Shades of Gray

A/N: -deep breath- Ok, I made up almost every orcish thing in this fic, and many elvish things as well. But I haven't found anything that truly goes against any of it, either. So if there's anything I got wrong, I'm sorry in advance. I either couldn't find the information or it doesn't exist (or I was just too lazy to look), so I went by more of a realistic line of plot instead of so much legendy good vs. evil. I've never believed that a purely evil creature could come from something like the elves, anyway. Life is more complicated than dark and light. All tales have two sides, and I think it's about time we see the other side of this one, true to legend or not. I hope you all like it, but if you don't, that's ok too. I'll take your flames and your criticism as well as your compliments as received.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this fic save the character Erashnak, a few of the various situations in which she is to be placed, and some of the cultural characteristics that I have given to both the orcs and the elves. Everything else goes, of course, to the credit of J. R. R. Tolkien.

Scene: I always listen to music when I write, and you can be pretty sure that the story will go along with the music. I highly suggest you get a hold of this music if you plan on following the fic, or even if you don't, 'cause it's just good music. Throughout this story I've been listening mostly to The Time Machine Soundtrack, by Klaus Badelt. At least check out songs like #8 - Eloi, #10 - Stone Language, and #11 - Morlocks Attack. (Yes, I like soundtracks... -sigh-)

P.S.: I'll admit that this chapter is a little strange... I wrote the prologue and it only took a page, so I decided to add in a piece of first person that I wrote when I was brainstorming (hence the italics). I figured it would help you understand the character's emotions, appearance, and circumstance a little better, just as it had helped me to make her. The future chapters probably won't have any first person at all. This is just a space filler :). Now on with the fic!

Chapter 1: Prologue - With the Wind

~*~

A gentle wind touched the surface of the dark water, sending a procession of near-silent ripples across the reflection of a starlit sky. The tiny pinpricks of light wavered for a moment and then shone on as if the wind had never come. And yet there was a shiver in the forest, long leaves rasping their green and silver faces together in the chill breeze as if suddenly fearful, when the trees had always stood so boldly. The wind combed invisible fingers through their hair, all of them, not caring whether it be orc or elf they touched, ent or dwarf, man or maiar. Galadriel let her eyes take their time in opening once they had closed. Still the mirror reflected only the velvet expanse of a cobalt sky, seeming alive with the cold eyes of the stars. It was too chill a wind for a year so young in the warmth of summer. Too chill a wind to wrap itself about the earth unnoticed.

Change, change is coming, it seemed to whisper, a soft sigh lingering in the arms of a baleful wind. Change, so many changes, change is on the air, in the earth, in the water - change... Change is coming.

The throbbing, thunderous silence filled all the heavens with its words, flowing about tree and leaf, soaring over earth and water, curling about each feature of the night; the soft touch of a foreboding wind, too cold a wind, too ominous, for such a fair place. It was not unheard, not in Lothlorien nor in Rivendell, in Mirkwood nor in Gondor, in Rohan nor the Lonely Mountain's deepest caverns where it screamed, nor in Moria's dark halls where the first cries of a newborn creature came to accompany the melody that played already on the sudden, slow gust. Isenguard groaned in the assault of a wind toying with ancient alder and ash, Mordor moaned with the resonance of soft wind about the turrets of a tower whose fierce adornment would wish a lid to shield an eye wreathed in flame from a breath of cold enchantment, whispering to the night, Change, change is coming...

In the Shire small folk, short in stature, wide in girth, paused for a moment and turned from their smoke and ale to glance up at the sky and murmur of how strange it was, such a cold wind, how strange. Far east and west it flung, to the north and south it flew, and then as suddenly as it had come was gone. It was another of those moments, those moments when the future seems too uncertain a thing, when faith seems too fragile a weapon, when destiny seems a nagging threat to the mind, mortal and immortal alike.

Galadriel sighed then, realizing that she had been holding her breath. The mirror grew darker as morning neared, no shadow or hint of anything but the night sky creeping into the stillness of the water. It was like a stone, finely polished to reveal just a glimmer of the crystal stars within, and in its own way just as untouchable as the faint lights of its reflection. It was a strange expression that filled the the clear blue of her eyes then, a darkening shade of something near confusion, near acceptance, near understanding, too blended with the flowering taint of fear. Silently she tipped the silver basin and let the water flow away. It danced like silver in the luminance of the wood before drawing once more into the earth, ever searching out the sea.

The years passed, and the wind was forgotten. By lord and servant it was left behind as all things are, fading into so many pools where half-memories and near-lost dreams take abode, even as the water had faded into the earth. Galadriel smiled at her unknowing acceptance as she touched the silver bole of the mallorn whose leaves had heard her silent words most often.

Change is coming, my friend, change is with the wind. And so the years of waiting passed away.

~*~

My name is Erashnak. But those of my family often call me Era. I was born in the young warmth after spring, toward midsummer, long ago. It's hard to count the risings of sun and moon within the eternal dark of Moria. They stopped trying many years ago. And so I have no idea how old I might be.

I have seldom seen the sun before today. I've never seen it in the full of its circle, burning like a pale disk of silver-gold above the canopy. I've never felt how hot the sun's light really is. But my skin doesn't burn. Mother was afraid that it might, because my skin is not dark and strong like those of my kin. My skin is pale and smooth, like the sun. I have seen the sun rise, and I have seen it set. But before today, I've never seen the noon.

The moon, though, I have seen many times. But I have never stood in its light, letting silver and white radiance wash over my sallow skin. Mother says it makes me look like a ghost, so pallid, like death. In the sunlight, I can see a dull golden sheen about my darkened hair. But in the light of the moon, it is a dull silver the gleams in it. My hair has always been this ratty, darkish color, not the common black that it should be. I never knew how it takes on the colors of light before. Maybe my hair isn't so ugly.

But I don't lie to myself. I am not beautiful - I never was, and I never will be. I saw my reflection once, in the waters outside of Moria. Water doesn't reflect in the pitch black of the mines. For that I was grateful, I think. When I saw my face for the first time, I knew why even the bravest of warriors would try their best to have no need of looking in my eyes. They're a strange color, too light, watery, I suppose. Lighter outside, darkening until they reach the black that centers every eye. My lips are swollen, thick and curved into the strangest shape. They're discolored from the rest of me, a pale silvery-pink. I'm more than grateful that the rest of my skin is not that color as well.

I have always been weak. When I was born, I couldn't even hold my head up, and water came out of my eyes. Water still comes out of my eyes, sometimes. I try to stop it. No one likes it when my eyes water. But they haven't watered for years until now - I try to be strong, like my mother, and my father. But I am so weak... I'm too tall, and I'm too thin, gaunt like a corpse. But there never was much food about the caves. I've become quite fond of funguses - they mean that I don't have to eat those creatures that crawl about in the shadows. Weak, in even such tiny matters as these. I had to learn how to be strong in my own way, changing things about the use of my training, so that I could keep up with the others of my people as best I can. It was always hard, so very hard, and I know I'm failing. This is a battle that I simply cannot win. I'm not strong enough. I believe they were harsher on me, because they didn't think I should have been allowed to live. I should have been killed as soon as I was born.

You see, I don't look like my family at all. I look like an elf. Of course, I've never seen an elf. But I know what they are. I've seen what they can do. They're murderers. They hunt us as if we are rats growing fat on their grain. Most have yellow hair, eyes the color of the sky, ugly pale skin - like mine. I'm not quite the same. But I'm close enough. I'm close enough to be a character from a mother's tale, demon and child of prophecy both. Sometimes they look at me and I see hate burning in their eyes, pure and powerful hate. They jump back if they almost touch me. They flinch if they hear me laugh. But sometimes, when they don't know I'm looking, I see their hope as they watch me walk past. I despise their common glances - how they hate me. And so I have become very observant, watching cautiously to see that faint glimmer of belief. I know it isn't me they truly hate, but there are no elves here for them to scorn. Only me.

Once there was one kind. And then it became two, branching away in two different directions like the limbs of the holly trees that stand by the doors. Evil made us. The elves remained. Two pieces of what was once whole, we hate each other. And here I am, walking the knife's edge that has separated the two. I now see that I cannot go on without being cut. I will be cut many times. But I have come to accept the touch of steel - it doesn't mean that I must love it. I wonder if I will ever see an elf. I wonder if they will look at me like my own kind do. I wonder what they're like. But I don't think I want to meet one.

Many of us no longer live under the will of Him. Most never have. I don't know his name. No one says his name. Rarely have I seen one who is still under his power. Mother and Father have never let me meet one. They know the slaves of Him would kill me without a word or a thought. We have always fled from them. But now, now there are too many. They are coming back. He is coming back. Today, we left. We had no choice, my family and I.

No, my family did have a choice. But for some reason, none of the free orcs want me to die. I always thought that they wished me dead. But no, they want me to leave - and live. Many of my family have come with us. They alone are the ones who will look at me and let me see love. I don't truly understand love, but I know that it's here, with us. But there is so much pain here, too. I wish I had tried harder, while we still dwelled within the mines. But it's so hard to see when you aren't blind.

My father is gone. He fell in Moria, defending our escape. He died for us, so that we could leave. Many have fallen. So many. No one tells me to where we flee. It has not been long, but now we are in a forest. I've never been in a forest before. I always wanted to see it - but now I wish so much that we did not have to leave the mountain. Coming out of the dark was not worth so much pain. I never did see the noon sun, before today. It makes the others sick. I have never felt so well. I wish I could enjoy it, but I can't. I think my eyes are going to water again.

The moon is gone, now. I wish I could have seen the moon tonight. I'm so weary of the dark.

~*~

I closed my eyes then, and took a deep breath of the cool air, letting my mind wander so that I might not be forced to relive the past days again as I stood there that night. It was amazing how bright the darkness under the forest canopy truly was - not the lightless void of Moria - and yet still too dark for my ease. If this was the only dark known by the upper world, then it was bound to bring just as much darkness to the heart. But I liked it, standing there, the night and I, bleeding together as the world drew ever blacker toward the dawn. I look back, now, and I smile. How little I knew.

~*~

A/N: Upon further notice, it has been decided that I should inform you that this will not be an 'oh my god I love that amazingly-perfect, outrageously-beautiful, otherworldly-mary-sueish, help-me-I'm-being-attacked-by-ramdon-evil-doers-for-no-apparent-reason, wonderfully-intelligent-git, blast the fact that I've only know her for a week, let's get laid' fanfiction. I dare say I can write a better, and more realistic story than that. Besides, blossoming romance is so much better than dimwitted, horny elves, yes? Well... anyway, don't expect that kind of crap from me.

In other words, this might take a while.

And that, my friends, is the result of refusing to give in to the most severe writer's block that I've ever had. Yes, the large bald spots now adorning my head did have quite a lot to do with it. *cough*review*cough*