Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

The Battles We Choose	By : Hoglorfen Category: +Second Age > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 2055 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Tolkienverse. I do not make money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 3
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- 5
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.”

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