Orc in Ithilien

Chapter 16...And Exit

“Again!” Eowyn screamed, and then something incoherent about there being no end to Faramir’s depravity. “Is it even the same one as last time, or another of these monsters with which you insist on surrounding yourself that you’ve lured into your bed?”

Shagrat straightened up quickly and stared at her for a moment in surprise. “Been feeling quite yourself lately, your Highness?” he said to Faramir.

Disarmed by this unexpected line of questioning, Faramir acknowledged in bewilderment that he had indeed been unusually fatigued of late. He had been spending far too much time asleep, and it had been strangely difficult to concentrate -

“Ask her Ladyship what she’s been spiking your grub with then. It’s in your drink as well, I should think. Surprised you haven’t noticed it yourself, really. You reek of it, inside and out. She does, too. Didn’t know what I was smelling till the minute she swept in here.”

“Faramir! You would believe the word of such a creature, against your own wife!”

“Your good lady hasn’t actually denied she’s up to anything as yet, I notice. Whatever it is makes you a bit more biddable, I expect. We know about that stuff where I come from.”

“It’s – it is medicine!” Eowyn protested, swelling up with self-righteous anger.

“It isn’t,” insisted Shagrat.

Eowyn was carrying a short-staved sword on her girdle and panting out an anguished cry, she reached for it, probably with the intention of defending her own honour, since Faramir was showing no inclination to take on the task at that particular moment. But it had been many months since the White Lady had last trained in battlefield combat, and the weapon snagged and stuck in the trailing skirts of her gown. Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, Shagrat swatted the weapon aside with a powerful back-swipe of his gauntleted hand, so that it clattered down onto the floor.

“They say you took on a Nazgul,” Shagrat commented, “which is impressive. But you’re going to have to do a bit better than that.”

Though brave-hearted, Eowyn was nobody’s fool, and she would never ordinarily have rated her chances in hand-to-hand combat against an Uruk-hai. So perhaps when she ran at Shagrat her rage had momentarily overwhelmed her, or perhaps she was just automatically assuming that Faramir would join the fray on her side. Shagrat stepped back as she threw herself at him and caught her by the wrist, but the momentum of Eowyn’s rush carried her onward, and the Uruk snorted out suddenly as if in surprise, when she collided with him. They tussled briefly together before the Orc was able to dislodge the small dagger that she had sought to stab him with from her grip. He threw it away from them and it stuck blade-first in the ground.

The Lady uttered a panting cry of triumph as she stared down at him. “Better!” she said.

Shagrat faltered for a moment where he stood. But then snarling at her to keep quiet, he twisted the hand he was holding up between Eowyn’s shoulders to keep her still, and threw his forearm round her neck, forcibly pulling her backwards against his chest.

Eowyn squirmed away from him, clearly repulsed by the contact and hissed: “you would dare to lay hands on me!”

“Looks like it, doesn’t it?” Shagrat replied. Eowyn drew a deep breath and at that he jerked his arm up, painfully squeezing down on his hostage’s windpipe. “Don’t think about screaming for help,” he added.

“Shagrat, please!” Faramir interjected. “Eowyn is my wedded wife!” The Prince, his face strained and white, had picked up the fallen sword. He held and stared at it for a moment, swung it experimentally to test the weight and balance, and then pointed the business end of it purposefully at Shagrat. The Orc blinked once, twice, at him bemusedly.

“You can’t be serious,” he said.

“Make no mistake. I will not allow you to harm her!” Faramir, his hands trembling only slightly pushed the blade close into the angle of the Uruk’s jaw.

Shagrat was quite still, beads of sweat standing out on his brow, his throat working, as he struggled to compose himself. “So, it comes to this,” he spat, “again.” He moved even closer, dragging Eowyn with him so that Faramir was forced to lower his sword slightly – that, or risk running the pair of them through. “I suppose it’s a case of what’s one more Orc, give or take? Or are you keeping tally of your kills now? Heard that’s de rigeur among your new pals up in the White City.”

Faramir, hardly pausing to wonder at the Orc’s strangely expanded vocabulary replied that that was hardly fair. “Orcs do that too!”

“But you lot are supposed to know better!”

“I’ve done everything you wanted,” Shagrat continued. “On the slightest chance of seeing you, I came running. Walked straight in here on account of it, ready to give myself up – and gave you the seeing-to of your life while I was at it. Found out she’s been doing the dirty on you and I’ve raised the alarm - cottoned you on to it - yet I’m the one ends up with a sword at his throat?”

Put like that it did come across as being a little unfair. “Don’t make me do this,” Faramir pleaded.

The Orc shook his head. “You’re bluffing.”

“Shagrat I – I won’t ask you again. Let go of her!”

The Uruk stared into his eyes searchingly. “I think you’re bluffing, on account of what you said to me when you were coming off a minute ago. While we were shagging.” He directed the last part spitefully, at Eowyn, who glared back at him as best she could from the awkward position she was holding: defiantly, her gaze filled with loathing.

“I can’t – I don’t recall what – if anything – was said?”

“’Oh Shagrat, I love you,’” the Orc quoted in a flat voice, “’Shagrat, don’t ever leave me.’ That’s how it went.”

Eowyn gave a strangled cry, aghast. “Faramir, no! But when you were – oh! Then that doesn’t count!”

Shagrat snorted. “Her Ladyship’s right, of course. But still, some people might say you ought to stop toying with my affections. And you’d understand, wouldn’t you Goldilocks, if I was to ask you to make up your blasted mind?”

In one rapid movement Shagrat caught the mid-point of Faramir’s blade flat between his thumb and fingertips and jerked the sword clean out of his hands. He tossed it up quickly to swing it round, caught it by the handle, and lurched back a step, dragging Eowyn with him, at the same time brandishing his weapon clumsily at the Prince. “You’re bluffing,” he grated out. “But me, I’ve had my – my feelings hurt. Bear that in mind when you’re planning your next move.”

“His ‘feelings’!” Eowyn cried, with obvious disbelief. “But Faramir, he’s –“

Shagrat rounded on her, snarling through his teeth. “You’d better bloody shut it,” he said. “You’d better bloody shut your lying blasted mouth before I go and do something permanent that he –“ he jerked his head at her husband – “is going to permanently regret.” He tucked Eowyn’s sword into his belt, and still holding her close against him, hauled her over to Faramir’s night-stand. The Uruk sniffed briefly at the contents of the water jug there and then sloshing out a generous glassful, instructed her to drink it. Eowyn refused and struggled wildly, turning to Faramir for support.

“If it’s only frigging ‘medicine,’ it’s not likely to do her Ladyship any harm, is it?” said the Orc.

“Faramir!” Eowyn cried again, appealing to her husband against Shagrat’s flawed logic.

His loyalties torn between them, the Prince hesitated, but at last he said: “I should do as he says, if I were you.”

Shooting her husband a single withering, scorn-filled glare Eowyn straightened her back and drank. The drug that was dissolved in the water began acting very quickly, indicating that perhaps it had been necessary for Hrodgar to increase the strength of his brew over time. Shagrat, his side turned carefully away from Faramir, stepped away as she drained the glass and he leaned against the nightstand, apparently watching the effects with interest. He didn’t bother to catch the Lady when soon afterwards her knees buckled and she fell to the ground.

“You could at least have broken her fall,” Faramir admonished him, hurrying over to his wife. He moved her gently, settling her into a more comfortable position. Though she had turned very pale, Eoywn’s heart was beating strongly and he saw that while the rate of her breathing seemed slower than normal, the breaths were deep and regular.

Shagrat looked on impassively, still not moving. “Looks like strong stuff,” he commented.

“Quite the match you’ve made for yourself there, Goldilocks,” the Orc continued. “Now, if you’ve finished putting your better half to bed, get up. On your feet, your Highness. You and me, we’re going for a walk.”

With Eowyn’s sword held at his back and the Uruk following several steps behind him, Faramir found himself unceremoniously frog-marched out of his tent. As they crossed the quiet camp ground, the Prince mentioned, in a deliberately casual voice that he thought Shagrat had intended to ‘give himself up’.

“Thought better of it,” the Uruk replied. He coughed, a long, gurgling hack, and spat. “Maybe I’m getting sick of crawling after you, always hoping for something better than a kick in the face. I’d never any chance of ever getting it, had I?”

Faramir didn’t answer, and for a while they continued without speaking. With prods from the sword he was carrying, Shagrat steered his hostage across one, then two fields of upland pasture; he was obviously making straight for the tree-line at the head of the valley the royal party were encamped in. The moon burned bright and white above them and with the winter frost crackling on the grass underfoot as they walked, after perhaps a little under an hour of single-file progress in this way, they passed under the eaves of the wood.

The brisk pace he’d set, following on from his earlier exertions seemed to have taken their toll on Shagrat, for once they were properly under cover in the stand of trees, the Orc, groaning with exhaustion, sat down abruptly beside the track. Faramir was barely able see him, in the gloom beneath the pine-trees but he could hear him panting harshly in and out with every breath, and full of concern for his companion, he bent down to try to help. At once the Uruk snarled and struck at him viciously, warning him to stay away. Nonplussed, the Prince kept his distance, finding by touch a seat of his own, a few steps away.

After a moment Shagrat said into the dark: “You know, I think I preferred the way you were before, back in Mordor. At least you were honest. I knew where I was, then.”

“I was more ‘honest’?’” Faramir replied incredulously. “And what, exactly, do you mean by that?”

“’What d’you mean by that?’” Shagrat said snidely, mimicking him. “What I mean, your Highness, is that back then you’d give it to me down the throat, hard and fast as anyone I’ve ever been with, and after you finished, you’d look at me as if I wasn’t fit to wipe the spunk you’d filled my gullet with off your boots. And that was all right – better than this nonsense at any rate - because it let me know that’s all I’m good for, and exactly what you thought of me. But then, you started on this –“ he broke off, voice cracking slightly – “touchy-feely bollocks,” he continued, his tone rising, “and for a minute, just for a minute I thought – well. We both know what I thought, seeing as you were so angry you near enough killed me for it the next morning.”

“I did not!” Faramir protested hotly. “I had nothing to do with that! You were wounded in the fighting by a cave-troll!”

“Didn’t do much for me afterwards, did you though?” Shagrat snorted. “Point I’m making is there was no need to lead me on like that. I was probably going to let you go, from Cirith Ungol, anyway.”

“Probably?” repeated Faramir, adding that he couldn’t have afforded to take a chance on ‘probably’.

“Well ‘probably’s’ about all you’re likely to get now, isn’t it!” Shagrat yelled. “Since we’ll never know what I would have done if you hadn’t been planning to stab me in the back all along! Do you know what they do to spies, and traitors, in Mordor, Goldilocks?”

“Torture?” was Faramir’s hazarded guess.

Shagrat nodded wildly. “You’ve no bloody idea! But yes, torture! You couldn’t think I’d have let anyone do that to you, could you? You knew the way I – you knew what you were to me. You must have! And then you played on it. You didn’t have to go and do that. I’d have thought your dratted ‘honour’ if nothing else would have kept you being straight with me.”

Tight-lipped, Faramir asked him if there was anything else he’d like to get off his chest.

“Yes. I reckon there is,” Shagrat replied. “Because I didn’t understand, for a long time, why you had to go and do it again. You could have left me at that village. You did at first, and better for everyone it had stopped there! But then you came back, nothing would do but you had to drag me along after, and you were so bloody, blasted -” he spat the next words out as if he couldn’t bear the taste of them in his mouth - “kind and decent to me for so long that I forgot it was nothing personal. What did you think you were playing at?”

“You tell me!” Faramir retorted. “What possible motivation could I have for enduring all the – the fuss and bother you’ve put me to, that you’re still putting me through, if my intentions towards you were anything other than honourable?”

“It’s obvious when you think about it, isn’t it?” Shagrat said. He went on to explain, in not so many words, his theory - which was that Faramir had a serious sexual kink for Orcs, and nothing more nor less than that. “You try and dress it up as high-faluting clap-trap about ‘finer feelings’ and all that other rubbish,” he said, “to sell it to yourself that way, but really, you’re kidding yourself on.”

“’Queer for Uruks?’” Faramir exclaimed, repeating one of the more outrageous phrases Shagrat had just used. “In the War, d’you know how many of your kind I’ve –“ but then he quickly abandoned that line of argument, before resuming: “How can you possibly say I’m just ‘queer for Uruks?’ Because frankly, what on earth is there to like about Orcs in general? Anyone with an as-yet unfettered heart, who would consider embarking on an association with someone like you, Shagrat, would be very well advised to think twice. Aside from the social stigma he would have to weather, such a person would have to endure not only his mate’s personal hygiene – or rather, the lack of it, but also his constant mood swings, black rages, bouts of depression – and –“ he muttered the last part under his breath – “not least, being continually mauled about by those damnably accursed teeth!”

“Maybe what you really like is knowing we’re sunk so low already that you’re free to do anything you want to us – anything at all - and no matter how dirty, or repulsive it was, it still wouldn’t count,” the Uruk shot back at him. “Because no matter what hateful, nasty thing you can think of, it’ll be old hat, ‘cause odds are, some other bugger’ll already have done it to us before. You know as well as I do that you and me - it’s wrong. Maybe that’s why you go crazy whenever people find out about - about what we’ve been doing.”

The Orc’s opinion of their foundering friendship, in the past and present, was very far from what Faramir had intended and he was visibly shaken by what Shagrat had said. “At my house in Ithilien,” he countered desperately. “That wasn’t repulsive, or dirty, was it? Everybody knew about you there!”

“Lackeys and servants.” Shagrat said dismissively, “and all behind closed doors so no-one was ever sure. I’m talking about important people. People who matter to you, and whatever you say, whenever there’s been a chance one of them’ll find out, you’ll always drop me so fast I don’t know what’s hit me.”

He stood up. While they were talking it had grown perceptibly lighter, but to Faramir, in the darkness under the trees, the Uruk was still just a hulking shape in the gloom. The words he’d just said - the last the Prince would hear from him - were ironic, even though they weren’t chosen by Shagrat for that reason, because not for some time after he’d regained consciousness would Faramir realise what – or who – had hit him. At that point the Orc, aiming a careful blow to the back of his head, clouted him heavily under his left ear, using exactly enough force to knock him senseless for the next few hours. That he suffered neither a concussion, nor fractures to his skull as a result of this treatment were factors that Faramir correctly attributed to Shagrat’s skill and experience in matters of violence, rather than his own luck. Coming to himself shortly after daybreak, the unfortunate man was left with no worse injuries than extensive bruising, combined with as an exceedingly sore head.

His companion however, had not been so lucky. Faramir, finding that he had been deposited on the edge of the wood, set out back to camp as soon as he was able, and so he never saw the drying slick of gore left in the place where Shagrat had been sitting the night before, and he completely failed to notice the spots and gouts of black blood that led to and away from it, making a trail up through the trees.

TBC

A/N: I've said before, but thank you so much to the people who've taken time to leave a review! They're so encouraging and I always very much appreciate the feedback.

Danni - yes. Though I don't reckon (this version of) Eowyn would even consider someone like Shagrat could even BE legitimate competition. I think it'd be more along the lines of (and I suppose it's pretty much according to canon Middle Earth) he's just 'vermin to be put down.' Sad, eh?

AntiDolorifico - why thank you. I stongly suspected that sex scene mightn't be everyone's cup of tea but well heck, I liked it and I'm very glad to know you did too! (This version of) Shagrat has a history of not 100% fulfilling bedroom encounters so that's yet another one to add to his list.

Lexin - great to hear you're still following the story. I have to say it's veered off-original-course a little. (Almost to the extent that I'm also looking forward to finding out what'll be happening next)

Pip - delighted you were happy to see the content this time round, and many, many thanks for the very positive comments and praise which were so kind, that I'm still blushing while happily re-reading it. But Shagrat cute though...while I should probably pat myself on the back for pulling that unlikely feat off, at the same time - what have I done! (no. To be honest it was pretty much intended)