Thank you all for sticking with me for this mess.
Chapter IV, Grim Armory
X-X-X-X-X
This was not a game. Even if I killed Gandalf, Saruman, one of my wraith brothers or Sauron himself, magic items wouldn't fall from their corpses -or nothingness left when one destroys a spirit- ready to use with their stats nicely displayed. And God forbid that I should have to manually compare it to my equipped gear.
No, here in the real world, spectres crafted armors and weapons with armors and weapons that other spectres made before. Nice little cycle of… death, eh?
And it was boring. Mostly. When Sauron was directly overseeing my work and instructing me, it was exciting, fun sometimes even, always full of exhilarating dread. I got the impression that he knew I wasn't really Akhorahil.
Well, one doesn't work with another for a few thousand years and not get to know them at least a bit.
So long as my existence wasn't abruptly snuffed out, whatever.
Although, I wasn't entirely sure why I was clinging to my existence so wholeheartedly.
Maybe if I died I'd get to go home. Home sounded nice. I missed momma's cooking, my sisters' naggings, my little brother's insanity.
But hey, they didn't need me, and here was I, making a living over a hot furnace without them. And what would I really be going back to?
A dead body?
I was dead there, even deader than I was here. I held to illusions, plenty of them, but in this I had none, however I came to be here, it had something to do with the loss of bodily function there.
No, here, over the fire and with a hammer in hand, my path seemed clear.
"The Ring is mine!"
Frodo's words once. Sauron's many times, Isildur's for a few years, and now mine.
I had to make my move carefully, stealthily.
The reasoning was simple. Sauron couldn't keep it secure. The good-guys won in the movies because of his folly. How hard would it have been to leave a company of orks on Mount Doom just in case, amiright?
And when the One Ring was destroyed, there was little doubt in my mind as to the fate of the Nazgul. Bound to this plane by the power of their rings, as Sauron was by his, even separated, and their rings bound to the One Ring… They would retreat to the realm of spirits, their true home for thousands of years, now finally come.
And was that so bad? Oblivion, judgment… Valinor? We'd get treated better than Melkor, right? Maybe a cell with space enough to throw a baseball while plotting our next escape?
Who was I kidding? Right, myself.
And lo and behold, too much philosophy, too little blacksmithery. This… what was I even trying to make in the first place?
The results held no evidence.
I really needed to stop doing this. Focus, phantom, focus, phantom, concentrate you maggot!
Nope. Not effective.
I was a sorry little creature, wasn't I?
Oh, go defeat huge armies of fierce tribesmen… Failed.
Oh, make a necklace… Failed.
Oh, stop wasting your time moping… Failed.
Seriously pathetic.
But I was getting better, I could tell. While before axeheads I made could barely cut through pine planks, they could now cut through armor. Real, plate, armor.
Awesome, right?
My experimental weaponry wasn't turning out so well though.
Katana, failed.
Chinese Halberd, failed.
Crossbow, failed.
Heck, Metal Tube even, failed.
Rome wasn't built in a day, grindstones weren't popularized instantly, and steel wasn't invented for thousands of years. I just had to keep going, right?
"Thomas Edison found two thousand ways not to make a light-bulb. But he only had to find one way to make it work."
Yeah, and Tesla wanted free power for everyone and particle beam weapons. The bosses still went with Einstein's nuke.
That was the worry, here. The boss.
If one were to say that Sauron gave no pension, no retirement plan, and no permission to quit, one would be stating it mildly. He was a stern guy, possessing wisdom beyond almost everyones', and he was master manipulator. He almost got the elves to secure their own destruction. Elves.
In addition, he convinced the Numenoreans to sail for Valinor, though Eru sunk the fleet and stripped Sauron of his ability to shape-shift freely. Before then, his closest simile would have been Loki, from Avengers.
But if fear kept me totally in line, and I was afraid, then I was lower than a scrub. I patently refused this.
No, to grasp the earth and shake the heavens, for what other reason could I have been sent here?
For somebody's personal amusement? My mind… So helpful, truly legendary.
Besides, great heroes capable of shattering the heavens would naturally have a beauty or ten in their lives. If I was the main character, I would have already met with an enticing beauty, non?
Main character syndrome was the largest and most common flaw. I wasn't someone great, and believing I could do the impossible had already failed here.
But that didn't mean I could do nothing. It didn't mean I didn't have an advantage. Didn't mean I would give up on my ambitions to be an ambitious character.
Shoot for the stars and you may just reach the moon, right?
Too bad I was -it truly seemed a while ago now- a lousy teenager most definitely without a degree in rocket science.
But I did understand 18th century rifling, and with a little help from the locals, soon some parties would be hurling metal balls around.
If I wanted that to happen.
Honestly, while it would give me the advantage for a while, eventually everyone would have them. Then what of dragons and wights and fellbeasts? Wouldn't they turn into jokes? Best to keep things low-key.
With that in mind, a single firearm for my personal use would be the upper limit.
Now that I could do.
No need to worry about mass-production efficiency or costs.
I knew Sauron was watching me, but not always, and it was easy to feel when his gaze was focused. Not just on me, if he focused it at all, I could tell. I expected the other Nazgul could as well. Just a part of our odd little linking through rings.
Sounds like marriage.
Creepy~
X-X-X-X-X
Once I got to thinking, making a cast for my barrel wasn't too difficult. It was crude perhaps, but I wasn't weak and thus I could afford a thick shell.
Rifling the inside involved making a couple contraptions, but adapting a potter's wheel to spin a drill wasn't hard. The harder bit was getting the drill to spin fast enough with enough regularity to bite into heated metal.
In two months, working on the side, I'd already completed my gun.
The real challenge wasn't in the making of something new, just the concept. That was why I didn't allow Sauron to see the process at all, and covered up my use of the drill by giving it other uses.
In this time, my accuracy with a hammer had already gotten much better. Before my inner thoughts were like turmoil, causing me to miss and grow more frustrated. Now, while still thinking internally, I was able to continuously pound, cast, smelt, sharpen, and order more metal.
I understood now why Sauron had me learn a craft.
It wasn't about making powerful swords or enchanted rings, no, it was simpler.
Blacksmithing calmed my vacillating spirit and lent confidence, calmness under pressure, the ability to discern the precise moment to strike.
Truly worthy of being called The One whose Eye Pierces the Soul… even without psychoanalysis sessions, Sauron had determined exactly what I was lacking.
It wasn't ingenuity, or courage, it wasn't loyalty, or strength. It was simply stability.
This kind of person… was he really the cruel and vindictive Dark Lord?
To me, he had already taken a higher station.
He was simply a man who holds his friends close and crushes all who oppose him. From a certain worldview, he was a great hero already.
Too bad both he and I weren't qualified for this title, already lacking physical bodies, aish.
"Akhorahil."
Was it that time so soon? "Yes, Master."
"I have decided you are ready. Today you shall learn the arts of enchantment."
"Yes, Master." Finally? I don't know, it just felt odd now, rather than exciting. With Sauron, everything felt abrupt, and yet premeditated.
"The first key to enchanting an object is to understand it thoroughly, this is of course easiest for its creator, hence one does not learn enchanting first, but always to craft mundane things."
This guy, while he was extremely terrifying and was literally an eyeball, he always explained diligently what he wanted you to know, and simply ignored any questions about what he didn't care for you to know. Shaping a mind, brainwashing, teaching a skill, weren't these all the same principle? How could he not know?
"The second is to have a powerful innate spirit. Elves, Valar, all those who do not die mortal deaths naturally have enough for at least simple things.
"You also, being dead but bound to the mortal plane, can be considered thus. The Witch-King has already proven this."
In other words, I'm not the first he's taught this. No surprise that Nazgul #1 gets the #1 treatment.
"But unlike Elves and Valar, whose powers derive from their life, yours arises instead from your death which does not die."
And wasn't that poetic. And confusing.
"For this reason, their presence to you will always be painful, noticeable at least, and yours to them will also be discomfiting. For this reason Elves will forever be able to sense when a dark power is afoot, including you, Akhorahil."
Why smack his own stick around when he can just clearly point out the enemies who can always find you? This guy didn't miss a chance to drive a mouse into a corner, however subtly.
But, since this is all about enchantments anyway, I suppose this whole story about spirit, life-force, death-force, is integral to that.
"The stronger their reaction, the stronger an opposing power is."
Wait, what? I'm not stupid bro…
With impeccable and predictable timing, Sauron erased his own presence, though I could still faintly feel that his gaze was directed here, though only because of my ring.
As expected, four Haradrim opened the door just then, throwing in an elf. They left just as quickly.
This method of power-testing, how can it be accurate!?
What can I say?
Ah, yes, as expected of an elf. Very beautiful, impeccable, aside from the bloody marks. Luckily, I didn't embarrass myself with this reaction, it really was a female.
But, as Sauron had declared, the reaction said it all.
Her gaze pierced into me like two arrows shot from Legolas' bow, but I showed nothing -how could I?- merely glancing at her.
Her gaze was nothing like the Variags', who'd been afraid on the basis of legend and only being able to sense the smallest bit of my evil power, the rest being my mysterious appearance and dread reputation.
No, here was primal fear. Understanding. She truly understood now where she was and just who had captured her, without even looking at me first, she knew what I was.
Evil. Bad. Dark. Villain.
Nâzgul.
Ah man, it really well and truly sucked being me.
As Sauron had said, I could feel her presence as well, but, as expected, although I knew she was there, and light, she wasn't a threat. Too weak. But even the smallest light will drive away darkness in a radius, no matter how small. At least, that's the way it ought to be.
"Why do you fear me, she-elf?" I asked. I'd like to impress you and say it was as gentle as I could make it, but it really wasn't, and even if it were, how could my voice possibly reassure her? Nay, it served only to prove this was not a dream.
"I do not fear you, wraith."
If it weren't so obviously not true, I'd be inclined to believe you. Such calmness in your tone, very good, yes.
I smiled a smile she could not see, "But you do."
Before this could turn into childishness, I pressed on, "Although you should not. How can light fear darkness? Instead the coming of night makes every small light obvious, while in the day, one cannot appreciate the radiance of a candle."
She was obviously confused, and speechlessly looked at me, maintaining composure. Indeed, what was I saying? Only the truth.
"Indeed, if I did not exist, what you be? A nobody she-elf, that's what. But now, here I am, a darkness to your light, and your courage does not waver, of course not, darkness is not wind that it should blow out candles. Instead, the deeper the darkness, the farther a lone light shines."
I smiled again and continued, enjoying the feeling of monologuing, "If not for me, your light would never be seen, but now that you and I have met, who shall fail to know of you? Not by name perhaps, but as another brave victim who did not succumb, you shall be forever remembered as the victim of a tragedy…" Or something like that. Blast you, train of thought, get back here!
"That doesn't make sense."
Don't point it out! How could you, you cruel she-elf, wuu wuu.
I wanted to ehem, but clearing a throat that's clearly not there is weird, no? "My point is, when would you have the chance to prove to yourself that you are strong like now? Living your life peacefully, not knowing what you'd do when you're forced to call on evil. Now, you know.
"Just as light reveals what the darkness hides, so darkness reveals the lights."
Pretty good, right? Poetic, truthful, and deep. Even I was going to be moved.
She just stood there.
Wise. Wise indeed. To offer any comment would be to admit interest, to have interest would invite the other party in closer, until finally one might be swayed.
Such a beautifully closed mind. Stunning, yes.
But if Sauron hadn't interrupted yet, this wasn't over. What was he waiting for?
Ah, yes, hadn't he mentioned proximity? If he wanted a good measurement, one experiment wasn't enough, how scientific, most impressive.
I stepped closer to the she-elf, resisting the temptation to finger some of the tools and items that were lying around. This was 'my shop' still, after-all.
Why did I resist? Adding extra factors would hurt the measurement. The reaction test would be messed up if she reacted to anything but me. Things like fear of torture were misplaced.
The closer I drew, the tighter she drew herself up, but she refused to retreat even a step, or advance a step either.
Indeed, this was a battle of wills, not weapons, to pick up a hammer and swing at me would be to surrender.
Eventually I was just a foot from here, my spiked helmet towering over her, my hollow face half a head higher than her scratched but naturally flawless one.
"I am the one called Akhorahil of the Nine."
"…."
"Silent the She-Elf, welcome to my humble workshop." Well, my home really. Not needing to eat or sleep, I only left when the monotony got bad, maybe once or twice in three days.
"I'd offer you tea… but perhaps man's blood would be more fitting? It sells for a pretty penny down in the market."
"I'd offer you a sword, but your lackeys already took mine."
I raised my right eyebrow out of habit, even though she couldn't see it, "Who am I? The Dark Lord? I have no lackeys, only fellow servants, whatever was done to you was outside my knowledge and control."
No need to lie on this point, before Sauron's hinting, I truly had no idea about this matter. Talk about impromptu speeches, your respect for me just went up, yeah?
Again, she deftly refused to engage me. But I've already gotten you twice, these hostile comments, although your willpower is good, its not enough for this Dark General to feel intimidated.
Still, wasn't this enough for Sauron? Did he fall asleep while listening to my glorious speech? Impossible. Under seven suns, not even one person could fall asleep for my monologue.
That is, not one person who never sleeps at all. No, Sauron was still watching, I knew. But what for? What was this test about?
Or was the fact that the she-elf was still standing already proof of my failure?
I stepped back from the elf and turned around, showing her my invulnerable back.
At worst, invulnerable to her. I hadn't made some death-flag statement about how no man could kill me, at the very least.
Wait. He was confident with the race of men, but could an elf do it?
I stepped forward twice more and then began circling the elfen woman, contemplating.
She turned with me, keeping me always in front of her. Outside of my steps and her shuffling, and her breathing, the room was silent.
As a Nazgul, I could make breathing sounds and go through the motions, but I didn't actually need to, and even back home, I had the bad habit of forgetting to breathe while focused.
So, these days, I was usually practicing holding my breath.
I eyed her carefully, and after a few rounds, finally stopped.
"And you, elf, have you no argument?"
"Arguing with the dead is pointless."
Burn.
Can't deny it. I dyed the ground red, yup. An epic, glorious confrontation between man and machine… unexpectedly, machine won.
But, here, wasn't this technically untrue? To my understanding, the rings turned the kings into wraiths before their deaths, not after.
"How do you define life? A warm body? Would you say that a snake is not alive? Nay, it cannot be this. The regular beating of a heart? Some species during hibernation go for whole minutes without a heartbeat, and breathe not at all. So then, what shall we say?"
She just stared.
"I'd like to say cognition, but that'd be me favoring myself. I'm not sure, but I'd say single cell organisms are quite alive but don't quite think, you know?"
You know? How stupid. She didn't even know about single-cell organisms. If they even existed here.
"Some again may take a philosophical bent, saying that being alive means taking actions, or that being alive is to be perceived as such by other minds.
"While they're all right in a sense, they're all wrong in another sense. Is there one single characteristic that all living beings uniquely share? I mean not obvious ones like God made everybody, he made the nonliving things too, ya know?"
She stared at me, but I could tell she was thinking about it. She was wondering what excuse I would come up with to say I was alive.
"It's actually fairly obvious…" I taunted.
And that's where she was wrong.
"C'mon..."
I held no illusions.
"It's secretions! Secretions! Bodily fluids, excrement!"
I… was already dead.
Her eyes stared into mine, taking my meaning in. Finally, she smiled bitterly.
Hey, hey, that's the face I wanna be making instead. You're still alive, aren't you? Smile for real.
And as one of the unbelonging ones, I had only one route left.
I focused my intentions on the she-elf, eliminating my pity for a moment, and revealed my true nature.
She screamed briefly, and fainted. I would have caught her, but that would kill her for real.
I stared in the direction of The Eye, asking him in my heart, my unbeating heart, is this enough?
Aye. I understood this test the moment she was brought before me, I just didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to admit what I was, what I am. I wanted to run away, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, I would be rejected wherever I turned. Only here was I wanted, needed, trusted.
I knew what Sauron was doing to my head, when he brought her here, but I couldn't stop it.
Because he was right.
X-X-X-X-X
From there, my studies were grueling, but simple enough.
Pound, forge, speak.
A black, magic, tongue came from my ethereal mouth, willing bits of power into pieces of iron. Was the power mine? A portion of my soul? Absorbed from my environment? The embodiment of powerful emotions? Was it all of these? Did it matter?
No, not really. Not, at least, for the use of the equipment.
For the purposes of clarity and good craftsmanship however, it was important to understand.
The power was from both me and the object in question. That was why good materials and knowing the item intimately were so important. To draw out more power, both raw power and the knowledge it have it rise to the surface was necessary.
That was why, for me, iron was perfect.
56-Fe. Protons and electrons 52, so atomic number 26, and 30 neutrons. Powerful as a magnet, and the ideal of all matter in the universe.
What, you ask? Yes. When atoms split or fuse, what to they seek to become? Carbon? Nitrogen? Gold? Nay, iron, the most stable element.
In a nuclear sense, not chemical, kids.
When I thought of iron, that's what came to mind. Along with all the other obvious stuff like steel is an iron-alloy, iron is strong, the Iron Age is the final age in Age of Empires I… and a very important period in ancient history. And, of course, pure iron is really not that great of a material. At least not for what I needed.
I'd give you a history lesson on specific usages of iron, but I feel that would be misleading.
Here, none of those things had ever happened.
But that didn't make me an idiot, and it didn't erase my memories. I knew some things.
Sadly, I didn't have a labor force directly under me, or access to natural gas. But I digress.
In essence, my vague knowledge about iron was higher than most people's vague knowledge about it, allowing me to create stronger enchantments more easily on iron objects.
Prodigy, prodigy! Is what they'd cry when they saw my handiwork.
Yeah, no. I was considered to be how many thousand years old? Ain't no prodigy in his thousands.
Even so, enchanting wasn't exactly a be-all-and-end-all trade. My swords were a bit sharper, armor was a bit harder, war-hammers a bit lighter… It really was a bit when I say a bit.
Apparently the strongest enchantment a Nazgul had produced was, of course, by the Witch-King, and it was his sword. What did this strongest Nazgul enchantment allow precisely?
The Witch-King, could cause the sword to burst out in flames, normal orange flames I might note, with the assistance of words of power in the field.
It just was a bit easier than casting a spell outright.
C'mon, man. I wanted something legendary. But, nope.
Blacksmithing was infinitely more useful than enchanting, period.
With that in mind, I focused most of my efforts there. I wasn't a Valar like Sauron, I simply didn't have the power to rival his greatest constructs.
And yet, even he got the elves to help with the rings.
Now there was an interesting concept. Cooperation was possible. If all nine of us got together, I wonder just how strong the new strongest Nazgul enchantment would be.
And as for the she-elf who helped me to start on this road?
I'd say I had no idea, but that would be a lie. She and I met regularly, I to give speeches and test my powers, and she to be the victim of my whims.
Not that my whims were cruel, note. I made a point of always bringing nice food and moving her to a clean cell.
I was trying my best to mimic my master, Sauron. Yes, I was manipulating her.
Even as she detested me, she inevitably looked forward to my coming. Who wouldn't? Not only was I a terrifying relief from boredom, I also was associated with relief from the discomforts of imprisonment. Even if I could simply order her treatment to be improved, but did no such thing.
Stockholm syndrome… I wonder about you. In this world where Stockholm is not a place, do you exist?
Today was another such day. Getting the cooks to prepare the food was no longer a trouble, they knew exactly what I wanted, and did their best to please. And, according to my wishes, they always sent a different person to carry the food, no one went twice to see the elf, excepting myself and the normal guards.
Today, it was, as usual, some random lad from Harad. Normally one might think that to find a new person every time, one would need to resort to orcs, but there was no such thing. The Haradrim carried on a bustling trade with this castle, despite its appearance, and new blood was always arriving, sometimes staying, sometimes dying, sometimes returning.
The brat this time was an idiot, though. Didn't anyone ever teach him not to stare at the hollow interior of a Nazgul's mask?
Whatever.
Up the stairs, over the walkways, into the high security level, key not required for apparitions. Castle guards were truly of the most understanding breed.
"What shall it be today, dear elf, a tale of cities or of mountains?"
She just stared at me. Things always started this way, but, by the end, she was always talking. Being starved for contact really did wonders for the psyche.
"Cities then. There once were three great cities, one in the north, another in the west, and finally a city in the east, called Grim City. Now the northern city was very beautiful, and all its people were noble and wise. The city of the west looked to be the noblest of all the cities, but people of the western city were mixed, and had generally greedy natures and poor tempers, public order was maintained through force. In Grim City, the people were even worse, while in the west at least a few citizens were amiable and pleasant, in Grim City there was said to not even be one."
The stage is set.
"Now, one day, the King of the western city decided that Grim City was really his city, and that the people there had stolen it, though they had lived there for generations. So he determined not to let a single one of those cruel, ugly, ignoble thieves live.
"The King of Grim City wasn't really surprised. Everyone knew of the greedy nature of the western city, and each King was always prepared for war. Grim City's King, however, wasn't willing to fight a war that could be avoided, so he sent a message to the western King, saying, 'O western King, why do you attack Grim City? Our people have lived here for a long time, and cannot be expected to leave. O western King, why do you attack Grim City? Is not the northern city known to be the strongest and most noble city, have they ever attacked anyone's city or burnt their fields?'"
I smiled a smile she could not see.
"But the western King declared, 'What strongest city, is your Grim City not the largest and most powerful city, causing all peoples to live in fear of it and its poor-mannered inhabitants?'
"And, rather than relent, the western King sent a message to the northern King, saying, 'O wise King of the North, all peoples can see the rising terror in the east, will you not join with my armies and destroy all the inhabitants of Grim City with us?'
"And the northern King saw that Grim City was truly too populous, and that its people would soon outgrow their lands, by then, would it not to be late too kill them all? And so he replied, 'All of our armies will go out with you, western King, and together will shall go back and forth in Grim City, not even sparing the children or the aged.'
"And the King of Grim City heard of it. Outraged, he gathered his whole host and went out to fight against the genocidal kings of the north and west. The battle was long and arduous, and thousands lay dead everywhere. Seeing that his own armies were not winning, the King of Grim City challenged the other Kings to a duel, saying, 'O, Kings of West and North, this battle is not good, and causes much harm to all our peoples, let us settle our differences between ourselves, and stop destroying our subjects.'"
Can you see which story I am telling, little elf, can you see?
"The King of the West was very angry, for his armies were dieing the fastest, and he thought to himself that if he could win the duel, it would indeed save many lives of the western and northern cities, as to those from eastern Grim City, he did not care, for he hated them more than ever. The King of the North was wise, however, and saw that they were winning the war, he wanted to win surely, but the western King wanted to win cheaply.
"The western King overruled the wise and noble northern King, and so they went up together to fight the King of Grim City, who met them by himself. The battle was fierce, and all peoples looked closely, forgetting all else and focusing only on the Duel of Kings. Tired but victorious, the one who had won the fight was actually the outnumbered King of Grim City. But the western King's son could not accept the result of the duel, his father had been killed, how could he? And so he forgot all honor and struck the exhausted King who won, that ignoble King of Grim City, killing him.
"And so all the Kings died. The wise northern King, who steeled his heart to death and cared nothing for it, the greedy western King, who ignored his allies' advice on the basis on saving lives, and the King of Grim City, who had challenged his foes to an honorable duel and won. The only one left standing was the back-stabbing son of the west."
And so here we see yet again, kids, the one left standing after a fight is not the noblest and most able, it is not the one who strikes first, nor the one who accepts all challenges, nor is it he who conquers all challengers. It is instead he who strikes unexpectedly and without any so-called honor. And in the end, Isildur was called a hero.
"And what do you think happened after that?" I asked winningly.
The elf looked me in the eye -somehow, she couldn't see them, so how- and said, "The back-stabbing son ruled over the broken remnants of the cities until another man without honor killed him too."
"Very good, how did you know?"
"Everyone knows this tale, even if they don't try to portray the King of Grim City in such a positive light. Besides, your tale is wrong, Sauron attacked the elves first."
Busted.
"But the way I tell it is how most of the people of the east see things. In their eyes, Gondor's pretensions of honor and nobility are meaningless, in the end, all men are the same."
She nodded enlightenedly, "It's a lie though. Not all men are the same. Some of them still speak after they're already dead."
Burn. She always makes sure to get one in on me, doesn't she?
"So, I've been meaning to ask you, why have you not faded? According to the guards, all of the others elves kept here always have."
"Not all elves choose to give up where there is no hope."
I nodded largely, a metal squeak accompanying the motion. Seemed some maintenance was in order.
"In that case, I do not know whether I should be impressed with the elves, or amazed at their stupidity. Is one foolish for never giving up, or is one persistent? In your case, I shall choose to be impressed. You're not a fool."
"Unlike you."
Her mouth just keeps getting worse.
"Ah, yes, foolish Akhorahil, no question there. I've been a fool for longer than I've been dead."
"Don't expect me to argue with you there. Some stranger comes and gives you a ring and you just put it on?"
I really wanted to say 'that wasn't me!' but I held back. The walls have ears in any castle.
"Eh," Instead, I shrugged it off, "Its not so bad. Do you think I had chances before to keep pretty birds in little cages where I could come hear their chirping whenever I wanted?"
Her face gracefully formed itself into a frown. What can I say; elvish faces refuse to wrinkle.
"So I am but a bird." There wasn't even a trace of depression in her tone, her voice simply glided over the words.
"A pretty bird," I reminded her gently, "And don't forget that to your people orcs are lower than dogs."
"Someday, dog-lord, this little bird will fly far far away, and tell all the other birdies about you."
"I should like nothing more. I imagine the tale of the lord of bird-killers who treats pretty little birds well will be well-received. Save me a cage?"
"Deal."
X-X-X-X-X
Authors Note: And there it is. Finally. I've started college for real now, and somehow have more motivation to write than during the summer? Its dumb.
The ideas in the chapter have been in my head for a while, although they came out onto the page a little differently than I expected. That's writing. It writes itself.
As always, review, and please don't forget that this story isn't taking itself seriously. You also shouldn't take it too seriously. I try to keep things accurate, funny, and interesting, but ambiguities exist. As a ff author, I take advantage of them. Thanks for reading!
Until next time,
Iamwhononofyouare
