Disclaimer:  I own neither the orc nor JRR Tolkien's work.  I do however take ownership for Gwain and Sasha since they are both of my imagination and not Tolkien's.

Silver life is bound by song,

Golden life is passed along,

Hearken Listen only to the praise of light,

Respond only to death's cold night,

It's cynical but tame,

In the lion's game.

He shifted in his position.  A thousand knives seemed to stab internally as a hand held him to the ground.  Fingers slid along his torso as he stared up into a nameless face.  It was a face of a timeless effect, incarcerated in a chasm of ageless hours.  Yet again, as Gwain looked passed the eyes of this woman, he sensed an age that doubled in his own, wise beyond her years and still fair.  It was as though this woman had seen too much, perhaps knew too much while still at the height of her womanhood.  The years that she carried with her could not be guessed.  Her movements were slow and swift.  Her hands moved like they were calloused and worn, though they were fair. 

Her arms were pale as though the sun had never ventured to lay its glaze upon her.   On her arms were many scars finer than a hair's width.  Her flaxen hair was pulled up high and held in a hairpiece that glistened in the sun.

Her neck was encircled with many laces.  One of these laces held a charm on the end of it.  On the charm was engraved a symbol of some sort.  Its significance was not known to Gwain as he stared bluntly at the elf.  His vision glazed over and trumpets blared overhead telling of another attack on the fortress.

"You sleep with a troubled mind," she whispered in his ear.  Her lips brushed past his cheek.  Her voice filtered through his mind.  It was deep and forthcoming; there was no sign of fear or intimidation.

Gwain made no reply.  He stared fixedly at the sky and chanced to glance at the woman every now and again.  It was a day of brilliance as far was he could tell.  The golden light filtered through the trees and off in the distance he could catch the sounds of birds.  At some points he thought he could hear the leaves as the light breeze whispered through their branches.

No, he could not fancy these things at such a time.  The pain still weeded through his system and though the swelling had ceased, he still carried the same wound he'd received in another form.  Death was not the issue now, though he still grieved for its touch.  After all, why had he been spared when his kin had not been given the opportunity?  It was a question that vexed him as he lay still upon the soft earth.

"I ask you what is to be the succession of this conflict?  How long has the tribute to death gone on?"  He spoke in haste for she did not reply readily.  Her drudgery continued for a time before she ventured to utter any syllables.

"You have been in and out of consciousness for about three days following your apprehension.  It is morning though the exact hour is of no knowledge to me.  The conflict you speak of has not become apparent as both sides continue with no progress or failure," she replied though her speech fell upon deaf ears for Gwain had once again passed into a dreamless sleep.

-

"I've thought little of my obligations," Gwain sighed when he awoke.  To him it seemed he'd been overcome by fatigue although he'd slept long into the day.

"I've no doubt that there is more than little thought you seek," she said.

"I do not follow."

"Few do," she could have smirked and perhaps she did but her face remained level and focused.

"I've no need for mind games."

"You've put much thought into your situation.  Much more than you deem true or just."  Her face move this time, twisting into a face younger but wiser than before.

"How do you make this claim?" Gwain stared into her eyes; they were opaque and as hard as ice, authoritative and challenging.

"You are a troubled sleeper."

-

A voice cut through the orc's mind, issuing and echoing in the hallows.  It was a voice he'd heard all his life but could not distinguish its owner.  It rang out and lingered for a time the way a bell does when tolled.

He awoke drenched in sweat.  His bonds cut loose and lay in shredded ribbons about the earth.  Before he lifted his head, a knife blade was poised at his throat and a hand rested upon his chest.  He drove his head back into the ground as though uncoiling in pain.  The familiar throbbing came into his chest again.  His wrists and ankles, where the rope had been exposed to, were now bruised.

It was night and the clouds, ever darker and forbidding as they rolled on, overcame the stars.  The voice spoke again, this time shrill and softer:

"You will take me east to the River Anduin."

So, does that meet everyone's standards?  If so please review.  If not please review anyway.  If you have no opinion whatsoever, review.  I want to know that my stuff is read and my hard work is not wasted over a pitiful and meaningless story with no defiant and original plot.