Chapter Text
February 25, 3019 – Isengard was destroyed two days past; Frodo and Sam reach the Morannon; Gandalf expels Saruman from the Order; Merry and Pippin rejoin what remains of the Fellowship
The last thing Morkoth expected that afternoon as he relieved himself against a tree was to be knocked on his ass by a flying woman. No, he hadn't expected the strange window to open up in the air beside him either, but the shock of that anomaly was overshadowed by the figure that emerged, three feet above the ground, covered in blood, and striking him in the abdomen with the force of a charging aurochs bull. That would have been enough, as he struggled to get out from under the human female's loose-limbed, unconscious body, except that mere seconds later another form tumbled through behind. Apparently satisfied with the completion of its task, the glowing hole in the air slammed shut with a schwup. Morkoth froze, staring at the place where it had been, seemingly unaffected by being ripped open for a few seconds and hastily mended. Then he looked at the woman still draped over his lap.
Her head was covered in blood; lacerations criss-crossed her scalp, and blood ran in rivers down her face. To his surprise, her eyes fluttered open, then flared wide at the sight of him. Her jaw worked soundlessly for a few seconds, then her eyes rolled back into her head and she went limp.
The other figure was also female, but she didn't seem to be as bad off. Once Morkoth had extricated himself from the first one, he looked closely at the other. The female's left arm was so badly bruised, he suspected it might be broken, and her forehead was darkening with the beginnings of another huge bruise. She, too, was unconscious.
The big Uruk looked around. There didn't appear to be any more bodies flung through mysterious holes in the air, and no one else was in the area other than himself and the two females. Squatting down beside the one who fell on him, he tilted his head to examine her more closely. He reached out and poked the side of her head. Licked the blood that smeared on his clawed finger. Well, she was real, and about as normal as his cursory examination could tell.
Lifting a lock of her hair, he rubbed it between his fingers. It was the color of molten copper, unlike any he'd ever seen. Bracing his legs, he gathered the female in his arms and lifted her up. Nûrzgrat would know what to do.
The makeshift camp of Uruk-hai wasn't far away, and Morkoth's long strides brought him there a few minutes later. Five bestial heads rose at his arrival.
Nûrzgrat frowned. "Whatcha got there?"
"She's hurt," Morkoth replied, taking the female straight to him and laying her gently beside the group's chief. "There's another one. I'll be back."
"Wait, where'd they come from?" Nûrzgrat asked. His only answer was the silent shrug of his second. Rolling his eyes, he looked down at the female.
"Is that...," a trembling, uncertain voice said at his elbow, "a whiteskin?"
"Looks like."
The speaker squeaked in terror and scampered into the nearest bush. Nûrzgrat ignored him.
The initial shock began to wear off, and the other Uruk-hai closed in to look at Morkoth's discovery.
"Frû," the chief growled, "get to work." The Uruk in question grunted but didn't move. "Now!"
"Always get the shit work," he grumbled as he grudgingly fetched bandages.
"Delicious," another Uruk hissed, licking his lips and leaning close to the female. The scent of her blood was intoxicating. Nûlkol dove down and drew his tongue sloppily across the unconscious woman's cheek. Furious, Nûrzgrat shot a fist out and sent the other Uruk flying.
"Get your fucking paws off her! She belongs to Morkoth." He glanced once more at the woman, then stepped aside to let Frû tend her. "And you," he snarled at a smaller Uruk approaching. Thakûf's eyebrows rose, then he shrugged and retreated.
Standing behind Frû with his arms crossed, Nûrzgrat glowered at his other charges. Only one hadn't approached, taking advantage of his fellows' preoccupation to snatch a few strips of meat before retreating to his hiding place. The Uruk leader shook his head.
"Ghrulagûrz," he said. The foraging Uruk froze. "Don't go too far." Without looking at Nûrzgrat, the Uruk jerked his chin in a brief nod and scuttled away with his prize.
Nûrzgrat glanced toward the bushes, noting the almost comical shaking of the branches as Razkaar trembled. Scowling, he turned his gaze skyward and wondered yet again what great power had cursed him so.
Before long, Morkoth returned, the other female in his arms. He was even more careful with setting her down next to the first one. Standing beside Nûrzgrat, he watched Frûmâdûrz finish the copper-headed female and turn to binding the dark-haired one's arm.
"All right, talk," the chief growled.
"Went to piss, door opened, females fell out." He didn't see any reason to fully describe the impact the first one had on him.
Nûrzgrat's lip curled and he took a deep breath, letting it out on a count of five. Years of association with the taciturn Uruk made him somewhat resigned to this economy of speech, but it didn't mean he liked it. "A door? What the fuck does that mean? We're as far from anything with a door as we can get."
"In the air. Just... in the air," Morkoth replied, gesturing helplessly with both hands. Then he shrugged.
"Anyone around?"
Silent shaking of the head.
"Females," Nûrzgrat muttered thoughtfully. "That would help."
Noncommittal grunt.
The chief scrutinized his second. "Which one you want?"
Morkoth's eyebrows rose and he turned to his leader with surprise. "What for?"
"Don't be stupid, boy," Nûrzgrat snapped. "Look around you. This is it. We got no choice. There ain't no more Uruk-hai. If we're gonna survive, we gotta be like snaga."
The bigger Uruk scowled. "I'm not raping anyone."
"Fine, whatever," the chief said. "Take one as a mate, then. That's a snaga way, too. Which one d'you like?"
"A mate?" Morkoth protested. "I know nothing about mating. Or females."
"Do your duty, boy," Nûrzgrat snarled. "Pick."
Shrugging, Morkoth gestured toward the redhead.
"Good," Nûrzgrat said approvingly. "She looks strong. Good hips. Any ideas about the other one?"
"I'm not taking both," Morkoth warned.
"Wouldn't dream of it," the chief growled sarcastically. "Other one's kinda skinny. Frû'll probably break her."
"If you're expecting me to take a fucking mate, you're smokin' Sharkû's pipeweed," Frûmâdûrz snorted, wiping his hands on his pants as if they were covered in filth. Standing, Frû shook his head. "Got no use for whiteskin females but one," he leered. "Once that's done, so am I."
Nûrzgrat shrugged, turning to his second. "He's got a point..."
"No," Morkoth said firmly. "They're not spoils. They've done us no harm. You told me we were done with that."
"Fine," Nûrzgrat grumbled. "I'll give her to Ghrulagûrz. Nothing'll happen there till I figure out what to do with her."
"Give her to me," Nûlkol hissed, once more slithering toward the women. "I'll be... gentle."
Grimacing, Morkoth rounded on Nûlkol and delivered what was becoming a routine ass-kicking. It wasn't even fun anymore.
While Nûrzgrat's attention was focused on the always-entertaining spectacle of his second putting the smaller Uruk in his place, Thakûf sidled up to the redheaded female and started removing her bloody clothing.