Orc in Ithilien

In accordane with Shagrat’s earlier request to not be stuck out in the cold and wet, the Prince and his Orc had been making their way across the gardens, heading for the lane where the state coach had been left. Arriving at the vehicle, Faramir was able to make out only the back end of it, as the carriage had clearly been jammed straight into the middle of a thicket. It also seemed to be listing severely to one side, which made the Prince hope for a fervent moment that it would turn out to have been damaged beyond repair. Pushing back the prickly branches that overhung the vehicle, they fought their way inside.

The two companions sat in silence for a time. The carriage drapes were closed and inside the coach it was pitch dark. Faramir found that he couldn’t see a thing; not a hand raised in front of his face. He sat quietly remembering that for various reasons, the Orc had always seemed far more comfortable when they were alone together in the dark.

“If you’re not up for doing anything just now,” Shagrat said eventually, having clearly misinterpreted his companion’s hesitation, “we could just sit here for a bit and talk. Hold hands some more, maybe. I’d like that.”

This was a farily typical development, considering that from the very start, their dealings with one another had played themselves out in what could only be described as (at best) a topsy-turvy fashion. They had begun with some fairly hard-core Uruk-on-Man sex acts back in the days when they’d barely known each other, but since then seemed to have been steadily regressing - to the extent that now Shagrat said he just wanted to sit and hold hands in the dark! At this rate they would soon have to begin affecting their first introductions, the Prince thought frantically; although the very modesty of his companion’s expectations in this area soon made Faramir reconsider. He must have had - or rather, given the technical excellence of some of the Orc’s abilities, he very clearly had had considerable experience in the field of carnal contact, but – of course what he had never before had was a sweetheart. Looked at from this viewpoint it all became transparently obvious: everything the Uruk had ever instigated between them was simply part of Shagrat’s overall strategy – his misguided, twisted, and at times outstandingly poorly-chosen strategy - for trying to get to know Faramir better. But of course given the all-round dubiousness of his companion’s origins and background, the Prince couldn’t really bring himself to fault him for any of this. Earlier Faramir had asked Shagrat about his sexual preferences but had received no reply, because the issue was not so much what the Orc liked during sex - it was more accurately a question of: ‘who’?

This weighty realization quite took the wind from Faramir’s sails. He sat close beside Shagrat, holding and gently chafing his companion’s rough, mis-shapen, talon-bearing hands, and his heart felt very full.

“You know how you like books,” the Orc said suddenly, following a minute or two of this.

For a moment Faramir didn’t quite trust his voice to hold itself steady. Then he cleared his throat and anwered that yes, he did know that, in fact.

“Well I heard about this book,” the Uruk told him, “from this place, east of Far Harad. I mean way out east - in jungle country. Don’t know what they call it exactly, but I heard they’ve got this special book. It’s got all this stuff about – and drawings, pictures of people - I mean men and women and all sorts, while they’re having – you know. While they’re – “ he dropped his voice – “at it.”

“Yes,” Faramir replied, adding that he was reasonably familiar with the volume.

“You’ve seen it?” said Shagrat, in surprise. “Is it any good?”

Faramir shrugged non-commitally.

“The way I heard,” Shagrat said, “is that it tells you how to do - what you should do. Different stuff and that.”

“I mean,” Shagrat continued in a lowered voice, when Faramir didn’t reply, “it shows you how you to do – special stuff – to one other. Right?”

“I would say,” Faramir told him carefully, “that you generally manage quite well by yourself.”

“Me?” the Orc exclaimed. “But I only know your bog-standard, middle of the road stuff. Nothing special about it.”

“Take my word for it,” replied Faramir, “what you do is – well, I for one find it quite - all right.”

“I saw how it was with that fellow at your fancy shindig, though,” Shagrat continued a moment later, with a definite edge of jealousy coming into his voice. The Orc sat silent for a time, simmering bile and murderous intent. Then he sighed out. “I’d like to a have a good look at that book,” he said.

Faramir relaxed a little. “Which fellow is it you’re talking about?”

“That tall man you was talking to when I came in,” Shagrat replied bitterly, “that tried to tell me I should sling my hook. The one with all the shiny hair, who was wearing the really fancy, glittery dress. Washed-out, weedy-looking kind of cove I thought, but he had a - a sort of an -” the Uruk lowered his voice again here - “Elvish look about him.”

“Well, I understand that a grandfather, or great-grandfather of his was one. He does seem to have a tendency to play that aspect up a bit much, though. I should tell you Shagrat, they’re not really all like that.”

“I don’t much care how they really are or they really aren’t, your Highness. It’s just that that one looked like he wanted to do special stuff to you, all right. I bet he could’ve done, for all that.”

“I bet he couldn’t’ve,” Farmair snorted. “Want of opportunity, if nothing else, would have prevented him. I’m hardly in the habit of going off with anyone who asks.”

The Uruk sighed out gloomily. “So he did ask you, then.”

“Not in so many words,” the Prince replied. “I think he simply assumed I’d fall over myself for a chance to spend the remainder of the night in company with him. Excusable enough I suppose, since I don’t expect he’s much accustomed to being turned down. But it was still rather presumptious of him. As if I was to be had so easily as that!”

“Neither am I!” the Orc said sharply. “You know,” he continued slowly, after a while, “after you - went - from Mordor, that first time, I haven’t really been with anyone else. Not properly.”

“Nobody?” Faramir was shocked. “In all that while?”

Shagrat seemed to reconsider briefly. “Well,” he said. “Not doing anything I would’ve wanted - or had much chance of putting a stop to, and I don’t reckon if it’s like that it should count. If you put it like that - apart from you, obviously - then there’s hardly ever been – well, anyone, really. So maybe that’s part of why I was so – you know, upset, before. To think even that little bit had gone to cock, as well.”

What the Orc had said spoke such dark volumes about what he considered to be his usual prospects that it brought Faramir up short again for a moment. “Oh, Shagrat,” he said sadly, and clutched his companion’s hands very tight.

At once the Uruk stiffened beside him in the dark and pulled himself away. “Here,” he snarled, “I’m not going to be having any of that.”

All in a moment the atmosphere between them had undergone a most definite change. Sure as he felt of Shagrat in general, for some reason Faramir recollected then that he was after all still in the presence of what most people would consider to be a dangerously unpredictable entity at best: a savage Orc out of Mordor, no less. He shifted uneasily, startled to find himself feeling vaguely apprehensive.

“You should take off some of that stuff you’re decked out in,” Shagrat announced suddenly, following this uncomfortable pause in their conversation. “I mean, it’d be better if you took some of your regalia and that, off.”

“I think I’d prefer to keep it on for the moment, actually,” Faramir said. In the formal outfit he was wearing he was indeed spectacularly overdressed, but there was something in the Orc’s tone that made him hesitate.

“You’d be far more comfortable, I should think,” Shagrat replied. And then: “we wouldn’t want to have anything happening to your posh togs, now would we?”

“Why on earth should anything happen to my clothes?” Faramir protested, thinking that even to his own ears he was sounding thoroughly absurd. “That is to say – we’re out of the wet, now. I mean, it’s perfectly safe, and dry in here already.”

“You should take off that fancy jacket at least. It looks heavy. And while you’re at it - why don’t you take your boots off, as well.”

There seemed to be no good reason not to comply, yet still Faramir hesitated, before removing his shoes first. Working by touch, he leant over to line them neatly together by the base of the seat opposite. His outer garment was cut something like a surcoat but had a much closer fit, especially across the shoulders and round the waist. This was a more difficult prospect, because as Shagrat said, it was weighed down with an embarrassing amount of embroidery - together with many superfluous swags of golden froggging that hung down and swung aggravatingly from each shoulder. The Prince’s coat was cut from a highly-decorated material so stiff and unyielding that to wear something made from it was not unlike being encased in a piece of heavy-duty carpet.

The topmost button in particular closed very tightly against Faramir’s throat and he had to arch his neck up, tilting his head back as he tried to unfasten it. As he did so, out of the darkness beside him there came a low rumble of appreciation.

“You looked well in that, tonight,” said Shagrat, but his tone was so dry that Faramir had no idea of whether he was speaking seriously or not. He turned automatically to look at his companion but of course, couldn’t see a thing.

“No, I mean it,” the Orc said. “You did, it suits you. I think I like you better with it off, though.”

Faramir pulled the jacket – out of which he had finally managed to wriggle – up to his chin and held it crumpled against his chest. “Are you – you’re not watching me while I undress, are you?” he asked, querulous, and feeling more than a little foolish.


“’Course I am,” the Orc replied. “Can’t see the colours though,” he added a moment later, “because when it’s dark like this all you see is grey and white.” As if that made everything all right! “Faramir,” he went on, “stop faffing about. Just sling it over there. But mind and leave your shirt and breeches on, eh?”

Of a sudden and despite the cold outside, Faramir felt both hot and terribly flustered. He half stood up from his seat beside Shagrat, ostensibly reaching over to stow his jacket out of the way. “I don’t suppose you’d care to have a little more light in here, would you?” he said.

The Prince could tell, even if he couldn’t see, that Shagrat was shaking his head in the dark.

“You did ask,” the Orc said, “and I think I like it better like this.” But then he pushed back a pair of the closed window drapes. It was really surprising how little difference this made inside. Outside the waning moon was still shining low in the sky, and a greyish cast to the gloom told Faramir that daybreak could not be far off. He could even make out a section of dimly-lit lawn as – well, a less-black patch through the window - but barely any light was able to filter its way in through the dense greenery that surrounded them.

While Faramir was on his feet Shagrat had moved behind him and was now fingering the sash that was tied around his companion’s waist. “And what’s this thing for?” he said.

“Decoration,” Faramir replied shortly. It had probably been a mistake for him to try and stand upright in the cramped and awkward space. “It’s called a sash, or cummerbund.”

“Cummerbund?” the Orc repeated, with quite unnecessary emphasis. Having already unwound a section from one end he spent a second or two tugging on the material, almost as if he was testing the strength of it. “Now, I wonder why they call it that?”

The Orc ran his paws along the smooth fabric as he spoke, then brought them stroking round Faramir’s flanks until they met together at the front. From there they dropped downwards and pressed into the Prince’s groin in a manner that was certainly suggestive, if completely lacking in subtlety. Faramir pulled away from the Uruk in irritation - and then staggered, as the abrupt change in weight distribution in the carriage made it lurch slightly on its axels. “Shagrat!” he snapped. “That’s enough!”

At that the Orc was on his feet behind him, quickly catching hold of Faramir as if to help him keep his balance. One long arm shot up to hold him tight across the chest and biceps, pinning his upper arms against his ribs and at the same time a strip of soft material – his sash, Faramir realized - went twisting about his wrists. In a swift movement Shagrat bent him forwards from the waist; suddenly; effortlessly; manoeuvring him rapidly and with unexpected assurance that it was impossible for Fararmir to resist. As he was pushed over and down his arms were yanked in front of him by the fabric around them and pulled away from his body, up to a point where they caught and held. Faramir realized that he had been bound by the wrists with a section of sash: his arms were stretched out from his body and were tied to something up above his head. Furiously he wrenched himself sideways from Shagrat, stumbling forwards in the dark, only to bang his forehead one or two small and faltering steps later on one of the large, elaborately-carved gilded bosses that hung down from the ceiling of the carriage. Sparking lights flared in the Prince’s vision as he ran his hands over the woodwork, clinging to it for balance. This was apparently the fixed point to which his wrists had been secured.

“Better watch yourself on that,” the Uruk told him, with all apparent sincerity.

“I don’t know what on earth you think you’re playing at,” Faramir said weakly. “But you should stop this nonsense at once, Shagrat. You’re behaving ridiculously.”

Between the protrusions of decorative woodwork there was enough headroom in the coach for Faramir to stand upright. He faltered backwards, trying to regain his seat, but soon found that although there was some play in the strip of cloth that Shagrat had looped about his wrists, even with his arms at full stretch the length of material left was not quite sufficient to allow him to reach the upholstered couch behind him. He subsided as far back as he was able and was dismayed to find himself sitting squarely in the sprawling Uruk’s lap – as must have been Shagrat’s intention all along.

Without further preamble, the Orc tore into Faramir’s shirt-tail with his claws, then ripped the fabric up and open across his back.

The Prince was aghast. “I thought you said that – I thought we’d both agreed that this kind of – of rough-housing - was going to be strictly off-limits!” he protested.

“Rough-housing? This?” the Uruk said slyly. “But there isn’t a mark on you. I haven’t laid a finger on you yet, have I?”

“’Yet’?” Faramir repeated, his voice a high-pitched squeak.

Shagrat huffed out a quick, amused snort. “I’m not going to, either. Not like that, at any rate.”

“Then why’ve you - what is the meaning of –“ Faramir leapt up again and pulled violently at the binding about his wrists, which to his surprise, held. He tugged even more forcefully for greater emphasis, hauled at the fabric, until he made the whole vehicle shake.

Faramir felt the carriage dip on its wheels and sway again as the Orc stood up and moved close in behind him. He laid one hand on the back of Faramir’s neck but scarcely gripped tightly at all; just allowed him to feel the weight of it resting there, warm and heavy. Then his thumb went into the tender hollow between the Prince’s collarbones and stroked or pushed itself into the space at the base of his throat, again using barely any pressure. The Uruk held Faramir firmly like that for a time, letting him test the wiry strength in his long arms - and eventually he stopped struggling. With his arms stretched in front of him and the Orc pressing down on his neck, Faramir’s shoulders soon began to ache. But the hard body bearing down on him felt utterly inflexible; these days Shagrat, Faramir realized with a sinking feeling, had more strength in him than he’d thought of giving him credit for.

As he stood there with the Orc lurking - somewhat menacingly - close behind him, Faramir had only time for a single flash of doubt regarding his position – a queasy moment during which he had to ask himself what on earth he’d gotten into, and was beginning to experience the first inklings of serious concern; that perhaps he was about to get what (some people might say) he deserved, for wilfully dallying with a Mordor Uruk. Then he reminded himself that after all it was only Shagrat he was worrying about.


“What is the meaning of this!” Faramir bellowed.

“Steady, Goldilocks,” the Orc hushed him immediately. “For all I know Azof and Ruskush might still be hanging about. You wouldn’t want to have them walking in on us like this, now would you?”

“You brought Azof and Rukush with you!” Faramir spluttered, beside himself at the very idea. “You brought them here? As well, I notice, as your little Hobbit friend too! Now I suppose you’re expecting me to welcome them one and all, are you? Well then! Whyever not?”

“I know we’ve talked about you having a bit of an eye for the big, burly Uruks,” Shagrat said slowly, after a moment, “but you don’t really want me to go and bring those two berks in here, do you?” His tone was neutral but suddenly Faramir realized it was a bona fide offer; that his companion was deadly serious and at a word from him Shagrat would have gone to get them: gone immediately, and no doubt put his own preferences aside.

Genuine offer or not however, he didn’t deign to acknowledge it - though Faramir could still have fought back, certainly. He could have flailed his bare feet against Shagrat’s armour-plated shins, or he could have stamped down on the Orc’s heavily booted foot. Yes, he could have tried and cut himself to pieces, in short. He tensed his muscles, waiting to see what the Uruk would do next.

At length Shagrat guided Faramir backwards and made him sit down on him again. He prised his knees up between Faramir’s thighs, and locking the Prince’s ankles against his own, spread his companion’s legs wide. Then the Orc’s left hand slipped down the front of Faramir’s breeches. After a moment the Prince quite forgot about whatever it was that had been worrying him. All was silent again for a time.

“You asked what the meaning of this is, and it’s just I’ve noticed that sometimes,” Shagrat said, close against Faramir’s ear, “well sometimes, your Highness, you like to be given a bit of direction.”

“You have? I mean, I do?”

“Don’t you?” The Orc’s fingers moved over him, stroking him slowly, caressingly.

“Possibly!” Faramir cried in spite of himself, after a time. “That’s - ah! I suppose it’s quite – possible.”

The Uruk grunted. “I’m afraid “quite possible”’s not going to be good enough to see you through tonight, Goldilocks.”

Shagrat had not released his earlier hold on Faramir and was still gripping him one-handed by the back of neck, keeping him in place; but it was with his other hand - the one that had take such an intimate hold on him - that the Orc was more effectively controlling him. To poor Faramir this all felt terribly familiar: Shagrat’s left hand had taken a loose, almost casual grip around his member and was tantalising him mercilessly: the stimulation kept the Prince aroused and erect, but was on its own not nearly sufficient; it was only just enough to soon become an unending - if rather pleasurable - kind of torment. If he tried to move against Shagrat’s hand the attention would immediately shift to his balls or the sensitive area behind them; if he made any attempt to redirect him from there the Uruk would lift his hand away entirely, replacing it only when Faramir’s erection showed signs of subsiding - after which he was of course so eager for the Orc’s touch that he would be hard for him again in an instant. It was clear to Faramir that strain as he might for a better, more satisfying type of contact, this was obviously for the moment to be withheld.

At the same time the Uruk’s mouth was roaming over the sides of his throat, his shoulders and his upper flanks, working over him with hard, biting, bruising kisses. Under this combined treatment Faramir was soon beside himself, but still the Orc continued relentlessly, going on for so long that at last the Prince heard himself choking out a series of quick and anguished sobs. His hair was in his eyes and despite the cold he was sweating, his knotted muscles were trembling, and he could focus his thoughts on nothing but the heat and sensations; most of all the shameful, disgraceful pleasure he had been brought to in darkness by an Orc. Oh yes, this was terribly familiar. This took Faramir back, all right.

“I’m a grown man, Shagrat!” The Prince gasped at length. He was very surprised by what the Uruk had done to him; by how easily he had been brought to the end of his tether, almost - but still he gathered what was left of his dignity about him. “I’m a grown man and I won’t be made to beg!”

Shagrat said nothing; simply released his hold on Faramir’s member and calmly tucked him back into his breeches, where his erection strained up and made a comical little tent of the cloth. In spite of himself, the Prince made a choking sound of distress in his throat and spoke without thinking:

“All right, Shagrat. Yes! I hadn’t thought of it in terms of ‘liking direction’, exactly, but since you put it like that, well then I suppose I must do. Damn you - yes!

This appeared to be what the Uruk had been waiting for. “Right, your Highness,” he told him decisively. “In that case - and as you once said to me - it’s time for you to show me what you like to do for yourself. Go on, then. Bring yourself off while I watch.”

Faramir felt his trousers being dragged back down around his thighs, and for a split second, was on the cusp of making some indignant reply. Then with barely a moment’s hesitation, he thought better of it and hurried to comply. The Prince thrust himself frantically in the direction of the Orc’s hand, which after a moment (as he found to his extreme dismay), was not waiting for him where he thought it would be.

He was utterly mortified and yet above all things found that most of all, he did not wish to disappoint Shagrat. The Prince quickly tried to explain:

“Shagrat, you’ve made me most awfully - excited. You know you have. And it isn’t that I don’t want to be able to – to complete myself, at your - command,” he told him, hurried words tumbling out in a rush. The highs and lows of his long evening; the unreasoning joy he’d felt when he saw Shagrat. Those strong emotions were all beginning to take their toll on Faramir and he realized to his dismay that he was not so very far from breaking into wretched tears. “But I don’t believe I can do it, not quite, yet,” he said. “Goodness knows I’d like to – want to, but I’m only human and I just - can’t.”

“Hold your horses, Goldilocks,” Shagrat rumbled, and from the tone of his voice Faramir could tell that the Orc was now definitely laughing at him in the dark. “You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself - I know you’re not ready to finish just yet. I’m getting you something to rub against, aren’t I?”

Shagrat shifted under him, moving his hips so that Faramir was sitting further back across his body. With clipped, jerky movements that belied his otherwise superbly nonchalant approach, the Uruk was working to loosen the opening in his breeches over his groin and he groaned a long sigh of relief as he eased himself free. It might have been Faramir’s imagination, but in the cold air of the carriage he would have sworn he could feel a gentle current of warmth radiating from Shagrat’s now-exposed cock.

“See if you want to - try yourself out - on that,” the Orc muttered, his voice rough; unsteady. With his hand round the base of his member he was holding himself ready, angling his erection upwards for Faramir.

They were in a mightily awkward position and Faramir found it difficult to aim properly at first. He soon found that by taking some of his weight on the binding round his arms a better range of lower body movement was possible, and with a little effort he was even able to move himself a short way up and down off Shagrat. For a heady moment Faramir rubbed himself onto anything and everything wildly, not caring whether he was making contact with the Uruk’s thigh, his balls or his stiffly impressive erection – not even caring if what he was trying to come off against was the upholstered cushion-top of the seat they were balancing on, in fact. After having his movements curtailed by the Orc for so long the mere prospect of thrusting his hips freely was enough to bring Faramir to the brink of an orgasm - but he made himself hold back.

Of course he held back because of Shagrat. As soon as he started moving, the Uruk’s hand snatched itself away from the back of his neck; instead, Shagrat had taken a frantic hold of the back of their seat - and Faramir could hear the decorative woodwork splintering under his claws as he gouged his fingers deeper and deeper in. And most uncharacteristically – for the Orc’s vocal style at such times tended not so much to being ‘quiet’ or ‘restrained’ as uncommunicative to the point of being barely even there – he was making soft, yet desperate sounds, evidently as he struggled for control – either of his pain or his arousal (for admittedly, when it came to Shagrat if was often difficult to tell which was which). Still, he sounded as if he might possibly have been enjoying it, and on balance Faramir chose to find this rather encouraging. He brought his cock down onto the Uruk’s member, moved the entire length of it in a slow, deliberately scathing stroke - and was rewarded by a prolonged, strangled sort of noise from his companion. Faramir smiled grimly. The Orc always kept such a tight rein on his responses that it was unusual in the extreme to get even a peep out of him, while he was engaged in sex. His reaction, then, had to count as some kind of success.

“This is what you had in mind, is it?” the Prince snarled out, through gritted teeth.

The Orc was quivering beneath him, his breathing ragged. Faramir repeated the movment that had so provoked him. He did it again, and again, ground himself against Shagrat. Occasionally he slid off him and had to start again; by now they were both so coated in sweat and other slippery bodily fluids that it took a great deal of concentration as well as effort to sustain any kind of useful rhythm. The Prince wondered for how long he might be able to carry on like this.

At last Faramir broke off and rested for a moment, chest heaving, hanging from his wrists. “Shagrat,” he said hoarsely. “Help me - deal with this, won’t you?”

The Orc obeyed immediately. Both his hands went clutching around Faramir’s member, pressing it close against his own erection - and the effect was startling. The stimulation he’d received from Shagrat previously had never risen above a low level, though it had gone on for such a long time, and even after Faramir was free to move for himself his pleasure had again, been limited - to the bottom or sides of his shaft. Now he found the sensation of warm flesh finally enclosing him, holding him properly at last, was wonderfully intense, almost too much to be borne. Faramir cried out to him as soon as he touched him, his climax coming on a split second before the Orc’s hands even started to move, and the screwing, twisting movements with which Shagrat slowly stroked and squeezed his cock prolonged the intense sensation; amplified it; wrung his pleasure out and out.

Faramir was shaking from head to foot by the time it was over, but realized, with a slight sinking feeling as he came back to himself, that he had allowed Shagrat to take the lead in what had gone between them, yet again.

But the Prince soon found he didn’t have to worry on that score. He leaned his thigh against his companion’s now-softening erection and the Orc rubbed back appreciatively; it seemed there was still pleasure for him in it, and he pressed himself onto Faramir, groaning softly.

“What happened, Shagrat?” Faramir said ruefully, addressing the Uruk (of necessity) over his shoulder. “I thought you were going to let me attend to – the mechanics, for once.”

“I haven’t been having a sly old wank or anything!” the Orc protested earnestly. “It’s only that when you had your – well, your moment. And when you went and called my name out like that. I just found that I was - having one, too. Couldn’t do a thing about it. Not that I wanted to,” he finished lamely. Now that it was over he seemed oddly sheepish.

Unwilling to meet Faramir’s eye, the Orc began unfastening the bindings from round his wrists. “Thought you’d’ve been able to get out of these no trouble,” he commented gruffly. “I reckoned that must mean you were going along with it.”

“I suppose I was, really,” Faramir sighed.

Shagrat nodded his head. “It was only granny-knots! I mean mostly - I’d barely time to rig up anything better. I’d’ve thought an Ithilien Ranger-type like you would’ve been out of that lot in a jiffy.”

Those granny knots, however, had tightened so much as to cut off most of the circulation in Faramir’s wrists, and his fingers were numb and stiff. Inside the carriage there was enough daylight by now for Faramir to be able to make out the finer details of the Uruk’s form, yet still working as if by touch, Shagrat guided his companion’s cold hands up to his face and warmed them with his breath, licking his fingers and nuzzling gently, coaxing the life back into them.

As the feeling returned to his hands, Faramir began tracing the rough pitted skin and tight ridges of scars on Shagrat’s face, stroking over the Orc’s craggy brows, his long, broken nose and the points of his teeth.

Shagrat stiffened at once, jerking his head away. “Here,” he said quickly, “that’s enough of that.”

That seemed the end of the quiet, tender moment between them, and Faramir rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation.

“Budge up then, there’s a good chap Shagrat,” he muttered, nudging his partner in the ribs to get him to make space for him on the bench. But although Faramir elbowed him aside companiably enough, the Uruk over-reacted spectacularly – and stifling a yowl, lunged a short way up into the air.

“Faramir!” he yelped. “Be a bit careful, all right? I’m still – tender, down there!

Now he came to think about it Faramir realized that Shagrat’s most recent injury had given him surprisingly little trouble during their recent – rather energetic – tryst; suspiciously little trouble, in fact. At once he found himself overtaken by vague sense of foreboding.

“What have you done to yourself, Shagrat?” he asked. “You haven’t been doing anything – foolish, have you?”

“No, no,” the Uruk said. “I was just a bit – wobbly, before, that’s all. So I took a swig of some stuff of Rukush’s to sort it. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“’Stuff’?” Faramir exclaimed. “What kind of ‘stuff’?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Shagrat replied weakly. “Just some stuff to take the edges off. Rukush said he got given it by this wizard when he lived up north – but he might well have been making that up. Whatever it was worked a treat, though. I barely even noticed in the heat of it, but now I suppose it must be wearing off.” He groaned softly, his hand on his side. “I think I might have done myself a mischief.”

“Shagrat! Were you really in that much pain?”

The Uruk shook his head. “It was only a little something to keep me going,” he explained. “Before I went in there I couldn’t tell which way things were going to turn out. Seeing you again, and all tha,t I mean. Even if it went well – well, then what you’d want to have me do afterwards. And if I was going to have to go on all night there was no way I could’ve done without. I had to take something to keep me at it, didn’t I?”

“And was it worth it?” Fararmir asked, appalled. “Just supposing – I mean, what if things hadn’t gone exactly as you’d hoped?”

“Well,” Shagrat said, with a lopsided grin, “if you wanted shot of me then I’d definitely’ve needed something to get me through it, wouldn’t I?”

Faramir pulled the Uruk into his arms, exasperatedly shaking his head.

“Look here, Shagrat,” he told him, “from here on there’ll be no more talk – or thought – of my ‘getting shot’ of you or sending you away or anything like that. I have you once again – finally - and this time, I certainly intend to keep you. And that includes keeping you in good health. Here,” he said, enfolding the Orc in a tight embrace, “rest on me, quietly, till you feel better. We shall take as long as you like.”

Faramir pressed his lips against the Orc’s face and his forehead, kissing him urgently, ardently, anywhere he could reach him. “Don’t you understand how much you mean to me?”

“Umph,” Shagrat grunted tiredly, but he relaxed against Faramir’s neck for a moment. Soon, however, he began shifting fretfully once again. “Hold on,” he was muttering, “there’s something here digging in me.” Working his fingers through the buttons of Faramir’s shirtfront, he caught hold of the offending item - which the Prince was wearing as a necklace - and pulled it free. Attached to the cord round Faramir’s neck was a slender piece of curved metal that had been stretched out into an elongated lyre-shape. It was a fire-steel, a fragile-looking little thing that was not even as long as the palm of the Orc’s hand.

“Nice piece of kit,” Shagrat commented absently, turning the piece of metal over in his fingers. “Old-fashioned now of course, but d’you remember back when these things were all the rage? I even had one a bit like that myself, once. Must’ve lost it years ago, but I don’t recall when I ever -” The Uruk broke off then, frowning.

“Wait a minute,” Shagrat exclaimed. On examining the object more closely he realized he recognized it, and also that he’d last seen it more than twenty years previously. “This is never the same one as I had, is it? It can’t be, can it?”

“You said I’d need a torch,’” Faramir interrupted, solemnly. “You told me I’d need more than one. And then you asked me if I’d anything to light them with –“

*******

It was during his escape from Mordor all those years ago. Faramir had paused on an injured Shagrat’s advice and was picking out a number of fire-brands to take with him, to light his way through the pass of Cirith Ungol. The fire-brackets were set high off the ground, more in a brawny Uruk’s long arm-reach than a young man’s, and Faramir had had to jump up repeatedly to try to dislodge them.

Shagrat, clammy with cold sweat and looking gaunt and hollow-eyed, was still propped up on the door against which he’d been pinned by the Cave Troll he’d been battling a few moments earlier. The many layers of bandage that Faramir had tied over the terrible
wound in his shoulder were soaking through with the Orc’s black blood already.

“You want to keep those torches till you get up top – right to the peak of that pass I told you about,” Shagrat advised, watching Faramir’s efforts. “You got a tinder-box, or any fire-making kit on you?”

Faramir shook his head and said he could easily make do.

“Best be on the safe side,” the Orc muttered to him. “You’d better take this. Here. Catch.” With his good arm he fumbled awkwardly in one of the pouches he carried at his waist then tossed a little bundle over into Faramir’s hands. Inside was a freshly cut flint striker, some dry tinder, and a delicately curved steel fire-striker, all wrapped together in a long loop of leather thong.

“Souviner from Mordor,” Shagrat said, baring his teeth to grin weakly at him. “Keepsake for you - or maybe better not. You can always chuck it once you’re home and dry, can’t you?”

Faramir turned away from the Uruk, not wanting Shagrat to see the deplorable weakness that was affecting him and making him wish, desperately, that he was able to do something – anything more - to help his enemy. At that point he felt – crazed impulse as it was - that he might even have taken the Orc with him if he could have. But there was no place for Shagrat’s kind outside Mordor and nor would there ever be, and so there was no use in considering that impossible idea. Forcing himself to focus his thoughts upon the subject of his escape Faramir asked:

“What sort of creature’s so afraid of firelight, Shagrat? Tell me what it is that’s guarding the pass.”

“Take it from me, Goldilocks, you’re better off not knowing,” Shagrat replied. His head nodded forward onto his chest, and he added faintly: “Keep your wits about you and I should think you’ll be all right now, though.”

********

“That frigging spider,” grumbled Shagrat, back in the present. “Did she make any trouble for you, in the end?”

“I’m very happy to say I saw neither hide nor hair of it,” Faramir said, “though I heard it was a great big one, by all accounts.”

“Ruddy enormous,” the Orc replied. “You’re still better off not knowing. If nothing else I thank my lucky stars I’ll never have to deal with that bloody thing ever again.”

“Something else I still have to make up to you.”

Shagrat cleared his throat uncomfortably. “So, you’ve been wearing this thing round your neck ever since, have you?” he asked. “How come I haven’t seen it before?”

“I’ve been wearing it on a string close to my heart,” Faramir corrected. “On and off, over the years.”

The Orc stared at him. “But why?”

“Why do you think?” the Prince answered. Then, to forestall the very obvious coming question, because Shagrat was nothing if not of an entirely literal bent, he added: “and before you ask, no. It wasn’t because I thought I might have cause to light a fire at short notice.”

“Wouldn’t be much use for that anyhow,” commented Shagrat, “not without the flint striker-bit, now would it?”

Faramir fished in the pocket of his breeches for a moment and withdrawing a small leather pouch, showed Shagrat the piece of flint he had with him. It was old and smooth, the outer edges of the stone having long-since worn away, and it had well-rubbed patches on it here and there, very much as if somebody had been in the habit of holding it and thumbing it in times of stress. Whoever had had the keeping of it must certainly have lived through prolonged and difficult times, because the whole surface was polished almost to a satiny gloss.

“I found it was quite invaluable to me during certain interviews with my deceased Father,” Faramir said.

“Blimey. You’ll keep a hold of all sorts, won’t you?”

“Things that are precious to me, yes.” Then, deciding it would be better to spell it out for him Faramir added: “And when I say ‘precious things’ here Shagrat, I mean ‘you.’”

The Uruk was silent for a while. “I didn’t have anything of yours left,” he admitted, “not after they – well. Anyway. But if I could have, if I’d thought of it, I might’ve done something like that too. Since I would’ve wanted to have – remembered and that, the same way as you. Because of the way I - I’ve always –“ but then he broke off, apparently unable to continue. “You – you know what I’m saying, don’t you?” he finished, lamely.

Faramir could tell without even looking at him, that the Orc was watching him earnestly, intently - searching for some sign of acceptance, or otherwise.

“Yes, Shagrat,” Faramir told him gently. He settled against the Uruk and closed his eyes. “Yes, I know what you’re saying. And you know that I feel – and I think I’ve always felt - the same way about you, too.”


TBC

A/N: I’m so grateful to everyone who’s kindly left reviews for this story over the, um, several years now it’s been a work in progress – what can I say, real life, which on balance hasn’t been nearly as fun as writing about Faramir and Shagrat- has, rather intrusively, been getting in the way of things of late. In any case, I’m happy to finally be able to report that this is very nearly the end of it, being well aware that having a work-in-progress for getting on for five years and counting is.....really a bit too long.