Killing Machines

Uldel knew he was going to die, but he laughed anyway.

He laughed as the orcs scampered to and fro, unsure of what to do. He laughed as Dol Guldur shook around him. He laughed as he sat on the throne that was meant for Khamûl, once one of his own kind. The fortress was falling. Sauron had fallen. His own kind knew it, the orcs were too stupid or unwilling to admit it, and all the other beasts that inhabited the fortress lacked any degree of sapience to comprehend it.

So here I am, the Easterling thought, walking through another horde of orcs that were running to battle, or more likely, away from it. Fated to die for a lost cause in a lost fortress and…

He trailed off. That was about it. Doomed to die. As was the doom of all Men. Hounded by elves to ensure that doom remained. Those who would deny liberation.

"Manling!"

Uldel rose from his throne as he saw an orc running towards him. Probably a commander he thought – all orcs looked the same to him anyway, but as this one was larger than the rest and had a few skulls dangling from his waist, he assumed this one was in a position of power.

"Elves. In the halls. They-"

"Why are you here then?" Uldel asked.

"One. In shadows," it hissed. "Unseen. Killing."

"That doesn't stop you from fighting the ones you've seen."

The orc nodded and headed for the door. Uldel remained in his place.

He'd heard rumours of an assassin making his (or her) way through the fortress. Orcs with arrows in their back. Men with their throats cut. Dozens of warriors cut down by an unseen foe. As he paced around the room, as he swung his scimitar, Uldel reflected that he believed them. The enemy was outside (or had been until a few hours ago, at which point Dol Guldur was falling to the knife-ears). His allies were dying inside. The only logical conclusion was-

"Gagu!"

What "gagu" meant, Uldel didn't know. He hadn't learnt enough of the Black Tongue for that, and orcs rarely had anything interesting to say anyway. But the orcs that were falling around him, some by arrow, some by sword…their actions were speaking louder than their words. Actions that involved them swinging their weapons at their assailant, missing, and falling down to the ground.

Sauron preserve me.

Uldel shook the thought away. The Dark Lord was gone. Dead, if such a term could really be applied. He'd have to save himself. And as the assailant shot an arrow at him, that involved raising his shield to block the arrow.

Is it time to die?

The attacker brought his…no, her, he realized, sword down. He parried it with his own and kicked her back. Swinging his sword, he hit nothing but air, only for her own to cut through his skin. The Easterling winced as he staggered back. The elf was quicker, nimbler, and able to switch between her weapons almost instantly. Even with sword, shield and armour, he felt quite naked.

And yet she just stood there. Even as he gripped his weapon. Even as he felt a shiver down his spine as blood poured down his skin.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

Uldel kept in place. Westron. He recognised the language, and to an extent, the words. Men of the West, unlike orcs, had a language worth learning. Even if they were usually more intent on killing his people.

"You don't have to die here," she said. "The battle's over. The war's over."

I know that.

"That's a throne, but you don't sit on it. And given recent events, I know who was meant to," the elf continued.

"Your point?" Uldel asked. He had little desire to communicate with the witch, but if talking could lower her guard, then he might have a chance of getting out alive.

"That you want to live enough to fight, rather than dying in impotency. That-"

Uldel made his move.

It was desperate, it was foolhardy, but he smiled when he saw the look of shock in the elf's eyes as he threw his shield at her. It was a move that she easily avoided. What was harder for her to avoid was the swings of his scimitar. Parried by her blade, but for a few seconds at least, she was on the defensive.

"Don't do this," she said. "You're still a man. You're master's dead. You're not a killing machine like an orc."

"Killing," the Easterling whispered. "You'd know all about that wouldn't you?"

The elf swung her sword. It rebounded off her armour. He swung his. It hit air again.

"You've been here for days while your race waits outside," Uldel continued. "How many did you kill in that time? Twenty? Thirty? Is it a game you play?"

"I count orcs," she whispered, thrusting her sword forward. Uldel evaded it, tried to strike, but got an elbow to the nose instead. "I don't count yours."

"How nice of you to make a distinguishment."

The elf brought her sword forward again. Uldel grit his teeth as the blade penetrated his armour and into his skin. He staggered backwards.

"Enough," the elf said. She walked forward. "You're beaten. Your master is beaten. This war is over."

"I know that."

"Then-"

Uldel charged. It was another action that any person with a desire to live wouldn't make. But he'd lost that desire long ago. Slavery to the Valar. Doomed to die. Fated to suffer under the oppression of the West. That was what awaited his people. And he'd rather not see it.

As the elf drew her sword, as he impaled himself on it, he could take satisfaction that not seeing any of that was a goal he'd achieved.

The Easterling coughed, blood splattering onto his foe's armour, adding to the blacker orc blood. Or what he thought was orc blood. His vision was getting hazy, so it was hard to tell the difference.

"Why?" the elf whispered, a look of horror on her face. "Why would-"

"You've killed. I've killed. You've killed more." Uldel clasped his hands on her shoulders before losing his grip, letting them slide all over the blood. "I am of Men. A child of the sun. I live in the light."

The elf stared at him. Bastard child of the stars. Servant of false gods. Killer of the servants of the saviour.

"This is why," he whispered. "Because death is nothing to vindication."

His vision was no longer hazy. It was dark instead. Everything was dark.

"In the end…" the Easterling whispered, "we're all killers."

A/N

The idea for this came when I was flicking through The Desolation of Smaug movie guide at Dymocks, when I came across Tauriel's entry. A line that caught my attention was the description of her being a "killing machine." I...dunno why, but this got my mind whirring. Admittedly, Tauriel's inclusion in the Hobbit trilogy is something that I have very mixed feelings about (heck, even making it a trilogy itself is something I'm still on the fence about), but until Desolation airs, guess there's fanfic in the meantime.