Pain. Pain and fire, great steam and water. Water so hot it burned. When he clawed his way from the Earth, great Trees had come to life and killed his brothers and their cousins. The made deep noise, and the Uruk-Hai, the fighting Uruk who knew no fear, screamed in pain and fear. He ran, like a coward tark or snaga, ran until the muscles in his legs burned, like the marks from fire and steam burned on his body. He had seen no others escape, and now he was alone. All alone, the fool was all alone. Ashbazg the fool.

He awoke with a start, the sun coming through the leaves to cover his dark body with spots of light. He grunted, squinting his eyes as he looked over the green land that lay before him. The tark that rode horses thought they owned this land and would ride roughshod all over the 'evil' ones that stepped foot on it, but it had been ten years since his home had fallen around him and the old man had been defeated, ten long years he had lived in this green land. The years had not been kind, but not all of them had been harsh. He had almost been rode to the ground by some horselord in the area that many of his brothers died in, and had heard the rough shouting voices of the dwarves as they also gave chase, but his long legs and knowledge had saved him, losing them in the trees. He had wanted to see it, needed to see it. So many of the Uruk-Hai had died there, and he had not been one of them. He just hadn't been sent out to war with his brothers, and so they had died and he had lived. Then the breaking of Isengard had happened.

Shivering from the memories and the ghost pains that ran down his scars, he stood and grabbed his pack. Made from the hides of various animals, it held his few meager possessions, mainly food and a few carved wooden blocks he had made in his downtime. It helped pass the winter, when he lived in the caves he found and tried to stay alive, making sure he didn't fall to the cold or any predators. The wargs of Isengard had survived, and their descendants roamed these hills. He had always liked the beasts, but to them he was nothing but a meal. His constant mistakes and gentle nature had earned him his name. The fool, the Ashbazg.

He wasn't a bad Uruk-Hai necessarily, he was just different. Frûshkul had protected him from the moment they had ripped him from the Earth. Something was… wrong with him at birth. The first sign had been his eyes. Most of the Uruks had yellow eyes at birth, a gift of their orc blood. His had been a light blue, and worse, his hair a dirty yellow like the horse lords, and so he had been marked for death. Frûshkul had stepped in and pointed to his great size and muscled body as a reason to let him live. The older one had taken him under his wing, and taught him how to be a fighting Urukl-hai. Though skilled with a sword, axe, and the shield, Ashbazg didn't want to kill, or rape, or burn peoples only homes to the ground. He felt no desire to do it.

He would fight when they tried to kill him, but he didn't go looking for battle. He had escaped Isengard and the pits once, and he had simply started walking. He had run into a couple of the yellow hairs, and he had smiled and waved, trying to be nice, and they had ran, the horror etched on their faces. He had walked on, slightly perturbed until he head the horse lords coming, many of them. Knowing they were death, he had started running back to Isengard, forgetting that he was not supposed to connect his Master to his kind. Luckily, he never made it all the way there.

He had come across a war band of his own, and told them the horse lords were coming, and they had ambushed the tark at the Fords of Isen. Later, he had learned that the tall man whose hair had blown in the wind, leading the men with a smile on his lips, had been the son of the King. He had seemed too young to lead men into battle, but he had fought bravely and his men had almost over run them. Big Ufthak had jumped on top of the body pile, his great two-handed sword Biter in his hands. He had struck with great might, rending mail and spilling blood, the red drops arcing in great sweeps. Finally, the man had fallen, and the Uruk-Hai left them at the fords, a not so subtle message to stay away from the Fords of Isen.

Ashbazg had paid dearly for that. His master had not been ready to move against Rohan, and the death of the prince may very well tip his hand that way. Ufthak and Frûshkul paid many bribes, slit quit a few throats, and had saved his life, stashing him in the belly of Isengard, where snaga smiths made swords and armor for the Uruk. Both of them, Frûshkul the only father figure he had ever know, and Ufthak, almost a older brother, had marched to the Battle of Helms Deep, snarling and singing as Ashbazg had watched them go. They most likely had been killed, for he had heard none survived the bright swords and dark trees that day. Still, his brothers had cracked the great wall, and he was proud of them for that.

Rising from his state of thought, the big Orc noticed that he had been walking the entire time, and seemed to be heading in a westerly direction. He mostly knew where he was, and as long as he did not go South, he would not reach the capital of Rohan. He could go slightly North, but he had been there before. West offered new possibilities. He had heard there was land out there that could grow good crops, and that it was vast. Not like Rohan, but vast enough an Uruk-Hai could reasonably live without fear of being caught and dying. He didn't know the first thing about farming. You just put the seeds in the ground and put water on them right? Besides, he wanted to create. He wanted to build, not destroy.

He might very well be Ashbazg the fool, but the fool was still living. That's all he wanted to do really. He wanted to live, and continue living until he grew old. To tell truth, there was no telling how long he could live. He had met a snaga from the Misty Mountains that was over 900 years old, but most Men seemed to live to around 80. He was technically 16 when he was pulled from the Earth, and two years later had been the Breaking, and then it was ten years since then. He felt great for a 28 year old. His muscles were still strong, his tusks still stood sharp and proud from his lower job. His damned blue eyes were still sharp, as was his hearing. For some reason, those ears failed him, and he never heard the movement, or the twang of a bowstring. He felt the sting of the arrow in his back, and he tried to roar.

The smoke and steam at Isengard had damaged his vocal chords, making it almost painful for him to talk at first, but over the years it had settled into a painful and deep rasp. Not very effective for the roar of a Uruk-Hai. Hitting the ground, he twitched in his fury. As his sight faded, he watched a pair of leather boots walk in his direction, and was treated to a closer look as one drew back and kicked him full in the face, knocking him into the cold dark of oblivion.

When he awoke, he was tied to a tree, his head pulled back uncomfortably and his throat exposed. He breathed harshly, panicking. He strained against his bonds, to no avail. The ropes were thick and the knots were good. He exhaled a great breath, and felt the tears begin to leak from the corners of his clenched eyelids. Another curse for him. Too much Man-blood they had said. Too much. All he wanted to do was live. That was it. He wanted to have a little home, not anything special, and he wanted to create things instead of destroy. He had survived in Rohan, the lands of his worst enemies, for ten years. Now he would die trying to leave them. He wanted to howl, to rage at the sky. Why must he die for what he was? He just wanted to live.

"Quit that, you piece of filth. I know it's not real. You won't when me over with any false tears."

Ashbazg shook his head. He was Uruk-Hai. He might be inferior to his brothers, but he was still one of them. His rasping growl rumbled up from his throat, like two stone walls rubbing together.

"Kill me. Or untie me and I will kill you. Either way. End it."

He couldn't see, his head pulled back as it was, couldn't see when it would come, but he knew it would. There was no surprise as he felt the cold of a blade at his neck. The haughty voice spoke again.

"Beg Orc. Beg as I'm sure your victims did. Beg like my mother did ten years ago. Tell me why you should live so that I can laugh at you and watch your blood pour."

Ashbazg spoke. "I shouldn't live. But I want to. More sun on my face. Want to walk in shau. Want… life."

The knife drew back.

"What is shau?"

Ashbazg struggled with how to explain.

"Water. Falls from the sky. Doesn't burn me. Always cool."

The voice snorted. "Rain. The word is rain, you beast."

He felt a sawing off the rope the held his head back, and suddenly, his head was free. The rest of his body remained bound, but he could at least see his captor, who would most likely become his executioner as well. It was a woman! Tall and thin, encased in leather armor from head to toe with a bow and quiver across her back. Her hair was long, and looked dark in the twilight, bound in a no-nonsense braid. She squatted and looked him in the eyes.

"I am Gléowyn of Rohan, and you are my prisoner. And trust me Orc, I will kill you when I decide I want to."

Gléowyn would not admit it, but even bound as he was he frightened her. The power in his body was obvious from the way he had strained against the ropes, ever bulging muscles shown in the dying light. His great neck had been strained, the veins pulsing with his life blood. She had held the knife to his throat. Why hadn't she killed him? The rain, she decided. An Orc who wanted to feel the rain, to walk in it. It was the strangest answer she had ever heard. She had tracked down and killed Orcs for the last eight years, but this one was different. He was one of the Uruk-Hai, most of which were supposed to have died at Helms Deep and the sack of Isengard. This one barely matched the description for those fearful beasts. She had never heard of one with blue eyes, and she bet that if his hair was washed out, it would be a dirty blonde. But his skin was tough and hide-like, black like the deep night and puckered with white scars. Some looked like the lash, while others looked like hot iron had been held to his flesh and seared and burned it. It was probably some Orc thing, maybe badges of honor. But those burns on his legs, they did not look like that. It looked like he had been dipped in boiling water and held there.

"Well Orc. I told you my name. Now what is yours."

He spoke, that deep rumble that seemed to come from the bowels of the Earth rumbling through his chest. "My name is Ashbazg."

She lifted an eyebrow. "What does that mean? Burner of cities? Killer of children?"

He snarled, harsh and feral. Like a wolf brought to bay by dogs. "It means the Fool. And what does your name mean. Bitch?"

Like lightning, her hand struck him across the face. Then it struck him again, and again, until his lip cut itself on his tusks, and her hand felt like it was going to break on his hard bones.

"Get something straight filth. You are alive by my good grace, though I don't know why. You do not insult me."

He spat at her feet, bloody phlegm mixing with the dirt of the ground.

"If you are going to talk to me like that, kill me. Done nothing to deserve that. Never burnt cities. Never killed children. Never."

Gléowyn laughed harshly, and couldn't stop laughing. An Orc trying to protest innocence. Like anyone would ever believe that. When she finally got herself under control, she looked into the hate filled eyes of the beast.

"Next I'm sure you'll be trying to convince me that you never killed."

He growled at her again. "I killed. When tark tried to kill me. When snaga tried to kill me in the pits. When other Uruk tried, I killed. Doesn't mean I liked it." He looked at her, those pale blues eyes seeming to glow with a kind of fire. "Because I am Uruk-Hai, tark will kill me whenever they find me. I will fight until I die. I hate it, but I have to. I may be a fool, but I am still fighting Uruk-Hai." The faint light of his eyes seemed magnified by pride.

She snorted at him. "Your kind fought real well at Helms Deep. I heard those cowards scream as they were rode down and the trees took them."

He roared in anger, thrashing at his bounds. Gléowyn jumped up, pulling her daggers as the ropes frayed at his struggles. What was this? Maybe he had been at Helms Deep.

"Stop now or I will kill you!"

He stopped and roared at her, as much as the low rumble could be called a roar.

"Ufthak and Frûshkul! Brother! Father! DIED THERE TARK BITCH! NOT COWARDS! WARRIORS! UFTHAK SLEW PRINCE OF ROHAN WITH ONLY HIS SWORD, NO ARMOR OTHER THAN LEATHER SHIRT AND PANTS! NO COWARDS!"

She looked taken back as his struggles ceased and he started crying again. At first, she had thought his tears fake, but now, she wasn't so sure. They were dark where the tears of Man where clear, and they were great big drops that ran in silent tracks down his black face.

"I thought that Uruk-Hai were pulled from the ground. They had no families."

Ashbazg choked back a sob as he looked at the woman of Rohan. "Mothers are raped by orcs. We are cut from them and put in the Earth. Months pass, in the Earth it is years. I was in the ground two months, and came out aged 16. Frûshkul taught me how to fight. How to hunt. How to live. He was 29 summers old. One of the oldest that marched. He was like a father. So he was my father. Ufthak was my friend. He saved my life when I escaped Isengard and was chased home by the horse lords. The Prince struck so many of us down. Only he stood, with the sword he called Biter, and brought him to bay. Killed him to save me. They both marched off to Helms Deep, and they are most likely dead. But they were no cowards tark. Not those two. No cowards and they did not scream in fear."

Gléowyn was confused. By all accounts, Orcs, even the Uruk-Hai of Saruman, weren't supposed to have emotions beyond rage and murderous thoughts. But here this one sat, crying. Not only crying, but mourning two of its own kind that it said had been his only family. In disgust, she also turned over the other piece of information he had given her. The women who made them were raped, and they were cut out before their time. So those women most likely died in that process. No Uruk had a chance to know their mother. All their mothers were dead. She made a choice, then and there. Her father had always told her to trust her instincts, and they would never lead her wrong. Walking to the back of the tree, she took a deep breath and began to saw through the ropes.

He had not seen her, his eyes were still closed due to his shame. He was flawed, Uruk-Hai did not cry. This proved what they all said about him. He was too much of Man, not enough of his Orc blood. He doubted that Ufthak and Frûshkul would have cried over him. They most likely would have thought of him as good riddance, and been happy they no longer had to watch out for him constantly. No Uruk-Hai would have cried for him. They had not cried for any other of his brothers that had died, even though he had cried deep in the pits alone. The snaga had not ridiculed him like his brothers did. They mourned their brothers that died, and they mourned other things to. The talked of their wives and pups, the dark places under the Misty Mountains where they had their cities and where they lived. Others, the stronger ones who could stand pale sun, talked of the settlements on the side of the mountains, where they lived in the fresh air.

They told him of the yellowhairs that attacked any Orc settlement, how they had to fade into the mountains and lick their wounds, mourning the dead. They had told him how they loved, how they married, how they had families. They had shown him their tattoos, the clan markings that said who they were. He even had his own tattoo, given to him by one of the forge orcs, a swirl of yellow ink that stood out on the black skin of his chest. They had told him that it represented what he could do. He was of their blood, but he had Man blood as well. He could walk in the sun, so they had tattooed the sun on his chest.

He felt the ropes give away and looked up. The woman stood before him, a warrior woman. He had never seen any, but she was one definitely. She stood defiant and strong in front of him, so much smaller but not afraid. He looked at her, the question plain on his brutish face.

"If you try to touch me beast, you will die. But I will let you live for now. You are still my prisoner, and I will escort you out of the lands of Rohan and into other lands and you will be rid of me when you build you a home and I can guarantee that you will not slaughter and raid innocents. Do you understand?"

Ashbazg bowed his head, the words rumbling through the thick emotions of his chest.

"My lady."