Chapter IV Of Allies and Adversaries

His body scrubbed of grime, his wounds gently cleaned, Norgash listened carefully to his Elvish custodian while he redressed his injuries and assisted him with his clothes.

"Many at the Council are already set against you," said Glorfindel, "but one elf gives me greatest concern."

"Who's that?"

"He is Echanor," said Glorfindel, "a seasoned soldier and a member of the band that found you. He fought the hardest to leave you in that field to die—nay, he argued to kill you, even as you drew your final breath."

The Uruk snarled, "Fantastic."

Glorfindel frowned and paused. The Uruk raised a hairless eyebrow as the elf strode to the final vestment but did not yet retrieve it. Then Glorfindel rounded and marked, "Your outspoken-ness is precisely what Echanor needs to prove his point. You have already aroused trouble, Norgash of Isengard, without touching a sword. For though the time of Elves on Middle Earth has come to its end, your presence is Rivendell distresses all, even me."

At which point, Norgash frowned. Even his ears seemed to drop like those of downcast hound. Glorfindel smiled weakly in sympathy and delivered Norgash's outer vestment to him.

"You speak the tongue of Elves rather well for your kind," he marked, "but speech no more removes you from who you are and what in the eyes of Elves. Not even Elessar can escape his fate. Nevertheless, your speech will aid you, but mannerisms even more. Your behaviour sets you apart, and your conduct must be sterling if you are to survive. If so much as the twinge of a sneer crosses your face, the warriors at the Council may end you."

Norgash rumbled in reluctant concession. "I understand. I'll behave… more than usual." Then he made a sound of disgust

Glorfindel smirked and patted his charge on the shoulder. "I trust you, my friend," and at a relaxed pace, they walked to the awaiting council. While they walked, Glorfindel quietly continued to make notes:

"I cannot emphasise enough how armed the elves are. All but myself and Lord Elrond bare knives, and Echanor's archers await your slightest misstep."

The Uruk's ears perked up at the mention of the master of Rivendell. He asked, "Why doesn't a seasoned warrior like Lord Elrond carry a weapon? Thinks he can take an Uruk bare-handed? I wouldn't be surprised, though, if he could."

The elf chuckled. Then he replied, "In truth, he does not know that you are coming. None do, but Echanor—or some other—has sown the seed of rumour; that I would bring you. In truth, I had debated that with myself, and I feel you have every right to come to this council. Today they announce their judgment, but if Lord Elrond's heart has not completely hardened against you—and I am certain that it has not—then perhaps you can sway him."

Norgash stopped, looked Glorfindel in the eyes, and grinned. "You really are somethin' else, Moon Dagger," and he heartily patted his back.

As the pair approached the council, a growing commotion reached their ears. Attendants in the hall had seen them and rushed to alert their masters. Glorfindel whispered, "Remember all that I have said. If I know Echanor well, his archers may be secretly positioned and will slay you if they are impulsive enough."

Immediately, the Uruk shot him an alarmed expression, but Glorfindel wrapped his arm around his and continued to usher him forward.

"Echanor will speak naught but vile words against you to arouse your black humour. Pay no mind to his bile, and raise a hand to none."

The Uruk rumbled anxiously, but he could not turn back. The pair strode up the steps and entered the Council yard. The elves rose and stared in shock at Norgash's presence.

"My intuition proves as true as my marksmanship," said a silver-haired elf with sea-green eyes narrowed dangerously. "Glorfindel has brought the beast to the sacred Council of Lord Elrond. What is this, though?" He marched to the pair, scrutinising Norgash with all mustered disgust. "Lord Glorfindel, may he forever be blessed, has groomed this mange-ridden wolf and now parades him like a king's lap hound—"

"Echanor!"

The elf turned toward Lord Elrond, who cared not for the warrior's snide humour. He ordered him, "You shall sit, gwador Echanor, and you shall listen, and you shall not speak until the lords of this Council allow you."

Without a word, the elf bowed and returned, but not before shooting at Norgash another bitter glance.

Then Elrond said, "Gwador Glorfindel, please explain to us why you decided to allow him here."

The elf and the Uruk approached the centre. Glorfindel replied, "Lord Elrond, I believe that Elenfëa has a right to hear the judgment rendered in regards to him. It, of course, affects him."

"Elenfëa?"

Glorfindel tensed as Echanor spoke.

"My lords, you cannot allow this… being to remain at this council. You cannot allow him to remain in Imladris—"

"Echanor, I have ordered you to be still," marked Elrond. "You shall obey that command, or you shall be escorted from the council for a third, unwarranted outburst."

The elf stiffened in his seat, his eyes gleaming. Then Elrond turned and addressed Glorfindel.

"As for you, Lord Glorfindel, be seated," and the golden-haired elf obeyed, leaving Norgash alone in the centre for all eyes to probe. Then Elrond addressed the Uruk in Sindarin:

"Elenfëa, know you why you have been brought here?"

The Uruk glanced at Glorfindel. He nodded at his charge, and Norgash replied in Sindarin, "Yes, Lord Elrond."

The Elvish lord raised an eyebrow. "You understand our tongue?"

"Yes, Lord."

"Lord Glorfindel gives you no hint as to reply?"

"No, Lord. I understand you enough," said Norgash.

The council awoke with murmuring. Echanor glanced at Erestor, eager to test the Uruk in more than one mean. The Chief sighed silently and waved a hand toward the silver-haired warrior.

"Lord Erestor gives brother Echanor permission to speak," said the Chief, "but mind your words carefully."

Then the silver-haired Elf rose and paced around his enemy. Norgash frowned, but kept his eyes well-connected with Elrond's grey eyes. The Uruk's mind volleyed through a host of Orkish curses, and he prayed to his black ancestors that one day, if he did not knock this Echanor bastard on his arse, some other lucky bloke would.

"If you so know the Fair Speech of Elves, answer to this: your parents were dogs, who brought only abominations into this world."

Elrond and Glorfindel frowned deeply, while the Elves waited in tension for Norgash's reaction. The Uruk clenched his fists heavily, for Saruman had taught him Elvish insults from the beginning, and he well-understood what had been uttered. If only he were back at Isengard, he thought, in the good, old days when you could strike a bastard for besmirching your blood. That to him and his kind was normal, but the Elves… Morgoth!

"Lord Elrond," began Norgash, "you surprise me. How does a kind host keep such poisonous company?"

Echanor's eyes lighted. The Elves chattered between themselves. Many were relieved that the Uruk has stayed his hand, and a few smirked at Echanor having been knocked down for his hot-blood mettle.

Lord Elrond was among those smiling. He ordered Echanor to return to his seat, and he said to Norgash, "You are a… frank being, Norgash Elenfëa. However, I must assure you that I would not have helped you if I, too, so disdained you."

The Uruk bowed.

"We have spoken with Captain Thorondel," began Elrond, "whose party brought you to Imladris. We have also spoken with Lord Glorfindel, whose life you saved and for that, we are grateful. Their stories intrigue and disturb us, and now we give you the opportunity to tell us your tale. How came you, Norgash Elenfëa, to know Sindarin?"

"Saruman taught me," replied the Uruk.

"Wherefore?"

Norgash paused and thought. "For the War. I guarded Elvish captives. I listened to them."

"Did you torture them?"

"No, I did not."

"How many Elves did Saruman's forces capture?" asked Erestor.

The Uruk paused, for his memory of Sindarin numbers was less than perfect. He hummed and eventually answered, "Ten and ten and ten and eight."

"Thirty-eight total?" asked Erestor in Westron. "Are you certain?"

The Uruk replied in Sindarin, "Yes, lord. This is true."

Chatter arose. The lords of the council stared hard as Glorfindel, who stared only at his charge. Then the lords glanced at one another before they resumed their interrogation.

Lord Elrond asked, "Saved you any?"

"How?" asked Norgash to the puzzlement of the Council.

"Helped you any escape?" asked Erestor.

The Uruk paused and glanced at Glorfindel. Norgash sighed and shook his head, praying that the damned Golug-hai did not stick him for his answer: "I killed those who suffered needlessly. I helped none to leave."

"Could not or would not?" asked Echanor with a silver eyebrow raised.

Norgash rumbled before replying, "I could not. I was an outcast. My people would have tortured me."

The lords glanced at one another, speaking soundlessly to one another, before Lord Elrond posed his final question.

"What reason have you, Norgash Elenfëa, to live?" he asked. "I forget not that you have saved Lord Glorfindel, who is a precious brother. He has told us your tale and why you are a sorrowful being. However, blood still stains your hands. The enemy taught and trained you all too thoroughly. Why do you believe that you should live?"

An apprehensive silence fell over the Council. The Uruk paused to carefully consider his words. His candid answer surprised every one: "I do not believe I should live, Lord Elrond, for I have lived a miserable life. However, you are he who believes I should live."

Deep gasps punctured the silence. All eyes fell upon Lord Elrond, who raised both of his eyebrows in astounding.

"I?" he questioned. "Where came this conclusion?"

"If I were dangerous, Lord Elrond, if I were a monster, then you would not have healed me. You would not allow me into Rivendell, but you have. Surely I have some worth."

The elf-lords gazed at the head of the Council. He neither frowned nor smiled but marked, "Then I have made my decision, however wise or foolish it is. You may remain in Imladris, Norgash Elenfëa, so long as you cause no grief. We plan to depart for Grey Havens rather soon. You are welcome to remain in our company until that time.

"Know this. If you choose to journey alone from Imladris, then your life becomes your own. Even my words cannot stay that weapon that points angrily at you, and unless you take a trustworthy escort at all times within and without, I cannot with sensible conscience guarantee your safety. Do you understand?

The Uruk rumbled, somewhat crestfallen. So he was stuck there longer than he—and face it, most Elves—cared for; so it seemed. Norgash sighed and replied, "Yes, Lord Elrond, I understand. Thank you."

"Then I release you to the care of Lord Glorfindel," said Elrond. "I may call you later if any other curiosities arise." And finally, he dismissed the Council.

Glorfindel sighed in relief. He was aware of his friend's anxiety, but for the moment, they could rest with the blessing of Lord Elrond.

On the other hand, Echanor found the decree most unsavoury. He thrust himself out of his chair and stormed through the halls, two concerned warriors in tow.

The Lords of the Council dismissed the meeting, and Glorfindel joined the Uruk's side. He lifted his friend from his chair and silently escorted him back to his chamber. There, the Uruk sat slumped on the edge of his bed, staring wide-eyed and blankly at the world.

"Trapped," he muttered. "I'm a bloody prisoner. I'm a bloody prisoner! I take one sneeze, and the lot of you are gonna stick me. I'm bleedin' stuck here."

Glorfindel sighed and shook his head. "Be grateful. The worst has not befallen you."

"Because the worst is yet to come," growled the Uruk. "First of all, not all the boys got whacked. That Mordor fellow'll track me down, no matter what it takes. The horse-boys are getting reinforcements. And the Foe-Hammers are not long off from here. What will we do then?"

Glorfindel sat beside his charge and said, "Lord Elrond shall handle the twins. When they arrive, you shall remain by my side, and never speak in their presence."

"Ever? Not even in Sindarin?"

"Especially Sindarin," replied Glorfindel firmly. "After all that their mother, fair Lady Celebrían, suffered, they will perceive that you are debasing the tongue, thereby further debasing their heritage."

The Uruk groaned in Orkish and leaned wearily against Glorfindel. The elf embraced him, when suddenly, someone knocked at the doors.

"It is Dúlinion. May I enter?"

"Yes," replied Glorfindel. Then he rose and held Norgash's face with both hands. "Be thankful, my friend. Be thankful."

Dúlinion entered, and Glorfindel offered him a chair. The younger elf declined and noticed the forlorn Norgash. He sat beside him and asked the elder lord, "Why weeps he?"

"He cannot return home," said the golden-haired elf, "for he would forfeit his life."

Dúlinion nodded and leaned close to the Uruk, stroking that tamed mane. Norgash glanced at the young Elf and smirked.

"I am sorry, Elenfëa," said Dúlinion, "for a little evil has come out of some good."

"Humph!" Glorfindel leaned against the doors. "It is not evil but an inconvenience. We need to help Norgash find his Warg, Mauhúr, and sneak them as swiftly away from Elvish lands as possible."

Dúlinion glanced at Norgash with wide eyes. "A Warg? As big as the Hound of Beren?"

Norgash smirked and chuckled. "No hound, young Elf, a wolf. A Warg is a spirit that has taken the form of a wolf but stands nearly as tall as a horse. Many Wargs fear the light, like Orcs, but Mauhúr is made of stronger fibre, like me."

"He was your mount of which you spoke in the field."

Norgash cocked his head. "He is."

The young Elf carried on in excitement. "You truly are Elenfëa! Elf-friend and saviour of our Lord Glorfindel. How thrilling! Oh, but I fear we found no Warg tracks during our patrol. Perhaps Captain Thorondel will help you. He enjoyed your reply to Echanor's insult. Elbereth Githoniel love him, but that warrior looks at life too seriously. He has grown very bitter over the years, nursing a black hatred for this land."

Norgash rumbled. To hell with empathy!

"Then… I can…" He struggled with his words. "I cannot say I do not know how he feels. He and I are more alike than he or I would care to admit. Middle-Earth is a painful land, but it is also a land where one might receive another chance to be."

Glorfindel smiled warmly. Then he strolled to Dúlinion and took one of his hands. He said, "I think we ought to allow Norgash more rest, my young friend. These latest days are a tempest to him, and he needs further healing."

"Of course," replied Dúlinion as he joined his elder. Then he turned to Norgash and remarked, "Remember, Thorondel and I will to help you. You need only ask."

The Uruk bowed his head, and the elves departed. Norgash sighed and slowly reclined, a hand on his forehead. He said, "Oi, Norgi, amut glu-ishi tibualat…"


Stars punctured the midnight indigo. Camp fires, which roasted flesh for supper, flickered beneath them, competing with their brilliance. Supper was nearly finished, but the child had run off again. His exasperated mother groaned and rose from her spot, grabbing a torch and calling her son's name.

The boy was far too occupied, his head again in the clouds—or rather, his head again in the stars. Most of the others did not care for them, but stars intrigued him. He saw shapes, constant except when the seasons changed. How had they gotten up there? he wondered. Were they as close as the Sun and the Moon or much, much further? Were they made of adamant, and what lit them so if that were the case?

"Norgash! Norgash, mallat?"

In his trance, the young Uruk did not hear his mother. He heard only the faint sounds of the mountain forests and the faint commotion of the nearby tribe.

"Norgash? Norgash! Murtz krampuglat?"

The young Uruk glanced up at the female with her heavy, bare chest, a torch in one hand while the other hand sat on her cocked hip. The youngster turned round, still seated, as his mother scolded him: "Bauz-bo nar! Honuglat ilzu-or urzkû?"

"Akhothlob," he replied, at which the female sighed.

"I don't know what to do with you any more, norgâz'zub," and she turned and began to march home from the hill.

The young Uruk rose and followed his mother, stumbling over rocks in the darkness, until they reached their campfire. There sat eight other females, three males, and five lesser Orcs. The deer, which his mother had caught, had finished roasting, and their Snaga had saved it from over-cooking and from the hungry mouths of others.

"Well, have your fill," she said to her son. "Don't know why I should let you have any, though. I should throttle you for wandering off again, but you are a queer one, Norgash. A thorough beating might not work on you." Then she cleaved off one of the hind legs and handed it to her son.

"Akhothlob," he said, and he easily ripped the flesh from the bone with his sharp teeth. As he slurped on his meal, Norgash said to his mother, "Hey, ma'am, what's all this talk of war? Are we gonna be fighting other tribes?"

As soon as she swallowed her bit of the deer's liver, she replied, "Not Orcs, lad, but Men, Dwarves, and Elves."

Excitement suddenly glimmered in Norgash's eyes. "We get to fight Golug-hai, ma'am? You really mean it?"

The female smirked and said, "Oh yes, if we're lucky. People always say that Orcs are a mean lot, but I tell you in soothe, Elves are a hell of a lot meaner." Then she pointed up and said, "They keep the secret of the Lights to themselves. They won't share the secret with another soul, and they especially hate Orcs for trying to sneak it."

Norgash cocked his head. "But I thought we hate the Light, ma'am."

The female snorted. "Snaga-hai do, but Uruk-hai fear nothing. We who are shamans have tried to reclaim that secret, for we once shared it with the Elves. But," she sighed as she ripped off another sliver of the liver, "we lost the Light when the Dark One and His Fiery Apprentice appeared.

"I tell you, lad," she continued, "you only fear that which is more powerful than you, and the Light is powerful stuff. But if you wield that power, lad, then—oh, ho! Then…" she remarked as she touched her forehead with one finger.

Norgash's eyes were widened by curiosity. His mother and the other Uruk-hai around them belonged to a very special group of shamans. Many Orcs did not rely heavily upon such figures, for in this Age, many of them seemed to be frauds. However, a few priests and priestesses throughout Middle Earth wielded a genuinely powerful craft, able to tap their Dark Lords as their sources.

The best test used to sniff out true shamans was known as the Divine Glimpse, a test which thus far only Uruk shamans—and a scant lot, too—seemed to pass. For although all shamans derived their power from dark beings, those with the Divine Glimpse experienced fleeting visions of the white magick that belonged to the Elves and their divinities. The glimpses burned painfully but also seemed to beckon to initiates.

"Do you think we'll finally learn the secret of the Light?" asked Norgash. "Do you think we'll be as powerful as the Golug-hai?"

The female shaman drank her draught and shrugged. "Who can say?" she said. "I don't know much about this war, except that the Fiery One wants to start it. If we do win it, though, maybe, but I make no guarantee. He and His Master, though they walk in darkness, also know what the Light is. They, too, hide the secret from us, and they are as stubborn and greedy as the Elves.

"Knowledge, young Norgash, once lost might not meant to be found. And so it is easier to hate that which you cannot have. This is why the Snaga-hai hate the Light, but Uruk-hai—we are stubborn. We Uruk-hai fight until we die or until we claim that which should be ours."


Glossary: Golug-hai (Bl. Sp.) Elvish race.

Amut glu-ishi tibualat (Bl. Sp.) What trouble have you gotten yourself into? Literally, 'what piss you swim in?

Mallat? (Bl. Sp.) Where [are] you?

Murtz krampuglat? (Bl. Sp.) What are you doing?

Bauzbo nar! Honuglat ilzu-or urzkû? (Bl. Sp.) Don't run off! (lit. Don't shoot off). [You] looking at stars again?

Akhothlob (Bl. Sp.) yes, ma'am.

norgâz'zub (Bl. Sp. Isengard) my little lynx.

Footnotes: Moon Dagger—from Foul Dips Into Fair. Norgash's name for Glorfindel when they first meet; for the prince-lord was not inclined to reveal himself immediately in his company.

the Dark One and His Fiery Apprentice—euphemisms for Morgoth and Sauron respectively.

Chapter IV Update: 24 May, 2011. Thanks for reviewer suggestions.

Disclaimer: The author, Danners, makes no claim over Tolkien's creations and makes no monetary gain from writing this fanfiction. However, original characters, including Norgash, are the intellectual property of Danners and may not be used without permission.