Finally I began translating my current LotR story.

I am not an English speaker so I'm very grateful to Jaxzan Proditor for beta-reading my text. Honestly, I had never thought before that stories about Orcs or Uruk-Hai could be interesting to anyone but then I met a lot of Orc-fans there :) I also must say this story is dedicated to my best, beloved friend Irkis but she will read it when it's complete. The original story is in Russian and I've written 7 chapters so far. There will be 12, maybe 13 chapters.


The March evening was grey and dank. It was still not really spring yet, as inky-black clouds covered the frozen steppe with snowy rain and thinking of anything but the hearth and hot tea was impossible, but somehow Aelga succeeded to. Her sword swiftly cut cold air, whistling and outlining arches, loops and "eights". In times as these she imagined herself to be a shieldmaiden like Lady Eowyn.

"Daughter", mother's voice, quiet and hoarse from crying, came to her from behind, "Do you want to catch cold? Come in".

Having surfaced from her imaginings, the girl turned around. Her mother, wrapped up in a downy shawl, stood by the wicket door of the courtyard and seemed to have been watching her for long time. Her black funeral kerchief contrasted with her pale face, tears trembling in swollen eyes. Aelga rubbed her numb hands together and exhaled. Training cleared up her mind and distracted her from the pain of loss but she decided she had done enough for today. Her duties at the village stable and her house work took away a great amount of her energy and also it was supper time already.

Three days has passed since the news of the unexpected, incredible victory in Helm's Deep was brought to Trevarn, this humble settlement in Eastfold. Keeping the Eastern threat in mind and staying aware, the people have been still celebrating. However, in many, many families there was no place for fun. Only two messages had a meaning for Aelga and her parents. The first was a tragic one: her elder brother Idvar had died. Strong, diligent and enthusiastic in taking risks, Idvar was their father's pride. He served in the elite éored of Eastfold and had a dream of becoming a man-at-arms of the Marshal's, but he was not to win the glory. An Orcish arrow hit him right in his eye and killed him on spot. Yesterday his body was delivered home and buried with all the proper customs. He had loved his sister and little by little taught her how to handle weapons and now he has ceased to be. The second piece of news was also of the death but, despite all the War horrors, brought Aelga no grief but relief: not returning from the fortress was her groom.

"Vittan, Vittan", her father whispered shaking his head. There was unleavened porridge cooling down in his plate, "So tall, so hard and mighty, and yet split nearly apart! What sort of beasts they were, these Uruks? Half-Orcs, half-men… Saruman be damned for making such an abomination! Bless Béma, they hadn't reached here, but soldiers said the forest hadn't devoured them all and some were still prowling around…"

"Enough!" her mother flared up, "Vittan died honorably protecting us, so enough about Uruks!"

"About Vittan too", Aelga added after swallowing the porridge and was at once glared at with moral outrage by her family.

"Couldn't you ignore your selfishness at least for now?" her father chided, "We all know he wasn't of your liking but couldn't you just show a bit of respect for the fallen?"

"As you wish, father", she stood up abruptly and headed for her room, "My absence is the best respect for him, as my feelings have always meant nothing to you".

"Come back here immediately!" her father said in an angry tone and banged his fist on the table.

But his daughter has already shut her door, lain in the bed and covered herself with a blanket, hiding her head under it.

"Wasn't of your liking"… he was not simply not-of-her-liking, she hated him. Polite and courteous when watched, he was rude and arrogant when he met her alone on a way to the well or to the market. He didn't let his hands take any liberties but was always throwing lewd glances, chuckling and saying a mere stable servant had no chance to escape from a soon-to-be officer. When she inquired what makes him so enthralled with a mere stable servant who is indifferent to creams and rouges, fond of sword-waving and wears pants, he faltered, wrinkled his forehead and blurted that she is too beautiful for a peasant. Yeah, in this matter he was more right than wrong. In spite of being short she was slender, her thin face with bright green eyes was pleasant to look at and also her long straw-colored hair was always well-washed, though usually braided in a plait. In other words, she was nowhere near regular bulky countrywomen. Again, nonetheless, is it a reason for stalking and bothering her, for staring at her as if she was a thoroughbred mare?! Her friends envied her and twisted fingers at their temples until she fell out with every one of them while her parents did not trust her and believed she was making a mûmakil out of an ant. Vittan was a son of a captain who was well received at the house of Théoden. From her parents' point of view that was an indisputable value. Eager with the desire to join military class and indeed sincerely wishing their daughter well they didn't consider necessary to ask if she liked him. Oh Béma, they did not even ask at all if she wanted to be a married woman burdened with children and household chores! They appointed the wedding for April and Aelga was already thinking of leaving without goodbyes, fortunately she had got some money saved, but destiny's dice fell differently. The illusive hope appeared that importunate wedding talks will stop at least for a while… however Vittan will be mourned for a long time and she will have to tolerate it.

With such thought she fell asleep but, happily, without dreams about this. She has been very tired and was glad to fall down to the deep dead oblivion as tomorrow she was to go to Edoras.


Trevarn was an agricultural settlement. The people grew vegetables, fruits and grains but with animals prospects were worse. Good beef and pork or a decent mount could be bought in the capital only. The road, far, winding and feared because of the rumors about remaining Orcs, took six full hours to get there and no one but soldiers of the Riddermark and the bravest armed villagers dared to travel alone. Merchants and strangers, on the contrary, waited by the gates for a very long time for gathering of seven or eight carts and guards whose service sometimes was rather costly.

Aelga had to go through with that too. In the morning everything went surprisingly fast as nine fellow travellers with their baggage had already crowded near the exit before the dawn, but when it came to returning her fortune abandoned her. About five o'clock in the evening, after tiresome roaming up and down the bazaar filled with people and horses, where she bought everything she had been asked to – milk, cheese, butter, honey, healing roots and big bull rump barely fitting into her saddlebag – she understood she will not be leaving soon. And it was no wonder why: uncertainty lain ahead, peasants tried to buy as much food as possible and left for home in the morning hours with fresh strength, having spent nighttime in inns. But she had no money to make a stop. And also her father strictly ordered her to return before dark. And also… oh, what is such a punishment for? Perhaps the only one who could be unhappier was Molly, her small but beloved ginger white-nosed filly.

"Never mind, we'll get out of here", the girl optimistically tapped her on her withers. The fleeting idea caused a wave of vague uneasiness but promised to speed the task, "The sun is still high, we are lucky…"

Nudging the horse with her heels Aelga hurried to the exit – and, like any loner, was stopped at the gates. Broad-shouldered guardsman with a halberd looked at her critically, scrutinizing her thick leather jacket and the sword in the scabbard, cleared his throat and inquired in grumpy voice:

"How far are you going, young lady?"

"To Darlen", she lied easily. Darlen was the neighboring village within just a half-hour's ride.

"Hmm… didn't know you're from there", the guardsman backed down but added out of routine, "Be careful and don't turn off the road! The wilderness is dangerous!"

Dangerous it is, no doubt. The people were slowly returning to their peaceful life but the soldiers were patrolling the plains day and night. Alas, the stories of Uruk-Hai survivors were no idle rumors and riders did their best to do away with them for good. At the market she heard that yesterday's night three Uruks assaulted and plundered the outlying homestead. The patrols immediately came tearing along and slayed them but were late; two men were brutally killed; five were wounded, women and children were still terribly scared. Today was a calm day but there was the fact – it has been just three days since all the population of Edoras was trembling with fear in the caves of Aglarond, while lesser towns and villages remained unharmed just by Valar's blessing, and if it was not for the éored arriving in time… Aelga shook this thought off. The common trade route arched for almost two hour of extra length and she was just going to shorten the way by going through the rocky hills. Yes, she risked but she no longer wanted to be afraid. This is Eastfold, the outskirts of the capital, and the mopping-up was performed there earlier than anywhere else!

She hoped to reach home by sunset but in three hours, when it got colder and deep blue shadows lay down on the hills, Molly wearily slowed her pace. The horse was thirsty, replying blandishments and soft kicks with discontented neighing, so the girl dismounted and unclasped the saddlebag with the meat. Snowy rolling flatland spread for many miles around and, as wide as Aelga eyed this monotony she could find neither river nor stream in sight, however the dark spot far ahead appeared to be familiar and her spirits lifted. That was a birch groove with an old well in there! Molly remembered that place too and needed no further hupping but then, as they got closer to the groove, all of a sudden she began to snore and jib.

"Aw, you'd better define whether you want to drink or not", Aelga said with irony but, keeping in mind that Molly was whimsical and pretty capable of such tricks, she took the bucket which hung at the side of the saddle. "All right, wait here for a little. I'll bring you some water".

She trudged into the trees, blaming herself for imprudence and trying not to think of what she will hear from her overstrung parents. What must be, will be.

The well was abandoned long ago and no one came here for water anymore. Even shepherds did not. It had careened and was surrounded by a puny lake, but the semicircular stonework enclosing it was still steady. Last pinkish sheens played on its outer rim while insides have dimmed in darkness. Bad presentiment stung Aelga's stomach like a hundred needles but everything happened at such a lightning speed that she had no time to react…

…With a terrible growl an enormous black shadow burst out of the gloom and, had not it been for the ice which the girl slipped on she would have already been beheaded. A crude dark blade clanged on the stonework right above the top of her head, but then it was over for both of them had lost their footing. The assailant growled once more but apparently of pain and instead of advancing to her again it clumsily fell with its shoulder against the fencing. This gave Aelga several salutary seconds and she quickly got to her feet, jumping back and unsheathing her sword. Idvar's pattern-welded weapon which had been bequeathed to his sister long before the battle made a furious flash in the rays of the angry crimson sun as if the brother himself came to her aid. The thing that has nearly killed her recoiled from the flare and just then she was finally able to take a closer look at it.

It was an Orc.

And it was everything she could say for certain. The hoarse beastly breath, dense coat of horrible dirt, thick stench of unwashed body and rags were obviously Orcish attributes, but these were the only recognizable traits. Still holding the sword in her hand, Aelga stood there perplexedly and watched the unknown creature who sat on the ice in painfully lopsided pose.

"Is it… an Uruk-Hai?" she guessed timidly when she paid attention to the White Hand label daubed roughly onto the helmet and pauldrons. She was not sure. Saruman's army had been heading right for Helm's Deep while the central Eastfold horse patrols prevented Uruk-Hai from invading the region, so she had only been told they were huge but had never seen them with her own eyes. She saw regular Orcs but those were just corpses dumped in a pile for burning. In both height and obviously strength they were inferior to a human male but this one was almost thrice larger than her! Even his heavy assault armor and untidy leather clothes could not conceal the body-build every knight would envy.

The Uruk-Hai didn't try to get up. Fearsomely he stuck out his weapon in front of him. It was brownish and unsightly and had a sharp thorn on its end. It seemed a great effort for him to do this. His half-closed helm left the lower part of his face (or, more precisely, his scowling sharp-toothed snout) open, and there he had a grimace of pain rather than of rage. His right greave was pressed inward and broken through, sharp edges digging into the flesh, but the wound did not bleed anymore, having been covered with a black crust.

"One wrong move and I will stab you", Aelga promised seriously. Wounded or not, an Orc is an Orc. A murderer and probably a rapist… the gossips about them were so scary that the blood stood still in women, maidens' and little girls' veins. Frankly, she should have acted right away like the King Théoden's warriors had at the Hornburg: while looking for their live comrades they finished off live Uruks without a slightest regret.

The Orc did not reply to the threat. Maybe he did not make out the words or did not understand them, due to not speaking Westron, or even did not hear what she said, and for some reason the third seemed to be more true. Keeping constant watch on him, Aelga moved a bit aside, then knocked on the ice with the heel of her boot when Molly, who was still lingering, neighed from behind the trees – and surely he should have comprehended that as a warning but, contrary to logic, didn't move at all. The reason became clear. He was deaf and practically blind, perceiving illumination differences only, and the only sense he could use properly was smell. The smell of a frightened human female, a prey. Hating herself for this, Aelga squeezed the hilt stronger and stepped forward resolutely, raising the weapon to thrust it into the unprotected skin of the creature's throat. The Uruk smelled the change in her scent, his whole body shuddered and he dropped his poker-like blade, gurgling out a strained, grunting cough. Black droplets splashed on her face and stained the furry collar of her jacket. She made a face with disgust, but that was the moment when she lowered her sword.

"What do I know of them?" the very inopportune thought flashed through her mind, "and… what do I know of him?"

The formulation itself sounded inappropriate in relation to the immemorial foes of the Free Peoples, but the very fact that it did pop up at all strangely excited the Rohirric girl. Her scent altered again and the Uruk noticed that. His breathing leveled, he stopped shuddering and leaned his head against the fence. Indeed he had been thoroughly battered but precisely was not yet at death door, so far.

Aelga did not understand what her hands suddenly began doing. The left one, holding the bag, shook the thawing bull rump out on the ground, and the right one, holding the sword, chopped off a little chunk. Then she came up to the Uruk-Hai and squatted down in front of him. Tossing the meat up in her hand she smiled joylessly.

"No, I would not hand-feed you. Surely you can bite my fingers off…" hesitantly she put the chunk on the ice for him to smell and grope at.

Molly neighed again, resentedly this time. Meanwhile, the sun set and the girl jumped up, remembering her mother and father had most likely worried themselves to death over her. She found her bucket which had rolled away from her, but did not dare to take water from the well (what if there was Orcish vomit down there?). Instead she made a small ice-hole, using her sword, and scooped a bucketful from under the ice. Having thrown a farewell glance at the wounded she hastily left the groove without saying a word.

At the third time Molly finally allowed Aelga to mount her, and she came home at one o'clock in the morning. She realized it would not be easy to hush up and forget it and composed a fitting story for her parents. Stray dogs attacked her. She had to share the meat. They left her alone. No matter how confused it sounded, the point was they believed her and didn't look closely at the spots on her clothing. Mother almost drowned her in her tears, father yelled at her but she did not show indignation. She deserved the scolding.


A/N: The rating may change in the future because there will be rather non-fairytale philosophy topics and blood. Lots of it.