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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
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- 4
Snowflakes swirled in the howling wind, covering the tracks of the small caravan making its way up the mountain path. Tarnakh, the leader of Graznikh's band, stopped briefly next to a shaggy pack pony, his gnarled face grim, squinting against the wind to make sure the narrow bridge ahead was not blocked or broken by an unexpected rock slide. Graznikh pulled his warg fur cloak tighter. Who the fuck decides to travel in this weather anyway? he thought.

The sharpened poles and rough-hewn walls of the Orc stronghold towered before them, barely visible in the drifting snow. They were forced to wait outside, seeking what cover they could find while Tarnakh went up to speak to one of the guards. He returned after a wait that seemed too long in the cold, motioning that they were welcome. Finally. He shook the snow off his cloak at the entrance. A short walk later, warmth radiated from the large fires in the main hall. This was a proper stronghold; warriors of all shapes and sizes sat in groups on the floor or leaned against the walls, talking or gambling. Cubs played or fought on the floor with the brood-females barking at them whenever they became too rowdy. Graznikh grinned.
The chief and his closest were the only ones with a proper table and benches to sit on. Tarnakh signalled for Graznikh to follow him as the chief beckoned to them. This is it, he thought as Tarnakh introduced him. He put on an air of 'full-of-himself' but without being challenging as the chief studied him from the soles of his boots all the way to the top of his shaggy hair.
"So you're Tarnakh's spawn, huh? Heard stuff 'bout you. Most of it good," the chief grunted.
"The rest never met me," he replied with a shrug. "If they did, they'd be dead and their wagging tongues decorating my belt." The laughter that rang through the hall from the nearest audience was mostly good-natured. The chief gave him a dangerous grin. "Cocky, huh?" He leaned forward. "Learn to use that and you might get somewhere."
Graznikh nodded, then dared to meet Tarnakh's eyes. His father gave him the smallest of nods, barely visible. Tarnakh would never praise him openly, as doing so would soon bring accusations of favoritising his spawn over other, sometimes better warriors, which in turn would quickly lead to Graznikh's bloody demise at the hands of some rival. But that tiny nod and the fact that he had introduced him alone to the chief was enough. Graznikh felt his heart swell with pride as he left the chief's table and sauntered back to the band. Some of the women, brood-females and warriors alike, grinned invitingly at him as he passed, but he paid them no heed. Sorry grú, he thought as he stepped over a pair of quarreling cubs. You'll never beat or replace my ambâl.
"Hey!" a hoarse voice called out. Graznikh turned to face the pregnant matron walking up to him. "Ya gonna insult yer old nanny by jus' walkin' past 'er? Not even a 'hello'?" The woman placed a fist on her wide hip. Graznikh squinted. "Who..?" Then he recognised her and grinned. "Hoshash?"
The matron laughed. "So ya do recognise me!"
"I'm suprised ya recognised me! I haven't seen ya in years!"
"Well, last I saw ya, ye barely reached my cunt," she said, giving him a hug so strong he lost his breath for a moment. "But that nose, skin'n eyes're hard to come by."
"Glad to see you're doing so well," he said with a nod downwards. Hoshash grinned and patted her swollen belly. "I'm carryin' the chief's litter," she confided. "Have ya spawned any yet? And don'tcha dare tell me the ladies aren't interested, handsome fella like you!"
Graznikh chuckled, trying to shrug her off. "None that I've recognised."
"Don'tcha worry," Hoshash said. "The moment a litter with black hair, red eyes and white skin tumbles outta someone in here, I'll know. And I'll make sure they're well cared for."
Graznikh managed to squirm out of the matron's iron grip on his shoulders with a few words of thanks and escaped back to his band. He knew from experience that Orc females could be quite straightforward, to put it mildly, and he did not want to have to face questions later by turning them down in front of everyone. Soon he sat against the wall near the entrance to the hall, drinking and watching the scene before him.

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

With so many Orcs huddled up for winter, the stronghold soon became cramped. Feeding so many was a neverending task and the hunting trips gave Graznikh an excuse for wandering alone. It was also a good time to practise his archery skills. There were goats and grouses in the mountains surrounding the fortress, as well as various predators. Once he came upon a mother mountain leopard and her two cubs. The cubs were almost grown, soon ready to leave their mother and begin hunting in earnest on their own. Something about them reminded him of Whin. Like her, they were a bit clumsy, but with the promise of the unearthly grace of natural born killers. He made a habit of watching the leopards hunt and tried to imitate their movements as best he could.
"...And they scattered like bloody birds!"
Graznikh sat in the main hall, fletching arrows with raven feathers and listening with one ear to Shâtaz, one of his band mates, bragging about the raid on the Elven caravan.
"I cut down three before the leaf ears even realised what was going on. T'was a bloody slaughter!" Shâtaz had a lopsided grin. "And poor Graznikh missed half the fun."
The listeners looked at Graznikh, who snorted at the unspoken question. "'Poor Graznikh' had more important business to attend to. And you were doing such a good job of killing unarmed Elves, you didn't need me to hold your hand for it."
"That's right," one of the others said. "I remember seeing your arse disappearing 'mong the rocks after some Elven skirt. I hope ya treated the little lady well!"
One of the onlookers cocked his head, leering. "I've never had an Elf before. What're they like?"
Trying as he might, Graznikh couldn't keep the wolfish grin off his face at the memory.
"Oh, that good huh?"
"Well, he was gone for two weeks. Then he comes back and refuses to even treat us to a description of the event, selfish bloody bastard," Shâtaz complained.
"Two weeks? Were you playing with the corpse after, or what?"
"She did die," Graznikh lied. Even the lie felt like a knife twisted in his guts. "It just took a while."
The others laughed and began to exchange stories of other, similar activities. Graznikh sat in silence, pretending to study an arrow tip. He tried to shut it out, but the talk of rape and blood set his vivid imagination spinning. He imagined fucking Whin like that, no holding back. Clawing and biting, hearing her ragged cries and the smell of blood and fear and sex filling his nostrils. He did not even notice his quickened breath.
"'Ey." He looked up as another Orc sat down beside him. Graznikh recognised him as one of the chief's confidants. "You wanna see something? Since you're into Elves and such," the Orc grinned. His curiosity piqued, Graznikh put the arrows away and followed him. They went deep into the fortress, down to the dungeons that had been carved out in the bedrock below. The air was dank and smelled of fear and rotting flesh but the cells were empty. All except one.
"In 'ere," his guide said.
The Elf man hung from spiked shackles. Only the barely noticeable moving of his chest told Graznikh that he was still alive despite the torture he had been subjected to. The wall behind him was covered with dried blood as was his body, the latter also covered in old and fresh wounds from whips, knives, hot irons, claws and teeth. Even his hair and nails had been torn out and his feet were nailed to the wall behind.
"Why'd you blindfold him?" Graznikh asked.
"Those eyes bloody sting," came the reply.
"Why not just take 'em out?"
"Chief wants to see when the light goes out of 'em."
"Hnh."
Graznikh took a closer look. Underneath the dried blood and wounds, he could tell the man had starved for quite some time, but he had not been rutted with as far as he could tell. "How long has he been down here?"
"No idea. Years, at least. Chief lost interest in 'im some time ago, but we're not allowed to kill 'im yet. No idea why, 'e's gonna die soon anyway. You like 'im?"
"Pretty," Graznikh said with an impassive voice. "Let's go back up. This place is fucking depressive."
A few weeks later, the chief sent for Graznikh who had just returned from a trading trip.
"I hear you're into Elves," he said with a grin as Graznikh approached. Tarnakh, who had been engaged in a game of dice at a nearby table turned to stare at his spawn with wide eyes and fangs bared. Graznikh rolled his eyes.
"If this is Shâtaz' doing, I'm gonna fistfuck him with his own bloody windpipe. And yeah, I like the taste of Elf blood." From the corner of his eye he saw Tarnakh relax a little. Why'd he tense up like that? The chief nodded approvingly.
"You can have some if you like. You've done some good by this stronghold, we've had fresh meat every day for months thanks to you. There's a cell down in the dungeons, holding a present for you. Do whatever you want with it."
Graznikh gave the chief the nastiest leer he could muster and made a mocking half bow. Then he turned and left.

Later, when dawn had come and the stronghold was asleep, Graznikh headed for the dungeons. Before going there, he had dug out a small flat bottle that he had kept hidden in his backpack for years. The little metal flask had once been the colour of polished bronze but had long since faded, and had an intricate etched pattern on its side. He opened it and took a tiny sip, barely more than a drop, and swallowed hard. The nausea and the crawling sensation in his guts hit him almost immediately and he leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to his mouth to keep from vomiting. After a moment, the crawling died down and there was a sensation like a cool breeze swept through his veins. The moment it reached his head, everything seemed to be clearer, sharper, and his weariness all but blew away. This stuff gets more and more potent with time, he thought. Just like Elves.
Amazingly, the Elf was still alive. Graznikh lifted his chin and pressed the flask to his lips, giving him a slightly larger sip than he had taken himself. The Elf gasped as if he had been holding his breath, lifted his head and whispered something in a strange tongue. Probably Elvish, Graznikh thought as he removed the blindfold.
Unlike Whindaër's, this Elf's eyes did burn and freeze like starlight. The hate filling them was almost unbearable, but he strengthened his resolve and forced himself to meet the Elf's gaze.
"You speak Common?" he asked.
The Elf frowned. "Why would I speak to you, úvanimo?"
"You don't have to," Graznikh whispered. "Just understand. I'm gonna pull those spikes outta your feet, and it might hurt a little but I need ya to keep quiet." As the Elf frowned in suspicion, he rolled thick cloth around a twig he had picked up during an earlier hunting trip and presented it to the Elf. He seemed to understand, because he gingerly took it between his teeth, grimacing at the taste. As Graznikh jerked the spikes out, the Elf hissed but was otherwise impressively quiet. He proceeded to unlock the shackles and caught the Elf as he fell, placing him upon the warg-fur cloak.
"Why are you doing this?" the Elf asked after spitting the stick out.
"I owe someone." Graznikh looked up from bandaging the broken feet. "You're the uncle, right? Thought I recognised ya."
"Uncle? Whose uncle?"
"Win-daar's." The Elf's eyes suddenly widened, and he caught Graznikh's arm in a surprisingly strong grip. "Where did you hear that name?! Who mentioned it to you?"
"She did it herself. Young she-elf, long hair the colour of spruce bark, dark blue eyes like a stormy sea, wore a plum coloured robe and a dark yellow sash with metal threads in it when last I saw her."
The hate was gone from the man's wide grey eyes, replaced by hope beyond hope. "She is alive?"
Graznikh nodded. "Alive and well, back home in that Elven stronghold in the forest by the Sea. She mentioned her uncle afore she left... Theo."
The Elf looked at him as though he had not really seen him before. "Theolas. My name is Theolas, and yes, I am Whindaër's uncle." Then his eyes narrowed. "And I remember you... You are the Orc who attacked us during the raid."
Graznikh nodded, unable to meet Theolas' eyes.
"And you... kept her alive? You did not... hurt her?" Graznikh knew what the Elf tried to ask. He shook his head. "Nar, she's fine. Or was when I left her by the forest's edge." She feels just fine, he wanted to add, but that would raise too many uncomfortable questions. "I'm gonna get ya outta here. But I'll need ya to cooperate and it might be unpleasant."
Theolas gave him a measuring look. Then he nodded. "Very well. You seem to have your mind set on this, and I have no choice but to trust you."
Graznikh gave him a grateful nod. "I'm gonna mask your scent. It's something we use to lure rats and other scavengers for pest control. You'll stink like rotting flesh, and I'll just be taking out the trash. I do that here on a regular basis so no one'll be the wiser. If they check the dungeons, I'll say I didn't want to waste the meat." He grinned at Theolas' disgusted face.
"And how will you hide my looks?"
Graznikh responded by holding up a mouldy leather bag with old, dried blood stains on it, large enough to hide the starved Elf. "Trash bag."
Theolas seemed to gather his strength at the sight, then he looked at Graznikh. "Very well. Let us hurry."
Getting the Elf out was surprisingly easy. The guards nodded a greeting as he passed the gate, bow and quiver in one hand and the bag slung over his shoulder. Once near the trash pile he continued along a narrow path leading south into the mountains after making sure he was not being followed. When he was well out of sight from the fortress, he opened the bag. Theolas was not shivering despite the freezing wind, but he still accepted the fur cloak with a grateful nod. After wrapping himself securely in it, he agreed to return to the bag and Graznikh carried him for several hours until they reached a cave where they could rest.
This is surreal, Theolas thought as he listened to the Orc's footsteps and heavy breathing. He had long since given up hope that he would be found and had prepared to die in the dungeon. Then his very last prayer to the Valar had suddenly been heard and they had sent an Orc of all things to save him. An Orc that had spared his beloved niece, who had spoken to her long and familiarly enough to know his name, even though it got it wrong. He studied the Orc in question as it made a fire with the efficiency of long experience. The Orc met his eyes every now and then. Theolas decided to break the silence that seemed to make the Orc so uncomfortable.
"May I ask you something?"
It shrugged in response. "Ask."
"My niece... Whindaër. You know her? You are... familiar with her?"
The Orc hesitated for a while before nodding. "Aye."
"But you do not like to speak of it."
It looked up. "It's not that. I promised her to shut up about it. I don't like breaking promises... Not to her."
This made Theolas pause. This Orc made a promise to Whindaër? And it has honour enough to... What is this? Then he noticed the Orc watching him with a strange expression. "What is it?"
"Ya know her, then? You're... I dunno what an 'uncle' is."
"An uncle is the brother of someone's father or mother. I am Whindaër's father's brother, her uncle."
"Brother? Like a littermate?"
Theolas frowned. "In a manner of speaking. Elves do not beget litters, we are conceived one at a time, sometimes with many decades or even centuries inbetween each."
"So that's it? You're just her sire's littermate?"
"I am also her mentor, her teacher. Her father is a fine smith and lives in Ost-in-Edhil, far to the north. He rarely visits his home these days, and so I have the honour of teaching her about the world."
"Like reading and writing?"
"Among other things, yes."
The Orc seemed amused for some reason. "So what's she like?" it asked. "When... well, when she's with you, or around other Elves?"
Theolas thought back, remembering the days in the haven. "She was a happy child," he said, "although often serious and a bit on the wild side. More content with running and playing in the forest than studying." He smiled at the memory. "But she was steadfast and strong of will. When she made up her mind about something it was rarely possible to sway her from her set course. Her brother is calmer, but just as strong of will."
"She has a brother too?"
Theolas nodded. "They are littermates in truth, although we call it ónoni. They shared their mother's womb, a rare thing among Elves, and entered the world on the same day."
The Orc smiled a little. Theolas thought it was a strange look in that disfigured face. Then he realised that he was discussing memories of his niece with an Orc as if with an old friend, the very Orc who had indirectly sent him to the dungeons by knocking him unconscious and eloping with his niece, even though he had ultimately spared her from the worst fate. He frowned.
"Why do you ask me this? What is your interest in my niece?"
The Orc suddenly looked guarded, and Theolas decided to play dirty. "I could ask her, you know, once I return. She would know that you had broken your promise of silence."
"And I could cut out your tongue and fingers so you wouldn't be able to talk or write," came the expected answer. "But I've said this much. I guess I owe you some answers. Only..." the Orc suddenly seemed frightened. "Could you not tell anyone else but her? It'd bloody break my heart if she got in trouble because of me. For all I know they'd kill her for it."
Theolas frowned, eyes wide at the sudden raw emotion in the Orc's eyes and voice. What in Arda is this?

Graznikh took a deep breath. "I did hunt her after that raid, and I caught her. I didn't think anything of it, it was supposed to be just another rape. Well not just 'any other'... I'd seen her in the forest at times and I liked what I saw. When I spotted her during the raid, I couldn't resist the thought of having my... hands... on her. Once I had her tied up, I changed my mind. Thought I'd see if I could make her willing."
Theolas' face went dark with rage at the Orc's words, but he restrained himself, motioning for it to continue.
"So... I told her some shit about 'Elves can survive any torture, as long as they want to live bad enough'. And that if she convinced herself to want me and what I was going to do to her, she'd live. And I'd let her go after. I really meant that last part, about letting her go. Only... something went seriously, bloody wrong."
"Because you... violated her?" Theolas spat.
"Nar!" Graznikh let out an exasperated sigh. "That's what I didn't do! I... Skai, how to explain this... For some reason I can't figure out myself, I really didn't wanna hurt her. Something changed, I couldn't hurt her. And when I did take her, believe it or not but we both wanted it. And after..." He put another branch to avoid squirming under the Elf's baleful gaze.
"Afterwards, something happened, I can't explain it! It was like a thousand ice needles pierced my brain, and she was everywhere, and then... she was inside me. I guess she experienced something similar. It's like an invisible cord tying us together. Whatever she feels, I feel and the other way around. The closer we are to each other, the stronger it gets. I've tried to ignore it, forget it, run from it, nothing helps. It's bloody terrifying."
Terrifying indeed. Theolas's anger melted away and was replaced by the horror of cognisance as he realised what the Orc was speaking of. It cannot be, his sensibility told him, it is impossible! A bond like this between opposites, surely it would kill them both!
But there was no lie in the Orc's voice, and why would an Orc claim the existence of such a bond or even have knowledge of it if it is not true? Then he thought of the emotions and affections necessary for the bond of marriage to form. And he lifted his eyes from the fire to stare at the hideous creature before him. Oh Whindaër, dear little one, if this is true...
The open revulsion in the Elf's eyes told Graznikh he had really fucked up this time. Would he be forced to kill the Elf for this?
"If you use this knowledge to hurt her," he growled, "I'll kill you. I'll make you wish you never left that cozy dungeon!"
Theolas' eyes turned to ice. "There is no need for threats, Orc. You have taken, perhaps even stolen, something very precious to me and many others. And I am not sure that you are even capable of understanding the grave situation you have placed the both of you in. I will not harm Whindaër, you need not my word on it for it will never happen! You, however, may harm her most grievously whether you are aware of it or not."
"Oh, I'm aware," Graznikh growled. "I feel it right here, remember? If I ever found out something threatened her, so help me fires of Utumno I'd run off the edge of the world to stand in its way!"
Theolas twitched as his ears stung from the dark oath. Graznikh noticed it and continued in a softer voice.
"I love her. I'm not even sure what that means and what I do know scares the shit outta me, but I do. I can't be with her, she belongs with her folk and I belong with mine, but nothing can ever take that away from me."
They watched the fire for some time, both lost in thought. Theolas had trouble clearing his mind. He was old and had walked through many horrors, this last torture being one of the minor ones despite its severity, but this... This was utterly unheard of. There was no precedent, nothing to relate to. Elves and Men could join, it was rare but heard of. But an Elf and an Orc..? This can only end in ruin and grief. He leaned back again the rock with a sigh.
Graznikh rummaged through a bag which he had brought to the cave earlier. "Hungry?"
The Elf looked up from his reverie as he placed some strips of dried meat and a yellow root on the ground next to him. "It's just goat. And a parsnip, wasn't sure if you'd eat the meat, seeing as you got it from an Orc."
Theolas picked up the root and sniffed. It was a parsnip. He had never eaten them raw before, but it did not taste that bad. After he was done, he eyed the meat strips. His hunger had awoken, so after some hesitation he picked them up as well.
He studied the Orc as he ate. There was intelligence in its eyes, despite their infernal glow. It was painfully clear that this was no mindless monster, very unlike most others of its kind that he had come across before. He had not forgotten the raid or how it had hit him, but neither could he forget that so far, it seemed intent on saving his life. He wondered if it did so to make Whindaër happy. How intelligent was this creature?
"Do you have a name?" he asked.
"Graznikh. You can call me Graz if you can't speak the whole name."
Theolas nodded. So it can understand that not everyone thinks or speaks as it does, and can adapt accordingly. The pain from his many wounds began to intensify. The Orc - Graznikh, Theolas reminded himself – noticed his wincing and handed him the small flask he had made him drink from earlier. Theolas took a sip and felt the familiar breeze as the miruvor seeped through his body. Then he took a closer look at the flask. "This is mine!"
Graznikh nodded. "I, er, held onto it. During the raid. You can have it back if you want, I've little use for it. That shit's some potent stuff though."
Theolas looked at him. "You have tasted it?"
"Aye, nearly turned me inside out the first time. Second time was easier, but not by much. I prefer ghâshpau."
"Which is?"
"Similar to that, but burns instead of freezes. And it's not as strong."
"I see."
The rest of the night was spent in silence, Theolas conserved his strength but offered to take the first watch, and Graznikh regained his by sleeping. The next morning, Graznikh turned to look outside. "It's getting bright out. Better get going, I wanna be outta the mountains by nightfall." Theolas wriggled into the bag, now with his head above the edge. Graznikh took his bow and began walking. The weather had improved and the wind was weaker, but Graznikh growled at the sun and made sure to keep his hood up. Theolas, on the other hand, marveled at the view and the clear air. As they reached the narrow pass that led to the southern forest, Graznikh noticed an Orc patrol approaching.
"Shit! Keep your head down and stay quiet. I'll try talking my way past them," he hissed. Theolas disappeared into the bag.

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

NOTES:
Grú - appreciative term for orc woman
Ónoni - twins
Ghäshpau - orcish Gatorade :P
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Wolves And Shattered Shields