Your Market Value

   You couldn’t keep up with the uruk dragging you blindly down the muddied streets of the lower city. Not a single sound was uttered, apart from your own panicked breaths and muffled terror. Stopping suddenly, your fear suffocated you. You expected violence, pain, blood and broken bones and- and not to be untied…? All of your bindings were removed: from your wrists, to your gag and even the one covering your eyes. Your body refuses to move an inch, instead trembling until your joints pop and your jaw clenches until your teeth threaten to be turned into dust. Something cold yet smooth was thrusted into your shaking hand. What is- It was wooden- or perhaps bone? Worn down from years- decades of use and abuse. A… blade?

   “Ya’ve got ten paces ‘eads start.” 

   You blink dumbly. Unsure if you actually heard anything at all, let alone the uruk say you had a ‘head start’. You glance down at your hand and, sure enough, there was a crudely made blade placed into your weakly clenched fist. Ten paces… Slowly, timidly, you peek over your shoulder to the one that presumably bought you- and immediately regret it. You instantly recognized the uruk captain; medium build, wine-red cloak fastened to an all encompassing piece of armour, skin dyed dark black from being stained by the blood of his kin with a thirst to terrorize and break the humans and uruks underneath his heel…

   Zuka Fear Eater. 

   There was a tension in the air that grew more and more dire with each passing heat beat. He told you ten paces… Where would you even go…? You had no hope of out running him! The blade… You knew how to wield a weapon. Living on the border of Mordor taught you that much, no less the city, itself, being under siege for nearly two whole years. You knew your way around a blade, around a dagger, even. This is useless as a butter knife against an uruk of his stature and skill. What little hope remained in you began to quickly wither away into bitter resignation. No… No! You can’t give up. Not yet. Not until you draw your last breath…!

   You counted your steps. One, two… You pushed your body as far as it could go in such precious few strides. I can still get away…! If I can just break line of sight…! There is still hope! There is hope that you could not only die a warrior’s death, but even get out of the city alive! Could you reach Osgiliath…? No, maybe not… But, you had to try. For yourself, for your loved ones and your neighbors and your city, you had to try…!

   Three, four… Even if you can’t get away… You’re going to fight! You must! You’ll prick and stab and rip and gut this monster for everything that he’s done to you and your city! He bought you, thinking that you won’t fight back, that you’ll collapse in terror and allow him and his gang to do as they pleased to you! You’ll show him just how wrong he is…! You’ll kill him! You’ll kill all of them if you have too…!

   Five, six…  Perhaps, if you can’t get away or kill him… then… then you could kill yourself. It’s the only other way out. You can’t allow yourself to be recaptured. This is going to be the only chance you’re going to get to truly escape the hell that awaits you when that captain ultimately catches up to you and steals your only means out of here… 

   Seven, eight… No, no… What are you even thinking…? There is no hope for escape… You will be captured before you even have the chance to act on your plans of escape… The city has fallen. Your loved ones are dead, or enslaved… Or worse… What hope do you have against such an infamously vile and evil uruk…? If you aren’t dead by morning light, then you will wish that you were…

   Nine… Your steps falter. You’re going to die. If not today, then another. It’s a fact. You aren’t getting out of the city alive. You won’t reach Osgiliath and sound for reinforcements. You won’t kill this uruk, nor will you kill yourself. But… you have to stand your ground. If you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself for letting down your people, your city… You aren’t the only one suffering tonight. Everyone is, down to the last man, woman, and child. Maybe you won’t kill this captain, but maybe your forebears could look at you when you inevitably are killed and feel something other than shame.

   On ten, you turn sharply on your heel, readying your knife in a feeble attempt of a last stand. If this is it, then so be it.You inhaled deeply, blood roaring in your ears and heart simultaneously leaping into your throat and dropping to the soles of your feet. You were ready. You are ready to die. You’ll fight to the death, no matter how long or short the battle will be. Now fully facing the empty street behind you, you stand firm, eyes darting to and fro- No, wait…

   He is gone.

   Your heart didn’t stop pounding in your ears as bile rises to the back of your throat. Gone…? Gone?!? He’s gone?!? No, no you weren’t let go! He s-said ten paces…! What else could have been meant other than ‘ten paces head start’? Unless… 

   He’s hunting you. 

   Panic narrowed your vision as you struggled to work out where the Fear Eater could have possibly gone. There weren't any nearby alleyways, nor did you even hear him move at all through the wet streets, nor up any of the buildings surrounding you. He didn’t just disappear into thin air… You take a step back, then another, and another, eyes flicking around wildly, trying to catch any movement or just- something, anything! But there was nothing. Only you and the rubble of Minas Ithil. 

   If you start running, what are the chances that he would immediately catch you…? Or, perhaps, another gang of uruks would capture you first…? Fear numbed your fingers and toes. You clenched the blade in your hand tightly, rubbing the pad of your thumb against its smooth handle as your thoughts raced out of control. Wetting your chapped lips with your equally dry tongue, you map out where you are, shifting through all the hopelessness and despair to formulate a plan of escape. You can’t stay. Not here, not out in the open with practically no protection from… him. 

   You take a few timid steps, straining your ears and eyes for any movement. Nothing. A few more steps. Nothing… More. Nothing. And more. Still nothing… You jump and ready the knife as you heard a loud SPLASH of a puddle being clumsily stepped in. It was you… A flustered half laugh, half sob rose up from deep within you. Every shadow, billowing flag, rising smoke or even your own footfalls were unknown uruks coming to do you grave harm. You were crawling out of your own skin. In the darkness, you could feel eyes watching your every move, judging… waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

   You were crawling out of your own skin. In the darkness, you could feel eyes watching your every move, judging… waiting and poised for the perfect moment to strike. Your feet caught on some loose flagstones, tripping you in your increasingly mad dash away from- from him. Every uneven stone, every little sound, flickering of torchlight and cry of a morgul bat was that monster coming to- to slit your throat, or gut you or to- to do w-worse things to you. You swear you can hear cackling in the dark. Laughter mocking your fear and blinded attempts at escape. A broken sob left your quivering lips, tears and other fluids streaming down your face in a sudden torrent. You wanted it to be over. This torment. This… this hunt. You wanted it to end. Legs wobbled as though you’d be knocked over at the slightest breeze. Perhaps you would. Terror weakened you, made you susceptible to childish imaginings, made you far easier to influence and urge you to be exactly what was wanted of you. 

   Some rubble nearby shifted, quietly, almost imperceptibly. Almost. Your eyes didn’t catch anything. Probably a rat… Probably him. You counted your steps. One, two, three…? Your ears picked something up. Consciously, you didn’t know what, but something had your attention. You count again. One, two, three- four? You freeze, stopping dead in your tracks. Though there is silence, you hesitate looking over your shoulder. What- What if-…? Against your better instincts that screamed for you to start running, you quickly turned around and-! 

   …nothing. 

   No, not nothing. Every hair on your body stood on end. No, something is here. Him… You turn and move and far and as quickly as your human legs could carry you. It won’t be enough. Every other panicked step you took, one was out of place, out of time with your own. No matter how often you threw a wild glance over your shoulder, you never saw anything. Were you going mad from fear…? You don’t want to die like this; being hunted for sport after being sold to the highest bidder… The emotions that you were battling finally won out. Hysterical tears flooded your vision as your throat constricted so tightly that you no longer swallow nor breathe. Nothing looked familiar to you anymore. The streets all blurred together into a similar sameness that seemed to lead you in circles. 

   The out of place footfalls following you increased, no longer hiding in sync with your own. You didn’t dare look back. Not now! You can feel those eyes on your back, sizing you up, plotting when the best time to strike would be. You’re going to die! I’m going to die! I’m going to die! I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die by the White Tree I’m going to die goingtodiegoingtodiegoingtodiegoingtodie-!!!

   Out of sheer instinct you throw one last peek over your shoulder, an ear-splitting shriek ricocheting off the ruined stone walls as you are tackled to the ground by a dark bulk. A large hand snatches the blade from your hand, it’s sharpened edge biting into calloused flesh and releasing a stream of bitter black blood down your wrist. Flecks of slick, warm and oily blood splatter onto your face, nearly blinding you as you thrash and wail underneath the Fear Eater. The knife is thrown to the side with a CLATTER against the stone road, far from your, and even his, reach. Every sharp and sudden breath, scrape of bodies against stone, splash of water and thump of your back against the ground reverberates loudly and clearly in the empty streets. 

   Venomous yellow eyes pierce through to your very soul, chilling you to the bone and nearly freezing you in place. Your wrists are easily gathered into one of his much, much larger hands, pinning them above your head as his other goes to his side. The Fear Eater’s maw splits apart into a vicious grin. Yellowed teeth stained brownish-black shown unnaturally bright in the dim starlit night. Arm raising in your peripheral vision, a faintness darkens your vision, forces your body limp as he raises his arm. Moist metal gleamed in the weak light, ruddy and dark, smelling foul and sour. Nothing but a wheeze of fear escapes from behind the constricting lump in your windpipe as the Fear Eater’s face twists up in glee. You squirm and scream as the ragged, dulled blade is dragged down the side of your throat. 

   You vividly feel your skin splitting apart, your blood nearly white hot against your cold and clammy skin. Throwing your head to the side in a vain attempt to create some distance, you inadvertently widen your wound. Blood ran a river down into your ear, staining your hair a dark wet only visible to the uruk straddling your thighs. With a SPLASH, the blade is carelessly cast aside, and your head is forced to the side by a fist curling into your hair. Hot, sour breath dances across your wounded neck, settling thickly against your blood that has begun pooling against your collar bone. The Fear Eater’s eyes rake over your terrified expression, nearly swooning at how your eyes have glazed over in fear, looking through him rather than at him. 

   There was no fear sweeter than a domesticated Tark coming to terms with their own demise. He could smell it on you, in your sweat and tears and blood. Oh… Your blood… A slimy tongue dragged against the open wound on your neck, making you squeal and writhe in disgust. There really was no taste as intoxicating as this. It was thick on the Fear Eater’s tongue, warm as it slid down his throat and settled like hot lead into his belly. With a guttural moan, he attached himself to your neck, teeth piercing your thin skin as you scream for help that would never arrive. Your fight for survival briefly renewed as you struggled to free yourself from his grasp. Trying and failing to kick and squirm out of the uruk’s grasp, slowly but surely, your fighting began to cease. You can’t fight him off, he’s too big, too strong…

   Your head began to swim and your limbs became heavier and heavier with each ragged breath you took. The harder you fought, the faster you began to lose your hold on remaining alert and conscious. Is this… the end? There is no hope of escape. The more you fight, the more likely your end will be a nasty and painful one… So you stop struggling. Going completely limp, you resign yourself to your rapidly approaching death. Odd.. you thought you would be more upset, yet you barely feel anything at all. No fear, no hopelessness, no anger or hatred or… anything, really. Just the cold creeping up your extremities. You’ve lost too much blood… It won’t be long now… You don’t feel how your windpipe is all but crushed between two strong jaws. There is discomfort, yes, but it's so fleeting in comparison to how heavy your entire body has become. You know you’re drowning in your own blood, unable to breathe or cough or do… anything other than stare off to the side, unable to focus clearly on anything other than the black that is encroaching onto your vision. 

   The hunt wasn't long, though it certainly was a fulfilling one. Zuka, Fear Eater, knew, from the moment that he laid eyes on you, trembling and struggling to keep up with your fellow slaves, that you would be a thrilling hunt, indeed. So scared, meekly making your way through the streets, constantly throwing terrified glances over your shoulder… Knowing that he was always a step behind you… He cut the hunt far shorter than he had intended. How could he wait any longer to taste that sweet, sweet fear of yours?! Up until the end, you gave him exactly what he wanted: a thrilling chase and a reward more intoxicating than the strongest grog in Mordor. Perhaps his boys would enjoy playing with your corpse as much as he would…? You are such a cute little thing… it would be a real shame to let you go to waste, now wouldn’t it…?