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Wolves And Shattered Shields	By : Hoglorfen Category: +Second Age > Het - Male/Female Views: 2426 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Tolkienverse, nor do I write this story for profit.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
Praktash had a good evening. Most most evenings were good, but not having any duties to attend to or being pestered by snaga helped. He sauntered along the battlements atop one of the outer walls to his usual spot where he had planned a meeting with a skin of booze when he noticed someone standing ahead. Funny, this place is usually deserted.
The other was a snaga he did not recognise, with a tiny warg at his feet. Praktash could not keep track of every snaga in the Tower, but something about this one's clothing and bearing told him that he was not from around here. He stopped to lean on the battlement next to the stranger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”You owe me an explanation,” Praktash said. Graznikh lay on his mattress, soaked in sweat and gulping down ghâshpau as if his life depended on him downing as much of it as he could possibly hold. ”What the fuck happened back there?”
”I don't know,” Graznikh gasped after emptying his mug. ”It felt like... Like someone shoved a hand into my head and poked my brain!”
Praktash gave him an unsure grin. ”Maybe you should wear a helmet next time you drink.”
Graznikh stared at him, then began to laugh. ”You're one weird Uruk.”
Praktash laughed. ”If I got a token for every time I heard that... So who is this pal of yours? I've never heard of anyone lastin' this long in the dungeons, but you keep repeatin' that he's alive like you got regular reports from the place.”
Graznikh hesitated. ”If this gets out, I'm probably bound for the dungeons as well.”
”I've no reason to tell anyone. You're a pal, you're clever and cunnin' enough to stay outta trouble and you seem to know how to pick your fights when you have to. You may not be an Uruk, but you're alright.”
”...Fine. It's not an Orc.”
”Your buddy? A tark, then?”
”Fuck nar!”
Praktash frowned. ”A dwarf? Seriously?”
”Try again.”
Praktash shrugged after a while. ”Just tell me already.”
”Elf.”
”You what?!”
Graznikh nodded. ”Elf. And not 'he'.”
”So what reason did you have for travelin' here of all places with an Elf?”
”We weren't heading here, we were trying to get past the whole place, to go further east.”
”Why?”
Graznikh took a deep breath. Then he began talking. He told Praktash everything; from that first sighting in the forest to the ambush on the Elven caravan. Of his and Whindaër's first nights in the cave and their painful bonding. Of the encounter in the mountains, the siege and destruction of the haven and their flight east. It felt so good to finally tell someone. He explained the strange bond they shared, their confusion, the deal with Elves and kin-slaying. Praktash listened, sometimes staring in disbelief, sometimes leering as Graznikh gave him the details of certain intimate events.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And far below, Graznikh felt her fade and die.
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Wolves And Shattered Shields