Chapter Text
Following the events at the Morannon, and the return of Frodo and Sam by the exhausted but relieved orcs who survived the eruption of Mount Doom, the forces parted ways. Those orcs and Black Uruks of Mordor returned to their lands. They were freed of the Shadow and no longer beneath the boot of cruel masters. There was work to be done.
The combined forces of Rohan and Isengard retreated to the Field of Cormallen in North Ithilien to rest and consider the next steps. The Uruk-hai knew no home but Isengard, its green swards ruined by the machinations of their own master, yet they lacked the skills of their cousins to make it grow again. All they knew how to make was war, and the drive to do that had been smothered.
Gondor arrived at Cormallen as the tents and pavillions were being erected, and Boromir met with the reunited Fellowship while his men set up their own encampment.
"Where will you go?" Gandalf asked gently, puffing on his pipe. "Will you return to the West?"
Tindómiel had barely spoken since the loss of Gokh. Prying her from his still form had required Gothmatum's strength and Aragorn's compassionate voice.
Slowly raising her head, she met Gandalf's gaze. "Not for a thousand years," she said softly. "Lest there be... embarrassing meetings." A slight smile curved her mouth briefly and she looked away. "I would not be welcome there in any case, after what I have done."
Gandalf nodded. "I was told of whom you served when last I was there. There was much concern for what this would mean." Then he smiled. "I had faith in you, where I had none in your master."
"I was a fool," she said quietly.
"I do not think you a fool," Aragorn said. "Many lives might have been lost, had we fought the orcs. You made us see them as allies, and they proved strong and loyal as such." Glancing over at Frodo, still recuperating on a pallet and equally silent since his return to them, the Ranger sighed. Sam had the strength of will to at least tell them of their path since Amon Hen, but when his tale reached Mount Doom, there he faltered, and neither hobbit seemed inclined to continue. Not even Merry and Pippin's urging could pry those final moments from their lips.
Boromir shook his head. "You certainly have a loyal follower in that Grishnaakh. Where is he, by the way?"
Sighing, Aragorn replied, "Awaiting orders. He has pledged himself to my service for saving his life." Raising an eyebrow at Boromir's snort, he added, "I need him, Boromir. I know almost nothing of orcs or their ways. We hope for a lasting peace with his folk. It will not come if we do not understand them."
"Their ways are indeed different," Legolas mused. "Any word from Théoden's camp about the negotiations for settlements?"
"The talks continue," Aragorn sighed. "I have offered Gondor, following my coronation, but they ask for much more than a place to call their own."
"Mates," Gimli growled. "I have heard they want mates. And that... Grishnaakh says none of their females will have the Uruk-hai."
"I doubt the Uruk-hai would want them," Tindómiel said dully. "They were bred from Men. They have always bred with the Race of Men. Such diligent exposure has colored their... preferences. If you would condemn any for this, turn your anger toward Saruman. It was his doing."
"I cannot agree to such a thing," Aragorn insisted. "You know I cannot. How would it be different from what Saruman did, if I were to do so?"
"It wouldn't," she replied softly, turning away. "So they must content themselves with what they can get now. Time enough for... the rest of it... when things have settled." Still, she thought sadly of Kaanurz and Leanna.
Kaanurz had attempted to console Tindómiel, but his own grief, unexpectedly strong, rendered him incapable of offering much. The death of his brother in battle he could have weathered; being taken as he was, with no foe to fight, no weapon he could use, and for the purpose of punishing another... These things were unbearable. Nor was he able to bear the company of Leanna, for what he wanted of her was denied his brother. He tore himself from her side and took himself far away in the Uruk side of the encampment. Leanna, just beginning to see him differently, felt confusion and hurt at his abrupt departure. And Tindómiel lacked the will to set it right.
"Your voice should be heard in these meetings," Gandalf said delicately, and Tindómiel glared at him.
"My... voice... has been heard quite enough," she snarled with sudden vehemence. "My voice could have destroyed all of Arda. It is time for silence. I have given you my counsel; that is all I have to offer."
"Then you will depart to the West?" Aragorn said.
"Not so far west," she said more calmly. "I thought... perhaps to settle in Fangorn's Wood. He has always been a good friend."
"You would be near enough to Rohan, then," Gandalf said with a wry smile.
"Near enough," she shrugged.
In the corner, Frodo cleared his throat, and all heads turned in his direction. He could not look at any of them, and his voice trembled as though he had only just at this moment gathered the courage to speak. "I... failed... at the end. I could not discard the Ring."
"How came it to be destroyed?" Gandalf asked. "Was it you, Sam?"
Sam shook his head. "No. It was Gorbag."
"An orc... saved us," Frodo whispered, tears filling his eyes. "Saved us all. He took the Ring from me and he... walked into the Fire."
"He wanted to... plant... trees," Sam breathed, then dropped his face in his hands and wept.
"That is... I can find no words strong enough," Legolas growled, staring at Gothmatum. The Uruk general curled his lip.
"Then hold your tongue, golug," Gothmatum snapped. "Grishnaakh said this is custom, so it is done. What would you give one robbed of a mate, eh?" Looking the elf up and down with clear distaste, he barked, "Pity? What good is that?"
"She is not an orc," Legolas hissed.
"Not by blood, no," the Uruk general shrugged, turning away. "Where it matters, she might as well be." Eying the line of Uruk volunteers, Gothmatum scrutinized their faces, their builds, looking for one that most resembled the fallen captain. While appearances were not mentioned by the old orc as part of the selection, the Uruk felt that it might make a difference in acceptance. It was true, she was not an orc; he'd learned she was golug by blood. There must have been something in Gokh's looks that found favor in her eyes.
"You," he finally said, pointing at a young Uruk with a wiry build. Perhaps not as big as the captain, but in the face... they might have come from the same sire. The chosen one stepped forward and held his head up proudly. "Name?"
"Akulzhaf," the Uruk growled.
"Follow me," Gothmatum snarled, and turned on his heel. The chosen Uruk walked straight-backed and rigidly in his wake.
At Tindómiel's tent, a soldier of Rohan nodded to the general and ducked inside to announce him. In moments, the two Uruk-hai were ushered inside.
Tindómiel knew this was coming, and had given it much thought. While the brutal lives of orcs might make it easier for them to accept such replacements for the fallen, she required no male to support her, and had no offspring to feed. There was almost nothing this Uruk could provide except a surfeit of pain, which assailed her the moment she saw his face.
So eerily like Gokh's...
She nearly faltered, almost rejected the offer. But the Uruk-hai were so terribly young, and trying desperately to be orcs and Men at the same time. She had already decided she would accept the Uruk, if only to discharge him at a later time when his honor would still be intact. But she could see now that it would be an agonizing wait.
"He is not... Gokh," Gothmatum said awkwardly, and Tindómiel winced at the name, "but he has sworn to serve in his place. He is called Akulzhaf. Whatever you require of him, he will provide."
Taking a deep breath, she said evenly, "Thank you, maugoth. I am... honored by your gift. He is quite... satisfactory."
Relieved, Gothmatum nodded to her, jerked his chin sharply at Akulzhaf, then left the tent.
Unable to look at the young Uruk, she turned away and sat on her cot, covering her face with her hands for a moment. When she looked up at him, he hadn't moved from the entryway, his yellow eyes fixed on her.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to a campstool across from her. He obeyed immediately. "You are young, are you not?"
Akulzhaf nodded. "Four months," he rasped. His voice was nothing like Gokh's; Tindómiel almost sighed with relief.
"Did you know... him?"
The Uruk bowed his head uncomfortably and nodded, but said nothing. She didn't think she wanted to know more than that.
"It would be unfair not to tell you my thoughts," she began. "I only agreed to this arrangement so I would not insult your folk. These things are not done among my people. You are not a replacement for him, and you will not have access to my bed. My heart died with him; do not hope to win it for yourself. And do not ever say his name in my presence."
"How may I serve you then, Grishhûnhul?" he asked.
Taking a deep breath, she regarded him for a few moments, then allowed a slight smile. So young and eager to please...
"How are you at building houses, Akulzhaf?"