Chapter Fifty-one

Prisoner

Pansy was sickened daily by everything around her, until she became numb and could no longer look. The Orcs were breeding and becoming something new, and to Pansy's way of thinking, this spelled the end of the world. There was no hope of escape with so many, and they ate like pigs, so Pansy was cooking from dawn till dusk. By the end of the day, she fell into a tired miserable heap, and the only thought in her head was Marigold and whether she still lived.

~*~

Grool sent out his vulture to report on the siege of Lorien. When Black Wing returned, he had bad news. "So the Elves defeated us? I'm glad I escaped when I did. I must tell the Dark Lord of this unfortunate turn of events."

Grool went to his master's chamber.

"Master, I have received word that my forces at Lorien were defeated and are returning back to Mordor. I shall kill my second in command, Vark, for losing so important a target. But this shall not set us back. My Burz-hai shall be ready in a few months. I leave you now, my master."

~*~

Vark was the first of the Orcs to return.

"Vark! You pathetic coward! For your incompetence, you shall be severely punished! I was thinking that I would kill you, but that would be too lenient a punishment. You are hereby demoted. PANSY!"

Pansy came, cowering.

"I want you to train this pathetic fool to cook. I believe this shall ease your work. Vark! You are to get to work immediately! And you had better do well. Or I will kill you. Have a nice day. I have work to do." With that Grool left.

Pansy turned to Vark in desperation. "What are you being punished for?" she asked, showing him the proper way to cut mutton.

Vark glowered at her.

After he simmered down, she tried again. "If you're tired of taking his orders, I have friends that might be able to help us escape," she said casually, knowing that he could easily damn her and she might go into the stew right next to the mutton they were cutting up.

Vark looked at Pansy and stood up. He left the kitchen to look for Grool. Grool was walking the corridors of Barad-dur, watching his Orcs train.

"What are you doing here? You are supposed to be cooking!" Grool exclaimed.

"I am here to settle something, Grool! I am there to kill you and become the new leader of the Orcs of Mordor!" Vark threw a punch at Grool's head.

Grool jumped out of the way and did a leg sweep, but Vark jumped up and kicked Grool in the head. A crowd had begun to surround them, taking bets and cheering. Vark drew his saber and took a swing at Grool. Grool kicked the sword out of Vark's hand, and it impaled one of the spectators. Grool then delivered several blows to Vark's head, and Vark returned by knocking Grool off balance and kicking him in the ribs. Grool grabbed Vark's leg and flung him into a wall.

Grool stood up, a stream of blood trickling down his face. He walked over to Vark and picked him up by the neck. "Did Pansy put you up to this?"

Vark could barely utter, "Y-y-yesss . . ." before losing consciousness.

Pansy . . . She has got to learn not to provoke my men. I will teach her a lesson this time . . . Grool walked to the kitchen.

Pansy heard him coming and surprised herself by having the sense to tuck the knife she had been cutting mutton with under her skirt. It would likely do her no good, but she did it anyway.

Grool was enraged, and she knew in an instant that Vark had betrayed her. Damn him. She backed away, legs shaking, as he came forward slowly.

As Grool entered the kitchen in a rage, his amulet was glowing. "PANSY! Why must you turn my men against me?" The glow increased. "I feed you more than some of my soldiers, I have not killed you yet, I even that that, under the circumstances, I am very nice to you." The glow moved to his arm. "And this is how you repay me. By turning my own trusted soldiers against me! I've put up with you just about long enough." Grool raised his arm threateningly, not noticing the ball of light in his palm. "Pansy Took! I shall kill you now!" A bolt of light shot from his arm. Pansy ducked just in time, and the bolt hit an Orc, taking off his head. Grool fell to the ground, weary and in shock, and was to his chamber to rest . . .

~*~

After the incident in the kitchen, Grool felt drained. He was in his chamber for several days. When he finally had enough strength to move, he had an idea.

He sent a Uruk-hai to the ruins of Isengard on a secret errand.

He had his other soldiers construct a wooden tower that would be larger than any tower they had ever thought of building before. It would have three levels. The first would be a large hall for feeding his army. No one but Grool would be allowed into the upper levels. The second would be a dungeon, holding the Gondoran woman and Pansy. Vark would be chained by his neck in the kitchen to be taught by Pansy. The third and final chamber would be Grool's personal chamber. He would use the tower to ensure Pansy would never again speak to his Orcs. It would be completed in one week.

~*~

Pansy kept her head down and listened. There were rumors that they would all be moved, and that Grool was building his own self-styled kingdom at the old keep of Saruman, once called Orthanc. Pansy remembered vividly Pippin's descriptions of the place.

Anywhere would be better than here, and the land round Orthanc was open. She still had the knife under her skirts, and it gave her some small measure of comfort to know it was there, though she tried not to think of her lack of fighting skill amongst these brutes.

Vark was nastier than ever, and his foul temper began to wear on her nerves. It was obvious he thought the culinary arts beneath him. He was too stupid to learn properly and too bad-tempered to listen as she tried to explain, so all the work was once again on her shoulders. These Orcs ate like pigs, and had foul tastes, some of the dishes she was made to cook weren't fit to feed a starving dog. She was sick at heart, and ached with worry over Marigold.

Marigold, who was headed for Mordor, and didn't even know that her own mother had already beaten her there and was now a permanent guest. Pansy sighed and went back to beating the livers she was going to fry up for supper. After the washing up was done, maybe she could curl up in a corner by herself.

~*~

The tower, which was a few miles away from Barad-dur in some semi-fertile land, was almost complete. The Uruk-hai sent to Orthanc returned, a small bundle in his arm. It was not to be unwrapped yet.

A few days later, Grool-dur was complete. The Uruk-hai was invited up to Grool's chamber. He unwrapped the bundle that would be the final piece of furniture in the tower. The bundle contained . . . Saruman's palantir.

Grool raised his arm at the Uruk-hai and became very angry. The Uruk-hai lost his head. Grool had been practicing with his amulet after the trouble in the kitchen.

Grool moved the Gondoran woman and Pansy to their new homes in the tower.

That night, Grool held a feast celebrating the completion of the tower. After the feast, Grool went to his chamber and looked into the palantir. He was just testing it out, looking around Middle Earth, when he saw a very strange thing. He saw a Halfling. What was strange about her was that she looked a lot like Pansy. Grool called Pansy up and had her look into the palantir.

She gasped and broke down crying when she saw the Halfling. She kept repeating, "Mari . . . Mari . . . Mari . . ."

~*~

Grool watched as the small children of his Orcs trained themselves. Orcs gave birth much faster than both Men and Elves. The first part of the Burz-hai was coming along very nicely. The offspring of Orcs and Uruk-hai were very dark skinned and rather large. They could wrestle the Orcs they were conceived from and win. They could stay out in broad daylight and not be weakened. Their eyesight was more keen than that of an eagle. They could move as swiftly and lightly as an Elf and as silently as a Halfling. In a word, they were perfect . . .

Grool decided to give his creations a test. He gave one of them a bag and sent it to the Stone Circle to kidnap the little Halfling girl . . .

~*~

Pansy looked in pity at the girl in the cell across from hers. She was pregnant, and looked speechless and miserable.

"What's your name?" Pansy asked, as softly as she could. The girl looked up, as if she had forgotten how to interpret speech. She swallowed hard, as if fearing Pansy would attack her. Pansy turned away sadly. This place was crawling with Orcs more foul than any she had seen or heard of before, they were bigger, stronger, and uglier than even Grool. Pansy strongly suspected this girl had something to do with bringing them about.

It was beyond comprehension to think about what might have been done to her.

Pansy jumped when the girl spoke, her voice hoarse from unuse.

"Trista. I am called Trista."

Pansy smiled maternally. "I'm Pansy, a Hobbit from the Shire. If the Shire is still in one piece, that is. Where are you from, Trista?"

"Gondor. From . . . Minas Tirith." The girl stumbled over the words.

"And I suppose they just up and grabbed you like a sack of taters, too?"

Trista nodded, her hair falling into her face. She was a pretty girl, but her eyes seemed scarred now, old.

"I was to be married, to Eldarion, the son of Aragorn Elessar."

The King? Grool had taken the lion's cub this time! If Pansy could get word out, all hell would break loose around here.

"We're going to get out of here, Trista. I promise you that."

Trista tried to smile. Pansy smiled back. An idea was forming.