Beauty in the Beast
By
Cyberfox
Author's note: Hi everyone. I've decided to try my hand at LOTR fanfiction writing although I think that it will be impossible to ever write a story as spellbinding as one by Tolkien himself. Nevertheless, I love LOTR to much to just let it lie. I mean, I watched the movie like a thousand times in the theatre. From the moment that the Ring is destroyed I sobbed like a baby and wouldn't stop. My life feels so empty now that there are no more movies to look forward to. Well, this fic is from an orc's POV. I know that not everyone will agree with me but I just think that there may be more to them than meets the eye. Ah, well. Enough rambling. Enjoy!
Sometimes, when the moon is full and the night sky is filled with the light of the stars I am filled with wonder. I, an orc, am awed by the beauty of the night. I have not shared this secret with any of my brethren for I know how they would react. They would fill my ears with their harsh laughter. We orcs don't know beauty. We don't know tranquillity. We find our peace only in the heat of battle, when our blood is stirred and adrenaline pumps through our bodies. Only when we are fighting for our very survival can we ever forget what it must be like to be beautiful.
What must it be like to be beautiful? I wouldn't know. Occassionally, when I chance upon a pool of water and I don't think that anyone is watching, I gaze into its depths to look at my reflection. I am repulsed by the reflection of my face. Do I really look like this? Am I really this hideous being? It breaks my heart to think so. I swipe my hand through the crystal waters, making them opaque with my filth. In times like these I am filled with self-hatred. I truly loathe myself. I don't like the orc I was and I despise what I have come to be. Born to darkness, I blend with the shadows and there shall I fall, unnoticed, uncared for.
I know how the orcs were created. It's no secret. We were Elves once. Deceived and captured by the Dark Lord, Melkor, we were tortured and mutilated, maimed and ruined beyond comprehension. When I fight the Elves I gaze at their perfect skin and compare it to my own mottled hide. I look at their soft silken hair and then feel the weight of my own matted, filthy mane. To think that I might have been like them, wise, immortal, fairest of the races of Middle-earth. The radiant light that glows around them heards my eyes. The music that seems to emenate from their beings stings my eyes. I hate them. I clasp my sword and attack, hoping to lay them low so that they may be no more beautiful than the corpses that surround them. Yet when their life fades my heart secretly mourns for the loss of their beauty.
Saruman of the Many Colours often mutters as he works and I have learnt much from his ramblings. I pieced together the fragments of his murmurs and now I know the truth. There are greater powers than that of the White Hand and the Eye. They do not seek to destroy and dominate, only to heal and take pleasure in the peace and happiness of others. The Creator, Illuvatar. His children, the First and Second Born, Elves and Men. He loves them. I often wonder, does He love me too, a creature who has strayed from the path? One of His creations, hideously malformed? How could He, when I do not even love myself? To Him I am no more than a broken toy, once loved but now cast aside and forgotten. And yet.on the rare occasions when I look up at the sky, I wonder if there could be more than outer beauty. Maybe the Halflings, Elves and Istari are right. Maybe there is beauty in things such as Truth, Justice, Freedom and Love. Maybe through virtue I can be saved. Yet I think that the other races are hypocritical. No matter what I did, no being could ever love me. By circumstance of birth I am denied the right to a second - even a first chance at doing things the right way.
I have heard the rumours of the Ring. It's no secret that Saruman and the Eye believe the Ring to be with one of the Halflings. We orcs have to do the dirty work. I was there - at the great river- when one of the Men fell in battle. Even covered in orc blood, dirt and gore he was beautiful. His beauty came from his valour, his bravery. He fought for what he believed in even though he would not be around to reap the rewards. I do not deny that grief wracked my heart as I watched him fall. Now we are taking the Halflings to Isengard, where they shall be tortured and most probably killed, yet they do not turn on each other and blame one another for their misfortunes. Their love and compassion for one another almost makes them grow in stature until they become bigger than us lowly orcs. I fear their loyalty for one another and I wonder.maybe good will triumph in the end. Maybe the light shall prevail and the world shall not fall into darkness. Maybe beauty shall triumph.
I wonder if there is any good in me. I hope so. I hope that maybe someday I can look at my reflection and be proud. I pray to the powers-that-be, to Illuvatar, Manwë, Varda, Yavanna, Auwë.anyone that someday I shall be redeemed. That someday I shall return to the light and when all look upon meI shall not feel ashamed - but that I shall stand tall and my light shall shine out upon all that look upon me and they shall see the beauty in the beast.
By
Cyberfox
Author's note: Hi everyone. I've decided to try my hand at LOTR fanfiction writing although I think that it will be impossible to ever write a story as spellbinding as one by Tolkien himself. Nevertheless, I love LOTR to much to just let it lie. I mean, I watched the movie like a thousand times in the theatre. From the moment that the Ring is destroyed I sobbed like a baby and wouldn't stop. My life feels so empty now that there are no more movies to look forward to. Well, this fic is from an orc's POV. I know that not everyone will agree with me but I just think that there may be more to them than meets the eye. Ah, well. Enough rambling. Enjoy!
Sometimes, when the moon is full and the night sky is filled with the light of the stars I am filled with wonder. I, an orc, am awed by the beauty of the night. I have not shared this secret with any of my brethren for I know how they would react. They would fill my ears with their harsh laughter. We orcs don't know beauty. We don't know tranquillity. We find our peace only in the heat of battle, when our blood is stirred and adrenaline pumps through our bodies. Only when we are fighting for our very survival can we ever forget what it must be like to be beautiful.
What must it be like to be beautiful? I wouldn't know. Occassionally, when I chance upon a pool of water and I don't think that anyone is watching, I gaze into its depths to look at my reflection. I am repulsed by the reflection of my face. Do I really look like this? Am I really this hideous being? It breaks my heart to think so. I swipe my hand through the crystal waters, making them opaque with my filth. In times like these I am filled with self-hatred. I truly loathe myself. I don't like the orc I was and I despise what I have come to be. Born to darkness, I blend with the shadows and there shall I fall, unnoticed, uncared for.
I know how the orcs were created. It's no secret. We were Elves once. Deceived and captured by the Dark Lord, Melkor, we were tortured and mutilated, maimed and ruined beyond comprehension. When I fight the Elves I gaze at their perfect skin and compare it to my own mottled hide. I look at their soft silken hair and then feel the weight of my own matted, filthy mane. To think that I might have been like them, wise, immortal, fairest of the races of Middle-earth. The radiant light that glows around them heards my eyes. The music that seems to emenate from their beings stings my eyes. I hate them. I clasp my sword and attack, hoping to lay them low so that they may be no more beautiful than the corpses that surround them. Yet when their life fades my heart secretly mourns for the loss of their beauty.
Saruman of the Many Colours often mutters as he works and I have learnt much from his ramblings. I pieced together the fragments of his murmurs and now I know the truth. There are greater powers than that of the White Hand and the Eye. They do not seek to destroy and dominate, only to heal and take pleasure in the peace and happiness of others. The Creator, Illuvatar. His children, the First and Second Born, Elves and Men. He loves them. I often wonder, does He love me too, a creature who has strayed from the path? One of His creations, hideously malformed? How could He, when I do not even love myself? To Him I am no more than a broken toy, once loved but now cast aside and forgotten. And yet.on the rare occasions when I look up at the sky, I wonder if there could be more than outer beauty. Maybe the Halflings, Elves and Istari are right. Maybe there is beauty in things such as Truth, Justice, Freedom and Love. Maybe through virtue I can be saved. Yet I think that the other races are hypocritical. No matter what I did, no being could ever love me. By circumstance of birth I am denied the right to a second - even a first chance at doing things the right way.
I have heard the rumours of the Ring. It's no secret that Saruman and the Eye believe the Ring to be with one of the Halflings. We orcs have to do the dirty work. I was there - at the great river- when one of the Men fell in battle. Even covered in orc blood, dirt and gore he was beautiful. His beauty came from his valour, his bravery. He fought for what he believed in even though he would not be around to reap the rewards. I do not deny that grief wracked my heart as I watched him fall. Now we are taking the Halflings to Isengard, where they shall be tortured and most probably killed, yet they do not turn on each other and blame one another for their misfortunes. Their love and compassion for one another almost makes them grow in stature until they become bigger than us lowly orcs. I fear their loyalty for one another and I wonder.maybe good will triumph in the end. Maybe the light shall prevail and the world shall not fall into darkness. Maybe beauty shall triumph.
I wonder if there is any good in me. I hope so. I hope that maybe someday I can look at my reflection and be proud. I pray to the powers-that-be, to Illuvatar, Manwë, Varda, Yavanna, Auwë.anyone that someday I shall be redeemed. That someday I shall return to the light and when all look upon meI shall not feel ashamed - but that I shall stand tall and my light shall shine out upon all that look upon me and they shall see the beauty in the beast.