XXXVIII
Firri
Ever since he had pulled her aside, that day, so long ago now, on the fringe of the Dorezátzean jungle, Firri had found herself overcome with an admiration and infatuation with Morrick. Ever since he had taught her so much about responsibility, she had a high respect of him, and that respect had become love. And, since their departure from Alzág, Firri had been trying to make herself propose to Morrick. She really wanted to, because there was no other orc in all of Middle Earth she would have wanted to be her husband. She felt obligated, because she had promised Kâlask that she would, in the least, ask. But she could not bring herself to do so. She hesitated, not for fear of impropriety, but for fear that he would refuse her, and she would be left with nothing. She knew this, but she simply told herself that the right opportunity had not yet arisen.
Right after Sheglock went into the trolls' cave, she had decided to at last do it. But then Morrick had suddenly turned sympathetic, and showed unexpected care to Sheglock. Firri, eager for an excuse from her rash resolution, baulked, telling herself that she did not want to interrupt him then.
After Sheglock left, she couldn't do it, as Morrick was clearly upset by his brother, and his final accusation. Firri apologised, but Morrick too it too lightly. It was eerily similar to his reaction to her apology outside Alzág, when Firri had at last admitted her incompetence as a leader. She had not taken his triviality seriously, but instead had vowed never to lead again, knowing that his reaction had concealed deep reproach. She realised that was Morrick's way to display shame – taking it lightly. He was probably furious at her for causing Sheglock to head off.
Outside of the Great City, she was once again ready to ask. Or, at least, she had thought she was. But she just mumbled quietly.
"Out with it!" Morrick yelled in anger. "Bad news?"
"I hope not," Firri whispered, stunned by his tone, and trying not to cry. He was clearly furious at her, probably over Sheglock. And, if that was not bad enough, he didn't seem to like her at all. He had never shown her any affection. She wondered if she should even bother to ask, when his response was so predictable.
They continued up toward the guard by the gates of the City, Firri feeling hopeless.
"What's yer business here?" the guard asked Morrick, who Firri made sure was in front, leading.
"I've been summoned," he replied.
"And your wife?" the guard asked.
Firri was taken aback, and felt vaguely as though the breath had been knocked out of her. The stupid guard didn't know how much she wished his assumption was true. She blushed, willing Morrick not to protest, and he gave her a disapproving look.
"She's not my wife," Morrick said evenly, heartlessly shattering her fantasy. How romantic would it have been for him to reply elsewise? "My wife and I are travelling here, together." Morrick had just been given the supreme opportunity for a romantic proposal, and he had let it go. Firri could find only one explanation – he didn't want to marry her.
Firri paid little attention as they crossed through the city, and into the Tower itself. Inside they found a captain, and Morrick was quickly assigned his new duties. Firri was unwanted.
"Get a new job," the captain had advised her with a sneer.
Morrick travelled down to the forge, asking directions on the way, and completely ignoring Firri. She wondered if he intended to even remain friends. Did he hate her that much?
Finally, tentatively, she spoke up. "What should I do?" she asked, fearing his outrage. He responded lightly, which Firri knew was his way of expressing disapproval.
"Be a supervisor," Morrick suggested, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Something that takes leadership." He put an emphasis on this last word, as though to remind her just how poorly she made decisions.
Firri groaned in frustration, furious at his poking fun at her. "I swore I'd never lead again," she told him, to let him know she was not deceived. He wasn't going to convince her to make a fool of herself.
"Break the vow," he said carelessly. "It's disloyal to refuse your service to Sauron, and if you were born to lead, lead."
"Where could I ever get a job like that?" Firri wondered, wondering more why he was simply toying with her, when he hated her so much. Morrick shrugged.
"Ask around. It's not so hard rise up the ladder, if you're competent."
"Thanks," she muttered, not mistaking his last words. "If you're competent." Well, he knew that she definitely wasn't.
Morrick turned toward the door to the forge. "See you around," he said, sounding as though he intended to leave permanently.
"Wait!" Firri cried, desperate, knowing that, in the vastness of Sauron's Fortress, she could very well never see him again. She impulsively decided to give it a try. There was nothing to lose. If she didn't ask now, she never would.
"What is it?" Morrick asked, annoyed at her interruption, and clearly ardent to get away from her as soon as he could.
"Will you marry me?" she tried to ask, but faded to a mumble just before "marry".
"Yes?" Morrick asked, with a pretence of patience.
Firri blushed, unable to do it. She was unable to hear the rejection from his lips, knowing that it would forever destroy her fantasies and dreams through the years to come. "Will you meet me at the main gate, er, when you're done, and, er, we can talk about the day?" she stuttered, improvising quickly. At least she'd give herself another chance. Unless, of course, he lacked the decency to grant her even that small favour.
"Sure," Morrick replied, incredibly managing to disguise the disgust from his voice. Firri marched off angrily, furious at her own failure. How could she not manage to ask so simple a question? How had she, the orc who had once had the gumption to do anything, become so nervous, so unwilling to take chances?
She got a job that day sweeping the stables, and it was tedious work. But Firri knew it was her own fault. If she hadn't twice screwed up in a role of leadership, she would have a more satisfying job. She had had her chance, and had blown it.
She sighed as the sun set, and set down the broom. Then she went back inside, after receiving two silver coins for her day's work. Not bad pay for a janitor, she thought, distractedly, not really caring. She meandered back toward the main gate, and waited. She doubted that Morrick would actually come.
Then she saw him, string up toward her. She was immediately furious with her doubt.
"What's wrong," he asked.
"I doubted you would show," she said in a small voice, expecting Morrick's wrath. She knew how much he hated disloyalty.
"Why wouldn't I?" he asked, genuinely puzzled, and Firri was surprised. Did he not know that she knew that he hated her?
Or had she simply been reading too much into his actions?
"Do you hate me?" she asked slowly, deciding to start there. Again, Morrick's bewilderment did not appear feigned.
"Why would I hate you?" he asked. Firri was confused, and eventually conceded that he was a superb actor. He seemed so sincere!
"You've been mad at me all day!" she told him, making sure he knew he would not get away with his deception. He needed to know that she was not stupid.
Morrick, to her surprise, nodded. She hadn't expected him to admit to it so readily. In a way, she was crushed, because part of her – a diminutive, almost inconsequential part – had been hoping that, somehow, that he still loved her, even if just as a friend.
"I've been angry all day – that's true," Morrick said slowly, looking deep into her eyes. "But not at you! I've been furious at my brother, and at my mistakes. Not at you! Have you been misreading me all day?" He smiled at her in a bemused sort of way.
Firri felt as through a great wave of pure, fresh water had come roaring over her, sweeping away all that she had believed before, and purging her heart of all the fear and resentment that had been accumulating within it. And, as the immense relief broke over her, she felt as though she were starting a new day – all that she had assumed before was lost to memory, as she realised that Morrick had never despised her. She had been reading too far into him, and she had been utterly wrong – and for once was glad to have been.
"So you still love me!" Firri cried in exuberant reassurance. But she cut off instantly after the words had escaped her mouth, freezing in horror. Appalled, she realised he had never said anything about loving her. She stared silently at the ground as she waited nervously for his reaction.
"Yes," Morrick said, with a small smile, and Firri tentatively looked up toward his charming face, and met his eyes, daring to hope. "And I now suspect I know the reason you've been acting so odd recently," he said warm-heartedly.
"You didn't know?" she asked disbelievingly. The whole time, had he really been missing her obvious cues? "I thought you just, er, didn't want to!"
"I've been preoccupied," he laughed. "Very much so! And also, my dear, you need to remember that guys are generally clueless. You have to ask a question to a man's face, or he won't know what you're asking."
"So, will you?" Firri asked, making sure to make it explicit. She took a deep breath, and finally forced out the words that had been caught in her throat for the past few days. "Will you marry me?" Firri stared at him, unable to believe that her moment had finally come – that she had finally asked.
"I can't believe it," Morrick laughed again, seemingly as shocked by Firri's action as she was. "You're so daring – so assertive, and so willing to take risks! But you have this much trouble asking a four-word question! Did you really think the answered would be 'no'? I've never seen anyone mature quicker than you did, or step up more responsibly when your decisions went awry. Few orcs admit to their mistakes. You are one of the few, honest, loyal, and all else I could ever want." He paused, and, seeing that she was still looking at him expectantly, let out an emphatic "Yes! Yes, I would want no other orc to be my wife!"
Firri was overcome, and, not for the first time that day, unable to breathe. She was suffused with joy and amazement, and eternally thankful that she had finally proposed. She hadn't known that Morrick had respected her so much. And his words, genuine and honest, meant a lot to her. Firri struggled to find words of her own to express her thousand swirling emotions.
"I… of course… thank you!" she stuttered, unable to articulate her eternal gratitude.
Morrick smiled. "You seem surprised," he noted.
"I am – no I mean I'm not. Well… er, I was worried. Maybe I'd been misreading you, but I was getting, er, bad vibes."
"From me!" Morrick exclaimed in mock astonishment. Firri laughed – it all seemed so stupid, so trivial, now.
"When we get home, we'll make it official," she said. "And I'll get you a ring."
Morrick smiled. "Traditionally, for those who follow the custom of ring-giving, the male proposes, and the burden of a ring is laid on him. I will get you one – I'll forge it myself, just for you, as soon as I find the time. I met a funny orc in the forge, Iarék, but he's an artist, and can help design your—"
He broke off, because at that moment the bells rang out from the topmost turret. A long wail rose from far above.
Then a scream came from behind them. "The heir of Elendil!"
Instantly Morrick spun around. The orc who had screamed was running toward them. She was one of the higher-ranking attendants, and was running toward the gate, having come all the way, Firri suspected, from the top towers.
"What?" Morrick cried, along with many others. The official paused at the gate and addressed the large group of orcs who had gathered there within the past few seconds.
"The heir of Elendil revealed himself just minutes ago to Lord Sauron the Great! I cannot describe His dismay – our country's alarm, upon learning that such a Man still lives! He named himself Aragorn, the Ellesar, son of Arathorn. Out of the North he comes, and as we speak he rides to Minas Tirith, coming victorious from Rohan, after wining the war with Saruman. The Ring is surely with him!"
"We knew tha' there was some sorta dev'lry goin' on with Sar'man's downfall!" a spectator near Firri muttered. "It oughta've been he, with the One!"
"Sauron will waste no time now," the guard continued. "Next comes the test: He will march His troops to Gondor. Speed is His only weapon now. With grace, may He triumph over this King, and against His own Ring.
"The war has begun."