The Loyalty of Runty Orcs
Aragorn looked across the assembled black masses before him. Orcs as far as the eye could see, fidgeting in bloodthirsty anticipation, shoving their neighbors, licking their lips as they contemplated the doomed armies of men before them. Aragorn turned to Legolas. His friend was beside him on Arod, with Gimli behind.
"If this," the Ranger said, sweeping his arm out across the Orcs, "if this is the strength the Dark Lord can muster, and this," looking back at their comparatively tiny army, "is the strength we can muster, then what chance have we of standing against him?"
Legolas's dark eyes swept through the sea of Orcs, fastening on one point and then looking back at his friend.
"Do you see that small Orc in the front row, almost directly in front of us?" the Elf asked, tipping his head towards the evil minion in question.
Aragorn nodded.
"Why is he here today?"
"To fight," Aragorn responded, puzzled.
"But he is small. The bigger ones will not let him loot any of the bodies he slaughters. He does not stand to gain from this battle. So why is he here to fight?"
"Because the Dark Lord tells him to."
"Why does he follow the Dark Lord?"
Elves, Aragorn thought, but dutifully answered, "Because of fear. He fears Sauron."
"And why do I follow you?"
"Ah," Aragorn smiled at his friend. "Because of love."
Legolas smiled back. "Exactly. And which, fear or love, which do you think compels the stronger loyalty?"
Behind them, forgotten by both Elf and Ranger, Gimli smiled too.