Post by sian22redux on Nov 12, 2023 19:25:53 GMT
Author:
Cassie Hughes
Summary:
Choices in life are often difficult but just because you have been brought up in darkness doesn’t mean that you can’t find your way to the light as a small orc is about to find out.
Rating: K
--------------------
Heavy footsteps and loud gruff voices rang through the air as the great band of fell creatures prodded and pushed each other along the old road heedless of the clamour their passing caused. Cheers and jeers sporadically split the air as each recounted and boasted of their own exploits in the various battles and raids they had been involved in after being let loose upon the poor villages they had been sent out to destroy. Their journeying had been long and they had ranged far but now each felt the pull towards their master and as more and more had joined together along the same path tempers and egos had begun to fray. Their mood began to resemble their surroundings, spoiled, rocky and no longer fit for any but the sparsest greenery to sprout. What once had been a beautifully maintained road, lined with the occasional magnificent tree and edged with lush grass full of wild flowers would now be unrecognisable to the men who had taken such care in its creation and upkeep.
Not that the creatures now passing through knew its heritage or even gave it any thought. Never known for their care of middle earth or even each other, orcs understood only one thing, kill or be killed and it was in their nature to make that killing as destructive as possible. Nor did it matter if it were so called friend or foe. They were as like to beat one of their own companions to a bloody pulp for the fun of it as to massacre a whole hamlet of men or, even better, a feisty group of those beings they hated above all, Elves and if the destruction included the environment around them so much the better.
All that was, except for one.
Shuffling along at the edge of the band, joining in with the occasional triumphant shout so as not to give himself away, a smallish, slight form wrapped in filthy, tattered scraps of rough cloth wondered at his fate. Knowing neither mother nor father and with no awareness of where or when he sprang to life the world appeared a wild and dangerous place and it was all he could do to drag himself along in the company of the creatures that claimed him as one of their kind. All he had was his name, Fauthash, and he didn’t even know who had given it to him and why.
A loud bellow, followed by a sharp whistle came from somewhere in front of the hoard and suddenly movement ceased, the tramp of heavy feet gave way to hesitant shambling and the air became thick with low, muttered grumblings as opposed to the raucous yells and growls that had accompanied them for the past few leagues. Taking advantage of the halt a few of his companions decided to relieve themselves and the small orc found himself skipping away into the surrounding rough scrub in an effort to avoid the steaming rivulets of noisome, yellow liquid that began to run across the trampled path so as to keep his feet dry and find somewhere a little more private to see to his own needs. It was moments like this that gave him pause to wonder if he did indeed belong with these creatures and if so, how it was that often he found it so very difficult to reconcile his own attitude with theirs.
“Ay! Watch what yer doin’!” One of his larger companions growled loudly as he slapped another who had just unceremoniously splattered his feet.
“What’ve we stopped for?”
“’ow should I know?” The other grunted in reply as he hit back.
“Don’t you ‘it me!” The first yelled, lowering his head to charge at the second.
“You ‘it me fir…oof!”
The pair fell to the ground in a flurry of fists and growls causing others nearby to readily join in and it was not long before a dozen or so were embroiled in a snarling mass of thick limbs and bodies.
As the small orc edged away from the melee he wondered how he was not inclined to join in when his companions loved nothing more than to be battling with someone, their comrades included if there was no other foe within striking distance. Searching his own feelings he admitted to himself that he did not particularly like fighting, no matter who the opponent. He would rather find a peaceful spot to sit and be still, in peace with the world around him.
“Stop!”
He had not got far when there was a loud bellow which halted him in his tracks but on turning around he found the originator of the sound was not looking upon him but those he had been trying to avoid becoming tangled up with.
“Oiy! You wretched lot!” the voice yelled again as a towering figure approached the fighting group.
“I said stop!”
Reaching down to catch a raised fist in a vice like grip the huge orc swung one of the combatants out of the melee and effortlessly cast him aside to land on the hard packed ground a few feet away with a muffled thud.
“Miserable bunch of idiots!” He yelled again as the fighting settled.
“Save it fer those pretties we hunt!”
Leers and growls spread through the gang as they untangled themselves under the darkened gaze levelled down upon them by the huge orc. Known to be unmerciful and dangerous, captain Burzgund was not to be ignored if you wanted to stay in one piece.
“That’s better.” The captain’s twisted mouth moved to show his large incisors in a sly grin.
“We’re taking a small break while scouts go take a sniff ahead, so make the most of it an’ try not to kill each other while we wait.” He paused briefly to glare pointedly at the assembled mass.
“There’ll be plenty of sweet mannish flesh ter sink yer claws into soon enough, aye,” he paused again teasingly. “Elvish too with any luck!”
With another obscene grin he the captain turned to lumber back to the front of the company leaving the fractious group to glare at each other and kick the ground irritably. Fauthash began to sidle away again, moving as slowly as possible, hunching his shoulders to make himself appear even smaller and with head down to avoid catching any others eye. He knew that if he caught any of their attention he would be the one to pay for their humiliation. Orcs did not take kindly to censure and hated any form of authority thus discipline was anathema to their very being and led to a constant battling for position within even the smallest group. He did not succeed. A huge hand suddenly landed on his left shoulder the grip tightening as he was pushed down to land on his knees in a warm and rather pungent puddle.
“Where’d ya think yer sildin’ off ter?” Fetid breath wafted over his face as his captor leaned down, sharp nails digging in painfully.
“J..jus’ goin’ to take a look around.” He replied trying to calm his racing insides. “G..Goin’ scoutin’ wiv them.” He gestured vaguely in the direction the captain had just gone.
“Hah!”
With a vicious shake the larger orc half lifted him up to stare into his eyes, noses almost touching.
“Of course you was!” A warm, rough tongue suddenly licked up his left cheek.
“Mmm Tasty..”
Fauthash held his breath and the other’s eyes for what seemed like forever until he was suddenly let go and pushed backwards to thump onto his behind on a particularly sharp rock.
“Alright, squirt!” The large orc leered. “You’re small enough not to be seen so that’s prob’ly not a bad idea.”
He turned back to the rest of the group, muttering grimly under his breath about scouts and captains and Fauthash rose, rubbing his rear end with one hand whilst wiping the spittle from his cheek with the other. For a moment he thought he was in with a chance, he would be able to wander away and hide though he had no idea what he would do after that. Then suddenly everything dissolved into chaos once more. He could hear the captains voice, guttural and strident, but couldn’t make out the words over the ring of drawn blades and howls which grew to a fever pitch around him. As he stood transfixed with indecision a tall, dark clothed figure dashed across in front of him, slashing, spinning and stabbing with an elegance and speed that could only belong to one type of being. His insides suddenly felt like ice. He knew who had come and he knew that if he didn’t find a way to escape he would die.
The small orcs world became filled with noise as his feet began to run before his brain even realised he was moving. Snarls, growls, shrieks and howls accompanied the clash of blades and whistles of arrows all of which egged him on in his race to get away. Dodging a particularly large body as it fell across his path clutching a green fletched arrow that was buried deep in its left eye he scanned left and right desperately seeking some form of shelter but seeing little that would keep him from sharp, elven eyes. This stretch of the ruined road was banked by tall trees, although many had been hacked down to mere stumps, but he was not built for climbing and there were no handy rocks or caves to creep into. Continuing his headlong rush he glanced over his shoulder in time to see another of his erstwhile companions fall to a lethal arrow before turning his eyes back to the road before him just as his foot made contact with a large, strangely shaped rock. He fell heavily, landing on his front with a startled ‘whoof!’ that robbed him of breath and movement for a few moments before he could turn to his left side then scrabble to sit up, spitting blood from the gash where he had bitten into his lower lip as his face hit the ground. He took in gulps of air and shook his head, trying to clear his vision, still very aware of the need to get away yet just as his eyes regained their focus and the tight band across his chest began to ease a pair of feet clad in supple leather boots moved into view and his chest tightened once more.
Fauthash knew that the feet were too small and the boots too well crafted to belong to one of his own kind and as he slowly raised his eyes, taking in the deep brown leggings and moss green tunic then the long flaxen hair and pale features and finally the tip of the arrow held in the half drawn bow and pointed at the space between his eyes his heart began to thump loudly within his scrawny chest.
“What are you?” The elf cocked his head to one side, brows pulled together in perplexity, seemingly speaking to himself. “I have not seen the like…”
The words tailed off leaving Fauthash to wonder if he should reply or stay silent and watching cautiously for any sign to let him know which way he should choose. He could still hear the clash of blades and shrieks of pain but they seemed somehow to be much further away and lessening with every heartbeat.
“You are rather small for an orc,” the elf spoke quietly, as if to himself. “Carry no weapon and your features…”
His voice tailed off once more and Fauthash wriggled backwards as the elf moved a step closer, until he felt a cold, rocky surface press into his back and he could go no further. Any moment now he knew the bow would tighten and he would feel the sharp spike of the arrow as it met its mark and all of a sudden he did not feel afraid. In fact he almost welcomed the idea of death. At least he would have peace from the constant taunts and insults flung his way never mind the unprovoked beatings. He almost cried out to the elf to do it, let the arrow fly and be done with it but the bow suddenly lowered, then disappeared as the tall figure crouched down and stared into his eyes.
“You want to die?” There was an air of confusion about the quietly spoken words. “What are you?”
The repeated question was stretched out as if the elf were actually searching for an answer from within rather than expecting one from Fathash yet he suddenly felt the need to say something in reply.
“F Fauthash,” he muttered shakily. Speaking in the common westron tongue that seemed so much easier on his throat than the black speech he had become accustomed to. “I am Fauthash, and I am not sure what I am anymore.”
Sharp green eyes narrowed slightly before softening as the elf sat back on his haunches in contemplation.
“Fauthash,” he said thoughtfully, “That is an orcish name I believe, yet you are unlike any orc I have ever met,” he continued.
“You are small and slight, your features are,” he paused, head tilting from side to side as he parsed the orcs face.
“Almost pretty,” he finally voiced incredulously. “And you carry no weapon. Hmm.”
“I hate them!” Fauthash blurted out and the elf’s eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Weapons, that is.” He continued softly as he felt his cheeks warm with the admission.
“I..I have never enjoyed the death of another and hate to be the one to cause it.”
Fauthash lowered his eyes as the elf continued to stare at him, not wanting to see the contempt and distrust he knew would be writ all over the others face.
“You were trying to escape,” the elf said then moving now to sit, cross legged on the ground. “But from us or them I wonder?”
“I just wanted some peace, to be on my own for a while,” Fauthash explained. “Then your company came and I thought that, in the confusion and noise I could just slip away.”
“Where were you planning to go?”
“I..I had no plan!” Fauthash replied with a catch in his throat.
“I knew not where to go, just that I wanted no more of them and the constant fighting and blood and shouting and pushing and beatings and ki…”
The rush of words turned into tears as all of the past years of abuse rushed over him in a heavy squall of emotion and Fauthash wept for the first time that he could remember as he felt a soft hand gently stroke over his bowed head. How much time passed before the storm finally dissipated he did not know but end it did and as his breaths calmed and he rubbed his grimy hands over his cheeks to dash away the salty remainders he heard voices ringing out musical and clear, unlike those roughened shouts that he was used to.
“Legolas! Legolas!”
The elf swiftly gained his feet at the calls and Fauthash rubbed at his eyes, suddenly fearful at the thought of what was to come.
“Go!” The elf said urgently, pointing in the direction opposite to that from which the calls had come.
“Find your peace, small one.” He said gently then turned away towards the shouts and swiftly disappeared from view.
For a moment Fauthash hesitated, unsure of what was happening before slowly rising to his feet unable to believe he still lived and listening to the fading responses uttered by the elf that had held him at the end of an arrow only short moments before.
Standing frozen in place. Not daring to move and fearing it was all a ploy to let him think it was all over only to find himself hunted down like an animal he eventually turned to stare back the way the elf had gone. In doing so his eyes caught sight of the stone that had so roughly made acquaintance with his foot and for the first time noticed that it was not, as he first thought, a mere boulder, but had been carved into the likeness of a man’s head. The blank stare of its eyes seemed accusatory in the now dim light and he almost voiced an apology for his clumsiness before spotting the rest of a huge statute almost hidden in the shadow of two of the remaining tall trees. A misshapen stone effigy had been placed where the head should have rested and Fauthash found himself bemoaning the destruction of what had obviously once been a beautiful monument, even if he had no idea who it was meant to depict.
The rustle of leaves awakened his need for escape and with a final glance at the road ahead he realised that he had reached a crossing of the ways. He dare not go back and run the risk of falling into the hands of the elves yet he did not want to go forward towards the darkness that lay ahead. Left or right were paths to the unknown and as he finally chose and started off down the right hand path, he felt suddenly lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his small shoulders. A weight he had not realised he was carrying until it had gone.
From high in the trees beside the king’s statue three figures watched the small orc and as he made his choice the bow that had been trained on him lowered. He would never know that should he have decided to follow he path towards Minas Morgul the primed arrow would have stopped him in his tracks, but he had chosen a much lighter road and for that had been shown compassion. Contrary to belief, the sons of Elrond and their woodland friend did not enjoy dealing out death in their quest for revenge and only killed those creatures who were so warped and dark that there was no choice and if Legolas had his own thoughts about the origins of the small creature now heading off towards a, hopefully, better future, he kept them to himself.
~Fin~
Note
I have used the translations of black speech from lowchenaustralia.com for the two orc names used in this story.
(Burzgund- large orc captain)
Burz= dark
Gund= stone
(Fauthash – small orc)
Fauth = lie hidden
Ash = one
Cassie Hughes
Summary:
Choices in life are often difficult but just because you have been brought up in darkness doesn’t mean that you can’t find your way to the light as a small orc is about to find out.
Rating: K
--------------------
Heavy footsteps and loud gruff voices rang through the air as the great band of fell creatures prodded and pushed each other along the old road heedless of the clamour their passing caused. Cheers and jeers sporadically split the air as each recounted and boasted of their own exploits in the various battles and raids they had been involved in after being let loose upon the poor villages they had been sent out to destroy. Their journeying had been long and they had ranged far but now each felt the pull towards their master and as more and more had joined together along the same path tempers and egos had begun to fray. Their mood began to resemble their surroundings, spoiled, rocky and no longer fit for any but the sparsest greenery to sprout. What once had been a beautifully maintained road, lined with the occasional magnificent tree and edged with lush grass full of wild flowers would now be unrecognisable to the men who had taken such care in its creation and upkeep.
Not that the creatures now passing through knew its heritage or even gave it any thought. Never known for their care of middle earth or even each other, orcs understood only one thing, kill or be killed and it was in their nature to make that killing as destructive as possible. Nor did it matter if it were so called friend or foe. They were as like to beat one of their own companions to a bloody pulp for the fun of it as to massacre a whole hamlet of men or, even better, a feisty group of those beings they hated above all, Elves and if the destruction included the environment around them so much the better.
All that was, except for one.
Shuffling along at the edge of the band, joining in with the occasional triumphant shout so as not to give himself away, a smallish, slight form wrapped in filthy, tattered scraps of rough cloth wondered at his fate. Knowing neither mother nor father and with no awareness of where or when he sprang to life the world appeared a wild and dangerous place and it was all he could do to drag himself along in the company of the creatures that claimed him as one of their kind. All he had was his name, Fauthash, and he didn’t even know who had given it to him and why.
A loud bellow, followed by a sharp whistle came from somewhere in front of the hoard and suddenly movement ceased, the tramp of heavy feet gave way to hesitant shambling and the air became thick with low, muttered grumblings as opposed to the raucous yells and growls that had accompanied them for the past few leagues. Taking advantage of the halt a few of his companions decided to relieve themselves and the small orc found himself skipping away into the surrounding rough scrub in an effort to avoid the steaming rivulets of noisome, yellow liquid that began to run across the trampled path so as to keep his feet dry and find somewhere a little more private to see to his own needs. It was moments like this that gave him pause to wonder if he did indeed belong with these creatures and if so, how it was that often he found it so very difficult to reconcile his own attitude with theirs.
“Ay! Watch what yer doin’!” One of his larger companions growled loudly as he slapped another who had just unceremoniously splattered his feet.
“What’ve we stopped for?”
“’ow should I know?” The other grunted in reply as he hit back.
“Don’t you ‘it me!” The first yelled, lowering his head to charge at the second.
“You ‘it me fir…oof!”
The pair fell to the ground in a flurry of fists and growls causing others nearby to readily join in and it was not long before a dozen or so were embroiled in a snarling mass of thick limbs and bodies.
As the small orc edged away from the melee he wondered how he was not inclined to join in when his companions loved nothing more than to be battling with someone, their comrades included if there was no other foe within striking distance. Searching his own feelings he admitted to himself that he did not particularly like fighting, no matter who the opponent. He would rather find a peaceful spot to sit and be still, in peace with the world around him.
“Stop!”
He had not got far when there was a loud bellow which halted him in his tracks but on turning around he found the originator of the sound was not looking upon him but those he had been trying to avoid becoming tangled up with.
“Oiy! You wretched lot!” the voice yelled again as a towering figure approached the fighting group.
“I said stop!”
Reaching down to catch a raised fist in a vice like grip the huge orc swung one of the combatants out of the melee and effortlessly cast him aside to land on the hard packed ground a few feet away with a muffled thud.
“Miserable bunch of idiots!” He yelled again as the fighting settled.
“Save it fer those pretties we hunt!”
Leers and growls spread through the gang as they untangled themselves under the darkened gaze levelled down upon them by the huge orc. Known to be unmerciful and dangerous, captain Burzgund was not to be ignored if you wanted to stay in one piece.
“That’s better.” The captain’s twisted mouth moved to show his large incisors in a sly grin.
“We’re taking a small break while scouts go take a sniff ahead, so make the most of it an’ try not to kill each other while we wait.” He paused briefly to glare pointedly at the assembled mass.
“There’ll be plenty of sweet mannish flesh ter sink yer claws into soon enough, aye,” he paused again teasingly. “Elvish too with any luck!”
With another obscene grin he the captain turned to lumber back to the front of the company leaving the fractious group to glare at each other and kick the ground irritably. Fauthash began to sidle away again, moving as slowly as possible, hunching his shoulders to make himself appear even smaller and with head down to avoid catching any others eye. He knew that if he caught any of their attention he would be the one to pay for their humiliation. Orcs did not take kindly to censure and hated any form of authority thus discipline was anathema to their very being and led to a constant battling for position within even the smallest group. He did not succeed. A huge hand suddenly landed on his left shoulder the grip tightening as he was pushed down to land on his knees in a warm and rather pungent puddle.
“Where’d ya think yer sildin’ off ter?” Fetid breath wafted over his face as his captor leaned down, sharp nails digging in painfully.
“J..jus’ goin’ to take a look around.” He replied trying to calm his racing insides. “G..Goin’ scoutin’ wiv them.” He gestured vaguely in the direction the captain had just gone.
“Hah!”
With a vicious shake the larger orc half lifted him up to stare into his eyes, noses almost touching.
“Of course you was!” A warm, rough tongue suddenly licked up his left cheek.
“Mmm Tasty..”
Fauthash held his breath and the other’s eyes for what seemed like forever until he was suddenly let go and pushed backwards to thump onto his behind on a particularly sharp rock.
“Alright, squirt!” The large orc leered. “You’re small enough not to be seen so that’s prob’ly not a bad idea.”
He turned back to the rest of the group, muttering grimly under his breath about scouts and captains and Fauthash rose, rubbing his rear end with one hand whilst wiping the spittle from his cheek with the other. For a moment he thought he was in with a chance, he would be able to wander away and hide though he had no idea what he would do after that. Then suddenly everything dissolved into chaos once more. He could hear the captains voice, guttural and strident, but couldn’t make out the words over the ring of drawn blades and howls which grew to a fever pitch around him. As he stood transfixed with indecision a tall, dark clothed figure dashed across in front of him, slashing, spinning and stabbing with an elegance and speed that could only belong to one type of being. His insides suddenly felt like ice. He knew who had come and he knew that if he didn’t find a way to escape he would die.
The small orcs world became filled with noise as his feet began to run before his brain even realised he was moving. Snarls, growls, shrieks and howls accompanied the clash of blades and whistles of arrows all of which egged him on in his race to get away. Dodging a particularly large body as it fell across his path clutching a green fletched arrow that was buried deep in its left eye he scanned left and right desperately seeking some form of shelter but seeing little that would keep him from sharp, elven eyes. This stretch of the ruined road was banked by tall trees, although many had been hacked down to mere stumps, but he was not built for climbing and there were no handy rocks or caves to creep into. Continuing his headlong rush he glanced over his shoulder in time to see another of his erstwhile companions fall to a lethal arrow before turning his eyes back to the road before him just as his foot made contact with a large, strangely shaped rock. He fell heavily, landing on his front with a startled ‘whoof!’ that robbed him of breath and movement for a few moments before he could turn to his left side then scrabble to sit up, spitting blood from the gash where he had bitten into his lower lip as his face hit the ground. He took in gulps of air and shook his head, trying to clear his vision, still very aware of the need to get away yet just as his eyes regained their focus and the tight band across his chest began to ease a pair of feet clad in supple leather boots moved into view and his chest tightened once more.
Fauthash knew that the feet were too small and the boots too well crafted to belong to one of his own kind and as he slowly raised his eyes, taking in the deep brown leggings and moss green tunic then the long flaxen hair and pale features and finally the tip of the arrow held in the half drawn bow and pointed at the space between his eyes his heart began to thump loudly within his scrawny chest.
“What are you?” The elf cocked his head to one side, brows pulled together in perplexity, seemingly speaking to himself. “I have not seen the like…”
The words tailed off leaving Fauthash to wonder if he should reply or stay silent and watching cautiously for any sign to let him know which way he should choose. He could still hear the clash of blades and shrieks of pain but they seemed somehow to be much further away and lessening with every heartbeat.
“You are rather small for an orc,” the elf spoke quietly, as if to himself. “Carry no weapon and your features…”
His voice tailed off once more and Fauthash wriggled backwards as the elf moved a step closer, until he felt a cold, rocky surface press into his back and he could go no further. Any moment now he knew the bow would tighten and he would feel the sharp spike of the arrow as it met its mark and all of a sudden he did not feel afraid. In fact he almost welcomed the idea of death. At least he would have peace from the constant taunts and insults flung his way never mind the unprovoked beatings. He almost cried out to the elf to do it, let the arrow fly and be done with it but the bow suddenly lowered, then disappeared as the tall figure crouched down and stared into his eyes.
“You want to die?” There was an air of confusion about the quietly spoken words. “What are you?”
The repeated question was stretched out as if the elf were actually searching for an answer from within rather than expecting one from Fathash yet he suddenly felt the need to say something in reply.
“F Fauthash,” he muttered shakily. Speaking in the common westron tongue that seemed so much easier on his throat than the black speech he had become accustomed to. “I am Fauthash, and I am not sure what I am anymore.”
Sharp green eyes narrowed slightly before softening as the elf sat back on his haunches in contemplation.
“Fauthash,” he said thoughtfully, “That is an orcish name I believe, yet you are unlike any orc I have ever met,” he continued.
“You are small and slight, your features are,” he paused, head tilting from side to side as he parsed the orcs face.
“Almost pretty,” he finally voiced incredulously. “And you carry no weapon. Hmm.”
“I hate them!” Fauthash blurted out and the elf’s eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Weapons, that is.” He continued softly as he felt his cheeks warm with the admission.
“I..I have never enjoyed the death of another and hate to be the one to cause it.”
Fauthash lowered his eyes as the elf continued to stare at him, not wanting to see the contempt and distrust he knew would be writ all over the others face.
“You were trying to escape,” the elf said then moving now to sit, cross legged on the ground. “But from us or them I wonder?”
“I just wanted some peace, to be on my own for a while,” Fauthash explained. “Then your company came and I thought that, in the confusion and noise I could just slip away.”
“Where were you planning to go?”
“I..I had no plan!” Fauthash replied with a catch in his throat.
“I knew not where to go, just that I wanted no more of them and the constant fighting and blood and shouting and pushing and beatings and ki…”
The rush of words turned into tears as all of the past years of abuse rushed over him in a heavy squall of emotion and Fauthash wept for the first time that he could remember as he felt a soft hand gently stroke over his bowed head. How much time passed before the storm finally dissipated he did not know but end it did and as his breaths calmed and he rubbed his grimy hands over his cheeks to dash away the salty remainders he heard voices ringing out musical and clear, unlike those roughened shouts that he was used to.
“Legolas! Legolas!”
The elf swiftly gained his feet at the calls and Fauthash rubbed at his eyes, suddenly fearful at the thought of what was to come.
“Go!” The elf said urgently, pointing in the direction opposite to that from which the calls had come.
“Find your peace, small one.” He said gently then turned away towards the shouts and swiftly disappeared from view.
For a moment Fauthash hesitated, unsure of what was happening before slowly rising to his feet unable to believe he still lived and listening to the fading responses uttered by the elf that had held him at the end of an arrow only short moments before.
Standing frozen in place. Not daring to move and fearing it was all a ploy to let him think it was all over only to find himself hunted down like an animal he eventually turned to stare back the way the elf had gone. In doing so his eyes caught sight of the stone that had so roughly made acquaintance with his foot and for the first time noticed that it was not, as he first thought, a mere boulder, but had been carved into the likeness of a man’s head. The blank stare of its eyes seemed accusatory in the now dim light and he almost voiced an apology for his clumsiness before spotting the rest of a huge statute almost hidden in the shadow of two of the remaining tall trees. A misshapen stone effigy had been placed where the head should have rested and Fauthash found himself bemoaning the destruction of what had obviously once been a beautiful monument, even if he had no idea who it was meant to depict.
The rustle of leaves awakened his need for escape and with a final glance at the road ahead he realised that he had reached a crossing of the ways. He dare not go back and run the risk of falling into the hands of the elves yet he did not want to go forward towards the darkness that lay ahead. Left or right were paths to the unknown and as he finally chose and started off down the right hand path, he felt suddenly lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from his small shoulders. A weight he had not realised he was carrying until it had gone.
From high in the trees beside the king’s statue three figures watched the small orc and as he made his choice the bow that had been trained on him lowered. He would never know that should he have decided to follow he path towards Minas Morgul the primed arrow would have stopped him in his tracks, but he had chosen a much lighter road and for that had been shown compassion. Contrary to belief, the sons of Elrond and their woodland friend did not enjoy dealing out death in their quest for revenge and only killed those creatures who were so warped and dark that there was no choice and if Legolas had his own thoughts about the origins of the small creature now heading off towards a, hopefully, better future, he kept them to himself.
~Fin~
Note
I have used the translations of black speech from lowchenaustralia.com for the two orc names used in this story.
(Burzgund- large orc captain)
Burz= dark
Gund= stone
(Fauthash – small orc)
Fauth = lie hidden
Ash = one