Disclaimer - no, not mine, never will be, although Gorplak and Bagshash
live happily in my head, so there!
A/N - the conclusion of my tale draws nigh, but not just yet. Enjoy the blood... but don't hate me for what you are about to read. Thanks to Womba for the review as always, as well as JoKing and Corrinth too!
Chapter 13 - Breaking point
The ruins stood high on the hill above them, the fingers of the hand cracked but still standing tall and strong. Amon Hen, the Hill of Sight, Gorplak remembered drawing deep into her memory. And beyond it she knew that Lurtz was amassing his Uruk-Hai army, waiting for the Orcs to fail. She tested the string on her bow just one more time, itching to notch an arrow and let the battle begin.
But still the enemy did not show themselves.
Scouts had been sent out into the early morning sun to report on the whereabouts of the enemy and now as the sun rose higher, pitching patches of light onto the wooded floor, news came back that their foe had split up. Bagshash had cursed but decided to hold the Company where it was; on the western bank of the Anduin, between the beach where their adversaries had landed and Amon Hen, with the enemy split up and wandering between the two armies. An easy kill.
And yet, as Gorplak stood in the front line of archers, waiting for a glimpse of something to shoot at, she felt vaguely uneasy. She trusted Bagshash with her life and yet his decision to follow Lurtz's battle formation, with her in the front row, felt wrong. As an extra precaution she had whetted her blade so it was as sharp as the claws of Morgoth himself, ready to rip into the flesh of any enemy who came too close, but with so few foes, a few volleys of arrows should finish the job, surely.
"Morgoth's breath" A mumbled curse fell from the mouth of the Orc next to Gorplak. She tensed, glancing up, expecting to see the enemy approaching, but the land before them was still empty. She felt a nudge on her left elbow.
"You don't have a bow string to spare do you?" Huklog asked, pathetically indicating that his had snapped in two. Gorplak's eyes narrowed, but she grudgingly pulled a spare string from her quiver. Now she only had two left for emergencies. She sudden realised the benefits of Bagshash's formation as her eyes travelled down the line of her fellow archers, some nervously counting arrows, others stretching strings to breaking point and letting go to hear it sing. To her shame she was hardly part of the best archery division; she was confident that she alone would actually be able to hit a target, perhaps it was advisable to be a few feet further forward to better their aim.
A sudden movement rustled the bushes ahead. At the sound, a stream of arrows flew towards it, and a small black bird flew from the bush, perfectly unharmed. Just to put the others to shame, Gorplak took aim, fired, and the bird fell to the ground with her arrow lodged in its chest.
"Don't waste your arrows." An angry whisper reminded them. "But good shooting Archer Gorplak." Gorplak recognised the voice and smiled.
"Thank you my love, sir." She replied, ignoring a few glances from those who had not guessed at their relationship. Bagshash stood behind her and moved his lips to sweep her ear. Gorplak shivered.
"Be careful, lover, any sign of defeat and I want you to retreat." Gorplak turned and made to reply, but Bagshash covered her response with a kiss. "Just you, if needs be. I want you... I need you to live."
"And when did you become so pessimistic about our chances?" She asked him, bluffing slightly even though her own uneasiness agreed with him. Bagshash just stared over the hill.
"I don't trust our foes." He whispered. "I fear they have a strength that even surpasses us. I fear..."
Bagshash was unable to finish his sentence, as a strange voice called through the air.
"Confound it young hobbit! Frodo! Where are you?" Over the slope of the ridge two figures appeared; one short, stocky and carrying an axe, the other tall, graceful and decidedly horrendous. They seemed to be searching for something, but soon their eyes lighted upon the band of Orcs waiting for them. For an instant they froze as Bagshash's bellow filled the morning.
"FIRE!"
The battle had begun.
Lurtz was confident. He had seen a halfling flee to the ruins, followed by a human, so now there was only one pitiful man to stop him from his mission. "Advance." He ordered, and the horde of Uruk-Hai began to move slowly up the hill. Lurtz watched as the front rank began to hack at the man... this would be over very soon.
At Bagshash's order, forty arrows were set loose from their bows, whistling as they sliced through the air, and forty arrows slammed to the ground, missing their targets. Only one had come close, passing through the golden locks of the elf who had had the good fortune to move in the right direction at the right time else he would have been skewered. In retaliation, he fired off three arrows in the blink of an eye, and Gorplak saw three of her fellow Orcs fall to the ground dead. Notching another arrow she took aim again, this time her intended target the dwarf who was charging towards the front rank - her - shouting a dwarvish battle cry. Unfortunately, the advance of the warrior didn't help to bolster the courage of her comrades. Huklog next to her took a step back, then the Orc on the other side did, then she could see neither of them in her eye line.
"Cowards" She spat briefly, then they were gone from her mind, and all that existed was she and her target. The world narrowed and slowed until only the charging dwarf filled her senses, she was only vaguely aware of the passing wind of an arrow brushing past her cheek, only vaguely aware of the dying gurgle of an Orc behind her as it lodged in his throat, only vaguely aware of an order being shouted, then her aim was perfect and she was ready to release the arrow and...
A black shape filled her vision, forcing her to shoot the arrow wide of its mark, and she cursed as another black shape charged past her, shouting an Orcish battle cry. The world snapped back into vision and Gorplak watched Vashlash and Nudlik charging forward towards the enemy, blades in hands. Still the dwarf came, undaunted by this new challenge; indeed, Gorplak would have sworn she saw his eyes light up with the prospect of battle. Pulling another arrow from her quiver she dismissed attacking the dwarf, there was little opportunity for an arrow in that melee, and she knew Nudlik would need no help in vanquishing his foe. Her attention turned once more to the horrendous elf. With the oncoming charge of her comrades, he had now banished his bow to his shoulder and instead leapt to his own comrade's aid, twin knife blades in his hands. The weapons spun, reflecting the dappled sunlight around the battleground, as he sprinted towards the growing cluster of Orcs around the dwarf, and Gorplak watched, almost frozen as first one blade, then the other seemed to bleed black with the blood of her kind. The battlefield, at first so silent, now became louder, the air choked with the screams of the dying, and Gorplak could see they were not the screams of the enemy. An Orc stumbled from the group, claws pressed to a bloody wound where eyes should have gleamed, taken by an axe swing, only to be met by a knife in the ribs and a gentle cry of surprise escaped the bloodied lips.
Gorplak dared not even breathe. Vashlash's hands fell to her new wound and Gorplak saw her friend's body sag to the ground. The longer she stared, the less movement Vashlash made. And like that her friend was gone. Forever.
Sadness. Anger. No, not anger, fury. A white, blinding fury made Gorplak calmly notch the arrow and aim it at the very centre of her enemy's chest. Let fly, it sped on its way, only to be deflected by the sweeping arc of a blade, originally intended to block a sword thrust. It seemed to surprise the elf, but only for a moment as the second blade continued its path into the throat of the attacking Orc. Only once that first enemy had been dispatched did the elf bother to see where this secondary attack originated.
Elven blue eyes met Orcish green. The Elvish archer briefly studied the single remaining Orc archer on the battlefield, and for a moment such stillness in the midst of such mayhem seemed ridiculous. Among the charging infantry Orcs, among the cries and clashes of metal on metal, the two opponents faced each other, motionless. Slowly, as slowly as the coming of twilight creeps over the evening sky, the elf reached for the bow upon his shoulder. Gorplak stretched for an arrow, the elf seeming to mirror her actions, both entrenched in a race that seemed to last an age, even as only a second passed. The arrows were notched, the strings pulled taut, and it became a deadly game of who was quickest to aim.
The elf fired first.
"Infantry! CHARGE!" Bagshash bellowed, seeing the line of archers in front diminishing, whether by enemy fire or by a slow retreat on foot. To her credit, Gorplak still stood, bow in hand but even her deadly aim could not stop the relentless charge. He watched as she was forced wide of her dwarven mark as Nudlik rushed past her, then footfalls from behind him caught his attention. The Orcs were running away. With a growl he leapt after them, caught them, and sent the slowest into the oblivion of death before the Orc had even turned around. Reaching for the next in line he bellowed at them to stop, but even the vengeance of the Uruk-Hai was not as terrifying as the blond monster that slowly descended upon their ranks. Bagshash let them go, cursing them to Valinor and back. He turned back to the battle.
Infantry swarmed about the dwarf, barely landing so much as a punch as the wicked axe blade cut them down like young saplings. A handful of archers still stood, quaking more than firing, except one who stood firm. Bagshash watched his love pull one more arrow from her back, and he smiled as he looked for the elf that was about to die.
Except that the elf was pulling out a sister arrow to Gorplak's. And as Bagshash watched the stings stretch and saw the first arrow fly, a pain in his heart made him cry aloud. It was all he could do to watch Gorplak drop her bow with nerveless fingers, those very hands clutching at the feathered stick that now protruded from her chest. He could only watch as she sank slowly to her knees, graceful even in the midst of her defeat.
Defeat?
"NO!" Bagshash was barely aware he had cried out as he ran towards his love, blood - her blood - spilling onto the ground. All thoughts of his enemies was gone, the falling Orc was the only thing he could think of.
Lurtz had abandoned his company of Uruk-Hai. How one insignificant man could be eluding death surprised him, but against such numbers he could not compete and Lurtz was confident of success. Now he came to check on his other enemy, Bagshash. As he crested the hill, the shambles of a battlefield appeared to him. Orcs lay scatters, some squirming in the throws of death, others still, while the dwarf slaughtered yet more. Curiously the elf seemed briefly frozen, and Lurtz noticed it was Bagshash's heathen love interest that held its attention. He watched as they drew their arrows, a fatal dance which the Orc lost. Lurtz smiled at her downfall and watched the elf, who calmly re-shouldered the bow and plunged once more into the fray, more Orc blood spilling from the blades that seemed an extension of the elf itself.
"NO!" A gruff but desperate cry alerted Lurtz to Bagshash's location, and Lurtz saw him frantically run to the fallen Orc's side. His hand gripped his bow tighter and with a sneer he realised that with one shot he could remove the traitorous fiend who had brought shame to his race and this battlefield. Just as he raised the bow, another dwarven challenge rendered the air, and Lurtz grinned in anticipation. So intent was Bagshash upon reaching his love that he failed to see the dwarf heading straight for him, axe poised and ready to strike. Lurtz lowered his own weapon and turned his back on the butchery below. He returned to his own kind once more. Bagshash was doomed, the Orcs broken; life was good.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ Is Gorplak dead? And what of Bagshash's fate? And hands up who hates Legolas now. I'm sorry, there's no way for this story to have a happy ending, hope everyone has tissues handy. Trust me, I don't like killing off my little Orcs either. Until next time dear reader, tune in for the last chapter.
A/N - the conclusion of my tale draws nigh, but not just yet. Enjoy the blood... but don't hate me for what you are about to read. Thanks to Womba for the review as always, as well as JoKing and Corrinth too!
Chapter 13 - Breaking point
The ruins stood high on the hill above them, the fingers of the hand cracked but still standing tall and strong. Amon Hen, the Hill of Sight, Gorplak remembered drawing deep into her memory. And beyond it she knew that Lurtz was amassing his Uruk-Hai army, waiting for the Orcs to fail. She tested the string on her bow just one more time, itching to notch an arrow and let the battle begin.
But still the enemy did not show themselves.
Scouts had been sent out into the early morning sun to report on the whereabouts of the enemy and now as the sun rose higher, pitching patches of light onto the wooded floor, news came back that their foe had split up. Bagshash had cursed but decided to hold the Company where it was; on the western bank of the Anduin, between the beach where their adversaries had landed and Amon Hen, with the enemy split up and wandering between the two armies. An easy kill.
And yet, as Gorplak stood in the front line of archers, waiting for a glimpse of something to shoot at, she felt vaguely uneasy. She trusted Bagshash with her life and yet his decision to follow Lurtz's battle formation, with her in the front row, felt wrong. As an extra precaution she had whetted her blade so it was as sharp as the claws of Morgoth himself, ready to rip into the flesh of any enemy who came too close, but with so few foes, a few volleys of arrows should finish the job, surely.
"Morgoth's breath" A mumbled curse fell from the mouth of the Orc next to Gorplak. She tensed, glancing up, expecting to see the enemy approaching, but the land before them was still empty. She felt a nudge on her left elbow.
"You don't have a bow string to spare do you?" Huklog asked, pathetically indicating that his had snapped in two. Gorplak's eyes narrowed, but she grudgingly pulled a spare string from her quiver. Now she only had two left for emergencies. She sudden realised the benefits of Bagshash's formation as her eyes travelled down the line of her fellow archers, some nervously counting arrows, others stretching strings to breaking point and letting go to hear it sing. To her shame she was hardly part of the best archery division; she was confident that she alone would actually be able to hit a target, perhaps it was advisable to be a few feet further forward to better their aim.
A sudden movement rustled the bushes ahead. At the sound, a stream of arrows flew towards it, and a small black bird flew from the bush, perfectly unharmed. Just to put the others to shame, Gorplak took aim, fired, and the bird fell to the ground with her arrow lodged in its chest.
"Don't waste your arrows." An angry whisper reminded them. "But good shooting Archer Gorplak." Gorplak recognised the voice and smiled.
"Thank you my love, sir." She replied, ignoring a few glances from those who had not guessed at their relationship. Bagshash stood behind her and moved his lips to sweep her ear. Gorplak shivered.
"Be careful, lover, any sign of defeat and I want you to retreat." Gorplak turned and made to reply, but Bagshash covered her response with a kiss. "Just you, if needs be. I want you... I need you to live."
"And when did you become so pessimistic about our chances?" She asked him, bluffing slightly even though her own uneasiness agreed with him. Bagshash just stared over the hill.
"I don't trust our foes." He whispered. "I fear they have a strength that even surpasses us. I fear..."
Bagshash was unable to finish his sentence, as a strange voice called through the air.
"Confound it young hobbit! Frodo! Where are you?" Over the slope of the ridge two figures appeared; one short, stocky and carrying an axe, the other tall, graceful and decidedly horrendous. They seemed to be searching for something, but soon their eyes lighted upon the band of Orcs waiting for them. For an instant they froze as Bagshash's bellow filled the morning.
"FIRE!"
The battle had begun.
Lurtz was confident. He had seen a halfling flee to the ruins, followed by a human, so now there was only one pitiful man to stop him from his mission. "Advance." He ordered, and the horde of Uruk-Hai began to move slowly up the hill. Lurtz watched as the front rank began to hack at the man... this would be over very soon.
At Bagshash's order, forty arrows were set loose from their bows, whistling as they sliced through the air, and forty arrows slammed to the ground, missing their targets. Only one had come close, passing through the golden locks of the elf who had had the good fortune to move in the right direction at the right time else he would have been skewered. In retaliation, he fired off three arrows in the blink of an eye, and Gorplak saw three of her fellow Orcs fall to the ground dead. Notching another arrow she took aim again, this time her intended target the dwarf who was charging towards the front rank - her - shouting a dwarvish battle cry. Unfortunately, the advance of the warrior didn't help to bolster the courage of her comrades. Huklog next to her took a step back, then the Orc on the other side did, then she could see neither of them in her eye line.
"Cowards" She spat briefly, then they were gone from her mind, and all that existed was she and her target. The world narrowed and slowed until only the charging dwarf filled her senses, she was only vaguely aware of the passing wind of an arrow brushing past her cheek, only vaguely aware of the dying gurgle of an Orc behind her as it lodged in his throat, only vaguely aware of an order being shouted, then her aim was perfect and she was ready to release the arrow and...
A black shape filled her vision, forcing her to shoot the arrow wide of its mark, and she cursed as another black shape charged past her, shouting an Orcish battle cry. The world snapped back into vision and Gorplak watched Vashlash and Nudlik charging forward towards the enemy, blades in hands. Still the dwarf came, undaunted by this new challenge; indeed, Gorplak would have sworn she saw his eyes light up with the prospect of battle. Pulling another arrow from her quiver she dismissed attacking the dwarf, there was little opportunity for an arrow in that melee, and she knew Nudlik would need no help in vanquishing his foe. Her attention turned once more to the horrendous elf. With the oncoming charge of her comrades, he had now banished his bow to his shoulder and instead leapt to his own comrade's aid, twin knife blades in his hands. The weapons spun, reflecting the dappled sunlight around the battleground, as he sprinted towards the growing cluster of Orcs around the dwarf, and Gorplak watched, almost frozen as first one blade, then the other seemed to bleed black with the blood of her kind. The battlefield, at first so silent, now became louder, the air choked with the screams of the dying, and Gorplak could see they were not the screams of the enemy. An Orc stumbled from the group, claws pressed to a bloody wound where eyes should have gleamed, taken by an axe swing, only to be met by a knife in the ribs and a gentle cry of surprise escaped the bloodied lips.
Gorplak dared not even breathe. Vashlash's hands fell to her new wound and Gorplak saw her friend's body sag to the ground. The longer she stared, the less movement Vashlash made. And like that her friend was gone. Forever.
Sadness. Anger. No, not anger, fury. A white, blinding fury made Gorplak calmly notch the arrow and aim it at the very centre of her enemy's chest. Let fly, it sped on its way, only to be deflected by the sweeping arc of a blade, originally intended to block a sword thrust. It seemed to surprise the elf, but only for a moment as the second blade continued its path into the throat of the attacking Orc. Only once that first enemy had been dispatched did the elf bother to see where this secondary attack originated.
Elven blue eyes met Orcish green. The Elvish archer briefly studied the single remaining Orc archer on the battlefield, and for a moment such stillness in the midst of such mayhem seemed ridiculous. Among the charging infantry Orcs, among the cries and clashes of metal on metal, the two opponents faced each other, motionless. Slowly, as slowly as the coming of twilight creeps over the evening sky, the elf reached for the bow upon his shoulder. Gorplak stretched for an arrow, the elf seeming to mirror her actions, both entrenched in a race that seemed to last an age, even as only a second passed. The arrows were notched, the strings pulled taut, and it became a deadly game of who was quickest to aim.
The elf fired first.
"Infantry! CHARGE!" Bagshash bellowed, seeing the line of archers in front diminishing, whether by enemy fire or by a slow retreat on foot. To her credit, Gorplak still stood, bow in hand but even her deadly aim could not stop the relentless charge. He watched as she was forced wide of her dwarven mark as Nudlik rushed past her, then footfalls from behind him caught his attention. The Orcs were running away. With a growl he leapt after them, caught them, and sent the slowest into the oblivion of death before the Orc had even turned around. Reaching for the next in line he bellowed at them to stop, but even the vengeance of the Uruk-Hai was not as terrifying as the blond monster that slowly descended upon their ranks. Bagshash let them go, cursing them to Valinor and back. He turned back to the battle.
Infantry swarmed about the dwarf, barely landing so much as a punch as the wicked axe blade cut them down like young saplings. A handful of archers still stood, quaking more than firing, except one who stood firm. Bagshash watched his love pull one more arrow from her back, and he smiled as he looked for the elf that was about to die.
Except that the elf was pulling out a sister arrow to Gorplak's. And as Bagshash watched the stings stretch and saw the first arrow fly, a pain in his heart made him cry aloud. It was all he could do to watch Gorplak drop her bow with nerveless fingers, those very hands clutching at the feathered stick that now protruded from her chest. He could only watch as she sank slowly to her knees, graceful even in the midst of her defeat.
Defeat?
"NO!" Bagshash was barely aware he had cried out as he ran towards his love, blood - her blood - spilling onto the ground. All thoughts of his enemies was gone, the falling Orc was the only thing he could think of.
Lurtz had abandoned his company of Uruk-Hai. How one insignificant man could be eluding death surprised him, but against such numbers he could not compete and Lurtz was confident of success. Now he came to check on his other enemy, Bagshash. As he crested the hill, the shambles of a battlefield appeared to him. Orcs lay scatters, some squirming in the throws of death, others still, while the dwarf slaughtered yet more. Curiously the elf seemed briefly frozen, and Lurtz noticed it was Bagshash's heathen love interest that held its attention. He watched as they drew their arrows, a fatal dance which the Orc lost. Lurtz smiled at her downfall and watched the elf, who calmly re-shouldered the bow and plunged once more into the fray, more Orc blood spilling from the blades that seemed an extension of the elf itself.
"NO!" A gruff but desperate cry alerted Lurtz to Bagshash's location, and Lurtz saw him frantically run to the fallen Orc's side. His hand gripped his bow tighter and with a sneer he realised that with one shot he could remove the traitorous fiend who had brought shame to his race and this battlefield. Just as he raised the bow, another dwarven challenge rendered the air, and Lurtz grinned in anticipation. So intent was Bagshash upon reaching his love that he failed to see the dwarf heading straight for him, axe poised and ready to strike. Lurtz lowered his own weapon and turned his back on the butchery below. He returned to his own kind once more. Bagshash was doomed, the Orcs broken; life was good.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\ Is Gorplak dead? And what of Bagshash's fate? And hands up who hates Legolas now. I'm sorry, there's no way for this story to have a happy ending, hope everyone has tissues handy. Trust me, I don't like killing off my little Orcs either. Until next time dear reader, tune in for the last chapter.
