The Two Captains

Author's note and warning: this is not a very nice story and I’m sorry to say that nothing good happens to our hero* during any of it. I’m not sure how much sense it’ll make if you haven’t read at least one of the previous two parts though.

The Two Captains

Gorbag liked a project, and like all Orcs he’d always been something of a fixer-upper. Take the breast-plate he was wearing, for example. That started life as part of an inlaid leather saddle that he’d acquired during one of his earliest battles out against the Enemy. A yearling Warg-whelp had brought the Elvish war-horse that was wearing it down, but then he’d jumped in to slash open the rider’s throat himself, and that to Gorbag’s way of thinking meant that he was rightly entitled to first dibs on the booty. The Warg helping him hadn’t seen sense at the time however and had proceeded to eat the pommel, stirrups and half the panel-flaps too (metal parts and everything!) before Gorbag’d managed to make it stop. But he’d salvaged the remaining bits of tack, taken them with him and lo and behold! A bit of fixing later, and he’d made a fine piece of Orcish armour to be proud of. ‘Make do and mend,’ that was Gorbag’s maxim. (And as if to prove it, he’d even made himself a warming blanket from the pelt of the Warg-pup he killed, and he used it through the winter till come spring, all the hair fell out.)

Gorbag did fancy himself as a fixer-upper – that much was sure. But while he counted himself as more talented at this than most, when he came to consider the heaving heap of Urukish refuse that was slumped over in the corner of Gorbag’s billet, currently puking his guts out, he began to wonder if this time, maybe he hadn’t bitten off a little more than even he could chew.

It all started innocuously enough. Gorbag had had a rare afternoon off, and was filling in his time by taking a tour of the main garrison’s penitentiary. The head Jailor was an old mate of Gorbag’s, and had promised him an exclusive look at that month’s fresh intake of prisoners.

There was a large male Orc, probably big enough to be a proper Mordor Uruk, in one of the first cells they stopped to view. He was a sorry sight; stooped down on himself and covered in filth; long grey hair plastered all over one side of his face, but right away Gorbag had a definite hunch he recognized him.

“Wait a minute. I think I know that feller,” he said. “Can’t we ‘ave a closer look?”

The jailor-Orc shook his head doubtfully. “Don’t know about that, mate. There’s something far wrong with that ‘un, ‘innit?”

“Go on?” Gorbag prompted interestedly.

“Well - ‘ee’s bonkers for starters, in‘ee?” the Jailor said, shaking his head. “They only brung him out the Black Fortress the other day, and there’s no telling how long he were held there. Had to tie ‘im down when the field surgeon came, and there ain’t no-one dared go near him since. Raving, he’s been. Proper fierce.”

“Field surgeon’s been ter see ‘im?” exclaimed Gorbag.

The Jailor nodded. “Official directive. Came right from an especial VIP. One of the highest-ups. We know bettern’ to question that stuff.”

Orcish experiences in first aid generally began and ended as an exercise in do-it-yourself. It was so unusual for one their kind to be tended by a professional medic that Gorbag was prompted to ask: “So what’s to do with this geezer? One of the Big Bosses’ favourites, or what?”

The other Orc snorted. “Nothing like. Ee’s only some washed-out old Uruk used-to-be, that’s all. But ‘ee was a rankin’ officer – a Captain, same as you, Gorbag. Just goes to show, dunnit?”

“What’s he getting special treatment for then? And he’s quiet enough for the present, isn’t he?” urged Gorbag. “Why’n’t we take a quick look?”

”Nah. S’more’n my job’s worth, mate. And as fer ‘special treatment’ that un’s been through it, all right. You should see the state of ‘im, underneath.”

“Underneath what? Looks starkers to me.”

The Jailor grunted non-committaly. “I’ll leave that to your imagination, all right?” he said. “They wasn’t exactly feeding him any well-balanced diet when he was down in the Pit. Too much spikin’ of ‘is Orc-draught as ‘ad what you might call a lasting effect.”

“You ain’t telling me –“ Gorbag began, with a lecherous grin.

“Yep. It’s ‘is meat and two veg, mate, his meat and two veg.”

That decided things. “I’ve gotta to see it,” Gorbag said. Shrugging his sloping shoulders, his companion let him in.

It was definitely Shagrat. Gorbag was sure he’d have recognised that long, lanky bastard anywhere, but there was something badly wrong with him. They’d never exactly been on first-name-terms, but when Gorbag had been acquainted with – or rather knew of him before, old Shaggers’d burned with ferocity and vigour and, to put not too fine a point on it, a passionate and all-consuming hatred of – basically everything – that’d impressed Gorbag no end, and had been integral parts of the big Orc’s personality. He wasn’t anything like that now, though. Just then he looked as if he’d had all the life sucked out of him.

The Uruk was staring straight ahead: v glassy-eyed, looking vacant. He did not seem to be aware of Gorbag, or the Jailor’s presence at all; he was well out of it, all right. Gorbag shoved his shoulder firmly, then jumped clear. The Uruk rocked back until his balance-point shifted, and then stayed on his side where he’d been pushed, still not responding. Looking down at him Gorbag was immediately aware of the problem. It was, as the jailor said, trouble centring on his family jewels. Shagrat looked anything but sexually excited but his cock was standing up stiff and erect and his knackers looked sore and were swollen too. There was quite a runnel of dried and drying semen, most probably Shagrat’s, coating the sides of the shaft and sticking to his thighs and groin. He stank of it; of stale urine and old blood and come.

“Even if ‘ee shoots his load ‘is old man stays like rock ‘ard like that,” the Jailor explained.

Gorbag wondered for a moment how it’d feel to be stuck that way. Though he couldn’t see it as being anything other than – bloody awful – salacious thoughts soon got the better of him. “Bleedin’ ‘eck!” the Orc exclaimed. “Think of the fun you could ‘ave! Is ‘ee up for it much then?”

“In a manner a’ speaking, an’ as you c’n see Gorbag, this un’s always ‘up fer it’. Does whatever ‘ee’s told, too. Most accommodating.”

Gorbag cackled loudly at that. “You’ve tried ‘im out yourself, then?”

The Jailor looked uncomfortable. “’Ee will do what you says,” he admitted slowly, “much depending on the way of askin’ when you tells ‘im. But it ain’t all you’d think ee’d be cracked up ter be.”

“Tries to put up a fight, eh? Looks too far gone already, f’you ask me.”

“S’not just – that. There’s something not right about him. Try givin’ ‘im one. You’ll soon see what I’m on about.”

The first part was easy, the way Shaggers was lying. Gorbag removed his belt, and stepping round behind the torpid Uruk used it to strap his hands together behind his back. He still did not react, but there was no sense in taking chances. Even though he hadn’t moved so much as you’d notice, Shaggers had kind of sagged down again and it was hiding his unfortunate affliction from view.

For ease of access Gorbag tried to heave him over, but found he couldn’t budge the Uruk an inch. “Come an give us an ‘and wiv ‘im then!” he called impatiently.

Shaking his head the Jailor said - “Nah, mate. I ain’t getting’ any nearer to it than this. You go on – give it some welly!”

Putting his back into the effort Gorbag managed to lever Shagrat - the useless dead-weight - up so he went over onto his back. Though he was stark bollock naked, because of the way he’d been lying Gorbag hadn’t been able to get a look at his left shoulder before. “Fer fucksakes!” he cried, on noticing the barely-healed injury there for the first time. The shoulder – most of his left side in fact, was a truly horrendous mess. The flesh had been putrefying – it was still easy enough to smell that – but now the whole lot was roiling and knitting itself back together practically in front of Gorbag’s eyes.

“Field surgeon never done that?” Gorbag exclaimed.

“Well, ‘ee did ‘ave – ‘elp,” the Jailor confirmed, looking scared. He wouldn’t give Gorbag any further details, but that, together with the state Shagrat was in told Gorbag about all he needed to know about the kind of ‘help’ his companion was talking about.

Gorbag whistled through his teeth. Shaggers must’ve been well on his way out, given the size and extent of the damaged area. They’d left his shoulder rotting open - prob’ly let him get within a hairsbreadth of death’s door because of it – but then Someone changed their mind and simply had the poor bleeder pulled back. After the fact they’d heaped witchcraft and leech-craft onto the problem to make it go away and no wonder that – following on from whatever they’d been putting him through down in the Pit - had done the sorry blighter’s head in, because his healing wounds reeked of wickedness and dark enchantments; the whole lot was practically shimmering under the influence it. This was a Nazgul’s handiwork, all right.

The sudden thought that whatever heavy-duty black magic had been practiced on Shaggers might still be hanging around, ready to corrupt anyone nearby, made Gorbag jump back from the Uruk as if he might be contagious.

“You see wot I mean?” the Jailor nodded. “Gave me the willies too – I don’t mind admittin’ it.”

“That lanky streak of Uruk-piss don’t frighten me,” Gorbag replied defiantly. “Specially not when it’s in this wretched state.”

To prove this Gorbag moved closer and ran his fingers lasciviously up and down the Uruk’s rigid cock, then probed the tip of one sharpened claw into the open slit at the top, pushing it in as far as it would go. That got a response all right. Shagrat jerked wildly and tried to roll free, but Gorbag was gripping him tightly across his thighs and rode him till he stopped struggling.

“Stop ‘ere n’amuse yerself if you like,” said the Jailor, watching Gorbag’s actions without comment, and he threw his bunch of keys over to him. “Why not see if you c’n make ‘im toss - that's good fer a laugh - but I’ll ‘ave to leave you to it. Got me rounds to do. Just be sure an’ lock the door when ye’v finished, all right?”

Gorbag nodded his agreement then turned his attention back to Shagrat, who in due course, ejaculated. He didn’t seem to experience much of an orgasm around it and though he groaned and shuddered quite a bit as the come dribbled out of him it didn’t exactly sound like relief. The stuff was overly viscous, and to Gorbag, it felt scalding hot. Absentmindedly he wiped the sticky strands off his hand onto Shagger’s flank, noting as he did so that the Uruk’s cock was still upstanding - straight and rampant, just as the Jailor said it would be.

Orcish life didn’t have much room for introspection and Gorbag never thought much about why he did the things he did. If he’d stopped to consider what he’d just done he’d have probably said it was because Shaggers was incapacitated, and he’d never had a chance to bring an Uruk off like that before. But he’d enjoyed playing with him, and was now intrigued.

After that Gorbag soon cut a deal with his pal the Jailor. Whatever it was that Shaggers’d’ been up to, he’d served enough jail-time by then to have paid his debt to Mordain society and be on a fairly clean slate again - more-or-less. Given his pitiable condition, his current detainment was basically an arrangement of convenience; though released from prison he had been stripped of his former military status and had nowhere else to go. In light of that Gorbag pulled rank and managed to arrange to have him delivered into his custody, under house-arrest in his own personal quarters. That more-or-less brought them up to the point they found themselves at now.

Following a certain amount of um-ing and ah-ing, Gorbag decided that endlessly diverting though a priapic Uruk could be, his primary plans for Shagrat were practical ones and therefore those turgid cock and balls would get in the way. A cursory examination told Gorbag that whatever aphrodisiac they’d been putting in Shagrat must have rooted itself inside his belly, for his abdomen was dark and discoloured and felt exceedingly hard to the touch. So he treated the problem of prolonged exposure to magical toxins exactly as he would a normal case of gut-ache, and dosed the poisoned Uruk with a generous shot of home-made purgative accordingly. It was an evil-smelling concoction, one that in Gorbag’s experience, had never failed to give results.

And Shagrat was no exception to this. Out of it or not, he tried to hold his mouth closed at first, but Gorbag cut his breath off and managed to force almost the full draught down his throat. After that the effects kicked in almost immediately, and though he hadn’t quite started sweating blood yet, it looked to be a pretty near thing. Right away the noxious stuff that was in him started exiting Shaggers’ body ‘most every place it could: Gorbag could distinctly smell the foetid reek of it in his sweat, and while it was oozing through the Uruk’s skin and a bit was even weeping from his eyes and out his nose, he seemed to be sicking most of it away. He’d been throwing his guts up for what seemed like hours already, and there was no sign he’d be stopping soon. Pacing back and forwards irritably, Gorbag eyed the retching, trembling wreck with disgust. If he hadn’t known how Shagrat had dragged himself up by his bootstraps the first time, at this point he’d definitely have cut his losses and given this up as a bad job.

But Shaggers had pulled off quite the reversal of fortune once before, and even if the details of his early life didn’t exactly tell a tale of the most uplifting of journeys, in terms of rank and position he’d undeniably done well for himself. He’d risen to the rank of commanding officer and earned himself the most fearsome of reputations while he was about it - all from a start that was easily as unpromising as this one.

So, what Gorbag wanted was Shagrat back on form and powerful, just like he had been in the old days, only this time with one important difference: this time he’d be beholden to Gorbag and know it so thoroughly that no matter what else was going on in that brain-addled head of his, he’d never be able to forget it. Uruks of Shagrat’s type were definitely a cut above average, run-of-the-mill Orcs of Gorbag’s calibre in Mordor’s pecking order and there was only so far that someone like Gorbag, on his own, could go. But with an Uruk-hai as his ally – especially one as savage as the notorious Captain Shagrat, well, he reckoned there’d be no holding him back. What Gorbag didn’t at this point stop to consider – and it was a mistake he’d live to regret – was Shagrat’s complete lack of military ambition: the fact that as soon as he secured a posting that suited his reclusive nature and solitary habits, he'd done everything he could to simply stay put. Though he’d been up in Cirtih Ungol for as long as anyone could remember, it never occurred to Gorbag that Shaggers’ failure to progress in his career might well have been deliberate.

At first, despite the Jailor’s warnings, Shagrat was docile for the most part. But one time a few days in – and Gorbag was never sure what’d brought it on – he jumped up yowling like a scalded cat , and clawed himself and a bunch of Gorbag’s possessions almost to flinders in the approximately two minutes he was running amok. But the weird thing was the drama stopped as suddenly and for as little apparent reason as it started. Just at the moment when he’d been working himself up into the most towering, raving rage – it’d stopped dead, simple as. After that Gorbag made sure Shaggers’ hands were tied fast at all times, since it would never do to have the mad bastard turning on his benefactor like that.

Speaking to the Uruk wasn’t the most edifying of occupations because in those early days, he wouldn’t answer back. But slowly, ever so slowly, the hollow, haunted look started going out his eyes from time to time and when that happened he’d reply to direct questions with the occasional, mumbled word. He’d been silent so long by then that Gorbag counted the first time he strung a sentence together as practically a red letter day, but even so, he wasn’t able to give Gorbag any information on the subject he’d been most curious about:

“What’d you actually get done for, then?”

“’Done for’?” Shagrat repeated hesitantly.

“Yeah, ye’v been banged up,” Gorbag said. “din’ you know it? I’m askin’ what it was you done ter get sent down?”

It soon became clear that the Uruk didn’t even realize he’d been in prison at that point and so it was up to Gorbag to do some asking around, find out what had happened, and then get back to him.

“Conduct unbecoming’ in an officer what culminated in a treasonable h’offence,” he informed Shagrat.

“Treason?” the Uruk echoed. “Wouldn’t I’d’ve remembered that?”

“Something to do wiv’ some Tark, wasn’t it?” Gorbag asked eagerly. “They say you caught ‘im right enough, but then only gawn an’ let the bugger walk free! Got clean away, ‘ee did.”

“A Tark?” Shagrat exclaimed. He puzzled over the information Gorbag had given him and after a moment sighed sorrowfully, in recollection. “Oh,” he muttered, “that. That’s fair enough. I suppose treason’s about right.”

Though he’d been no use at all when it came to spilling the juicy details about his crimes, he was slightly more forthcoming on the subject of his recent incarceration – but even then, getting him to say anything coherent about it was still like pulling teeth.

It’d been some form of sexual torture from what Gorbag gathered. Some time in to it, Shaggers’ cock had stopped being able to get hard which - presumably’d - led to them upping the dosage of whatever stimulant they’d been using on him, and that in turn produced those starling effects on his private parts that Gorbag had witnessed. Once that happened Shagrat couldn’t come off properly any more and then the Nazgul who’d been orchestrating his punishment quickly lost interest, and dispensed with him. It was a turn-on, frankly, for Gorbag when he thought of this, as was the suspicion that wretched and compliant as his companion had been left for the present, the old fierce, proud and angry Shaggers was still in there somewhere, looking on helplessly, for some reason rendered quite unable to react. If so it must be killing him, Gorbag surmised, to know that now he could so easily be subjugated by someone like Gorbag – someone he’d obviously consider his inferior, in this way.

In the meantime the wound in Shagrat’s shoulder healed itself quickly – unnaturally quickly if truth be told, and the sickly look and aura of corruption around it also dissipated, to leave only a long, flat, finger-wide and whitish scar. To aid his recovery Gorbag’d chuck a bit of scran the Uruk’s way whenever he remembered, and if it was difficult for him, restrained as he was to eat it, well, that was hardly Gorbag’s problem, was it? He left him alone by-and-large, because even at this distance of years from the actual, blood-soaked events, Gorbag couldn’t help but recollect the stories they told about what Shagrat’d done to the last person who’d tried to give him one against his will. Still, after his cock’d been back to normal for a while and the Uruk began getting the odd erection (mostly in his sleep), when one night Gorbag returned his billet to discover Shaggers trying to masturbate up against the door-jamb, he reckoned it might be time to step things up between them just a notch.

With his hands secured behind his back, the Uruk couldn’t manage a proper wank and when Gorbag found him he was leaning on the woodwork, sort of pressing into and humping at it (Gorbag dreaded to think of the splinters). It looked to be sheer, physical desperation, rather than any errant wish for self-gratification that was driving the Uruk’s actions at this point: Shaggers was snarling with pain and at the same time growling in arousal and though he’d - somehow - gotten the head of his cock skinned back he couldn’t do much more than that and seemed to be making a real hash of things. Stepping up behind him, Gorbag reached one arm round his waist, took hold, and started beating him off – casual as you please; among Gorbag’s cronies it was a fairly standard way of making a pass at someone you fancied the look of. Shagrat groaned and began thrusting into his hand right away. A fair bit of fluid mixed with – other stuff - and though Gorbag wouldn’t have said it was 100% back to normal yet, Shagger’s scrote was still in much better nick than it previously had been – was leaking out the end of his knob and the smaller Orc listened appreciatively to the wet, slapping sounds the Uruk’s flesh was making against his palm. He liked that; Shagger’s prick was good and thick, and you could always get a nice, meaty fistful. Gorbag’s cock, though long enough, was thin and spindly and looked more like something you’d expect to find growing on a potato that’d been kept too long in the dark. All the same in no time he’d rubbed one of his own out, ejaculating satisfyingly over Shagger’s manacled hands and onto his buttocks. Once he’d finished Gorbag quickly lost interest and to speed things up drove his fingers sharply into Shagrat's anus, crooking and twisting his claws to viciously stimulate the Uruk's prostate. Shaggers yelled and screamed in protest but orgasmed directly; it couldn’t have been all bad for him in that case.

Afterwards the Uruk was bent almost double, his fists clenching and unclenching feebly, like he wanted to wring someone’s neck. He was panting and shivering as if he’d just been running a long-distance race and Gorbag contemplated his companion’s come-spattered behind, eyeing the big Uruk quizzically. He’d said, during one of his more lucid moments that he didn’t like taking it up the arse. He mightn’t have liked it, but there was every sign that somebody had been giving it to him that way, and not so very long ago, if Gorbag was any judge. With mild curiosity more than real trepidation the Orc Captain waited for it; for the outburst of fury and foul temper that at one time would have been so characteristic of his companion, but the explosion he was anticipating didn’t follow. Shagrat’s recent experiences had obviously cut the arrogant bugger down to size and after a time the unfortunate Uruk, still trembling, breathing with great difficulty, simply doubled up and sagged down onto his knees, evidently controlling himself only with extreme effort. Gorbag noted this restraint in his attitude with interest, at the same time wondering idly how far it might be able to for him to push it.

Sexual fringe benefits aside, in Gorbag’s opinion tending to Shagrat day-to-day was a right pain-in-the-neck because – ‘cept for during that one howling, psychotic spell - not only was he weak as a newborn kitten, but the way he was tied, Gorbag would’ve ended up having to do practically everything for him. Not being in to all that nurse-maidin’ bollocks, what the Orc Captain did amounted to about the bare minimum necessary to keep Shaggers alive, and if his captive might have benefited from treatment that amounted to anything other than casual abuse and neglect, it was a testament to the strength of the Urukish constitution in general that he gradually recovered, nevertheless. Once he began talking again, and Gorbag was pretty certain that there wasn’t going to be a recurrence of all that mad tearing about he removed Shaggers’ handcuffs and started taking him out of his quarters from time to time, just to get him back into the swing of Orcish life.

To Gorbag’s surprise once he was on his feet and out in public again no-one, absolutely sodding nobody, tried it on with Shagrat, even at the beginning when in reality the dozy old git was still much too punch-drunk to be able to protect himself. It seemed that Shaggers’ former reputation for ferociousness was preceding him, and his spell with the Nazgul had if anything, enhanced it, by adding a disturbing touch of the occult. Most people – Orcs as well as Uruks – took care to stay out of his way because of it, and gave him a wide berth.

One day when they were out on one of these walks, doing a circuit in the Orc company’s barracks, Gorbag broached the subject of his future plans for Shagrat. It was the first time the smaller Orc had mentioned this to him.

“Y’ev done yer time now, innit?” he said. “You should be thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ back in the saddle, so ter speak. An’ I’d be more’n ‘appy to ‘elp give yer a leg up – start you off on the ol’ career ladder again. ‘Appen I c’d even put a good word in fer you wiv’ the big Bosses, and that.”

“I shouldn’t think they’d go for it, would they?” Shagrat retorted doubtfully.

“You’ve bin out of it a good while. Things’ve bin a bit quiet lately, n’ your lot, the high-an’-mighty Uruks, ‘ve been at each others’ throats much more’n usual on account of it. They’re ‘avin’ no end of trouble recruitin’ inter the Officer class.”

“But aren’t I still under arrest?” Shagrat asked.

“Don’t be fretting about that - good ol’ Gorbag’ll be ‘elpin’ you, won’t ‘ee? Bin thinkin’ I might be able ter vouch fer yer character and that. Stand as guarantor you’ll not do - whatever it were again. Not thinkin’ of doin’ it again now, are we Shaggers?” he added archly.

Shagrat shook his head.

“’Xactly. Proves it’s a lesson well learned then, dunnit? So we’ll start wiv’ the basics. Yer old situation, Cirith Ungol - that’s still vacant.”

“It is?” Shagrat replied. “How come?”

“Because of no bleedin’ bugger wants your poxy posting, do they? Stuck up there, away from the thick of things and only that giant spider for company. No-one in their right mind’d touch that friggin’ job with a barge-pole. That’s only got ter help yer application – an’ mind an’ I’ll be ‘elpin’ you too.”

Shagrat was silent for a while before asking – and there was only the faintest trace of bitterness in his voice - “And what’d you want to do that for?”

“It’s seein’ as you an’ me is mates, ain’t we? You scratch my back, n’I’ll scratch yours. Come to think of it -" Gorbag said, looking at the Uruk sidelong, "I’ve a minute to spare, an’ an itch needs scratchin’ right now.” He ran his pointed tongue suggestively over his lips.

Shagrat’s acquiescence to his scheming – no matter how unenthusiastic or reluctant it had been - meant the first stage of Gorbag’s strategy was in place, and the sensation of power he experienced, to think he was starting to bring the unwitting Uruk under his control aroused him no end. There was a store-room he knew about in a nicely secluded location just off the passageway they were walking down and he hurried inside, pulling his companion along after.

By this stage Shaggers should’ve had a fair idea what was expected, but Gorbag spelt it out for him, just in case. “You c’n do me,” he suggested, “or otherwise I’ll do you. Whichever. I’ll even,” Gorbag said magnanimously, “let you choose which way round you wants it.”

After Shagrat muttered out his barely-audible preference Gorbag dropped his leggings and bent down over the stockroom worktable for him. Nothing happened for a time.

“Planning on getting started soon, Shaggers?” Gorbag prompted eventually. “I ain’t got all day, you know. Got better things ter do than ‘ang about waiting for the likes of you.”

Shagrat closed his eyes and braced his hands on the bench on either side of Gorbag’s hips, before shoving forwards clumsily into him. The smaller Orc’s wail of dismay was an ear-splitting screech.

“Are you fucking crazy!” Gorbag yowled. “Are you friggin’ stupid or what? Putting it to me dry like that! You could’ve done me a mischief!”

The Uruk looked blank.

“You gotta loosen a fella up first,” the smaller Orc explained, “work ‘im over a bit, before you starts screwing ‘im proper. Don’t you know anything?”

Apparently, Shagrat didn’t. “Stick yer fingers up his arse,” Gorbag instructed, “and use some spit, or grease, or even spunk or anything on your cock when you’re first givin’ it to him. That’ll open things out just right for you. Ain’t you never had nobody prep you up properly before?”

Shagrat shook his head.

Gorbag thought that explained a heckuva lot. “And the number a’ rodgerings you’ve taken in your time! Must’ve been murder on your bum-‘ole, not to mention yer prick. Is that how come you’ve never gone in much fer shagging, then?”

“What’ve you heard about that?” Shagrat asked sharply, with just a ghost of his old aggressive manner.

“Bleedin’ ‘eck Shaggers! After the way you carried on – or didn’t! You was well known for it!”

“That’s nobody’s business but mine,” was the Uruk’s snarling retort.

“What made you go all soppy over that Tarkish fucker then? Bet you anything it was just cos’ you was givin’ it to ‘im on the sly,” Gorbag opined derisively.

“I don’t think so,” Shagrat replied, his kindling anger apparently deflected by Gorbag’s line of questioning. “There was something about him I liked, but I just – I can’t remember it.”

“’Can’t remember’?” Gorbag mimicked.

“Whatever it was they took it off me,” Shagrat said softly, “in the Pit. I must’ve thought a lot of him, mustn’t I? After all they say I did on his account? Can’t think what it was now, though.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember him leaving me bleeding and skewered like a stuck pig. Screaming at me - spitting about how much I’d dishonoured him.” Shagrat paused, barking out a quick, ugly laugh. “Not that he ever did much complaining while I was sucking him off, mind you. And then him holding a knife to my throat, like he wants – like he’s going to cut my head off. That’s just before he runs off and leaves me to it, but that’s all.”

“Hah! Better off without ‘im then, ain’t ‘cher?”

Shagrat’s cock had started softening the instant Gorbag began raging about his lack of technique and the smaller Orc had had to resort to a more manual method of stimulating him. But it was a struggle to keep him even halfway erect and the Uruk didn’t reply. Glancing up at his face, Gorbag saw that that dozy, far-away look was coming into Shaggers’ eye again, and he realised that if he didn’t put a stop it, and soon, any minute now the loony bastard would be slipping away to - wherever he went when the lights were on but there was no-one home, and who knew how long he’d be gone this time. And the worst of it was that he, Gorbag, still hadn’t been able to get a proper fuck off of him!

“Come on, Shaggers,” he muttered. “You’re not even meeting me halfway, here.” He slapped the other Orc’s flagging erection back and forth, causing Shagrat to jump and catch his breath in a snarl. The oddly docile attitude that had been affecting him in the prison cell was on him again however, and he made no other protest. “What else about when you were with that feller?” Gorbag insisted, intent on keeping his attention. “Tell me what else about you and your precious bleedin’ Tark.”

The Uruk looked on dully, seemingly all but oblivious to Gorbag’s hands, which had resumed their vigorous squeezing and pulling of his cock, and after a moment Shagrat said: “It’s not for the likes of us, that kind of stuff. I don’t reckon we’re even supposed to know about it. Anything right like that, that we could’ve had, or felt’s been taken from us. That’s why we’re like this. We mightn’t all start out specially bad, or vicious, but everyone ends up like it, sooner or later. On account of what we haven’t got.”

“’Bad and vicious’? Whatcher’ on about? Nah. S’just Orcish high spirits – normal. What was so different ‘bout that pillock you was with? What was that like?”

“It was like –“ the Uruk struggled to think of something in an Orc’s cramped and desolate frame of reference that could explain to Gorbag what it had been like. “I remember thinking once it was a bit like the taste of something sweet. ‘Course I can’t remember how it felt now,” he muttered under his breath, “but I know I did once think it was like that, only feeling it on the inside, and running all the way through you.”

“Bollocks to that. I’ll give you something sweet to think about,” Gorbag volunteered. “And then you can do me.” He twisted his claws into the sensitive skin of his companion’s scrotum and began mouthing his member, raking the underside of it from time to time with his pointed teeth. The combination of pain and rough, sexual sensations affected Shagrat as they would any other Orc, achieving what Gorbag’s earlier manipulations alone had not. In no time the Uruk, in spite of himself, was sufficiently erect.

As he watched Gorbag’s head bobbing up and down in his lap the fog of detachment and lassitude that had affected Shagrat for so long momentarily lifted. Several ideas came to him all at once and he realized that because his hands were free, he didn’t have to take this kind of treatment any more, and that – finally, at long last – he might have a chance of properly defending himself. At that a flame of pure and raw, furious anger burned through the woolly fug that filled his head, and as he though about what had been done to him, and what he was still being forced to endure his guts twisted with hatred, not just directed at Gorbag, but at himself, all of his life and everything in Mordor as well. Unluckily for Shagrat his strong emotions – although emotions, admittedly, of a rather different sort - had recently been his undoing.

To get him to express certain selected highlights of his past activities, he’d been tortured repeatedly. Under such treatment he could never have succeeded in suppressing the feelings, thoughts and emotions that his Mordain masters were so interested in, and so in a way Shagrat was fortunate, because his sub-conscious had stepped in to do the job instead. Now at the slightest sign of a passionate reaction his normal cognitive processes just shut themselves down automatically – and it was something that he couldn’t, willingly, prevent or control. So effective was this new fail-safe that the Uruk unknowingly rendered himself of very little further use to his tormentors – and this was the reason he’d been so peremptorily discarded. Shagrat, however, didn’t understand yet what was happening to him, or why they’d let him alone after such a long time and it terrified him; the constant fear, uncertainty and anxiety feeding back and reinforcing the response that had first been triggered during his imprisonment in the Pit.

In the beginning he always felt it as just a little lurch, like you experience when you’ve missed your footing and realize you won’t be able to avoid a fall. For a disoriented instant Shagrat thought he really was slipping sideways, as the chain of thought he’d been following began to slide away from him faster and faster until he lost hold of it entirely - and he came to himself a moment later, with no idea of what he’d just been thinking about. They worried him, these episodes of his. Gorbag had told him often enough that he wasn’t right in the head and that left to his own devices, he wouldn’t last five minutes in Mordor. He knew enough about the harsh realities of Orcish life to know the truth in what his companion said, and convinced that he had nothing left to live on but Gorbag’s continued good will and his now none-too-reliable wits, Shagrat often feared that perhaps the smaller Orc was right.

Looking down he noted with mild surprise that Gorbag appeared to be trying to perform some kind of sex-act on him; but trying without much success, because just then Shagrat was as limp as a boned fish.

“I’m on a hiding to nothing with this, ain’t I Shaggers?” Gorbag growled irritably, loosening his hold on the Uruk’s flaccid cock. A better idea occurred to him then; at least there was one thing Shagrat was always good for, and he clambered to his feet to stand over the kneeling Uruk, leaning in uncomfortably close.

“Go on. Your turn,” Gorbag said, as he tugged himself out of his breeches. “And mind and be careful with them teeth, this time,” he added, as Shagrat obediently took his member in.

Shaggers did right enough by him but it was a mechanical effort. Gorbag liked a bit of feedback from his sex-mates one way or the other and though he squeezed Shagrat’s throat and thrust himself down it as hard as possible to get a reaction, he couldn’t rid himself of the nagging suspicion that somehow the Uruk wasn’t really there. There was very little in it for him when Shagrat was being like this and it wasn’t even worth the time it’d take to draw things out, so he finished very quickly. When he’d had enough, Gorbag stepped back from his lackadaisical partner, tucking his own cock back into place. He saw that the Uruk was still staring blankly into the middle distance, his eyes barely focussed, just as he had been throughout. Hardly even aware he’d just been fucked, Gorbag noted with a fresh stab of annoyance, and on the surface of it, not even appearing to bear him much of a grudge.

“What were we just talking about?” asked Shagrat after a moment.

Hearing the desperate note and pleading uncertainty in his companion’s voice, Gorbag’s lip curled with disgust. “You were just yappin’ on about that arsehole Tark of yours again,” he replied. “Of bleedin’ course.”

“Was I?” Shagrat asked bemusedly. “I couldn’t even tell you that other fella’s name, now,” he admitted.

“’Goldilocks’,” Gorbag suggested after a minute. “Could that be it?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ve called it out once or twice when we’ve been at it. Just when you’ve been on the point of jizzing.”

“Have I?” exclaimed Shagrat. “Go on!” This was news to him.

“You ‘ave, yep. Gave me a nasty turn the first time. When you said it, it sounded like – well, like you’d lost something, and given up on ever finding it. Proper eerie, it was.”

“Funny sort of name,” Shagrat conceded, after a moment. “Doesn’t sound very manly. He - that fellow – it was definitely a bloke.” The Uruk’s brow furrowed as he tried to cast his thoughts back in time, and he groped unsuccessfully for the events he knew he’d experienced before. Shagrat felt a nagging sense that there was something he ought to have been able to remember, and then experienced a fleeting, here-and-gone memory of warmth and light, and of happiness and comfort, that flickered in and out of his damaged consciousness so quickly that it was gone before he had a proper chance to grasp at it.

“Was that what he called himself though?” Gorbag prompted, eagerly. But Shagrat’s moment of revelation and clarity, if it was coming, still stayed well away.

“I don’t know,” he replied mildly. “’Goldilocks?’ - maybe. I suppose that could be it.”

Gorbag regarded him in disappointment. He thought that one’d be a real bombshell to say the least, and had been keeping it back accordingly, in the hopes that it would provoke some sort of strong reaction in the Uruk; anger or sorrow, hatred, rage - anything - that would jolt him out of his dopey, exaggeratedly helpless state. He was going to turn out no use to anyone, if he kept on like this.

Still, the Uruk’s hands had twitched towards the smaller Orc’s throat, and for a moment there, Gorbag thought Shagrat had been on the point of going for him properly. His plans for Shagrat – well, he’d keep on needlin’ the bugger till he was just this side of losing his rag entirely, but still Gorbag intended to keep him in check. Wouldn’t do to wind him up too far, and so “c’mon,” he said, as kindly as he could. “We’ve work needs doing, Shaggers. See if we can’t even claw back a bit of the ground you’ve lost.”

The smaller Orc led the way as the two Captains moved off down the dark corridor.

THE END

*Shagrat's the hero, for anyone who's been scrolling down hoping an Elf might turn up in the story at some point - just in case that wasn't immediately apparent.


Author’s other note: I wouldn’t begin to think of attempting to apportion blame for this redeeming-feature-free piece on anyone but myself. But bearing that in mind, a long time ago The Lauderdale commented quite rightly that the prequel to this story (‘Nazgul’s Prey’) would benefit from some kind of coda, possibly involving Gorbag, which would explain how Shagrat got away from the Nazgul and back on his feet again. As it turns out we were thinking along broadly similar-ish lines but I didn’t write the suggested epilogue because I had this unfortunate fate in store for him instead.