What Eyes Cannot See

The first smell that met her nostrils was the coppery tang of blood, a smell so strangely sweet that she inhaled twice, three times, even after she realized what it was. Through her mind went fleeting memories of long ago when, as a child, she had obsessively sucked on a cut finger or worried at a scab in order to see a small crimson pool lazily surge over skin nearly healed. With the perversity of children, unmarred flesh was never nearly as interesting as an injury, and delaying the healing process was only one of many forms of amusement.

She brought an unsteady hand to her forehead and felt the rough crust of a dried gash under her fingers. As her senses became more aware, pricked into consciousness and forced to assess her surroundings, she flinched in discomfort at her body's behest. Her face throbbed and she let her hand flutter over her features. Tingling pain was in the wake of every finger pressed tentatively against a suspected bruise or injury.

Searing heat. She remembered that. A roaring inferno above her while carnage raged mindlessly about. Her hands flew along her body and as they encountered nothing but shreds of fabric, torn and scorched by the cinders that had fallen upon her like lethal snowflakes, she realized she had survived. Miraculously survived.

Scent and touch had not failed her, so she ventured to test her sight. It had been so dark, she had wondered if in her confusion she had forgotten the simple task of opening her eyes. No place could be as dark as this, unless it was at the bottom of a well on a cloudy night.

Yet when she blinked and made a conscious effort to peer into the darkness, she could see nothing. All was black, a shroud that enveloped her with no comfort.

If she could not see her surroundings, she would feel them, and with this in mind she stretched her arms out to their full extent in front of her and to each side. Her back was pressed against unyielding stone, damp and chill through the thin, tattered fabric of her shirt. A dank aroma joined the smell of blood and she brought a hand to her nose, only to discover that her forehead was not the only place where blood had flowed. She recalled a falling beam striking her, but could summon no further memories of what had happened afterwards. Through some manner not of her own doing, she had traveled from the floor of her burning cottage on the far Westemnet to here, wherever here was.

She could not even say with any certainty what had attacked her village. The confusion had struck so quickly and thoroughly, taking her and many others off-guard. Before she could react to an alarm rising from one end of the settlement to the other, a flaming missile struck the thatch roof the lodge, sending her to the ground in a daze, then oblivion.

Obviously she was now in the hands of the enemy, but as to who it was, she could not imagine. The Dunlendings? Possibly, though their belligerence had never been so deadly as this.

Any further thoughts were halted when, she swore, her ears detected movement other than hers.

" Rohrstan?" she called out, nearly choking as this first word from a parched throat came reluctantly and with great pain. Rohrstan had been the last person she had seen, fleeing past her window, face contorted in abject fear as he yelled something about invaders. It had been as much of a shock to hear of invasion as it had been to see the quiet tanner so petrified. That he would actually be here was too much of a coincidence, she knew, but speaking the name of one familiar was a balm in these strange surroundings.

"It's Gurnild," she continued. Then she paused. The silence lengthened, her heart beating wildly in her breast, faster and faster it hammered out the seconds and the space between them. "Speak to me, whoever is there!" she cried in desperation. "I am Gurnild! Please tell me where I am!"

" Gur … nild."

She froze at the sound of a guttural voice issuing from a short distance away. There was no echo from the voice, which suggested the room she was in was small. If only she could see!

But the voice kept her still, stayed her from venturing beyond her huddled position against the wall. Her invisible companion said nothing else apart from her name and Gurnild felt even greater fear seize her, gripping every nerve and fiber of her being and squeezing it so relentlessly that she was torn between mute helplessness and raging hysteria.

Hours passed, or what felt like hours. The chill emanating from the stone drove ever deeper into her, but she would not remove herself from it. In this crook between wall and floor she would stay, receiving from it what security she could. While she remained motionless, she heard periodic shifts and exhalations and she thought that each one seemed closer than the previous. Is it waiting for me to fall asleep? she thought. I have not made a sound, and in this horrible darkness how could one tell if I slept or not?

But if he can wait, then so can I.

With that, Gurnild let her head roll to the side in his direction and her eyes, blind as anyone's would be in such circumstances, began their long vigil.

---

He waited, crouched on all fours in the center of the dark, subterranean pit. The sounds of the forges, where hundreds of cringing creatures labored endlessly with no sense of night or day, were only faint murmurs to his acute hearing. The tall, white-robed master in the tower kept his creations separate, the steel meeting the flesh and blood of its bearers only after a suitable time apart. And even when the living creations had already joined in that alliance known only to warriors – that of an iron hilt in a steady hand – they were oftentimes removed back to the place of their origin, to have sport such as this. It was what Sharkey wished, and Uglúk could not deny he always looked forward to such pleasures. What happened to the pale and fragile morsels after he had played with them for a spell he neither knew nor cared. But there always seemed to be more of his kind emerging from this labyrinth of pits and tunnels, and perhaps these playthings had a part in it. He could not imagine Sharkey would waste his time on things with no purpose, and it was not within Uglúk's nature to disappoint his master.

So he had shown no reluctance when bidden to enter this pit or one of countless others, lit by only one torch and barred by a door he knew would swing open for him in a short time, just as it always had. It was nothing he hadn't done many times before. Yet…

Yet this plaything was different. Though she was unconscious when he had arrived, he decided to delay his pleasure, anticipating the delicious smell of panic that would fill the air when she woke to discover what she would wish to escape from but could not.

Then her eyes had opened and, rather than reacting as every previous raggedy strawhead had, she had instead gone about an assessment of her injuries, touching bloodied gashes and bruised flesh, the scent of which had already begun to whet his desire. Eventually he had been compelled to creep closer, only to have this motion detected by the captive.

Her head had whipped up at the sound and her eyes looked fully upon him, but the fear he was certain would now finally appear did not possess her gaze. Confusion and uncertainty, yes; but no emotions he expected to see.

It took him only brief moments to realize that even though she was looking at him, she could not see him. The light from the torch illuminated the entirety of the small cell and everything about her was visible to him. Lank, blond hair was streaked with soot and several hanks had been braided and tied with thin leather strips. Her skin was marred in many places, and the torn state of her garments showed him enticing expanses of thighs fit for his grip and a pleasing series of curves and bulges that would be a joy to crush beneath him. He could see her wonderfully well, but her own eyes had failed her.

This intrigued Uglúk and when the creature's panic broke and she cried out, her arms reaching out again wildly, he felt a stirring in his body. It was not the snarling lust for blood in his belly, and the growling desire to plunder captive flesh found itself reluctantly leashed. It was a pang that struck once, the echo lingering to flow throughout him, its sound one he had never heard before. It warned him to proceed carefully and go about this in a different manner.

He crawled closer, softly and slow, and from his throat came the word she had repeated. It had sounded lovely coming from her lips, the first sound as rocky as anything spoken in his own tongue, and the second a sweet lilt in a sleeve of steel. " Gur-nild…"

That had struck her dumb and immobile, pushing her to try to retreat into the wall itself. Then she had turned towards him, her eyes looking so fully into his own that he wondered if she could actually see, but he saw more determination than ability.

The eyelids drooped as one, two hours passed. He had never watched one of these pale things succumb to its own exhaustion and it pricked his curiosity. Her breaths had been irregular, some caught sharply in the midst of a shiver, but as time went on, they became more regular and shallow.

And so he crept closer, hand and knee pressing purposefully against the packed dirt floor. He felt every muscle straining, an instinct imploring him to leap forward and simply take her as he had the others, but he only slowed his movements more deliberately.

He had drawn up to her, the warm breath from between her lips grazing his skin. He arched his neck upwards and inhaled, a slow and deep expansion of his chest that became filled with every scent that clung to her. He could smell soot, blistered skin, sweat, blood, and some sweet aroma that all of these creatures had possessed. It was nothing he had ever smelled among others of his kind, or among the scabrous orcs that scurried about, or even among those wild-haired barbarian men from the rocky lands.

His hand reached out to a lock of hair that had fallen over her cheek and he let the strands run through his fingers. Even though it was somewhat matted it still felt softer than anything he had ever touched. His gaze shifted downward and studied the twin mounds of flesh that were partly exposed by her ragged garment. He was about to let his hand fall from her hair to them when he heard scuffling outside the barred iron door and a high-pitched sneer split the silence that had descended upon the cell.

"Are you done?" it asked. "It's been long enough!"

Uglúk saw the woman's eyes fly open at this sudden disturbance, a strangled gasp supplanting the peaceful breathing of only a second before. He growled in frustration and anger, not thinking that it might only alarm her further. A stray arm caught him on the side of the head as she tried to propel herself backwards. In fury as blind as her vision, he leaped to his feet and strode over to the door. Before the orc could react, Uglúk thrust his arm through the bars and seized the orc's throat in a crushing grip, holding him aloft and shaking him.

The orc's hands flew to his fist and tried to beat it open, but Uglúk's grip did not slacken. Only when he heard the shuddering sounds of fear and cold from behind him did he pause in his torment of the unfortunate guard. Drawing the mottled face close to the bars, he leaned towards him and growled, " Lir'm." Opening his fist, he let the orc fall back to the ground and watched him stagger backwards, gasping for breath.

When he had recovered, he looked up at Uglúk in suspicious disbelief. "What do you want that for?"

" Srinkh-gû !"

"I'll get it, I'll get it," the orc whined, scurrying down the corridor.

Though Uglúk would have been helpless to further punish the orc if he had not returned, the creature had been sufficiently intimidated so that he soon returned with the item in hand. He frantically shoved it into Uglúk's outstretched hand and ran back down the dank path.

Uglúk pulled the thick, furry hide through the cell bars and sniffed it. It wasn't too worn and filthy, and the hair was softer than what was often the case with those mangy dogs. Whichever Warg had produced this was not killed too long ago, and was now serving a more useful service at the moment than it had ever done. A large creature it had been, too; holding it out before him, it would wrap around him easily with more to spare.

He walked back to the captive, who had now found a corner in the cell and was pressed into it as tightly as she could manage. Her head twisted one way, then another, in her continuing quest to glimpse something. Anything.

He dropped to his knees before her and let the fur fall loose in his hands. As he was draping it around the front of her, her hands reached out to touch it and he saw the corners of her mouth turn upward. Her lips parted and an exclamation devoid of her former hysteria met his ears. As with the other word, he repeated it. That only seemed to increase her pleased mood and her hands slid further over the hide, as though overjoyed at its presence.

When her fingers found the edge of the hide where he still gripped it, they paused only briefly before continuing onward. Uglúk decided she thought he had nothing to do with her captivity, having brought her this comforting item. He remained motionless as her hands ran over the rigid points of his knuckles and along his forearms. She stopped as her fingers encountered thick cords of muscles twitching beneath his leathery skin. Murmured words of surprise accompanied this inspection before she resumed, the wake of her unintentional caresses roiling up the desire that had, until now, been intentionally reined.

---

"How could such a strong warrior be captured?" Gurnild exclaimed, the arms beneath her hands the mightiest she had ever known. Even in this unyielding darkness she could see how powerful this man was. What race could he possibly spring from? That he had not spoken to her beyond simple repetition told her that he was not from Rohan. No tales from her childhood had ever described men such as this. From these fumblings, she decided that it would be a small task for this man to bring an ox to its knees by bare hands alone. And the skin… So thick. Would arrows be able to pierce it? Only a tight, expert draw of the bow could deliver a lethal hit.

Up over solid, bulging biceps her hands traveled, but when the bare skin continued over his shoulders and chest with no clothes hindering her exploration, she flushed and snapped her hands away. From the man's throat came a satisfied sound she knew all too well. She flushed deeper and felt her entire body become covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

Her heart, which had begun to thump faster at the blatantly desirous grunt from her companion, now hammered wildly in her chest as she felt him loom closer, his breath brushing the hair that fell over her ear. She gave a sharp gasp as the wet and gentle tip of a tongue nestled in the hollow beneath her ear and trailed slowly along the underside of her jaw to her chin.

She sensed him in disjointed ways, her mind wishing she could see it all connected. To her ears came the scraping of his fingers against the stone wall above her head as he braced himself to hover before her so steadily. Her nostrils no longer smelled blood, but were instead filled by the man's scent, so powerful and sharp that it almost burned. And every inch of her skin felt the sensuous sweep of his tongue as it slid down the fevered flesh of her throat, the soft caress punctuated by a low and lingering growl and a short nip at the tender skin above her collarbone.

The fur hide that was bunched around her was shoved aside and she felt those huge arms encircle her, pulling her forward and away from the protection of the wall. Another sweep of his hand removed the final, tattered remains of her charred shirt. She had neither time to tense nor protest before that unseen tongue once again met her flesh, and then she had no will to pursue either.

Her seducer's tongue fastidiously resumed its path at her collarbone and traveled downward, the perspiration attentively and willingly consumed. The underside of each breast was not neglected, the tender skin of each receiving a nip or two akin to the one enjoyed by her throat. Before she could recover from this, she felt a hand run along her thigh, gathering up the fabric. Slowly and insistently he pulled it downwards until her position against him made customary disposal difficult. Then it was sacrificed to impatience and the cell resounded with a violent rip.

She did not have long to shiver in her naked state. In one swift motion he gathered her completely against him and swung her over to deposit her on the thick, furry hide, much as one would an infant. And so did she feel. Gurnild didn't think she had ever felt so small in her entire life, not even when she was a child running about the endless, grassy plains of the Westemnet with mountains rising into the clouds everywhere she looked.

Though they had not spoken for a long time, and the barrier of wordsseparated them, she could not help but demand breathlessly, "Tell me your name."

That he did not respond with a spoken word mattered little when this… force settled over her with as much sensation as the fur beneath. She could not see the large shape that loomed over her entire body, but she felt it. She felt its readiness to take her, that being how he would tell her who he was. Closer and closer he came, the full weight never laying on her completely. Her legs were pinned on either side by his knees and thighs that felt as large as the trunks of small trees. His arms had her torso in an embrace that showed no willingness of releasing her. Even now, she was feeling utterly possessed.

With effort she wrapped her arms around him, her fingers digging into the rigid muscle of his back, seeking some hold on him. He was the only comfort in this cell. A fur was only soothing if the mind of its occupant wished it so, but this living and breathing soul was in the same bind as she. They could only become stronger by sharing that strength.

She let one of her hands slide up his back and over his neck, thickset into his shoulders, and her fingers dove into coarse, long hair reminiscent of a horse's mane. It seemed only right, for he was as beautiful and mighty as the legendary white stallion of the plains himself.

Against her wet and waiting folds she felt his straining member. In desperation she arched against it and him, bending her legs and clasping them around his waist. In one swift thrust, he sheathed himself fully within her and she nearly felt her gorge rise at the depth and breadth of the penetration. With mingled cries of pain and mindless ecstasy, she clung to him ferociously as he possessed her the way she knew he would. Again and again he returned to her, each thrust preceded by a near total withdrawal, each thrust a demand to be accepted deeper and wider than the last. And this she gladly strove to do.

Nails sank into flesh, both hard and soft, and, seeking to touch him in yet another way, Gurnild arched her neck and clumsily let her mouth run along any pungent and potent skin that met her lips. Just as he had done, she nipped and bit when the urge seized her, and she smiled at the answering groans, growls, and deeper thrusts that it provoked. Yet there was one thing she had not done that she wished to do. His nose brushed her cheek and she quickly turned her head. Her mouth closed over his and she thrust her tongue against his in a probing kiss.

Her eyes flew wide open when teeth sharper than any a man could possess grazed along her tongue. Against her skin she had not noticed them, but there was no mistaking their lethal ability now. The grunts that sang from his throat into her mouth now seemed to her ears as nothing but animal-like, and no man could ever smell like he did. How could hair such as had run through her fingers have ever struck her as belonging to anything human?

She wanted to scream from fear, trapped as she was beneath this beast, and so she did, but it came out as horribly strangled. For building within her was a wave of such intense and unknown pleasure, begging to be acknowledged as such, that she gave voice to that as well.

And Saruman's breeding cell echoed with that scream, sharp with fear and mated with passion she was both horrified and relieved to express.

So she clung to him as tightly as would the most devoted of lovers until she felt her throbbing insides awash with the creature's release.

---

He had seen her eyes, suddenly wide and full with realization of her true predicament and what was plundering her, as though all her other senses had at last combined to give her what she had lacked. She voiced her fear with a cry that spurred him on, for it was such a scream that called on his nature to revel in the pain of his prey.

A surprise to him was that she did not try to escape, but only held herself more closely, and the cries from her throat spoke of a more urgent need, something that took precedence over fear. When he came, her response was to buck against him, as though seeking to take all he could give.

Uglúk thrust one final time, growling in fierce contentment. It felt like the captive had grown claws of her own, for he felt slight pricks of pain across his back and his waist and hips were locked in the vise of her thighs. He did not wish to move. Not yet. Not when it felt so good to remain sheathed in such warmth.

Sweat was clinging to her, much as she had done – was still doing – to him. The scent stirred him and he rubbed his face gently against hers, licking at a bead or one of the salty trails that ran along her cheeks. This one had been the sweetest ever given to him and he regretted it would be taken away so soon.

What was it she had done? he asked himself. What had she tried to do when I was apparently revealed to her mind's eye? His nose brushed against hers and beneath his lips he felt enticingly soft skin, full and sweet. Ah yes…

A scared moan was smothered as he covered her mouth with his own and penetrated her yet again. She began to struggle in her pinned position, actions that he quelled with a few slow pumps of his hips. They could see each other now, and that would make this next mating all the more interesting.

With one hand, he grabbed the edge of the fur and pulled it over them. Now they seemed completely together – and apart from the outermost prison that surrounded them.


END

Translations (taken from some Orc rpg site, tweaked a bit, and totally not Tolkien, but I'm lazy) :

lir'm – fur, hide
" Srinkh-gû!" – "Get it!"