A/N This goes strictly by the book in the origins of half orcs not the film; there are no details merely that they appear to be bred with Southrons [cf Bill Ferny]
This is by way of a prequel to a long fourth age story yet to be transcribed.
Prelude to the Storm
The tired, scared, dusty slaves, no more than boys, sank down thankfully by the fountain where they were permitted to drink. Cityfolk gazed at them with different reactions; some with compassion, some with revulsion – they were all ugly – some, the majority, with indifference. And some with muttered oaths that this was something unnatural afoot and bound to bring trouble.
oOoOo
Princess Zimraphel had always lived in the city called Anodor. It was her home and her life and it was on the whole good. Her father, Ar-Lasalthron, was king of the city state, and that was good; and she led a happy and privileged lifestyle; and that was good. She was friend and protector of her little brother, now at five years old almost a worthy companion to a big girl of seven; and that was good.
Her older sister Inzilpharath was bossy and rather spiteful and that was not good; but as father said, you could not have everything and this was the reason for politics, in order to make compromises with the people you disliked for the common good.
She had seen slaves before; there were palace slaves. Her father had passed laws concerning the rights of slaves and how they might be treated; because they were people who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and should be given the respect of being treated with some dignity.
These slaves were different.
They were not entirely human.
oOoOo
The one who looked least human was perhaps thirteen years old; a big youth, with the unmistakable look of the Haradrim in addition to that unusually prognathic jaw; and on him, distinct fangs showing above the lower lip. His ears were large and pointed; but his eyes were almond shaped and dark brown and liquid. They met Zimraphel's eyes in a solemnity that was almost a kind of recognition.
She turned to her father.
"Father – buy that one for me!" she whispered.
"Why, little one, what would you do with a slave – even if he were for sale? They are but passing through you know" said the King.
"He might be my bodyguard" said Zimraphel "Then you need not be cross with me when I go off on my own for he may come with me and will not, being just a boy, mind like the soldiers do. And he might teach Alradûn and me to fight."
"Will you then have this slave as your birthing day gift instead of a new dress, or toy or pet?" asked her father.
"Yes father; because see how he is treated; he has been flogged, though he holds himself proudly; and not treated with dignity. It is the right and privilege of a princess to aid the needy and give a man dignity; this you have taught me" said Zimraphel.
"It is indeed; and you learn well" said Ar-Lasalthron, well pleased. "And for such reasoning you shall have your normal gift as well. I shall see if this slaver will part with the boy."
oOoOo
The other slaves might pass easily as human; this lad would not, and indeed had been the butt of the slaver's resentment and indeed terror that the mighty wizard to whom these youths were to be delivered might take out anger on him. To get rid of the evidence and line his own pocket pleased him well; and the youth was unshackled from the others and handed over. And to ask five times the boy's worth of Ar-Lasalthron and receive it seemed a good bargain to the slaver.
"What is your name, youth?" asked the King.
"It is Sharag, if it please you, lord" said the boy with a jerky bow.
"Well Sharag, you are now bodyguard to my daughter; try to keep her out of falling into too much trouble" said the king.
OoOoO
O
OoOoO
Years passed; and Sharag was the little princess's constant companion and confidant. Because he used the odd word in Black Speech – for he had learned such rather than a dialect of orcish – he taught it to her when she pestered; and nicknamed her in it, Maurghâsh, little fire, for her vivacity. His duties were scarcely arduous; save that there were times when his little mistress left his heart in his mouth at her exploits, and his duties included smuggling her back into the palace unnoticed, especially if she was wet from messing about on the river, sailing with her; at first hard for one of orcish blood but a skill he soon learned; and once saving her from a wolf when she had wandered too far from the city in a year of poor harvest.
Thanks to knowing how to brew the orcish healing ointment – it had been part of his training, that he spoke but little about – Zimraphel had no worse than a brown scar on her thigh where the creature had passed her guard and managed a bite before Sharag plunged his spear down its throat.
They did not speak of the incident to her father.
Sharag also confessed to breaking a valuable vase to save his mistress from trouble; and was beaten for it; and only afterwards did Zimraphel find out, having forgotten breaking it, since in her opinion it was hideous and could not possibly matter. She went flying to her father to confess, that he might punish her and so he might redress matters with Sharag.
Her father listened.
"I cannot un-whip the boy" he said – Sharag was bigger than most men by now and on the verge of manhood – "And he took the beating willingly to save me beating you. Will it not cheapen that willing sacrifice if you take punishment also? Your punishment, my daughter shall be in knowing that another has born pain for your carelessness; perhaps it will teach you not to be careless again. You will not speak of it to Sharag. You will act as though you have not found out that he has been punished. He is too proud to show it. Go; and in future consider the consequences of your actions."
Zimraphel wept; but remembered the lesson the better for another having suffered for her misdeeds.
And Sharag was proud; some might even say arrogant.
And if his face was marked with the sign of his heritance, good and plentiful food and an effective family – for young Ar-Alradûn called him friend too – made it less ugly than different. And his muscular body attracted Zimraphel's sister Inzilpharath; and he turned down her importunities. Fortunately Inzilpharath knew well that Sharag's word would be believed if she lied to get him into trouble; but she was a spiteful young woman and hated him thereafter. She was the child of Ar-Lasalthron's first wife, for he had been widowed twice, and already resented the children of her stepmother, Zimraphel and Alradûn for Inzilpharath was a jealous woman.
She was soon wed, however; choosing a man of wealth and position over looks and good manners, and her husband Athonkhâd was swiftly nicknamed by Zimraphel, Sharag and Alradûn 'Hozugûl' 'the fat wraith', for his pale, unhealthy looks gained from spending all his days in the counting house. And so Inzilpharath left her father's house and was of no moment to her younger siblings.
And so Zimraphel grew up; carefree and happy.
Until the shadow came.