IV
Iarék
Iarék got up and looked around the house, but Sheglock was nowhere to be seen. He was disappointed by his friend's absence – he had hoped to spend some time with Sheglock before the funeral. Iarék knew that Sheglock was prone to apathy and depression, and he wanted to be there, to cheer him and lift his heart, before the sorrow of mourning conquered it.
On a more practical note, he had hoped to go over the poem again, before reading it aloud. There was one line at the end that he did not feel was quite fitting. They had used a simple iambic pentameter for the rhythm, but there were a few places Iarék felt that it was off, and he did not want to do dishonour to Ulûrk's memory, especially because he had never known him in life. Iarék supposed it was only for the dead orc's sake that he even cared about the words of the poem so dearly. Save Firri, no living orc would be hearing the poem for the first time. And Firri, Iarék had gathered, hadn't ever known Ulûrk. The first funeral really was for Sheglock's sake, and that, Iarék finally realised, was the source of his perfectionism.
Morrick's funeral ceremony, which they planned to hold right after Ulûrk's, was different. Iarék had known Morrick, though not very well. Firri had planned on marrying him, and had been sincerely in love with him. Sheglock, of course, had been his brother. That funeral would be for everyone.
Iarék sighed as he dreaded the tears and sadness just around the corner. He knew that it would be rough, especially for those who were close to the dead. But he also knew that it would be cleansing, and that acceptance was a necessary step to healing. He knew that, ultimately, the funerals would purge Sheglock and Firri of any grief or blame that lurked in the darker chambers of their hearts.
Iarék was wandering without commanding his legs, and, by chance, they carried him to the kitchen, where he serendipitously found Sheglock's note. Somewhat relieved, now that he knew his friend was not shut up alone in his room, mourning, he made himself a quick breakfast, then headed back out to the living room, waiting for Sheglock to return.
Firri was lying on the couch, eyes closed. When he saw her, Iarék remembered that he had planned on asking her for the speech that she was writing for Morrick. But he didn't want to wake her up. He took a chair on the other side of the room, and stared out the large glass window, waiting to see Merân, and her rider, galloping up the dirt path.
"He kissed me, you know."
Iarék spun around, bewildered. The room looked the same as it had just before – the empty fireplace was still cluttered with ash, the two faded velvet armchairs were unchanged, the dusty carpet, was still there, and the couch on it, with Firri still sleeping atop. Had he been hearing things?
"What?" he asked aloud in confusion.
"He kissed me," Iarék heard again, though this time he saw Firri speaking. Her eyes were still closed, and she did not move a muscle.
"I was there," he reminded her, wondering why she was telling him this. He was deeply worried about her. All she had done since their return was fret about Morrick. Then, after the collapse of Sauron, she had sunk into a state of profound apathy. She rarely spoke, and only ate if food was brought to her. Over the past two days, she had not once gotten up off that couch. Now she was too lazy to even open her eyes.
"Of course…" Firri said slowly. "You were there."
Iarék said nothing, unsure how to comfort her, without inadvertently making it worse. After a while, she spoke again.
"I loved him."
"Of course you did!" Iarék exclaimed, trying to read her concerns. Did she doubt her own devotion to him, and blame herself for leaving him?
She sighed. "I loved him a lot."
"Yes. You two were deeply, truly, in love. You loved him, and he loved you."
"Not as much as I loved him."
Iarék was unnerved and worried. He had expected her to object to the first half of his declaration, not the second. Her voice had stayed even throughout the entire conversation, if it could even be called that. She had not once shown any sign of emotion. Now she had just stated, matter-of-factly, that Morrick hadn't requited all of her love. Iarék was, once again, utterly baffled.
"I'm sure he loved you just as much," he reassured her.
"If he did, he wouldn't've left," she explained straightforwardly.
"I'm sure he didn't want to leave you," Iarék said carefully. "And he didn't plan on dying. I know he would have wanted to return here, if he could."
"He loved Sauron more than me."
"He may have been loyal – but he loved you more!" Iarék cried. At least they had gotten to the bottom of this, and he now understood what was troubling Firri.
"At Barad-dûr, he had to choose. He had to choose between coming with me, or going with him. And he chose him."
"It was required," Iarék reminded her.
"You didn't go," she said simply. Iarék sighed heavily, reluctant to bring himself up in relation to Morrick, especially as his philosophy was the polar opposite of the late Morrick's.
"No, I didn't go," uarek said softly. "Because I'm a rebel. Because I don't believe in Sauron. But I don't think your fiancée went for his sake. Sauron's, that is. He went for your sake, for he felt that, under Sauron, the both of you would have had better lives."
"You disagree," Firri told him. Iarék didn't correct her. He didn't want to lie.
"I'm just telling you that Morrick acted in love of you, and not Sauron."
"That's what you think," she said. Iarék didn't respond, and she did not speak again.
Iarék stared absentmindedly out of the window, which looked toward the dirt path leading towards town. He couldn't see anyone on it, and wondered vaguely what Sheglock was doing. It was almost noon.
Then he let his thoughts wander freely, the way he knew was best for artistic inspiration. He thought about Sauron, and about his destruction. It been so totally unexpected, especially for Iarék, who had resigned himself to a whole life under Sauron's oppression. Now, suddenly, the orcs of Mordor were without a ruler, without anyone commanding them, and at last, nothing between themselves, and the freedom of their will.
Iarék knew that it would be better eventually. But they would first need to acclimate to their freedom. Sauron had not necessarily been a bad ruler, but he had been a dictator, and he had denied the common orc many freedoms. Iarék despised dictators – both the benevolent and the tyrant, because even just laws enforced morality, but did not cultivate it. Once the laws were gone, those orcs who had been forced to act morally rebelled, by claiming a road, or likewise. But Iarék believed that orckind was good at heart, inherently moral, and that the current chaos was just a phase out of which the fledgling free land would grow into a utopia.
Time heals all, Iarék thought. They would just have to wait. Anarchy was better than oppression – once they grew accustomed to it. Far better, he thought, to struggle as a free orc, than to be a slave.
Looking out the window, Iarék was interrupted in his thoughts by the arrival of Sheglock. His friend was riding up quickly, creating a large cloud of dust on the dry road.
As Sheglock went to the stables with Merân, Iarék went over to the couch, to Firri.
"We're going to be holding the funerals," he said delicately.
"You do that," she said glumly, sounding thoroughly disinterested.
"Aren't you coming?"
"No."
"Do you have the speech for Morrick?"
"No."
Iarék's eyes watered, though she couldn't see, as hers were closed. He was sad because he saw that she was not yet ready for healing. He could not force her to accept anything – the healing had to come from within. "Well, we'll postpone Morrick's," he said disappointedly.
"You do that, then," she said. Feeling hopeless, Iarék gave up on her, and went to the door to greet Sheglock.
