Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings. It does belong to lots of people
such as Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Cinema, and both are much richer
than me. For this reason, and because I get no money from this, could they
please not sue me. Any original ideas and characters do belong to me, my
own, my love, my precious. And yes. Legolas looked like that when I found
him. Really.
Authors Notes: Silly little Plot Bunny that came up and bit me while I was trying to work on my big project fic. Argh. Look out for Torn Between Worlds, by the way.
No, I haven't read the Simillarion (YET) or any of the Tale of Years, for which I am very sorry. They are on my reading list. Just let me get over my bloody GCSEs. I do know the story of them, and I have read the main book. So, these are my thoughts on the making of the orcs. It's quite a dark fic. Sorry.
Don't speak elvish. Not sure if melamin really means my love, but I bunged it in for the heck of it. Sorry. (Saying that a lot, huh?)
Send feedback. Please. FEED THE FEEDBACK DRAGON! roar Flames will be used to burn my cello and roast marshmallows. (Yummy)
*/*/*/*/*/
"Do you know how the orcs came into being? They were elves once, when the dark powers took and mutilated them. A terrible, twisted race-"
*/*/*/*/*/
"Namaarie, melamin," Galen murmured quietly, heartbroken. He hung his head between his knees, hands crushing the earth beneath him as he sobbed, sobbed for all that had been lost to him, to all elves. He had been taken, taken when he was young and innocent, tortured to something out of all recognition.
Yet Galen knew who he was. He was no longer the handsome beauty he had known, had loved; yet there was something inside him, inside this creature that he had recognised as his beloved Cirithion. Galen had recognised as his sword pierced Cirithion's heart, as Galen had heard his lover scream and die beneath him.
The battle had been long, and had seemed massive, but was it? Truly? It was naught but a skirmish, in it all. Yet so many had died here. Friends, companions, lovers.
Were they doing these new creatures a service? To kill them early, instead of living allowing them to live as these, twisted nightmarish creatures? That was what Galen had been told, yet now, he couldn't comprehend the taking of such lives.
Galen screamed to the air, to all around him, to the sky, the stars, the moon, the very earth at all that had happened. All that was wrong. Why had this happened now, to him when he had been happy? Why did the stars continue to shine, the earth continue to be, when there was no point, it's most precious light taken and mutilated, taken to the dark? His pain-glazed eyes stared at all around him, cursing it's name and very being, tears blurring it all, the night making it dark and unwelcoming.
Cirithion already looked like he was in the later stages of death, his skin decayed, his eyes wide, and his figure thin and emaciated. Why was he so clear to see when all else was so dark and unclear?
He hadn't recognised him, until the fateful moment.
The two armies, the so-called armies of light and the army of dark rushed against one another, battling, shrieking profanities in assorted languages that sounded oddly familiar. Galen had been more ready than any others to fight. They had taken his beloved Cirithion, and he had wanted to make them pay. The true extent of what the dark powers had done to the taken elves had not fully dawned on Galen's mind as he rushed against them, fighting with the rage of one who had lost. One of the creatures had fought well, and for a long time, until eventually Galen had struck his sword through the creatures heart, and smiled in grim satisfaction as the creature had screamed in pain and frustration, until he stopped dead.
He knew the shriek of pain well. He had heard it himself, when they had taken Cirithion. This creature could be nothing but Cirithion, the one whom he had loved, cared for, bonded his life too.
Galen had sunk to the ground, holding the creature that had once been his love as he died. He had held him, shielding his remains from the battle around them, lost in his own world of pain and sorrow, as Cirithion died, a part of Galen's soul leaving with Cirithion as he departed.
Would he go to the Hall of Mandros? Or would he suffer inside some other netherworld, and the two would be forever parted?
The battle ended, the elves and monsters either departed or died around him, the carnage piling high behind the broken elf. Galen cared not. He lay there, weeping throughout the day until the sun had sunk and the stars had come out, twinkling at the carnage as though they did not care for the sorrows of mere living creatures.
"Namaarie, melamin," Galen murmured again, taking his sword, still stained with his blood, now darkened and blackened. Slowly, he raised its tip to his own wrists, ready for the swift downwards motion to end his own life in the way that Cirithion's had been quenched, to let their blood pour together. Galen did not know where he would go after his death, yet he did not care. He wanted to leave this place of suffering, to go with him to the afterlife, wherever that may be. Slowly, he drew the tip to his wrists, and closed his eyes as he pushed it downwards, slitting his skin and the delicate veins. He felt his life blood flow over his body, staining the ground around him as he pushed the tip of the sword above his other wrist, pushing downwards as his very life flowed from his body.
Galen collapsed besides the one he had loved, even in this visage, and grasped Cirithion's gnarled hand as he felt the blackness that had overwhelmed his heart take over his body, forcing him into unconsciousness. Galen accepted it, welcomed the sweeping oblivion over his body and soul as his blood seeped over the two and his sword clattered to the floor.
What was left of Galancirithion died on the battlefield, in the arms of his lover. To him an elf, yet to others naught but an orc, the forgotten victims of a battle remembered by few or none.
*/*/*/*/*/
Thanks for reading. I hope that you liked it. Please send feedback, r/r, and the whole lot! I'm off to carry on with Torn Between Worlds. Thanks for reading!
Authors Notes: Silly little Plot Bunny that came up and bit me while I was trying to work on my big project fic. Argh. Look out for Torn Between Worlds, by the way.
No, I haven't read the Simillarion (YET) or any of the Tale of Years, for which I am very sorry. They are on my reading list. Just let me get over my bloody GCSEs. I do know the story of them, and I have read the main book. So, these are my thoughts on the making of the orcs. It's quite a dark fic. Sorry.
Don't speak elvish. Not sure if melamin really means my love, but I bunged it in for the heck of it. Sorry. (Saying that a lot, huh?)
Send feedback. Please. FEED THE FEEDBACK DRAGON! roar Flames will be used to burn my cello and roast marshmallows. (Yummy)
*/*/*/*/*/
"Do you know how the orcs came into being? They were elves once, when the dark powers took and mutilated them. A terrible, twisted race-"
*/*/*/*/*/
"Namaarie, melamin," Galen murmured quietly, heartbroken. He hung his head between his knees, hands crushing the earth beneath him as he sobbed, sobbed for all that had been lost to him, to all elves. He had been taken, taken when he was young and innocent, tortured to something out of all recognition.
Yet Galen knew who he was. He was no longer the handsome beauty he had known, had loved; yet there was something inside him, inside this creature that he had recognised as his beloved Cirithion. Galen had recognised as his sword pierced Cirithion's heart, as Galen had heard his lover scream and die beneath him.
The battle had been long, and had seemed massive, but was it? Truly? It was naught but a skirmish, in it all. Yet so many had died here. Friends, companions, lovers.
Were they doing these new creatures a service? To kill them early, instead of living allowing them to live as these, twisted nightmarish creatures? That was what Galen had been told, yet now, he couldn't comprehend the taking of such lives.
Galen screamed to the air, to all around him, to the sky, the stars, the moon, the very earth at all that had happened. All that was wrong. Why had this happened now, to him when he had been happy? Why did the stars continue to shine, the earth continue to be, when there was no point, it's most precious light taken and mutilated, taken to the dark? His pain-glazed eyes stared at all around him, cursing it's name and very being, tears blurring it all, the night making it dark and unwelcoming.
Cirithion already looked like he was in the later stages of death, his skin decayed, his eyes wide, and his figure thin and emaciated. Why was he so clear to see when all else was so dark and unclear?
He hadn't recognised him, until the fateful moment.
The two armies, the so-called armies of light and the army of dark rushed against one another, battling, shrieking profanities in assorted languages that sounded oddly familiar. Galen had been more ready than any others to fight. They had taken his beloved Cirithion, and he had wanted to make them pay. The true extent of what the dark powers had done to the taken elves had not fully dawned on Galen's mind as he rushed against them, fighting with the rage of one who had lost. One of the creatures had fought well, and for a long time, until eventually Galen had struck his sword through the creatures heart, and smiled in grim satisfaction as the creature had screamed in pain and frustration, until he stopped dead.
He knew the shriek of pain well. He had heard it himself, when they had taken Cirithion. This creature could be nothing but Cirithion, the one whom he had loved, cared for, bonded his life too.
Galen had sunk to the ground, holding the creature that had once been his love as he died. He had held him, shielding his remains from the battle around them, lost in his own world of pain and sorrow, as Cirithion died, a part of Galen's soul leaving with Cirithion as he departed.
Would he go to the Hall of Mandros? Or would he suffer inside some other netherworld, and the two would be forever parted?
The battle ended, the elves and monsters either departed or died around him, the carnage piling high behind the broken elf. Galen cared not. He lay there, weeping throughout the day until the sun had sunk and the stars had come out, twinkling at the carnage as though they did not care for the sorrows of mere living creatures.
"Namaarie, melamin," Galen murmured again, taking his sword, still stained with his blood, now darkened and blackened. Slowly, he raised its tip to his own wrists, ready for the swift downwards motion to end his own life in the way that Cirithion's had been quenched, to let their blood pour together. Galen did not know where he would go after his death, yet he did not care. He wanted to leave this place of suffering, to go with him to the afterlife, wherever that may be. Slowly, he drew the tip to his wrists, and closed his eyes as he pushed it downwards, slitting his skin and the delicate veins. He felt his life blood flow over his body, staining the ground around him as he pushed the tip of the sword above his other wrist, pushing downwards as his very life flowed from his body.
Galen collapsed besides the one he had loved, even in this visage, and grasped Cirithion's gnarled hand as he felt the blackness that had overwhelmed his heart take over his body, forcing him into unconsciousness. Galen accepted it, welcomed the sweeping oblivion over his body and soul as his blood seeped over the two and his sword clattered to the floor.
What was left of Galancirithion died on the battlefield, in the arms of his lover. To him an elf, yet to others naught but an orc, the forgotten victims of a battle remembered by few or none.
*/*/*/*/*/
Thanks for reading. I hope that you liked it. Please send feedback, r/r, and the whole lot! I'm off to carry on with Torn Between Worlds. Thanks for reading!