záhovar placed a hand on the Orc's shoulder.
”Graznikh, please,” she said quietly. Slowly, slowly, the Orc backed down but placed itself between Indûr and her.
”An... Orc chaperone?” Indûr said. ”Far be it from me to question your father on anything, but... I cannot help but wonder at this!”
”Graznikh is... different,” Záhovar said. ”He has been with me for a very long time, and has even been my martial teacher for a brief while. Now he is my bodyguard. He is bound to me by more than my father's command and I consider him completely trustworthy.”
Indûr watched in amazement as Záhovar petted the hideous creature as one would pet a loyal dog or monkey. The worshipful glance it gave her reaffirmed her words.
”I... understand. But, should you wish to have a less... physically offensive bodyguard, I am sure my steward could find you one. Why not a eunuch?”
”An offensive appearance is not necessarily a bad thing,” Záhovar said with a small smile. ”And the day you find a Mannish eunuch with the strength and fighting instincts of a seasoned Orc warrior, I shall confess myself deeply impressed.” The Orc growled.
”Point taken,” Indûr said with a smile.

As time passed, Graznikh had the increasing feeling that he would soon explode all over the place. Getting dumped for a tark was bad enough, but being forced to play the part of the obedient pet Orc while his mate, his âmbal, his woman was courted by said tark was enough to make him see red and hear the thunder of the Mountain with every beat of his black, jealous heart. Knowing that her life depended on the courtship's success and on him doing his part was even worse. His only solace was that the bond could not lie; Záhovar hated every moment of it as much as he did. To alleviate some of the frustration and vent his jealousy, he fucked her every single night before they went to sleep. He did not care if she was tired or angry or not in the mood. He refused to rest until he had made her come at least once with fingers, tongue or cock and filled her to overflowing with his seed. Here's one thing you can't take, you bloody tark bastard. No matter what you do, I was here first. It's my cock she'll think about every time. You'll never make her feel like this, 'cause an Orc beat ya to it!
He dearly wanted to mark her. She thoroughly enjoyed his roughness, giving back as good as she got. But no matter how he bit and clawed, the wounds on her body healed without a trace. I can't even knock her up, he thought sourly as their breathing slowed one night. That would've given that blasted southron something to think about, when his pretty little wife dumps a litter of half-Orc cubs in his lap.

One evening as Záhovar prepared for bedtime and Graznikh for their usual tumble, there was a knock on the door. As he opened, Indûr's Kirani servant boy stood outside with a small ornate box in his hands. Graznikh grabbed him before he could run and pulled him into the room.
”What the fuck does he want this time?!”
”Wait,” Záhovar said. The boy trembled with fear, but held the box out to her. She took it gingerly but did not open it. ”Let him go, Graznikh.”
Graznikh growled at the boy a bit longer just for good measure, then threw him back out into the corridor. ”What is that thing?” he snarled.
Záhovar almost dropped the box as she opened it. Trembling, she put it down on the desk and turned away. Graznikh was there immediately, holding her tight and growling little comforts in her ear. He did not need to look inside the accursed box to know what was in it.

The Dark Lord studied the carved ivory sculpture with a thoughtful frown.
”So you would ask for My daughter's hand in marriage?”
The Kiran king-in-exile sat on his knees on the floor before him, hands clasped together in a reverent gesture. ”I would, Great Lord.”
”And does she know?”
”She does. I sent one of my servants to her with the marriage proposal this very eve. I apologise if I have been too straight-forward. I respect your daughter far too much to force her into marriage against her will.”
”Indeed... your proposal is interesting, I will admit that. But I hope you do realise that I cannot let her wed a man who has nothing.”
Jí Indûr nodded. ”Yes, it would be a foolish thing to do and you, Great Lord, are no fool. Could I but reach out and retake the throne that is rightfully mine, I would do so in an instant, in your name. But alas, such is not the case.”
”Perhaps it could be...”
Indûr almost looked up from the floor in surprise, but steadied himself. ”You would... aid me in such an undertaking?”
The Dark Lord beckoned for him to rise and take a seat and began pacing His study. ”My daughter seems very fond of you, and I would hate to break her heart. Yes, I could aid you. Tell me; you have spent much time in the lands of the Mûmakan. How do you find them?”
”They would not be difficult to sway to your cause, Great Lord,” Indûr said. ”I have been a guest of honour there for many years, and have found many who would wish to follow me. Yet they dare not, for fear of Númenor's growing power and turning Koronande's usurper lord hostile.”
The Dark Lord nodded. ”Do you think that you could tip the scales in a favourable direction?”
”Most definitely. If the Mûmakan learn that the northern lands stand with them...”
”They do. I will ask this of you, in return for My daughter's hand: bring the Mûmakan under My banner. Do this, and you shall marry My daughter.”
Jí Indûr stood and bowed deeply with his hand on his heart. ”You have my word, Great Lord.”

The betrothal ceremony was held the next evening. For the safety of everyone involved, they had chosen to keep it small and private. Záhovar was given a necklace by Kirani tradition, made from a dark seashell that seemed to shimmer and swirl with different hues of blue, green and purple as she turned it in her hand. Instead of a necklace, Jí Indûr was given a ring of silver with a jet-black stone.
”This is no ordinary ring,” the Dark Lord told him. ”And it is more than a simple token of your betrothal. It has power, great power, and I do not part with it light-heartedly. But I believe that you are worthy of carrying a gift such as this. It will aid you in swaying Men's hearts; you will find that they listen more carefully to your words and weigh them favourably, follow you more gladly and commit great deeds under your command that they scarcely believed themselves capable of before. Use it well and with care; it is the only one of its kind.”
”I will carry it close always,” Jí Indûr promised. He turned to Záhovar and took her hands. ”And you will be in my heart, always, until we meet again,” he said.
Záhovar returned his smile. ”And you in mine. Good luck to you.”

Chapter End Notes

Nar dushum - no sorcery